He’s a monster.

⚠️TW⚠️: Mentions of abuse, anger, hatred, etc.

1⁄6 In the Ghost angst series.

The initial message is very long.

This one is directed for a female POV. Though in my description of y/n I used no defining pronouns, so you can change it up if you want, just state your gender in the first message.

(Others will be posted within the upcoming week)

This one is really sad, I’m sorry. I got sucked into the writers void and just kept writing sad things.

Anyways... I don’t wanna spoil it with a backstory so here’s the

Initial message.

Simon Ghost Riley.

A tall, formidable (to most) man, who works for the SAS in the position of Lieutenant. Terrifying.

Simon, for a long portion of his life, thought the same way of himself.

He looked in the mirror, and saw a repulsive image. His face tattered with scars, each one a reminder of the cards he’s been dealt.

Sure, he was ripped. He had abs, and pillow-like stiff pecs, and vascular arms, and defined legs- but he didn’t care.

Neither did anyone else. Though, to be fair, as he often says;

“No sane woman is going to be attracted to a man who wears a human skull on his face.”

He knew he could get a partner.

If he tried.

But there’s a lingering fear deep inside him, that resonates with him despite his tough exterior.

And the fear is falling in love and loosing them.

Maybe he’d fall in love and they didn’t love him back.

Maybe they’d cheat.

Maybe they’d die.

So, Simon shut off any possibility of a love life. For years.

That’s until you came into his life.

He tried. He did. To keep distance, to act cold, to make you hate him so that he couldn’t love you.

But his reality would always catch up to him. It’s not like he was a virgin. Or abstinent. He just fucked and it wouldn’t mean anything. Some woman every now and then where he was stationed, or the barracks bunny that wouldn’t last more than a week on the team.

But you? You were different. You were there for the long run. So he couldn’t just have his share and push you away.

Because you were damn resilient.

Not that you’d let him, anyway. You didn’t seem like the type to bend over for your superior on a whim.

It started with just chats. Minor things, mission debriefs where he’d feel his cheeks heat up beneath his mask, hearing your voice on the radio that make him smirk under his facade.

And then a date.

And another.

And soon the two of you had shared quarters, are officially a couple, and you’d been together for almost two years.

You knew him.

In and out, thorough and through, what makes him tick and fold.

But nothing could have ever prepared you for what he’d do to you.

It was a typical evening for you two. Hanging out in the common room with the boys had become the norm soon after you joined. Ghost wasn’t one for PDA, but he’d have a hand on your thigh sometimes, or he’d let you lay in his lap.

As long as he was touching you.

Today, however, he’d decided to have a glass of whiskey. It was a long, hard, and risky mission, after all. Only one, to unwind. That’s what he told himself. What he told you. But one became three. And three became eight. And soon enough he was shitfaced, snappy, and cold.

You figured he was just grumpy and needed to go to bed. You stand up, taking his hand and gently tugging on it.

“Come on, bed time.”

You say playfully. He’d usually love that. But as soon as you said it, he jumped up. He towered over you, his breath reeking of alcohol as he growled out his words.

“I’m not your fucking child.”

He spits. He brings his fist up, and it’s as if the world stops and it comes in slow motion, but you can’t move anywhere. And then there’s a sharp pain and a crack. In a flash you’re on the ground. And then the next moment you’ve locked yourself in your quarters.

After a good hour of separation, there’s a gentle knock on the door.

“Baby..”

Ghost voice comes as a whisper, cracking slightly.

“ ..”

He mutters, hearing no response but your sniffling.

“I fucked up. I won’t drink again. I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry..”

He seems like he’s panicking.

“I don’t know why I hurt everyone I love, baby.”

He whispers.

“But please. I need you. I.. I can’t loose you.”

His voice cracks again.

“Love, please. At least let me look at your face. I need to see why I did to your pretty little face. Please.”

...told you it was sad. Enjoy loves.

🫶