Can’t stop thinking about Simon Riley who doesn’t know what the hell to do with himself when you leave for a week for your friends' bachelorette trip.
He’s used to being away from you. It’s his job. So, he tells you not to worry when you kiss him goodbye on your tippy toes, four days is nothing compared to the months he’s been away.
He grossly underestimated how different it’d be when you were the one gone.
The first day he’s fine, does mundane tasks around the house to distract himself. Mows the lawn, fixes that part of the fence you’ve been asking him too for weeks.
The second, he goes to the pub with Johnny, drinks one too many beers to fill a sudden void, and stumbles home to a terribly empty and cold bed.
The third day feels heavy, like there’s a mass weighing on his chest and making it hard to focus on anything other than you. The phone call he makes isn’t any better.
“Miss you.”
He says it first, quiet and uncertain. The giggle that follows makes his heart tighten.
“Miss you too, Si.”
You whisper it, so soft, and so fucking sweet he wonders how he ever left you to begin with. Hearing your voice should settle him, but it only makes his chest heavier. You should be there with him, sat in his lap, and pressing those words into his skin.
Day four he’s staring at pictures of you in his wallet and brushing his thumb over your face like he’s on deployment. Like it’s been months since he’s seen you and not four bloody days.
He doesn’t sleep that night when all he tastes is guilt. When this is how you must feel when he’s gone. A bed too big for one person, one pair of shoes at the door when there should be two, indents in the couch that aren’t filled.
It’s the first time he genuinely considers leaving the SAS.
a/n: I wrote this because my writing brain is broken 😔 please enjoy ily dearly 😔❤️
Masterlist
~~
The day was awful. For everyone.
The air conditioning in the lower levels of the hospital gave out, slowly wheezing to a tragic end that made way for grouchy patients and overheating staff. The ambulance bay doors were propped open to allow some airflow, which then also allowed a flock of birds to terrorize the Pitt and crack the glass door in south 15. And then Gloria came by with wonderful news that there was still no resolution for the nurse’s strike at Presby, and many of their patients were being rerouted to PTMC to alleviate the burden there.
It was great. Everything was great. Your shift was almost over, and your underscrubs were clinging to the back of your neck, and everything was great. You wished—silently and greedily—that Jack would call out for the night so you could bask in your woes as he held you and spoon-fed you ice cream, but the Pitt needed Jack tonight, desperately, so you couldn’t ask him to baby you.
Well, you could ask, but he would probably say yes, and you liked the night shift staff too much to do that to them.
“What the hell happened in here?” you heard Ellis ask, her backpack slung over her shoulder with casual air. You envied her rested face. “Why’s it so damn hot?”
You grimaced, the expression making your head hurt. “What didn’t happen here?”
“That bad, huh?”
“I mean, I’m sure there’s been worse days. Not sure when those would have happened. Maybe before electricity and the discovery of germ theory.”
Ellis leaned her forearms on the counter by your computer, raising a brow. “Germ theory bad? Damn.”
You finished your blessed last note and slammed the key to lock your account. “Just—maybe screen some patients for bird flu if they’ve been here all day. All I’ll say.”
Ellis blew out a breath as you leaned back in your chair and pressed a hand to your forehead. You needed to drink about a gallon of water to abate the headache permeating along your temples—or maybe three. Jack liked to keep those gross electrolyte packets at your place for days like these, and while you usually had to choke them down and beg him to leave you alone, the sour peach flavor was calling your name.
And so was about 14 hours of sleep wrapped in that hoodie Jack got from some national park you couldn’t remember the name of.
“Let me know when you’re ready to do handoffs,” you called as residents and trickled in, your face in your hand and your eyes barely open. “I’ll be here.”
“And don’t you just look so excited?”
Jack’s voice sent a tiny jolt of energy through you—a really tiny, almost neuron-firing-level of energy. You cracked an eye wider and saw your boyfriend standing where Ellis once was, his expression far fonder and far less filled with disgruntled trepidation.
“I’m thrilled,” you droned out, fighting off the smile working onto your face.
“Yeah, I can tell.” Jack rounded the nurse’s station and leaned over your shoulder, pressing his lips to your temple in a chaste kiss that jostled you around. “Are you good to drive home, or do you need me to have Shen take over for the first half hour?”
“I can drive home,” you scoffed. “I’m tired, not incapacitated.”
Jack hummed by your ear, spinning your chair and touching your forehead with the back of his fingers. “We should get an ice pack on the back of your neck before you head out.”
You swatted at his hand with a breathy laugh, rolling away from his assessment. “You should go get ready for report. Sooner you do that, the sooner I can leave.”
“You told me the AC went out nine hours ago. When’s the last time you drank water?”
“Will you leave me alone?” you exasperated, still laughing, still the happiest you’d been all shift. “Go find Robby. He’s in an awful mood, and if he’s distracted, I can slip out and take care of myself, Dr. Overbearing.”
Jack knocked his head to the side as he looked at you, the fondness still open on his face. He reached into the side pocket of his bag and tossed you his water bottle, giving you a pointed look as he backed away and headed to the lockers.
The day was awful, but as you took a large sip of that damn electrolyte water and thought about the way Jack always looked at you, it felt a little less awful.
Until Robby burst through the elevators with a vendetta.
His ambush started on an uneven playing field. You had a clipboard in hand as you rattled off the vitals of a woman presenting with a kidney infection, the eager intern beside you nodding intently. The air had kicked on about five minutes into your rounds, and you silently cursed it for working just as you were leaving.
“Another hour of observation and she should be good to go. Needs a ride due to the morphine dose,” you rattled off.
“Got it,” the resident relayed back. “For the fracture in north 12, did you say—”
Robby’s voice interrupted the flow of your rounds.
Your name was a harsh strike through the air, and you jumped at his curt shout, your clipboard rattling. The intern stared at you with wide eyes as you waited for the telltale signs of Robby’s approach, but they never came. He wanted you to go to him. That wasn’t great. You’d also never heard him say your name with so much vitriol before, and you couldn’t pinpoint anything throughout the day that would have warranted such a call.
“Um,” you paused. You shot your gaze to the side and considered pretending that you hadn’t heard him, but the entire room had paused when he shouted, so there was really no pretending. “Why don’t you catch up with Dr. King’s handoffs? I only had a few left.”
The intern looked like she wanted to say more, maybe offer encouragement as you went off on your final mission in life, but she only nodded and scurried away, leaving you to parade yourself awkwardly into the hall.
Robby did not look patient or kind or understanding when you got there. He had his hands on top of his head and was staring at the ceiling, his weight bouncing on his toes until the door to the Pitt closed, and you were alone with his frustration. He took in a large breath and looked at you, brows raised.
The silence dragged.
“You know I don’t treat you differently just because of your relationship with Jack,” Robby started, kissing his teeth. “I told you that when you started dating.”
You blinked, unsure where the conversation was heading. You weren’t even sure if half the staff at PTMC knew you were dating Jack; special treatment was not an expectation nor a perk, and you had only recently become more lax in keeping your relationship private.
“What? Robby, I know that. I would never—”
He was already shaking his head, the quickness of his words overpowering your rebuttal. “You fucked up. You fucked up, and I can’t make concessions for you just because of your relationship with an attending. I told Jack that if you were going to make your relationship public, you had to be perfect. If you weren’t perfect, it would—”
“Wait—you told Jack? Why are you talking to him about my career? And you never told me that I needed to be perfect. I didn’t realize my relationship suddenly gave me unreachable contingencies.”
Robby shrugged. “It makes sense. If you make mistakes, it looks bad on him. If you aren’t disciplined properly, it looks like favoritism.”
“Disciplined? What have I done to warrant being disciplined?”
Your body was heating up despite the air feeling cooler than it had all day. Your hands clenched into fists as you ran through the decisions you made throughout the shift, all the patients you’d treated and discharged. Nothing was alarming. It had been the environment, not the caseload, that made this day so chaotic.
“You tell me,” Robby posed, and his nonchalance was starting to piss you off.
An entire day of everything going wrong, and you kept a positive attitude. You had led the interns and taken the grunt work, and you had only eaten about half of a granola bar throughout your shift because of it. You could only recall one major trauma from the day, and you’d been pulled from the hall to assist with it. You hadn’t been part of the intake or the transfer. Everything else had been run-of-the-mill injuries and angry, sweaty patients.
You opened your mouth and closed it a few times. “I—I have absolutely no idea.”
Robby nodded, and you could tell from the redness working up his neck that he was about to blow. He’d been a ticking time bomb all day, something—maybe the heat or the multiple shifts—eating away at him. And you, alone in the hall, were about to be the victim of that repression.
It all blew up at once. Robby was jutting his hands out as he yelled about improperly ordered labs and a missed CT. Then there was something about an incident in the hall with the same patient and letting a med student perform a procedure you shouldn’t have. He paused for a moment when your eyes became glassy, but started up again with a shake of his head because you were a doctor. You needed to know when to take criticism.
He threw his hands up when he shouted about legal action and pressed his tongue into his cheek when you couldn’t answer a question about charting. He didn’t let you get a word in to answer him, but there was also the issue that the case wasn’t yours. You distinctly remembered Santos complaining about the situation earlier in the shift, med student intervention and all, but apparently, Robby was just getting word about it. And you had been incorrectly tied to each mistake.
Silent tears were running down your cheeks as he made the final blow.
“You know, maybe this isn’t where you should be. You’re sloppy now—distracted by your personal life. That’s not what a doctor is. Figure. It. out. Or I’m recommending a transfer because I can’t run my ED with an incompetent—”
“Hey, whoa!” Jack was quickly jogging down the hall, and you blinked at the ground to steady yourself. More tears fell. He stepped in front of you, fingers tenting against Robby’s chest and pushing slightly. You hadn’t realized how close he had gotten while he yelled. “Wanna tell me why the hell you’re talking to her like that?”
Robby laughed—a mean laugh. “Fuck, how ironic. You come to her rescue when she can’t handle it? She messed up, Jack. Multiple times. She deserves to hear it.”
You saw Jack’s shoulders tense through your blurry gaze.
“What the fuck are you talking about? We don’t talk to any of our doctors like that. Calling her incompetent—what’s going on with you?”
“She missed basic signs. Didn’t run the tests she was supposed to and couldn’t figure out how to teach the med students the fundamentals. She’s been too busy cozying up at your apartment to—”
“Watch yourself,” Jack snapped in a low tone. “This is about the medicine, but it could pretty quickly be about something else.”
You let out a shaky breath, begging the tears to stop, but it was like a dam had cracked from the stress of the day, and being yelled at for several minutes was not something your nervous system could regulate. You clutched your scrub top in your fists and counted your breaths, feeling pathetic and angry in each of your movements.
“Can’t seem to separate them with her,” Robby accused. “Even now. I can’t teach my senior resident without her boyfriend getting in the way.”
“That wasn’t teaching. You were berating her in the hallway. She never cries, and she hasn’t stopped since I got here, so, Robby, you need to back the hell up and reassess.”
There was more silence, the two men staring each other down, and then Robby slapped his hands against his thighs and shot out a quick “find me when she’s ready to take accountability,” before harshly pushing his way back into the Pitt. Your tears had finally begun to slow as the heat in the hallway dissipated, but you felt them well up again when Jack turned to you and hushed out a gentle sound.
“C’mere, it’s alright,” he muttered, yanking you against his chest. You pressed your face into his shirt and tried again to calm your breath, latching onto the soap and detergent and the feel of his body against yours. He held you for a moment and then spoke close to your ear. “The hell was that about?”
You gripped the material along his back. “Wasn’t even my case,” you hiccuped, words uneven. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”
“Probably because you had the shift from hell and then got screamed at.”
You felt Jack tuck your hair back from the stickiness of your face and kiss you where his touch lingered. Your eyes fluttered shut. “Maybe I deserved it.”
Jack pulled away, a frown etched on his face. “You just said it wasn’t yours.”
“It wasn’t.” You bit into your lip and looked down at his sure hands along your waist. “But maybe he was right, and I’m distracted by our relationship—being a bad doctor and not working how I’m supposed to. I mean, you’re here, comforting me, and anyone else would have had to take what Robby said and get over it.”
“Robby wouldn’t have had that argument to use against anyone else,” Jack countered, palms running flat along your head until they cradled the back of your neck. “He’s pissed about something else, not you. You’re a damn good doctor. If workplace relationships jeopardized that, he would be an issue too.” Jack’s jaw flexed, and he muttered a quiet, “Hypocrite,” to the air beside him.
You were vaguely aware that Robby hooked up with a nurse from admin. Some of your anger flickered back to life at the reminder of his distracting relationships, but your head was pounding, and Jack kept scanning your face for any sign of happiness, his brows furrowed and his face wincing, so you sighed and tried to play along. When the twitch of your smile was mirrored on Jack’s face, it felt worth it to try and forget.
“Are you comparing me to Robby’s late-night hookups?”
“Never,” Jack whispered, pulling you closer and slotting his mouth against yours. “You’re my whole world, baby.”
You huffed, clutching his wrists. “Yeah, well, your whole world has a puffy face and just got reamed out by your best friend, so I need a couple of minutes before I can finish my handoff report.”
“Want to sit in my truck for a while?”
“Do you still have the gushers I left in there?”
“Why do you think I offered?”
You sat in Jack’s truck for approximately ten minutes, eating every last one of the gushers in the oversized bag Jack bought you on a road trip a couple of weeks ago. The air conditioning blasted the heat from your face, and you downed an entire water bottle he had left for you in the door. And while you recalibrated, Jack found Robby.
“Got a sec?” Jack barely asked, sweeping past Robby to meet back up in the hall. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited for his friend to let the door swing behind him.
“Look—” Robby started. “I get that she’s your girl, and it can be difficult to—”
“Wasn’t her case,” Jack interrupted, expression as neutral as he could get it. “It was Santos’. She wasn’t going to tell you that, but I will.”
Robby paused, nodding jerkily. “Okay. Okay, my bad. I’ll talk to her.”
“You will.”
Robby eyed Jack. “But my point still stands. She needs to be able to take whatever this ED throws at her. She can’t have you swooping in to protect her.”
Jack pursed his lips, nodding back at Robby to make the space feel equal. “Robby, I respect you. A lot. You’re one of the few people left that I’ve cared about for most of my life.” He took a step closer. “But I’ll protect her from what she needs protecting from.”
The air between them was heavy and uncomfortable, and Jack couldn’t remember a time it had ever felt like that. Maybe a few months after his wife died and he lashed out. Maybe when Robby wouldn’t ask for help and Jack forced it a little too hard. Or maybe it had never felt like this—with Jack on the offensive, unwilling to let anything slide.
Robby must have felt it too. “Heard,” he affirmed.
“Good.” Jack went to leave the hall, patting Robby’s shoulder as he went. But he felt there was more to say, so Jack paused, looking at the wall behind Robby’s head. In a matter-of-fact tone, he said, “And if you ever make her cry like that again, I will beat the shit out of you.”
Robby’s head turned to look at his friend fully, and Jack met him there. He lifted the side of his mouth in a fleeting smile, patted him on the shoulder once more, and then left Robby in the hall.
inexperienced!simon admiring you after finishing inside... putting his head on your thigh and keeping your legs spread so he can trace with a couple of fingers. grunting to himself when you push out the seed he ends up smearing around.
"didn't know somethin' could look this nice..." simon trails off, completely serious, pupils are still blown wide from how it felt to slick himself out of you. you're still pulsing a bit, simon gulping at the sight. "s'it weird i wanna taste myself? like from you while it's oozin' out like this?"
"not weird," you shake your head, stretching your arms with a peek down his way. "you can try right now, if y'want. i don't mind..."
simon drags his stare back down to where he's spilling out of you in wet globs. blinking once and then hovering closer. his tongue starts with hesitant licks, soft slurps. swallowing a few times to see if he likes it.
"oh, shi–simon," your groans choke out at the feeling of his mouth melting onto you, his eyes shutting to keep eating at you like he'll never get the chance again.
"f-fuck, s'good," he slurs, lips smacking with loud smacks as it's still latched onto you. the whites of his eyes show when his eyelashes flutter. "w'tste gud."
soulmate first words au where Simon grew up with the words “oh my god, please, don’t.” plastered across his arm in dark black ink. since the moment he could read, he’d been terrified of what that meant. he’d heard those words from him mother enough times when his dad came home drunk and swinging fists towards anything that moved, he’d heard them in back alleys while undercover, some poor woman being groped by a man twice her size, and he’d even heard it once or twice from the poor fucker he’d put a bullet in after interrogations gone wrong. Every time he flinches, wondering if that was his one shot at something good he’d just killed in cold blood. Fitting, for a bastard like him, or so he told himself.
It wasn’t until a night off with the team in some sweaty, sticky bar that he runs into you. As much as he tries to ignore the girl on a shitty date who keeps pushing the man’s hands off her ass and fake laughing at his boring jokes, it grates at him for reasons he can quite grasp. Later, he’ll catch the tail end of a screaming match outside the bar. One that has your date storming off, and you sinking onto the grimy concrete in your nicest outfit. He’ll watch from the shadows, flicking the ash off a cigarette before finally saying, “Want me to kill him for ya?” and when your eyes shoot up to the stranger in disbelief he tacks on, “free of charge.”
He almost can’t make it out through your laughter, wet with lingering tears. “oh my god, please, don’t.” you chuckle, “i wouldn’t last a day in prison.” between the burning on his arm, exactly where those dreaded words are, and the way the air feels like it’s been punched straight from his lungs, simon can’t muster up a reply fast enough.
You, on the other hand, have a smile slowly forming as you rub your own burning mark. “Do you know how worried my parents were when they saw what this said? They put me in preemptive therapy and everything. Thought I’d end up in a gang or something.” The man reaches a hand out, offering to help you stand. “You’re not are you? In a gang I mean?”
Another puff of smoke leaves his lips in what you think might have been the beginning of a laugh. “No, military. Close enough, though.”
Dusting yourself off, you sneak a closer look at the shadowed stranger. your soulmate, a voice inside flutters with childish glee. “Well damn, there go all my mob wife aspirations.”
He sighs, and steps closer to you, just within the light of a flickering street lamp. Now, you can make out his features. Scars cover every inch of exposed skin, twisting and mangling what might have once been a fair face. Under your gaze, he waits cautiously, “Sorry to disappoint.” A double meaning you catch immediately.
You motion back to the bar the both of you had been in earlier, then close your fingers around his with a tug, “Make it up to me, then?”
The first time Simon sees you, you’re halfway up a mechanic’s chest and tearing him to pieces.
“You had one job,” you snap, voice cutting through the hangar like a blade. “One. And you still managed to screw it up so badly I’m wondering if you did it on purpose.”
The man—built, older, clearly outranking you in everything but nerve—doesn’t even try to argue.
Because you don’t let him.
You step closer, boots loud against the concrete, chin tipped up like you’re staring down a giant instead of barely reaching his shoulder.
“I don’t care what rank you think protects you,” you continue, quieter now—worse, somehow. “If that bird fails out of the air because of your laziness, I will personally make sure your career ends in a broom closet.”
Silence.
Thick.
Heavy.
A few heads turn. No one interferes.
From across the hangar, Ghost watches.
Still.
Silent.
Hooked.
There’s something wrong with him, he knows that. Always has been. What he endured growing up and years of war don’t leave a man right. But this—this sharp-tongued, five-foot menace dressing down grown men like they’re nothing—
Christ.
His fingers twitch at his sides.
You don’t even raise your voice again. You just look at the mechanic, unimpressed, like he’s already beneath you.
“Fix it,” you say flatly. “Or get replaced.”
Then you turn on your heel and walk off like the entire world should part for you.
Ghost exhales slowly behind his mask.
“Who’s that?” Soap mutters beside him, equal parts impressed and terrified.
Ghost doesn’t answer right away.
Because he’s still watching you.
Every step. Every sharp movement. The way you don’t hesitate, don’t soften, don’t care.
“…mine.” he says finally, voice low enough that Soap almost misses it.
୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧
You don’t notice him at first.
Why would you?
He’s just another soldier in a mask, another shadow in a place full of them.
And you don’t waste your time on shadows.
The first time he speaks to you, it’s because you’re arguing again.
“—if you send me that report one more time with missing data, I will assume you’re illiterate and act accordingly.”
“I am your superior—”
“And I do not care,” you cut in instantly. “Fix it.”
There’s a pause.
Then, from behind you—
“Bit harsh, aren’t you?”
You turn.
Slow.
Measured.
Your eyes land on him—tall, broad, skull mask staring back at you like something out of a horror flick.
You don’t flinch.
You don’t hesitate.
You don’t even blink.
“…and you are?” you ask, flat and unimpressed.
Ghost—Simon—feels something snap pleasantly in his chest.
God.
You don’t know him.
You don’t even care.
You’re looking at him like he’s just another problem waiting to be dismissed.
“Ghost.” he says.
You hum, like that means absolutely nothing to you.
“Great,” you reply. “Then you can mind your business, Ghost.”
And you turn your back on him.
Just like that.
He’s done for.
Completely.
Utterly.
Gone.
୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧
It starts small.
He notices things.
The way you take your coffee—black, no sugar, always too hot.
The way you pinch the bridge of your nose when you’re irritated (which is often).
The fact that no one touches you—no casual brushes, no friendly pats on the back—because you’d probably bite their hand off.
Good.
That suits him just fine.
He doesn’t touch you either.
Not yet.
But he stands closer than necessary.
Speaks to you more than he needs to.
Finds excuses.
“You missed a detail in your report.” he tells you once.
You snatch it from his hand, scanning it.
“…no I didn’t.”
“You did.” he replies calmly.
A beat.
You squint at it.
“…oh.”
Silence.
Then you look back at him, narrowing your eyes.
“…don’t get used to being right.”
Ghost feels something dangerously close to a smile pull at his mouth under the mask.
୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧
The others notice.
Of course they do.
“L.T.’s gone soft.” Soap whispers one day.
“Not soft..” Gaz mutters back, watching as Ghost silently sets a fresh cup of coffee down beside you before you even ask. “Worse.”
“Obsessed.”
You still don’t give him much.
A glance here. A clipped response there.
Sometimes you let him stand near you without telling him to piss off.
Sometimes.
And for Ghost?
It’s everything.
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The shift happens on a bad day.
Everything’s gone wrong.
Reports missing. Equipment delayed. Someone incompetent breathing too close to your oxygen supply.
By the time Ghost finds you, you’re alone—finally—but you’re pacing, jaw tight, hands clenched.
“Problem?” he asks quietly.
“Several,” you snap, not even looking at him. “All fixable if people weren’t useless.”
He hums.
Steps closer.
You don’t tell him to stop.
That’s new.
“They bothering you?” he asks.
You scoff. “They bother me by existing.”
A pause.
Then, softer—sharper in a different way—
“…I don’t need help.”
“I know.” he says.
You finally look at him.
There’s something in your expression—not soft, never that—but tired. Frayed at the edges.
He tilts his head slightly.
“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have it.”
You stare at him like you’re trying to figure him out.
Like he’s a puzzle you didn’t ask for.
“…you’re weird.” you decide.
“Been called worse.”
Another pause.
Then you sigh—short, annoyed—and scrub a hand over your face.
“…fine,” you mutter. “You can stay. Just don’t talk.”
Ghost nods his head.
Steps into your space.
Stays.
From then on It’s over for everyone else.
Because Simon Riley—silent, deadly, untouchable Ghost—
is yours.
He brings you coffee without asking.
Stands behind you like a wall when you’re tearing someone apart.
Fixes problems before they reach you.
And if anyone dares to speak to you out of line?
They don’t make that mistake twice.
୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧
One day, you finally ask him.
“Why are you always around?”
He looks at you.
Really looks.
And for a second, something raw slips through the cracks.
“Because I want to be.”
You narrow your eyes.
Suspicious.
“…that’s it?”
“That’s it.”
A long pause.
Then—
“…weird..” you repeat.
But you don’t tell him to leave.
And Ghost?
He’s never been so completely, irrevocably owned in his life.
No thoughts just ghost who has zero clue how good he is in bed...
He crowds you against his bed, either unaware or uncaring of just how much strength he's slinging around. Ghost envelops you in his presence, breath hot over your skin, hips thrusting into you with a "does it feel good? Like this, right? Like this?"
Every desperate question is accompanied by a thrust right against that sweet spot inside you. He'd already spent so long stretching you open, terrified to hurt you, that all your nerves feel alight with sensation. The slick slide of his cock in and out of you leaves you breathless and clutching at the sheets.
"What? Am I doing it wrong? C'mon, love, work with me–" he groans, head tucked into your shoulder, using one large hand to push your hips into a different angle that makes your mind melt.
"Shit– si– ahh!" You try to tell him yes yes it's so good so fucking good, but all that comes out is little stuttering gasps.
"Mhhh you feel so good– christ, love– is it good? Am I doing good?" Ghost licks against your neck, almost on instinct, brows knit together because you're still not saying anything!
Your whole body draws tight, orgasm crashing over you when ghost changes tactics to grind as deeply as he can into you for a second before thrusting again. Ghost genuinely yelps, arms buckling and catching himself only a second before he crushed you, riding it out with you as he warmth floods your stomach.
"Mmhh– sorry– sorry– I know I should've waited–" ghost whines and....keeps thrusting–
"It's okay, I can keep going, yeah?" He nuzzles against you apologetic. Ghost doesn't realize you've already cum, too caught up in his own mind and not recognizing what it feels like.
He keeps thrusting, driving you both into overstimulation. You can't manage to get a word out, not between the way he saws into you with each sob, and the kisses he presses to your lips frantically.
You either have to wait for ghost to realize or to tire himself out...and...well...he's an SAS operative for a reason. You might be here all night.
Ghost, to everyone's intense confusion, has started to wear perfume.
Yes, honest to god perfume. It's obvious to anyone who stands close to him for more than five seconds. A subtle sweetness to his presence, marked by a fruity and dessert-like undertone.
No one understands why the hell he's decided to do this, maybe just to fuck with Everyone. That is, until ghost decides to bring you out drinking with the guys after weeks of you begging.
"Oh! You lot are simons friends, right?" You smile when you meet them, insisting on hugs instead of the overly formal handshakes because "don't be silly! You keep my boy alive, you're practically family!"
With each hug handed out, a quick inhale and sudden realization dawns on the teams face. You pull away to attach yourself to ghosts side, coralling him into the booth for optimal snuggle position.
Lingering on the guys, the faint scent of sweet strawberries.
"Hm? Oh, yeah, I love strawberry scented stuff!" You answer when kyle tries to subtly interrogate you, barely hiding his amusement. "I've got a body wash, and lotion, and this really nice sugar scrub! Oh, it's amazing, i think they make othet scents, you should try it–"
The entire time, you're glued to ghosts side like an affectionate puppy.
Ghost hasn't been wearing perfume, you're just a very touchy partner, and it seems ghost can never say no to you.
...he definitely gets teased the entire week after that.
Price, Soap, and Gaz end up trailing after you mostly because Ghost does.
You take off down the pavement, still shouting, “GHOST! BABY, IT’S OKAY, COME HERE!” and the lieutenant just… goes with you.
Not to protect you from anyone else that might take you hostage in a crime if opportunity. Not silent, stalking wraith of death.
Just this six-foot-four-something slab of muscle in a skull mask, looming at your shoulder, moving wherever you move.
Price falls into step behind him with a frown. “Lieutenant.”
No response.
Ghost’s eyes are locked on you, that black smudge of his gaze tracking every frantic turn of your head, every time you cup your hands and yell for your dog. There’s this weird, dazed, soft look in his posture, shoulders slightly hunched like he’s subconsciously trying to make himself smaller around you.
“LT,” Soap tries, a little louder, jogging up beside him. “You good, big man?”
Nothing. Not even a grunt.
“Christ,” Gaz mutters under his breath, staring at the back of Ghost’s head like it’s grown a second mask. “Did he break?”
You keep calling out, voice a little hoarse now. “Ghost! C’mon, sweetheart! It’s safe, baby, promise! Momma’s okay!”
Ghost stumbles for half a step like the word momma hit him center mass.
Price notices and his eyes narrow. “…What the fuck.”
They round a corner into a quieter stretch of street, cars parked haphazardly along the curb, a narrow strip of grass and a few scraggly trees. You slow, listening hard, chest heaving.
“Ghost?” you call again, the name softer now. “Baby, where are you? It’s okay, I’ve got you. You’re my brave boy, remember?”
There’s a tiny scrape of claws against asphalt from under a nearby truck.
You drop into a crouch, peering underneath. “There you are,” you breathe, voice going syrup thick with relief.
A pair of terrified eyes stare back at you: your dog is cemented to the ground, body low, tail tucked, whole frame trembling. The second your fingers wiggle toward him, he flattens even more, rolling slightly to show his belly in that panicked, submissive way he has when he thinks he’s in trouble.
“Oh, baby,” you coo, immediately dropping to your knees on the cold pavement, uncaring of the blood on your clothes, the dirt, the ache. “No, no, you did so good, sweetheart. Such a brave boy, hiding like that. You are so clever, you know that?”
You shuffle further under the bumper, hand extended, palm open. Your voice turns into full on baby talk. “C’mere, my big strong boy. That’s it, there’s my handsome man. Mommy’s here, yeah? Mommy’s gonna keep you safe, promise. You did so good, Ghost.”
Behind you, Ghost-the-human almost drops.
His knees actually buckle for a second before he locks them, thighs going rigid. There’s a rush of heat down his spine so intense it’s almost nauseating. The praise. The tone. The way you say his name like that.
Soap watches the way the lieutenant’s fingers flex at his sides, the way his breath catches.
“…Oh, fuck,” Soap whispers, a grin tugging at his mouth. “He’s gone.”
Price is silent, taking in the sight of his second-in-command, normally the most controlled, lethal bastard he knows, standing there like someone hit him in the head. Ghost’s head is tilted, shoulders loose, that dangerous tension in him melted into something floaty, hazy.
You finally coax your dog toward you, coaxing, praising, voice soft and delighted.
“There he is! There’s my big brave boy. Look at you,” you croon, running your hands over his trembling sides as he crawls into your lap and buries his face against your chest. “Oh, you’re such a good boy. So strong. So clever. You protected mommy so good, baby, I’m so proud of you.”
Ghost feels it like claws dragging down his spine in the best possible way. Good boy. Strong. Clever. Proud of you.
His vision goes a little fuzzy at the edges. He wants..: God, he wants to just tip forward, stretch out on the pavement behind you, belly up, throat bared, let you pet your nails through his hair and call him a good boy too. The way his cock is straining against his zipper is actually bordering on painful now, every sweet little murmur from you sending another hot spike down his spine.
He shifts his weight, trying to adjust himself as subtly as possible. It’s not subtle.
Soap chokes on a laugh. “He’s actually gonna pass out.”
“Shut it,” Price growls, but it’s half hearted. Even he can see it: the way Ghost is vibrating on some weird frequency only your voice is tuned to. The lieutenant’s gloved hands twitch every time you say “boy,” every time you say “brave,” every time you make those soft little soothing noises.
Your dog rolls a bit more in your lap, exposing his belly fully, tail swishing weakly. You immediately start rubbing his chest and neck, praising him with every stroke.
“That’s it, lie down for me, yeah? You’re okay now. You did everything right. You’re such a good boy, my Ghost. My best boy. So strong for mommy.”
Thinking about ghosts [pretty blond curls] again oughh...
"You're really gonna cut 'em?" Your voice is low, soft. Some movie plays on the tv, ghost resting his head on your abdomen. You absently twirl the soft strands through your fingers, already mourning their loss.
"Mh. 'Ave to. I'm back on base in two days." Ghost mutters against you, slow and sleepy.
"But soap gets to keep his mohawk..." you try to reason. You've never seen ghost with anything other than a buzz cut, who could blame you for being a little obsessed?
"Soap looks like an idiot." Ghost grunts, missing the way you experimentally run your fingers through his hair, until you tug and–
"Aaahh–!!" Ghost moans, high and shocked, his whole body jolting.
Silence. Then, with a wicked grin, you tug a bit more, earning a low whimper from ghost "holy shit, simon. Did...did you like that??"
"I– hahh– I don't–" ghost tries, stunned by the sudden and intense wave of arousal that washed over him. He buts his head into your palm like cat asking for more, one hand shoving under his waistband roughly.
"Awww, you do like it! That's so sweet, si!" You coo, tugging at the sensitive hair along his nape. His back arches, hand moving frantically as his toes curl. All it takes is a few more strokes for a wet patch to form on his crotch.
Ghost pants deeply, body going lax again. You've never seen him cum that quickly without you touching him directly. Oh...this is good.
"So...about the hair?" You tease, back to brushing your fingers through it as ghost comes down.
You’re Ghost’s extrovert friend— at least he’s convinced you are anyway and refuses when anyone tells him otherwise. Price was the first one to challenge him, confused when he suddenly said you were so loud all the time and always chatting to him.
“Are we talking about the same person? I’ve never heard them speak.”
He had just deadpanned at his Captain, annoyed he didn't believe him. Is he stupid? Anyone in a five mile radius could hear you when you walked beside him.
The next was Gaz, who looked at him in utter horror when you came up to Ghost and started practically yammering on about one thing or the other. Ghost listened too, of course, adding in his own input every now and then. When you walk off to grab something, Gaz comes up beside him, raising a brow. “Did something happen in base?”
Simon just turns, confused, and his mask lifts up as he raises a brow. “No? Why?”
“They just came running up to you and blurted out a million things.”
“So?”
Gaz feels like he’s the one going crazy now— since when did anyone come up to just chat to him? Since when did you say more than the necessary words to be clear?
So the next time it happened, he grabbed Soap too, dragging him along to witness the scene in the training room. You’re explaining something elaborate to him, matched with wild gestures and dramatic pauses. You could barely even ask them for the latest intel without stuttering twice!
“Hi Ghost!” You grin as you come up next to him in the mess, and he turns towards you, giving his typical grunt.
“What d’ya want now?”
“Was thinking.. you’re not busy tomorrow night are you?” You follow him as he places his food on his tray, taking an extra bread roll to make up for the lack of mashed potato he took.
“Nope. Got paperwork to do though, y’need something?”
You shake your head, pause and then nod adamantly. “Kinda?” He turns back to you in confusion, and you follow up behind, grabbing the bottled water. “You can bring your paperwork, i just need someone to stay with me. Pleaseee..?”
“What could you possibly need me to sit next to you for?”
You bite your lip, trying your best to word it in the most normal way you can but before you can explain further he stops, realising he forgot something. “Take my tray, yeah?”
“Woa—“ You grab his heavy tray in your other hand. “Uhh.. okay?”
“Gonna grab something real quick. Go sit at the table, yeah?”
You gulp, about to offer to come with him but he’s already disappeared. Well, you just need to pick a table right?
Oh.
You turn over to see the rest of his taskforce sitting at the table already. They would usually come later than you and Ghost, so you’d always conveniently leave when you spotted them enter the mess. But today, it seems the plans have changed and you’re stuck right in this one.
”Uh..” You approach the table, with the two trays, and they immediately all fall silent, making you internally grimace.
Meanwhile they were all discussing Ghost’s involvement with you, now wondering if he really was telling the truth. You’ve never approached any of them before, and well, here you were right now.
”Yeah?” Gaz was surprisingly the first to speak up, but he was too damn intrigued, wanting to know if you actually weren't the quiet mouse they had decided you were.
“The lieutenant's tray..” You awkwardly place it down, the soft clatter the only sound heard for a few moments. “He had to grab something.”
“You can sit down aswell, if you want.” Price offers, and they watch as you visibly go over the proposal, trying to decide whether it’d be a good idea or not. Eventually you shyly shake your head, deciding against it.
“It’s fine really. Just doing a favour.”
You’re ready to run away now, only for you to turn and almost collide directly into Ghost who had just returned. “Oh great, thanks.” He takes your tray and places it down beside his before taking a seat. “Weren’t you telling me something?”
He tilts his head towards you, not paying attention to the fact the rest of the team are watching in intrigue when you finally sit down.
“Oh, I forgot.” You shrug politely and stick the carrot in your mouth, expecting them to carry on conversing with you on the side. Hopefully they would.
“You wanted me to come over.”
“Ghost doesnt even come to mine.” Gaz suddenly pipes up, sighing dramatically, only for Ghost to roll his eyes as he pushes his mask up to his nose. “First of all, ya never ask. Second, we all go to Johnny's anyways.” The rest nod in agreement until Soap looks over.
“So what are you guys doing?”
Ghost shrugs, looking over at you and mentally wondering why you haven’t already started telling them your master plan for tomorrow night.
“Nothing much. Just finish paperwork probably.” You mutter out, as if trying to get the attention off of you as soon as you possibly could.
“That’s what I'm doing. You always finish yours early.” Ghost looks towards you now and you wish you could drag him away and tell him to just cut it out! For a lieutenant he sure could be bloody oblivious. So reluctantly you speak, wanting this over sooner than later.
“Was just gonna watch some horror stuff or something. It’s a bit easier to do with someone else.”
“They love this horror game right now.” He hums in acknowledgment, remembering the one you’ve talked about occasionally over the past three weeks. The others listen in intrigue, nodding along, and Gaz starts telling Soap about something similar when Ghost finally says it, a little too loudly. “Arent you going to tell them about the characters and the story?”
You’re positive you must be the shade of a tomato at this rate from how warm the room suddenly has gotten, even if that's not humanly possible. It’s not that you were embarrassed, you just— “What- why would I do that?”
“You do it to me.”
“Yeah but—“
Now they’re all looking at you, and you have no idea what to even do because now not elaborating was the weirder option. Yet still you can't bring yourself too, tired of strange looks or odd follow up questions. Why would you tell them? You’ve never even spoken more than once in conversation with them and they probably had important things to talk about.
“Ghost—“ Gaz begins, attempting to change the subject, when Ghost huffs and shakes his head.
“They yap to me all the time.” He suddenly says, and you know it probably wasn't meant to be rude, but you can't help but feel uncomfortable all of a sudden. Especially with all their guilty looks too.
Ghost stares at you as you continue to stay silent, not comprehending why you’re so quiet. Are you ill? You almost look startled, which is a sheer contrast considering you’re a bundle of energy whenever else he speaks with you. What actually shocks him is when you suddenly stand up, stammering something about your CO asking to talk to you and then grabbing your tray.
Did he do something wrong?
“Wait—“ But you’re already off, running away from him, and the group off into the corridor and probably halfway across base too at this rate.
When the next day rolls around, and you dont come up to him once, he knows something must be wrong. He was too stubborn to ask the team what he did wrong, so unfortunately he’d have to figure out this one by himself.
He wasn’t afraid to confront you, no, in fact he was trying to. The problem is, he can't seem to find you anywhere. You usually came up to him first and knew his typical spots like the back of your hand, so this is the first time he’s actively tried to seek you out. He already tried texting you already too, so that’s a no go. He practically waits in the mess for the entirety of lunch time, only for you to not show even once. Somehow his next best option was tailing one of your friends, but even that led him to a dead end– multiple times.
He knocks on your door at six thirty, the time you would’ve met to hang out, only for no response to come out. “It’s me.” When you don't answer just yet, but he can see you peering behind the peephole, he sighs. “Can you let me in?”
The door opens with a soft click, and you stand on the other end, already in your comfy clothes. Your eyes are narrowed on him too. Definitely annoyed then. He steps past you and you close the door behind him, not saying anything until he does. “You’re mad at me.”
“I am.” You say, not offering for him to take a seat like you usually do. “You embarrassed me in front of your entire team, pretty sure anyone would be annoyed.”
“I didn’t–” He rolls his eyes, his arms crossing over his chest now. How could he have possibly done that? “It’s your own fault for not just talking like you usually did. You made it awkward for no reason.”
“You were practically forcing me to talk– I didn't even want to!”
“You always talk to me.”
That makes you scoff, hands coming to rest on your hips, and you cant believe the audacity of him. “Sure you dont want to call it ‘yapping’?”
He sighs, of course you had gotten annoyed at that part too. It was the best way to describe your talking, and it’s not like he minded it. “I didn't mean it like that.”
“I’ve literally never spoken to any of them in my life– I dont understand what your problem was.”
“Well, they kept saying you werent an extrovert and I knew that was a lie so–”
Your lips part in shock, and you take a step back, unbelieving he actually just said that. “You embarrassed me to prove a damn point?”
“I was just showing them the truth.” He cant believe you right now, how can you be mad at that? It was no different to him bringing you over to show them your hair colour. It’s a fact.
“I’m like– nowhere near extrovert.”
“You’re always talking!”
“To you! When have you ever seen me talking to anyone else?”
He goes silent, genuinely thinking hard about that. The only other time he’s seen you hold a proper conversation is discussing schedules, or other work related stuff. Well, you joke sometimes with your team mates, but you’ve known them for years. Even in briefings you’re near silent.
“Just go away. Ghost.” You huff, opening the door again and gesturing for him to leave. “I’d hate to ‘yap’ anymore to you.”
He stares at you for a second, as if genuinely wondering if you’d throw away whatever this relationship is that quickly. Over something that small. “Fine.” He walks out the door, too stubborn to turn back, and the second he considers it the door is already shut behind him.
That night he cant sleep at all, practically tossing and turning every second. He was one of the only people you’d talk to like that. All this time he assumed you were just a bubbly person, always chatting, always bright. But now with this came a totally different realisation. That you might mean more to each other than he had ever done with anyone before.
——————————
He walks up behind you in the mess the next day, something not feeling right in his arms. Infact this all feels wrong. But he knows he has to try for you of all people, because you’ve always been there for him, and he cant bear the thought of actually losing you.
“I get what you mean now.” He grumbles, trying not to bring too much attention as he grabs a tray from the rack.
You look back, confused, having not expected him to come out of nowhere, and like that. “What?”
“I’m wearing a t-shirt.” He looked reluctant to admit it, and you look over and see, well yes it is true, he is wearing one. So what? The only weird thing was that it was in the middle of winter.
“So?”
“I never wear t-shirts.”
“Yes you do?” Of course he’s worn t shirts. You’ve seen him wear it when you get up early to train when the gym is emptier. He wears it when he comes over to your room to sit under the blankets and watch a stupid movie or watch you complain about a game. You’ve definitely seen him wear it when you offered for him to come over on new years before.
All he does is raise a brow at you, a knowing look that screams ‘hypocrite’ and then it just clicks.
“Oh.”
He does look, extremely uncomfortable right now, eyes darting to the new batch of soldiers walking through the door. You figured he just always wore his uniform, ignored that he even kept his gloves on at all times around base.
“I’m sorry I acted like you overreacted.” The words are forced out, not because he feels obliged to, but because you know he’s probably thinking about how many stares he’ll get. The scars are obvious, apparently not to you though, considering you never thought twice about seeing his arms. “And i’m sorry for embarrassing you. I didn't mean to be rude about the yapping thing either.”
“Not sorry about being extremely stubborn?” He almost huffs out, convinced you’ll hate him forever when he realises you’re grinning at him. You place your tray back, take his from his hands and put it back too. “Think we should probably just grab takeout instead.”
When you both finally reach your room he lets out a sigh of relief, shutting the door behind him. “I dont know what i would’ve done if you said no.”
“Well you’re lucky, i’m so nice.” You grin, only managing to kick your shoes off before he’s pulling you sit on the bed with him, and opening up his phone to order takeout. He’ll just order Soap to grab it for him— he owes him like a million things anyway.
On the other hand, you’re very confused. Why is he suddenly acting like this all of a sudden? Or rather what has gotten into him?
“I wasnt talking to you for like—one day? Why are you-“ He takes his mask off, tossing it to the side as he sinks against the headboard.
“I’ve had some realisations.” He huffs, almost embarrassed, and you’re just staring at his bare face now. It’s not the first time, but he does it rarely.
“Are.. you going to tell me about them?”
“No.”
Right, of course. He was as stubborn as they came. But then again.. he did manage to fix the problem in a day, and not even with a basic apology. You have to give him some props, you suppose.
“Okay, just ordered our usual. Johnny will grab it.” He puts the phone to the side, raising a brow as he turns over to you just sitting there. “Well turn the damn ps4 on then, don’t got all day.”
You laugh, climbing off the bed to go turn it on and grab the controllers. Yesterday you might’ve been afraid that was the end of it all, but today you’re convinced your future is a bright one as long as he’s in it.
———————
i hope you guys like this because i was going a bit back and forth. Also definitely think he’s deffo a lil insecure of his scars and wearing t shirts. Not the kinda guy to flash his arms around, but obviously can do it when he has to.
Uhbh– alpha!ghost who's never really had any interest in a mate before you, right?
He never had the chance growing up, more focused on Tommy and Ma. Then straight into the military, recovering from roba was enough to keep him away from anyone not already part of his small pack.
Ghost is well into his late 30s when he meets you. God, is he obsessed.
"C'mon lovie, I miss you." He grunts, pushing you behind enough crates to just barely count as privacy. He doesn't bother taking off his gear, just pulling up his mask to tuck his nose to your scent gland. "Fuck– I needed this."
The affect is instant, more extreme than any alpha you've met. Ghost not only relaxes, he practically goes limp in your arms. Rumbling happily while his hands move over your body "you smell so fuckin' good, I need you. I need you–"
"You gotta wait, si," you gently remind him, but do nothing to stop him from licking over your scent gland. You can feel the hard line of his against you, and decide to indulge. "Here, kiss me."
He does so eagerly. Hands clasped over your waist as he tilts his head to press his lips to yours, melting into you with a satisfied groan. His whole body shudders, purr kicking up loud–
Whoah. You...you recognize that purr. You pull away with wide eyes, too focused on the wet patch growing in ghosts pants.
"Love? C'mon don't stop– ah!" Ghost whines as you grip his bulge, fingers feeling his cock through the cloth.
"Oh my god. Simon." You gasp, awed "is that...?"
"Yes." Ghost groans, head thunking against your shoulder, as if he's fighting to keep himself restrained while you palm his knot though his clothes.
Yes. His knot. Ghost, the alpha people whisper horror stories about, just popped a knot in his pants from kissing you.
Simon Riley who accidentally blurted out "get that look off your face before I fuck it off" to you when you were side eyeing him because he said something super out of pocket. He meant to say "get that look off your face before I take it the fuck off" but words are hard.
And you decided to challenge him and he doesn't back down from a challenge. So guess what? Now you're in his quarters, with your face pressed into his mattress as he's railing you with all he's got and telling you that "this is what happens when you don't wipe that stupid fuckin' look off your face".
After that, you started going out of your way to push his buttons if it meant that you'd be getting fucked viciously every time.
You kinda just freeze when tensions gets high. When snarky remarks start to get thrown and the energy in the room shifts. You don’t fight back or throw out your own quips. You kind of just crawl into yourself, eyes getting far away, biting the inside of your cheek, absolute silence.
It doesn’t prevent you from doing your job. Actually you’re more inclined to fight back when it’s full-blown yelling. Something about the subtlety of passive aggressiveness just gets to you though.
One time the boys notice is in the rec room when you’re trying to play a card game. You’re all in the corner of the room using one of the tables when another team comes in. Two of the guys are arguing about something and it doesn’t necessarily seem aggressive at first, so you all barely notice.
Until the energy shifts and they clearly start to get more frustrated with each other. The tone gets more aggressive, other members of the team start trying to cool the tension by stepping in, but it isn’t working.
Your eyes flit in their direction, oh-so-subtly your breathing quickens. Your expression falls flat and it feels like you become hyper-aware of the exchange. Your focus is no longer on the card game, but rather assessing if the room is still a safe place to be.
The boys notice almost instantly. Your smile falling away was enough, but at this point they’ve begun to pick up on your tells. You stop talking and won’t meet anyone’s eyes, so they all share a glance and decide it’s time to end this game.
“Well I’m proper bored! Anyone want a snack?” Kyle offers.
You don’t take it. You’re still staring at the cards in your hand like it’s the most interesting thing in the world, but the boys know your mind is far away.
So they all move to stand, Simon grabs the cards from your hand and places them on the table. John coming behind you to pull your chair out so Johnny can swoop on and pull you up. You seem to be semi-cognizant of what is happening now that you’re moving, so you follow without protest.
They get you out of the rec room and—contrary to what Kyle just implied—take you not to the mess hall but to John’s office. There, they plop you down on the sofa in the corner, Kyle finding a home next to you. They all go about their stuff as normal, John starting to hack away at some paperwork, Simon and Johnny talking over some plans for a coming op, and Kyle just silently reads next to you, sides glued together. Reminding you someone is there.
It doesn’t take you too long to come back to yourself in this warm environment. They can tell immediately when you blink back to yourself. They still don’t make a big deal out of it, just sliding you some water and a snack. Eventually you start to talk again.
They learned a while ago to not get too heated around you. Presumably something carried over from your childhood you never shared. It didn’t matter why to them, just that you ended up okay.
Price, seething with jealousy because he knows you like older guys and probably have a daddy kink, but you are so uninterested in him. He pulls all the tricks, calls you 'kid', touches you for a bit to long, and still nothing.
Bit the second nikolai interacts with you? Complete 180. All he had to do is guide you to sit with a muttered "you are so energetic, kid. Settle down." And you're acting so flustered, eyeing nick shyly. You even accidentally call him 'dad' twice.
Worse though, is how fucking smug nik acts when he and price drink together. He tells price "get your act together john, or I'll take the kid, da?" And price sees red.
