Breaking Bread
Simon Riley who is quite the anomaly of a man, or human, rather. Your lieutenant who has only spoken a handful of words to you.
Simon Riley who happens to be sat at the only open table in the mess hall.
Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Sergeant! Reader
Tags: Short n’ Sweet, Fluff, Pining, Angst, Slow burn if you squint, Food as a love language, Eventual romance, Eventual smut, Military inaccuracies
Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5 | ao3 | masterlist
Simon Riley who you eat with everyday since, becomes a staple piece in your days. A familiar routine that feels anything but.
Unfamiliar, confusing, perplexing because you weren’t exactly sure why Ghost wanted you to sit with him or where you stood with him.
So, you decided standing in the middle of the mess hall, tray in hand, until you find Ghost’s gaze every day was the answer. Wait for his eyes to flick to the empty space in front of him, which they always do; a silent cue for you to join him. And who were you to disobey an order from your lieutenant?
You were a good sergeant, after all.
Found yourself sat across your lieutenant most days. His irises urging you to your ‘seat.’ Greeted him with a soft smile and warm ‘Hi, Lieutenant!’ because you weren’t entirely sure whether he wanted to talk to you or not.
Left the two of you to eat your food in comfortable silence— atleast you hoped it was comfortable for him too. Before you stood up with a sweet ‘Thank you for eating lunch with me, sir.’
He was always there before you, even if you rushed to the mess hall. Always had his food waiting for your arrival, didn’t start eating until you sat with him. Though you were always the first one to stand up to leave, even if he cleared his plate before you had. Waited for you to finish and walk away before he would.
Until one day he wasn’t there, his claimed table empty. You swept your eyes through the room, it would be almost impossible to miss his broad shoulders and skull mask.
You stood there for a few seconds debating if you should sit at the table. What if he never came and you just sat there by yourself? What if he didn’t want to sit by you today?
You had pinched your lips raw in thought by the time a large palm rested on the small of your back. You snapped your head towards the owner; Ghost’s face hovered close as he bent to your height behind your shoulder. Could practically feel his thick chest against your side.
“Comin’?” He asked, breaths shallow like he had jogged there.
He had touched you before, in training, to adjust your position or posture. Ordered you around before moving you on his own accord when you didn’t move fast enough on assignments. You were used to the demanding weight of his palm, but this was different. It was an option, a question rather than a command you had to obey.
“Yeah, uh, yes, sir,” You stuttered out.
Let him guide you to his table— your table?
“Sorry, I didn’t know if you were coming to sit with me or not today,” You explained as you sat down with him.
“Always gon’ come,” He said, had your skin blooming in an unfamiliar warmth, “Man’s gotta eat.”
Dissolved your worries after that, he asked and you answered.
And faithful to his word he was there, even if you somehow arrived before he had— a rare occasion. You sat at the empty table, food untouched, just as he did for you, until he joined you with a deep grunt as an acknowledgment of your presence.
Dinner was different, the spot to the left of him was taken by Soap more often than not. But still, your lieutenant’s eyes ordered you to sit in the empty space in front of him. Soap was confused at first, welcoming of a fellow sergeant, of course, but curious to Ghost’s gaze.
Though dinner was more like you were eating with Soap rather than Ghost. The two of you spoke while Ghost listened— focused his attention on you between bites. Offered nods as responses and smart remarks to Soap’s banter.
Breakfast with Ghost was your favorite. He did not attend most mornings; you assumed this was because he had to wake earlier than you, complete mandatory work sergeants did not have to. So, if you didn’t see him in the mess hall in the early mornings, you were free to sit with the other sergeants. But if you sat at the empty table in anticipation of his arrival— just in case, well that was another story.
When he was there for breakfast, his shoulders slumped like he was still drowsy from lack of sleep. Hummed quietly when you greeted him instead of his usual dissatisfied grunt or silence. Just a little sweeter at breakfast, maybe it was because he got to muse over a cup of his favorite tea or because the hall wasn’t as packed in the mornings. The absence of loud sergeants and privates eased his irritations.
Maybe it’s cause he got to start the day off with his favorite sergeant.
Few words were shared during this time, you could be sitting with a brick wall for all you knew. He was quite the wall, you thought, sinewy and stalwart, stable and resilient. Still, you hid the small smiles that tugged at your lips whenever he was a little tired, when his bricks chipped and gave away in the light of the mornings. Covered your teeth between gulps of coffee so as not to jeopardize the cracks revealed. When he was just a little softer around the edges in his groggy state.
After what seemed to be weeks of silence, you almost didn’t realize he was speaking to you when he broke it one day. Took a couple of seconds of you staring open-mouthed at him like you had imagined the words from his lips as he arched his brow at you.
“Coffee?” He repeated when you did not answer, gesturing to the cup in your hand.
“Oh! Yes, it’s coffee.” You responded.
You thought that would be the end of it, cursing yourself because your response hadn’t really provided him much to expand upon, but to your surprise another low hum came.
“Course it is,” You watched his nose scrunch under the mask, “How d’ya like it?”
You frowned at his disappointed tone, “Three sugars and cream.”
“Too sweet,” He grumbled under his breath.
“It’s perfect, actually,” You retort, and because you feel like you have to validate yourself to him you add, “I drink tea, too.”
He just hums, like he doesn’t believe you or really care for that matter.
“And you?” You ask, slight bite to your words.
“Hhmm?”
“Your cup.” You explain.
“Tea.” Ghost deadpans, like it’s stupid for you to think anything else would be in it.
“No shit,” You remark, earns you a small twitch to the side of his lips, “How do you like it?”
“Wanna taste?” He muses.
You look at him in shock, lips falling open as you paused in hesitation. You didn’t know if he’s just trying to fuck with you or not, tease you for believing he would actually share with you, so you don’t give him a response. But his hands lift the cup to your mouth anyways, decided he was going to press the ceramic to your lips despite a response, and tilts the liquid into your mouth.
You swallow it, but the taste doesn’t quite melt on your tongue, can’t think about anything else but the fact that your lieutenant is feeding you his cup of tea. Can’t think when his eyes stare intently at you over the cup, watching you diligently take a gulp.
“Good?” He asks, gloved thumb catching a droplet from the side of your mouth.
You nod mindlessly, licking the remnants off your lips. His irises follow the movement.
You don’t say anything more— can’t say anything more when your mind was practically malfunctioning on ‘what the fuck?’
The next day at breakfast, two cups were on the table. You looked at Ghost with furrowed brows.
“For you.”
“Coffee?” You asked.
He shook his head, “Tea.”
From that day forward, Ghost had a cup of tea waiting for you, made just how he liked it. But, how exactly that was, you were still unsure. Told you not to worry, he would keep making it for you if you liked.
So, you let him, even if he was trying to convert you to his ways.
Which seemed to change the dynamic between the two of you. In a way you weren’t completely sure meant, but it twirled and took shape of its own. Not without your own contributions, of course. He made you tea, and in turn, you offered him sweets.
Snapped the chocolate bar you had managed to wrangle on base one day, a delicacy truly, and slowly slid it across the table to Ghost’s side. He looked at you with no emotion, blank and straight-faced.
“Sharing my chocolate with you, lieutenant. Milk chocolate,” You explained, putting your finger to your lips while whispering, “But you mustn’t tell Soap; he’ll feel betrayed. Our little secret.”
“I like dark chocolate better.” He rasped.
Had you rolling your eyes, but still he ate it. Watched him peel his gloves off so he could lick the melted chocolate off his thumbs.
And next time you broke it in two; it was dark chocolate.
It became more than just tea and chocolate exchanged between lieutenant and sergeant. You brought him sweets of all kind once a week, found out the anomaly of a man, Simon Riley had quite a sweet tooth.
And it seemed he looked forward to it just as much as you did, blinked at you starry eyed while he impatiently waited to see what treat you brought him that week. Cherry lollipops, blueberry muffins, lemon biscuits, and chocolate cookies. Your lieutenant was seen with a lollipop stick dangling in his mouth more often than not.
Though on weeks you didn’t bring him sweets, he didn’t seem to mind too much. Told him apologetically that you couldn’t manage to get your hands on any treats that week, but he would always shake his head. Calmed your worries with reassurance that it was okay— lunch with you was the treat.
Made something warm burn in your limbs, tangling its talons and webs through your veins, and settling in your core with the deep timber of his voice.
