The Modern Warfare 2 Collection │MW2 x Reader

A Family of His Own [Ghost x F! Reader]

Summary: After an impromptu interaction with your baby niece, Ghost begins to wonder if there's more to life than his career; if all that he's ever dreamed about could finally come true...

Warnings: Pure Unfiltered Fluff, Suggestive Non-Explicit Content, Implication of Smut, Female Reader.

Simon – the ghost at the feast – occupied your sibling's living room. You stood nearby, a stone's throw away preparing dinner with your copy, who busied himself drying a glass. Yet you were not close enough for Simon's liking. Your niece lay in a makeshift crib close to him. Too close.

The bottom half of his face remained covered, a skeletal imprint pressed to the material, a second skin. A comfort in this foreign environment. The child made a sound of disgruntlement ever now and again, the not-so-calm before the storm. And Simon ignored every omen, every whimper, every cry, every growing shriek.

Until you couldn't handle it anymore.

You turned to him, potato in one hand, knife in the other, and, with a pleading smile, called to him.

"Babe," you said, and Simon's head snapped in your direction, dog-like. Puppyish. "Would you please keep the little one quiet ?" Your eye twitched. "Just for a minute ?"

His eyes zipped from you to your niece, and, before he could give a reason as to why he couldn't undertake such a task, you'd already turned your back on him, skinning the potato. He sighed, bit the inside of his lip. You knew he couldn't say no to you.

Gingerly, still attached to the sofa, Simon peeked over at the crib. Your niece was beginning to thrash now, dissatisfied with mere complaining. Her cries soared in volume. And, casting a cautionary glance in your direction, Simon saw your rigid silhouette, felt you gritting your teeth. He came back to the babe.

He'd much rather incur the wrath of a child than yours.

And so, he got up onto uncertain legs, his feet almost facing the other way, his escape route, while his top half remained dedicated to the cause. Fighting off the anxiety that manifested in his system like a poisonous gas, Simon began his journey. With each step, the cries grew more shrill, less so of the child's capacity to create more noise and rather the safety of distance between Simon and herself decreasing. He found his eyes narrowing, resisted the urge to plug his ears.

His shadow loomed tall over her as he came into view. He peered into the crib, swaying as he remained but a step away, yet straining as not to have to take the final step. The baby opened her eyes and looked out of her temporary home.

She was tiny. The smallest thing Simon had seen since...well, forever.

Since his own nephew was a baby.

Simon winced, the aroma of the distant memory burning his mind like spoiled cooking.

Your niece, eyes large and wide, grew quiet as Simon's silhouette became un-anomalous, usual. Her mouth moved to form shapes of words she didn't know yet purely because she could, lacking any real intention or meaning. The noises that erupted from her grew thin, as if losing all purpose, as she looked upon Ghost.

The two looked upon each other. Nothing was said. Nothing human, at least.

Simon tore his eyes from your niece and, looking to you, remembered his duty. He sighed, returning to the babe. She continued to stare at him, eyes as big as saucepans – as if trying to see as much as possible.

Simon, with twitching hands and a vagrant dread colonising his chest, reached into the crib. Withdrew the fragile thing from within and held her in his arms.