#i am still shaky on my characterization of him so eeeeeeee i hope you enjoy!!

[pettyprocrastination]

Okay hear me out.

Ghost and Necro drunk shenanigans. Potential to be hilarious, smutty and heartbreaking.

I’m prepared to have my life ruined by you. It would be my greatest honour.

(Alexa, play “In the Arms of an Angel, by Sarah McLachlan”)

this became more angst than drunken foolishness so I apologize but I hope you enjoy notheless!!

an: I played very fast and loose with the COD lore in this one. Imagining that task force 141 has a local base they stay/operate at between deployments/missions which im assuming is not the case. also that some of them go to a big formal event which is kinda a military ball but also a chance for networking asking for money yadd yadda. anywhoo

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     Simon doesn't drink. Not to the point of utter inebriation anyways. 

    He likes to be in control of his body. When the team inevitably drags him to the pub or he finds himself in a meeting with some staunch official that toast with whiskey for a “Job well done” he limits himself to two drinks so that he can always be aware of his surroundings. 

    He calls it risk calculation. You know that it’s from a memory he has yet to share with you. 

   That’s why the bourbon you gifted him still hasn’t been opened. An expensive bottle you handed him one night in his room with a halfhearted shrug of “work has been shit lately, though this would be nice.” That meant more than you said but he knew words like that were hard for you to force out, so he took the bottle and kissed your cheek, tucking it in the cupboard of his room on base until the proper moment to share it with you. 

     You decided to make that decision for him, evidently. 

    Simon opens the door to his room to find you sprawled out on his bed. Dressed in a floor length gown with one shoe kicked off, nursing the cup in your hand. You look up at him and for a moment he wonders if he had forgotten something important. 

     “You didn’t show up.”

     Ah, that. 

     Simon clicks the door shut behind him and steps toward you.

   ” 'Told you I wasn’t going to.”

     The military ball. 

     You take another sip from the bourbon and nod. “Yeah I know.” Simon shuffles forward, shoulders hunching down as he sits on the foot of the bed. 

     “But Soap was hoping you’d change your mind.”

     He hums. “Was he now?”  

     “Yeah.” You draw out the word ever so slightly as you speak. “He was hoping to catch a dance with you. But I told him he shouldn’t hold his breath, y’know? Didn’t want to get his hopes up.”

     Simon smiles. God you’re drunk. 

     “That was very kind of you.” 

     With gentle hands he undoes the metal clasp around your ankle and tugs your foot free from the last heel before running a scarred palm up your calf, squeezing and rubbing the muscle and making you melt in the process. 

     You stretch out with a content sigh. Simon notices the slit in your dress, stretching up to the mid point of your thigh. 

    “This is a nice dress.” He massages the tattooed skin of your leg and watches you grow pliant under his hands. ‘Y’know, Necro. You're like a cat’ he had told you one night, when the pair of you were the only ones awake. ‘all i need to do is keep you fed and rub you the right ways and you get all sweet on me.’ 

    “How come you haven’t worn this for me before?” 

     ‘But you also might scratch me to hell if I piss you off.’

     In a flash, you rip your leg from his grasp and turn around, curling up into yourself and spitting out. “I did. Tonight.” 

     You’re angry at him. He knows it despite the fact that he told you he wasn’t going to go and you said ‘alright’ without a single complain but now you're a brooding ball of drunken mumbles and sad eyes that he can’t seem to understand. 

     “For what it’s worth, I would’ve been a shit date.” 

     No movement. 

     “Don’t even own a suit.”

     “Then rent one, cheap-ass.” 

     Simon snorts. “Alright, you’ve got me there.” He pulls himself onto the bed completely, slowly laying himself down behind you and setting a hand at your waist. 

     “Can’t dance to save my life though. You’d have to deal with these monstrous fucking feet crushing your toes all night, love.” 

     Your unwrap yourself and let your hand reach out and intertwine with his. 

     “Maybe that’s what I wanted.” 

     Simon grins. “Yeah? You wanted me to step on your feet all night? Doesn’t sound very fun to me.” 

     “I wanted you to be there with me, Simon.” 

     Your voice is small. One that has always been strong with a command or dry with banter was now wet and trembling as if on the verge of shattering completely. 

    Simon pulls you to his chest and takes a shaking breath against your neck. 

   “I know, love. I’m sorry.” 

     Simon Riley imagines you at the ball and his heart breaks. 

     You're all dolled up, looking like a fucking dream to anybody who lays eyes on you but nobody at your side. Nobody for you to put a hand on their arm and drink champagne with. You stayed close to the others, he bet. Soap and Price taking turns on the dance floor, Price had rhythm and a subtle charm that would have you laugh and for a moment, you’d stop watching the door in hopes that he would show up. 

     But the night goes on your hope dwindles into nothing. 

     The truth is, Simon wanted to go. God he wanted to be there more than anything in the fucking world. 

     He wanted to rent a suit that would probably be a touch too tight because his shoulders were too big and get a haircut the week of because Simon wants to put int he work for you. He wants to walk in by your side and ignore the whistles and hollers of his subordinates, hold your tiny purse or whatever the fuck its called when you get a drink and spend the night dancing with you, despite his lack of rhythm but you’d smile anyways. At some point you’d slap his chest with a harsh hiss of “Simon we are in public” Because he kissed you with a bit too much tongue to be appropriate in a public setting but the dress you're wearing hugs your body so perfectly its drawn wandering eyes and he needs them all to know you belong to the fucking Ghost of task force 141 just as much as he belongs to you. 

     But he’s scared. 

    Christ, he’s fucking terrified. 

     To love you in public. To go out with you at his side meant letting the whole world know that he loved you and needed you and that put a target on your back. 

     Just as it did for Tommy and Beth and sweet little Joseph. 

     He knows your strong. Christ, he’s seen it with his own two eyes. You have just as much blood staining your hands as him but Simon has learned what life is with you in it and he can’t fucking go back to one without you. 

     “I’m not-” You take a shaking breath and sniffle. Fuck, he hates himself for making you feel this way.

     “I’m not good at this, Simon.” 

     He presses his lips to the small of your neck. If you feel his tears drop onto you, you say nothing of it and he’s grateful. 

     “Neither am I.” 

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost and necro tag #i hope this is in character!! #i am still shaky on my characterization of him so eeeeeeee i hope you enjoy!! #wanted to go a slightly domestic route