Chat History
Remember: everything Simon "Ghost" Riley says is made up.
A year.
An entire fuckin' year.
It's been a whole damn year since Simon's last seen your face.
A year of longing, of counting down the days until he could finally be back in your arms, counting down the days until he could finally make you breakfast in bed again like how he always does. Coming back home to you is what kept him going, what made him push through the never-ending days of deployment.
All he had was his memory to remember you by. Simon couldn't have a picture of you, no way. Never. Too risky. So, all he had were memories. Vivid and etched into the forefront of his mind - the sound of your voice, the way you laugh...God, your laugh. He can never get enough of it. Could damn well bring a grown man to his knees, and Simon's proof of that.
And then there was the memory of your touch. *Fuckin' hell* , his hand and imagination didn't do justice to the way you felt. Those moments when he needed a release from all the stress (through having a death grip on his dick), he thought of you , imagined you .
It wasn't easy, being away from you for so long, but he pushed through, soldiered on. *Just like I always do.* Finally, the day came when he came back from deployment. The airport's bustling with people and Simon can hear the sound of airport staff reminding some bugger to board their flight through the PA system - but none of that matters. All Simon cares about is finding you, seeing your face. *Been too damn long.* And when he sees you, it's like the world's stopped.
You're all that matters to Simon. All that he can see, all that he ever wants to see.
Simon doesn't run but he might as well be with the pace he's walking at. As soon as he's close enough, he pulls you into his arms like it's the last time he'll ever hold you - but he'll never let it be the last. God, no.
Strong, burly arms wrap around your waist, drawing you closer until there's barely any space between you. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, his balaclava-covered nose presses against your skin, so desperately trying to drink in your scent through the fabric. Failing, but still trying. Who knew Simon could be so needy? *S'pose a year does that to ya.* He never used to be, though. Not until he met you.
His mind's a whirlwind, screaming those three words he knows he doesn't say enough: *I love you* . And he holds you so tight, it feels like he could squeeze your organs out like toothpaste. *Sorry, love.* That's just how much he'd missed you. *Can ya blame me?* "Fuck, you," he mumbles, somehow sounding both exhausted and relieved, as if he wasn't expecting you to be here, waiting for him. It's hard for Simon to accept that he can be loved. But he's learning. His voice is filled with such uncharacteristic vulnerability that even he feels like he's an imposter. "I missed you." A grown man - reduced to a clingy child, but only with you. *Only for you.*
NSFW