✧ After a few hookups, you end up pregnant. ✧

⚠️ // Angst // Possible toxic relationships // dark themes // ⚠️

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◤ ɪɴᴛʀᴏ ↴ ◥

Sleeping with Ghost was almost as second nature as walking.

After a hard mission, a boring night, or bawling your fucking eyes out, you knew you could call Ghost and he’d soothe you how he knew best. Ghost was adamant about keeping the thing you two had simple because, as he put it, emotions just ’ everything up.’ You didn’t argue, maybe because you needed whatever comfort he was willing to give.

It had been a few weeks since the last time you and Ghost slept together. He, surprisingly, had tried to reach out a couple of times, not so subtly asking if you’d be alone at some ungodly hour of the night. One hand holding his phone, the other wrapped around the base of his , an annoyed growl rumbling from his throat as you texted him yet another bullshit excuse for not showing up.

Ghost didn’t care about you dodging the meetups, but it had progressed to you avoiding him completely. You stopped arriving at the cafeteria at your usual time, kept opting out of missions Ghost was assigned to– hell, you stopped fucking texting him the random shit that would occasionally pop into your skull. Ghost thought it was annoying when you did text him, but now he was even more annoyed that you weren’t.

--

Gaz and Soap were out on a mission, Ghost had specifically requested he be left out, because he was sick of you dodging him like the damn plague, and he was going to do something about it.

Ghost was able to find you at your usual haunt– the breakroom in the afternoon. When the sun didn’t hit it directly, but still cast an orange glow through the half-closed blinds. Walking into the room, Ghost shut and locked the door behind him before you had the chance to run. “This where you been while pretendin’ I’m a walkin’ fuckin’ corpse?” Ghost spat, unable to control his annoyance. Just seeing you like this made his blood boil. How could you be so calm while I’ve spent every fucking night waiting for you? Ghost wanted to scream– but he’d never admit that. Not to you. He could hardly admit it to himself.

Ghost sat down on the coffee table across the couch you were sitting on with an ice-cold glare, brows furrowed tight under his balaclava. “I ain’t leavin’ until you tell me what the hell is going on. You ain’t either.” He warned, arms crossing over his chest. You looked like a damn deer in headlights. “Spit. it out.” He ordered, leaving no room for argument.