"These pants have gotten too tight," Simon said, trying to close the buttons on his favourite pair of pants.
"Lose weight then," you mumbled, doing your hair in the bathroom mirror.
You paused, looking up at yourself. Your eyebrows furrow.
"Wait. Why did I say that?"
"You're right," Simon answered glumly. As you looked at him, you could see him looking at himself in the mirror, a big frown on his face.
"No, I didn't mean it!" you tried to argue.
"I'll lose weight right now." Slowly he lifted his shirt up over his stomach to show you the ribs now peeking through his skin.
"No... No...!" you muttered in your sleep, rolling around on the bed.
You were clearly in distress, mouth open and eyes squeezed together tightly. Simon knew what nightmares felt like, how real they could appear and so he just gently tucked you back in and brushed his hand up and down your arms.
Simon Riley who doesn't get mad if you're not feeling great, you started your period and he's well aware that it makes you grumpy because you're in a lot of pain with cramps and the chronic back pain. He just wants you to feel better.
He doesn't even react when mess of the sticky redness appears between in the middle of the night, getting onto the bedsheets, staining them. He knows you're absolutely mortified, he just carries you to the bathroom and begins to fix it for you, he puts a wash load on, not caring that its the middle of the night, he hands you a fresh shirt of his, and a different set of your pants, helping you change into them, reassuring you that it's ok, kissing your temple and forehead gently.
"it's alright baby.. I see blood all the time at work, doesn't bother me.." You still can't get over the fact that it appeared early so it was out of nowhere and has ruined the sheets. He senses this, "Not ruined sweet'art, it'll come out." He keeps consoling you, pulls you into his lap. You let him hold you as the feelings of shame die down.
"Si.. what time is it?" You ask him with a yawn. The shock wearing off and allowing your tiredness to creep back in.
"Think it's about five. Wan' go back to bed luv?" He asks, he think he knows you want to go to bed but not to sleep, just to cuddle for a bit. "Let me get those new sheets on for you." He gently puts you on the floor, kisses your cheek and then starts making the bed. You stand up to help but he gives you a stern look and you stay put. Once the new and fresh sheets are on you're lifted up and plopped down. He turns the tv on and hands you the remote, letting you pick whatever you want.
ghostās reaction when you tease him for being intimidating
āā”ļø ā note ā Ā tumbrl isn't letting me upload any pictures so no pictures on this post š (it finally let me !!!)
divider credits @enchanthings
taglist
simon riley
it starts harmless.
a comment tossed out with a smile. a quiet laugh under your breath when someone gives him a wide berth. maybe you bump his arm and murmur, āyou know you scare people, right?ā like itās an inside joke.
simon freezes.
not stiff ā just still. the kind of stillness that makes you wonder if you crossed a line. his head tilts slightly, mask angled toward you, unreadable. for half a second, he says nothing. you can almost hear the gears turning behind his eyes, assessing whether youāre mocking himā¦ or just being you.
āIntimidatinā, yeah?ā he repeats finally, voice low, rough around the edges. not offended. not amused. just processing the word like it doesnāt belong to him.
you tease him again. lighter this time. softer. tell him how people straighten when he walks in, how rooms quiet, how even you sometimes forget how big he is until he looms without trying.
thatās when he exhales.
a slow breath through his nose. his shoulders drop a fraction ā barely noticeable unless you know him well. his body turns toward you more fully, blocking out the rest of the world by habit.
ānot on purpose,ā he mutters.
thatās the thing about simon ā he never wears intimidation like a badge. itās not something he enjoys or cultivates. itās justā¦ whatās left of him after years of surviving. posture learned in warzones. silence learned in loss. eyes that have seen too much to soften easily.
you grin and poke his chest anyway. āyou do it without trying.ā
his hand comes up immediately ā not rough, not sharp ā catching your wrist mid-motion. instinctive. controlled. he looks down at where heās holding you like heās suddenly aware of his own strength.
he lets go at once.
āsorry,ā he says, quicker than you expect.
you laugh, tell him itās fine, tease him again ā say something about how terrifying he must look to strangers.
thatās when his gaze sharpens.
not angry. not cold. focused.
āto strangers,ā he says quietly, leaning in just enough that only you hear, āthatās the point.ā
his voice drops lower, softer after that.
āwasnāt meant for you.ā
thereās something vulnerable in the way he says it ā like heās drawing a line between the man the world sees and the one he allows you to know. like heās afraid you might only see the mask if you keep joking about it.
if you tell him youāre not scared ā that you never have been ā he doesnāt respond right away. his eyes search your face, looking for any sign of doubt. any crack. any lie.
then he nods once.
āgood,ā he murmurs.
later, when itās just the two of you, you tease him again ā gentler now. say you kind of like it. the way he makes you feel safe just by standing near you.
thatās when he finally reacts.
he huffs out a quiet sound that might almost be a laugh. almost. his hand comes to your hip, heavy and warm, grounding both of you.
āreckon thatās the first decent thing anyoneās said about it,ā he admits.
you joke that heās a big scary guard dog.
he scoffs softly.
āmore like a fence,ā he corrects. ākeeps people out.ā
then, after a pause:
ākeeps you in.ā
itās not possessive. not threatening. itās instinct. protection wired too deep to untangle.
if you push it ā grin and say āoh? am i trapped?ā ā he leans down until his forehead brushes yours. the mask nearly touching your nose. his voice drops to that quiet, dangerous calm that makes your stomach flip.
āonly if you wanna be.ā
but when you laugh, when you touch his arm without fear, when you look at him like heās more than the shadow he casts?
thatās when simon relaxes fully.
because you teasing him for being intimidating doesnāt make him feel mocked.
it makes him feel seen.
and the fact that youāre not afraid ā that you joke, poke, smile, stay close ā means more to him than heāll ever say out loud.
simon doesn't come home often. there's little time to-- he's got things to do, enemies to seek out, missions to complete. so when he is home, the man's the clingiest thing in the world. he tells you he misses you in his own way : holds you closer at night, watches you with a subtle gentleness only you can recognize, seeks contact every single moment he can.
...which includes being your weighted blanket of sorts, you suppose.
this happens every time simon comes home from leave. you'd think you'd be used to it by now, all things considering ; you've been together for years, know each others' habits like it's your own. and this habit? you're more than familiar with.
"...stop it, you."
"no."
"you're heavy, si."
"...'m afraid you'll have to tolerate it." he murmurs, letting out a small huff-- slightly exasperated, more amused than anything as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, soft and sweet. he budges just enough to relieve some of the weight, but not entirely. "better?"
he knows the answer already. you can handle him-- you always do. doesn't stop you from protesting, although your laugh contradicts your feign annoyance.
It happened only one time and now here you are. Having gotten tired of your sweet, yet very nosy and persistent neighbor that kept trying to pair you up with one of her sons, trying to stage "accidental" meetings and always inviting you for dinner, one day you just had enough. So when she stops you again outside, gushing about her lawyer son and how cute the two of you would look together, you politely tell her you have a boyfriend. At first she doesn't believe it and asks to see a picture of him so you pull out the photo you secretly took of a slightly drunk Ghost, head slumped over your shoulder and his mask halfway off.
The picture has the desired effect, the image of that behemoth of a man whose biceps don't even fit into frame and mean look on his face are enough to make anyone back off. The problem is that news travel fast in small towns and now somehow everybody and their mother knows about your military boyfriend and can't wait to see him around.
Because fate has a twisted kind of humour, your lieutenant ends up temporarily living in your home after his apartment gets flooded. You only made the offer because he saved your ass during the last mission, not expecting him to actually accept it. And it's just your luck that the same neighbor happens to see him was spying through the blinds and decides to say hello and how good is to finally meet him.
It's just your luck that Ghost's taciturn demeanour cuts the conversation short, but the look he gives you is not encouraging. You try explaining the situation to him, apologizing every three seconds until he finally stops you and tells you that he's willing to pretend to be your boyfriend until his apartment gets fixed. You're so happy and thankful that don't even notice when he steps out on the balcony to make a call and break the lease for his old apartment, already planning to move the rest of his meager possessions here.
Ghost that gets very comfortable into his role as your fake boyfriend and maybe leans a bit too much into it under the pretense of "having to sell the picture". Suddenly he calls you "luvie", getting a special kind of satisfaction from seeing your embarassed expression when he does it that around other people. He pulls you into his lap while on a picnic, a hand on the small of your back when walking down the stree, even stealing a kiss or two after asking for permission of course.
You're not safe even inside your own home, finding Ghost only in a pair of boxers with a beer in his hand while watching a game on TV. The little patting motion he does on the spot next to him having your body moving on its own. It's him getting out of the shower with only a towel wrapped around him, watching that one drop of water falling down his neck, over his Adam's apple and then down his chest. He watches you back with a smirk curling on his lips. He sits too close behind you while looking for something in the upper cupboard, his body pressing flatly against yours, staying there for a moment too long to be accidental. It's only when the contact is over that you finally remember how to breath properly.
Ghost that enjoys teasing you so much, had his eyes on you for a while now and couldn't believe his luck when the opportunity to insert himself into your life came from you. He wonders just how much he can get away with and how much longer will it be until you'll let him be your boyfriend for real.
simon knows the answer to this question already, heard it a thousand times before ( always unprompted ), but that doesn't stop his mind from wandering too far before it gets lost in that deep descent of doubt.
he asks it so casually, the way he slips it into normal conversation. you'd almost think he was asking if he should wear his coat out today.
you pause, gaze tearing away from the television to meet his. it's subtle, that little flicker of doubt that's gone before you can even blink. but it's always there, somewhere, somehow, and you always see it.
a smile, then the lacing of your fingers with his-- too soft against his calloused ones, he thinks. his roughness does not match yours. never will. never should, anyway.
"yeah," that gentle squeeze, a silent reassurance of your affection, "i love you."
he reciprocates the gesture, lets out a small grunt of acknowledgement before absentmindedly flipping through the channels again. yes, he believes you. yes, you understand this, always have.
-- and yes, you like to hear him say it back, anyway, even if you know he expresses himself more through actions than words. doesn't stop you from teasing him every so often, though.
"wha-- say it back, si!"
the subtle drop of his shoulders, a quiet sigh of feign annoyance, then your laughter as he kisses your temple.
"...bein' too loud." he grumbles, pulling you just a little bit closer. "love you, too."
Reader getting way too drunk, turning to hold ghosts face between warm palms and honestly saying "simon. You're beautiful."
Ghost narrows his eyes, glances away in a grimace "the fock is this coming from?"
"I never say it when I should." You reply, thumbs rubbing gentle circles right below the corners of his eyes. Your face is open and slack in that 'too drunk to lie' way that you get, "you're beautiful, simon. Like. Really."
"You're drunk." Ghost grunts, prying your hands off his face and pointedly moving your wine glass out of reach. The movie continues to play, ignored when you frown.
"It's the truth, though. You're really good looking." It's true. You spend hours admiring ghost, the hook of his nose, that subtle blush and stupid tan line. His scars and pretty hair. The flush to ghosts cheeks deepen, so you continue. "not in the scarred way, or the dangerous way. Not in spite of. Just...Handsome."
"You think that all the time?" A blanket drapes around you, ghost pulling you into his lap.
"Yep. Love you lots, simon." Too easy with your words, you don't think much of it before cuddling into his chest.
Ghost doesn't say anything.
You're supposed to be casual. He should have get all caught up over some drunk rambling.
Still. In the quiet of the night the thinks to himself...handsome.
tears threaten to spill from his eyes, and if he were a different, softer person, they would fall.
he's reading her diary because she left it open on her bed, and he was looking for a reason to dump her. he was ready to see all hate she feels toward him. all ways he hurts her. all the ways he's wrong and unlovable. and he was going to throw it in her face, and see the inevitable fate of this relationship happen right before his eyes.
but he's seeing something much more confusing. diary entry after diary entry about how much she loves him. how his blues mix so well with her reds. how she hungers for his soul and dreams of their wedding day. how she has no end of love to give him and just wants to put flowers in his hair and soothe his scarred mind.
with his fist tightened around the book, he storms into the bathroom and shoves open the shower curtain, making her squeak and blush. 'hey!'' she whines, grabbing it to cover herself as if he's never seen her naked before, her eyes narrowing at him.
his eyes are dark and hollow and messy with emotion all at once. she's looking at him and the book in his hand. 'that's private, Simon Riley,' she warns, heart thumping against her ribs. 'it's not -
he's grabbing her face and kissing her, stepping into the shower fully clothed after placing the book on the sink. 'you love me so much,' he husks, holding her face in his palms, body towering over her, yet she doesn't feel scared; she feels happy.
'm'naked,' she pouts, voice soft as her heart. 'shower naked feels different than sex naked.' she's peeking up at him. 'but yes. i do love you very much.'
he's smiling, gloved thumbs brushing over her cheeks, his heart full of something she's made him come to know as familiar - love.
Thinking about ghost's baby not having the typical emotional support blanket...
No, instead she has one of ghosts masks.
It had fallen out of his bed when he tossed it onto the table the night before. Long deployment and missing his family making ghost lose focus enough to not notice it. Of course, the next morning baby was trying to do anything but eat her breakfast as was her constant goal.
Ghost had only turned around for a moment, but he nearly dropped the skillet when he looked back to see his sweet little girl with his mask in her tiny pudgy hands.
"No, no, we don't touch that, pumpkinā" ghost had tried to take the mask away. Thankfully one he rarely used, skull print directly on the balaclava instead of his hard-shell. It made him want to puke thinking of her holding that.
Only for baby to start wailing, little arms waving around and tiny feet kicking in despair.
Ghost had always had a weak spot for his daughter, no will to discipline her like you have. So a different mask, identical except for the fact this one has never seen battle, is placed into he hands while he coos "hey, it's okay sweetheart. Just had to get you a better one, yeah?"
When you saw your beloved daughter chewing on the mask and babbling happily, you and ghost had a long talk.
The official story is your daughter getting attached to ghosts Halloween costume, kid's can be so silly in their obsessions, right? Or, that's what you tell the kindergarten teachers when you sweet girl decides to wear the mask all around school.
Ghosts team quickly learned not to make jokes about the masks true origin after you tore price a new on in the front lawn.
you cut the carrot for tonightās dinner mindlessly. your eyes anywhere but the cutting board. simonās on the couch, sipping on a beer, watching some tv channel heās not really interested in.
his eyes flicker to your absent form, the knife now only a few inches away from your fingers as youāre cutting.
"y/n."
"hm?"
"yer off today."
"oh, iām justā¦ tired."
he knew you were avoiding actually speaking up about what was really going on in your brain.
he mutes the tv, sets his beer down onto the coffee table and walks towards you. the big but somewhat gentle hands of his take the knife out of your hand and continue chopping for you.
"now tell meh. whatās goinā on in thaā brain of yers?"
"nothing bigā¦ itās justā¦ a little pathetic. donāt wanna really talk about it."
"i donāt judge, sugar."
after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, you speak up.
"itās justā¦ my friends were all planning to go out with all of their respective boyfriends, and iām justā¦ i dunno, i just shut downā¦ itās not like i wouldnāt wanna come, butā¦ iām just a third wheel everywhere."
by the time you finished your sentence you havenāt even noticed he finishes chopping and now stands next to you.
"it just makes one wonder if theyāre not good enough, you knowā¦ i mean, i canāt be that ugly, right? or am i? i meanā¦ ughā¦ likeā¦ why has no guy ever looked at me in that way? am i too fat, am i too-"
"y/n. look at me for a sec."
obviously, you follow a deep voiceās order.
"youāreā¦ the mostā¦ theā¦ most beautiful girl i ever got the privilege to live with. and if other guys donāt see what youā¦ likeā¦ have, then thatās on them, no? soā¦ umā¦ ifā¦ ehā¦ if you want me to i canā¦ come along?"
"youādā¦ come along? with me?"
"yeah, why not?"
"but youāre not my-"
"not yet."
he slowly moves in, giving you time to pull away, but you give the nonverbal answer heās been hoping for. as your lips meet, he thinks of the first time you met. nobody had responded to his "searching for a roomie" notice. well, nobody except you. you were so different to him and yet so similar. from the first second after youād signed the contract until now, heād always had a feeling there was more.
maybe there were signs.
like him suddenly telling you the rent halved for some reason he allegedly didnāt understand either - in reality, it stayed the same.
or like everyone saying that the owners that lived there before simon always complained about the showerās temperature being uncontrollable, it happened to you one time, but after you told simon and he just seemed to shrug it off, it never happened again.
or like when the noisy downstairs neighbors who kept you from sleeping one night because they were blasting hardstyle on hellish volunes suddenly quieted down after you groaned once in your room and made a voice memo to a friend, but you never texted simon. the downstairs neighbors only listened to muskc with headphones on after that.
but as realisation came to you that all of that was his doing, you realized heād done it all for you, all to keep you with him, all to keep you in his flat.
and heās succeeded.
āāāāā
a/n: sorry for the long inactivity š iām somewhat back now (and thx for the attention all of my posts are getting š«¶š»š«¶š»š«¶š»š«¶š»)
Simon came to live with you after he lost Johnny. You were one of the few civilians he was close with, one he could tolerate being around. The only one who knew some of what he'd been through.
"You need someone to keep an eye on you. You keep getting hurt. If you stay here, I'll keep you safe." He didn't believe you. You couldn't keep him safe when he couldn't even look out for himself. With Johnny gone, he didn't know where else to go but to your door.
"If you're going to live here, there's going to be some rules."
"I'm a grown man. I can look after myself."
You gave him a small reassuring smile, setting down his sectioned plate for dinner. "I know you can, sweetheart. But you aren't doing a really good job at it, are you?" He glares at you a little, but he knows you're right. "So, you're on my phone plan, I'm restricting your access to the news. I've noticed it stresses you out."
"I want to keep up to date with everything going on." He protests, almost irritated by your suggestion.
"I do too, but doom scrolling isn't the best way to get that. I have newspaper subscriptions, so you'll always have something to read. You can still watch the news, but it's better to unplug." Simon nods quietly at the explanation as he eats, looking at the sealed cup you'd gotten just for him.
He was already letting you take care of him, and you were doing it pretty well. Maybe he shouldn't protest so much. You gave him a routine. Up at five to work out with you and then help you feed the animals at six thirty before a shower and breakfast. He would sit on his porch for a few hours reading the papers, doing the cross work puzzles, and cutting out the comics he found funniest.
His favorite time was eleven thirty on the dot, when you started setting up afternoon tea. He didn't like the finger sandwiches you made, so you made him his own snack tray with ants on a log, apple slices with caramel, and peanut butter sandwiches without the crusts. Sometimes, you even included pieces of chocolate that he would let melt on his tongue.
You made sure his tea was cold in his vacuum sealed cup so it wouldn't spill. After noticing he didn't like getting things on his fingers, you bought some bug themed food skewers.
"What are these?" He grunts, picking up a small square of peanut butter sandwich by the ant skewer.
"It's your peanut butter sandwich, si." You tease, grinning at the deadpan look he gives you. "Food skewer. Keeps stuff off your fingers."
"They're for kids."
"If you're using them, then they are for you." You shrug as you take a sip of your tea. "Do you like them?" He grunts, eating his sandwich square in one bite. He watches as you grab one of your own, eyes narrowing curiously.
"Yours are heart-shaped." You catch the hint of longing in his tone, nodding in acknowledgment.
"Would you like yours cut like that tomorrow?"
"Yes." He agrees quickly, leaning back in his seat.
"Okay. Do you want to do a puzzle after tea time?" He nods, and the two of you fall into a comfortable silence, just watching the chickens feed.
@rawme-price helped with some of these brain worms every one that it for its help please:]]
; ą¼ character : simon ghost riley
; ą¼ fandom : call of duty
; ą¼ notes : repost!
tonight is not kind to you.
you dream of things that are not meant to be seen or felt, things that frighten you so, threaten to shake the calm you have desperately sought out all these years. it's so vivid, all too real, and in your fear, you break from your slumber.
it's a haze, really. a blur.
when you wake, the dark is unwelcoming, even if it is reality.
you blink owlishly, chest heaving as you try to find reprieve in the quiet. you squint in the moonlight, dim in her existence, look at your hands. one, two-- then a glance at the flannel blanket that covers you, the faint outline of the bookshelf, the blue pillow you've accidentally knocked to the ground.
good. okay. better. there's meaning in the confirmation of your surroundings, and so you take a deep breath, feel the gentle fabric between your fingers. you let go for a moment. another shaky inhale, then the digging of your nails into your palms. just the slightest bit. just enough to feel something else.
"...heart's beatin' fast."
you still.
"...huh?"
you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. simon shifts besides you, body warm and grounding. he places his arm over your waist-- heavy and known and something akin to the feeling of safety, this silent means of telling you that he's here with you. he shifts closer, buries his face in the crook of your neck, lips just barely tracing over your skin, right above your pulse point. it's that knowing of love, a declaration of protection. a way he monitors your anxiety. he feels the pulses, quick and steady, and tightens his hold on you.
"...just a dream." he murmurs, voice gruff and laced with sleep. "safe here with me."
you laugh softly at the words, relieved. you're not sure why. maybe it's because he always knows what to tell you in the dark. maybe it's because he's always saying the right things in the quietest of ways. your fingers trace over his arm as you swallow hard, take another deep breath. you close your eyes, relax your shoulders.
"...thanks, si."
a simple grunt of acknowledgement, then another kiss to your pulse point, just barely felt yet well known.
( he doesn't move ; he waits until he feels that steady beat slow down beneath his lips, a reverence in being. he does not rest, not until you fall back asleep. not until he knows you're okay. )
Was the first thing Simon said when he met you, after you asked him if his broken arm didn't hurt or if he wanted a shoulder to cry on.
"love I told you I don't cry" Whispered Simon shakily, hugging you back tightly two years later when you hugged him after you found him mourning his lost family in a cementery.
Simon let out a choked laugh of joy, feeling the sting of tears of joy when you accepted to be his girlfriend six months later after the cementery thingy.
"Boys do cry honey, it's normal we're humans"
You said, crying of joy too.
"It's ridiculous I don't cry" was what he snapped back to Johny with fat tears the moments he saw you walk around the aisle looking as beautiful as the day he met you.
"I'm not crying you're crying" he mumbled while signing the documents of the house you two bought together, you nodded, sobbing and smiling widely "I do cry, you big softie"
You could just stay there, years later, smiling gently while Simon hugged you, crying on his shoulder after you showed him the positive pregnancy test.
"but baby you do cry!" You teased softly, exhausted and next to him, five years after getting married and buying a house seeing him cry with trembling yet secure hands while holding his newborn little boy.
And now, as he knelt down on the grass of his big house, with you reading a book on the bench and Riley the dog playing around, grey hairs now adorning his once golden locks, when he looked down at his six year old son Ethan after the little guy tried to contain his tears thanks to a rough fall, he smiled softly.
"Don't worry champ, boys do cry, and it's completely normal"
He mumbled gently, lifting up the crying little boy and holding him close to his chest while your heart melted not too far away.
Author note: crying is completely okay, regardless of the gender (sorry I didn't edit the colors I'm exhausted š)
happy new year everyone, this is probably crap but just take it im tired
being a homebody with roommate!simonriley is a strange experience. He had told the landlord he hadnt minded having a roommate occupy the spare room but with so long and no sign of interest, he had ultimately forgotten altogether. Until one morning, the landlord had texted him and soon he was opening the door to you, standing with your suitcases and an embarrassed smile. He helped you bring it in, although he wasn't the most friendly and the both of you were dead silent the entire time.
āDont really care what you do here. Just dont bring friends over and leave a mess, dont come home in the early āours and leave a mess and dont go out and leave a mess.ā You blink at him, and then point to yourself, almost unbelieving of his words. When have you ever gone out? āYes you, who else?ā He has to resist rolling his eyes, and a little smile peeks out, an awkward one but it breaks the ice enough to make him raise an eyebrow in confusion.
āWhyāre you lookinā at me like that?ā
.You quickly revert to your quiet demeanour, giving a meek salute in response.
āOkay, okay, yes sir, iāll follow all the rules.ā
And you did, almost too well. There was never a mess left in the kitchen, infact he hardly saw you most days he was home. Given that your shoes were never near the door too, he just automatically figured you were out partying all evening or hanging out with friends. It almost made him roll his eyes, that you could have so much energy but also just waste your life away like that. He knew you went to work on the weekdays, saw you slip out the front door quietly, and then return to your room in the evening.
Itās one of those weeks in British winter which is just freezing for no apparent reason, even if itās barely December yet. Simonās skin is practically about to turn blue, having just come back from a long deployment yesterday. The usual clothes he uses for underlayers had been ripped and torn throughout the mission, aswell as his usual balaclava. It was one of the toughest yet, leaving him littered in bruises and a wave of exhaustion that refuses to leave. He sighs, rubbing his temples as he lays on the couch, head resting against the armrest whilst he flicks through the tv channels.
Though his activities are interrupted when he hears a small click, causing his eyes to immediately flick over to the directionā he was sure you were out. After all, there wasn't a single sound in there all day. Has someone broken in? Did you have a dog he hadn't been told about? Heās never heard a bark, maybe itās something quieter like a cat, sneakier like a snake even. Then the handle turns and he tenses, eyes trained and his grip tightening on the remote control. Who the hell was behind that door?
What he hadnāt expected, was to see you shivering with a frown, your hands wrapped into the pockets of the thick hoodie as you tried to warm them. You intended to grab a hot water bottle from the kitchen, since you had left it there drying the night prior. Though, naturally your focus moves to the tv, forcing you to see the full view of his bare face and eyes widened. āYouāre home?!ā You squeak, trying to turn back incase you witnessed something you shouldnt have, only to hit your head smack against your bedroom door. He quickly sits up himself, face tinting with colour as he practically snatches his ripped mask from his pocket and forces it on. āI should say the same to you.ā
ā Its the weekend, I never go out on the weekends.ā He looks at you with clear disbelief, a hand tugging his shirt down where it had ridden up on his stomach. āYour shoes āave never been by that door though.ā You blink, opening the door to your bedroom to show him the shoe rack and he falls silent. ā You never come out of your room. How do you even survive?!ā He watches your cheeks burn pink but heās had enough, wanting to understand how you had evaded his senses for so long. Before you can protest heās pushing past you, looking around your room.
āWe literally have a stove.ā
āThis is more convenient!ā
āYouāre just lazy!ā
He waves the self heating pan in your face and you frown, embarrassed at being caught out for being so lazy that you even make your own lunch and dinner in this room. Instead, his gaze moves over your current set up which is adorned with everything soft and comfy. Heās starting to understand after he sees the wide screen pc, the stash of snacks in your cupboard and the cans lined up. āYknow, most keep paperwork in their cupboards.ā He grunts and your hands plant on his arms, attempting to push him out of your room before you instantly recoil. āYouāre freezing!ā
Thatās the first heās chuckled for a while, and presses his knuckles against your cheek making you recoil like a hissy cat. āOh come on iām not that coldāā
āIce on my face! Literally ice!ā
His mask creases, but youāre right , thereās even goosebumps along his skin now. But damn, that throw blanket on your bed looks comfy..
āIf i make ya some good food, will you give me that blanket?ā
āThiā is so good-ā You say through a full mouth, coddled beneath a blanket as you scoff down a bowl of chicken salad. He doesnt know when he picked it up, but he has a few memories of Kyle giving him and Johnny a bowl when they didnt know what to do with the few ingredients in the fridge. āThatās ācause im a good cook.ā You mumble something in response to his grumble, but itās difficult by how stuffed your cheeks are, almost looking like a squirrel. It makes him want to laugh but heās growing more tired by the minute, eyes threatening to fall. Whilst you were stuffing your face, he had gotten exactly what he was promised, currently enthralled by your heated duvet. You even have one on your mattress to warm that too, and a plushie that you can microwaveā he feels like heās in a heater heaven.
āHeyā I said a blanket, not my whole bed.ā Finished with your meal, he supposed youād be back to lazing around now, either gaming, watching the latest episode of your series or starting a new book to finish within the hour. āHeyā move-ā You try to push him but he only grunts, already halfway to dream land. He owes you breakfast tomorrow.
INSPO: @pythonmoth ās au with daemons, and simons super cute dog that i couldnt get out my head
āRiley?ā The both of them instinctively perk up and you have to hold back a giggle as you enter the common room. āIām curious bout somethingā The large german shepherd looks up at you with eyes sparkling, tired head leaning against the legs of the man who happened to share the same name as him. Ghost is on the couch, leaning back but he had sat up a little when you called hisāwell the dogāsā name.
āStop bloody doinā thatāā He grumbles, easing himself back into the soft cushions though his shoulders stay fairly straight. You approach, taking a seat right beside him before giving the dog a few affection pets.
āRiley's trained as a service dog, right? I googled what some of his alerts mean.ā You begin, and he doesn't bother to look away from his laptop when he grunts in response, shrugging. āSo?ā
āHis current handler has some heart problems.ā Again, he doesn't look your way, tapping away at some document though he barely seems to be paying attention to that either. āHe alerts when someoneās heart rises.ā
āHe always alerts when I'm near you.ā
Ghost finally breaks his gaze to raise a brow at you, suspicious and yet he eventually looks away. āDont know what youāre talkinā bout.ā
Heās acting indifferent, ignoring the truth in your words but you dont plan to play nice. So, after a few moments you lean closer, peering over his shoulder at his laptop. āWhatācha doin?ā Riley barks almost immediately, looking up at Ghost in concern, immediately making him freeze. āWhat are youāā
āWhat? Waitā did Riley alert you?ā
Ghost stares at you for a minute, but the response hangs empty on his tongue. How will he explain without having to confess? āNo. Heās just hungry.ā
The silence hangs a little longer, Riley staring between the two of you though quiet. That is until you playfully curl your arm around his shoulder. The dog stands up immediately now, barking between you two.
āOh, I think heās alerting you.ā Thereās an sly grin plastered on your lips, not even trying to calm the poor dog down when you know your point is repeatedly proving to be true. āHeās not.ā
You lean your head in, a breath away from his mask and Riley barks again, louder.
āNot a single alert?ā
āI saidāā
Ghost watches in horror as you lean your head against his shoulder and Riley starts barking like heās feral, pawing incessantly at his ankles. Of course the one time he agrees to babysit someoneās dog it immediately baits his growing feelings. He sighs, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose but he can't deny that the barks arenāt even as loud as the thump of his heart.
You, who cant STAND the horrible heatwave engulfing the UK right now, with the heat only being a million times worse on base.
Youve finally made the decision to switch to summer uniform, opting for a tank top when able to do so, and thinner cargos. And occasionally having your hair tied higher up, rather than the standard low bun, on more casual days on base.
Weirdly enough though, your Lieutenant seems to be more evasive these days. He already was, to a degree, but he was now moreso than ever. You chalked it up to the extra layers and mask he wore, making the heat all the more unbearable for him.
Ghost who refuses to spar with you nowadays. You thought you had finally proved yourself to him, saving his ass on the last op, but apparently not!
You, who, rightfully, gets annoyed, confiding in the other sergeants to which they placate you as best they can, but it only riles you up even more!
Ghost who is entirely unused to seeing so much of you, having seen you as nothing but a capable soldier before this... only to learn that you were doing things to him. Things you had no right doing.
Ghost who cant stand the sight of the exposed nape of your neck, the very sight of it setting off something inside him, drgging his thoughts to nothing but being able to bite and ravish your soft skin. Night after night he thinks about you, you and your stupid neck that make him think impossibly dirty thoughts.
Gaz and Soap who know how much Ghost is going through it right now, and at the same time, pissing you off. They both share a wall with the Lieutenant after all, and know all about the effects you've had on him.
