I Feel It In My Bones (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader)

Dead and Buried

This chapter contains implied past SA and non-con. If anyone is uncomfortable with this, I can send a copy without it - just ask!

Simon's lidded gaze, slowly, moved from the paper in your hands and up to your face. The air between you crackled with unspoken tension. Without hesitation, he closed the distance, his steps purposeful, until he stood beside you. His frame, towering over the desk, was almost trembling. When he spoke, it was in a low, resonant rumble, a deep growl that demanded an explanation. 'Where— what the fuck are you doing with those?' His eyes bore into yours.

The papers felt like lead in your hands. Your voice, when it emerged, was hoarse. 'Simon... are these about you?'

The way he was looking at you was unlike anything you would ever expect from him. Those eyes flicked back to yours, a sharp glint to them, like a blade unsheathed. 'Yes, they are. Now, where the fuck did you find them?'

Just like his gaze, his voice carried an edge, and you knew you would get hurt if you weren't careful. Your mouth went dry. 'They were on my desk when I came in.'

He scoffed. 'I don't believe that.'

Indignation and desperation surged within you, a sweep of heat through your veins. 'They weren't here before I left,' you insisted, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. 'Someone put them here. They broke into my room.' You picked up one of the articles, your fingers gripping it with unnecessarily tight. With deliberate emphasis, you pointed at a section of text. 'I didn't even know your fucking last name, Simon. How could I have found these by myself?'

Simon's expression tightened, the muscles in his jaw working. His gaze remained fixed on you, the room seeming to close in as his piercing gaze bore into yours. He took the paper from your hands, and you felt the sharp slice of a paper-cut run through your index finger as he removed it from your grasp. 'You shouldn't have seen those.'

You curled your hand into a fist at the stinging sensation and looked up at him, your voice lowering in volume. 'Simon, these articles make it look like you did it - what happened?'

Pain and unbridled rage tore across his face, the lines etching deep furrows on his forehead. 'I didn't kill them,' he ground out, his fists clenching involuntarily, the paper he held crumpling into a tight ball. 'I didn't do it, but I was too late to save them.'

Alarm surged through you. 'Wait, I didn't mean–'

But before you could say anything else, he was making his way back across the room, and slamming the door shut behind him as he left. The sound was to harsh it reverberated through the room, trembled the walls, shook your heart within your chest. You remained there, frozen in your seat for a moment, the silence ringing in your ears and left grappling what had just passed. It was as if the door had been slammed shut not just in the physical sense, but in the emotional one too, shutting you out.

After a few moments, you took a deep breath, your concern outweighing any hesitation and thoughts of giving him space. Leaving the scattered papers behind on your desk, you quietly exited your room, and approached Ghost's door further down the corridor. With a sense of unease, you rapped your knuckles against it gently. 'Simon?' you called. There was a beat of silence, and you knocked again. When no reply came, you pushed on the handle, and made your way inside.

You found him standing near the window with his back to you, his hands buried in the pockets of his black hoodie. You approached slowly, as though walking up to a startled animal. As you stopped to stand by the window, making sure to give him plenty of space, you flicked your eyes over him.

The loose fabric of his hoodie seemed to cling to him, and the light highlighted the angular contours of his face, tension playing on his features, his jaw clenched as he stared out into the last of the daylight.