em

Heaven to touch - soapghost, read on tumblr

Too good to be true - soapghost, read on tumblr

Idiot's Guide to Dating by Simon Riley - soapghost, read on tumblr: part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six (completed!)

Idiot's Guide to Proposals by Simon Riley - soapghost, read on tumblr: part one, (unfinished)

I Don't Want the World to See Me - soapghost, read on tumblr

The Haunting of Miller House - soapghost, buzzfeed unsolved au, read on tumblr

Ghost loved Soap. Simon loved Johnny. The sky was blue. Scorpions glow under UV light. These were, of course, evident truths of the world. They were just as obvious as breathing, at least to Simon. He thought about these things a lot – mostly the love part, of course. The scorpions were still interesting.  

Right now, Johnny tucked against his side, his mohawk a mess, drool seeping out the corner of his mouth, Simon could only think about how much he loved him. There were signs of aging slightly more obvious, now – a touch of grey in his hair, crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, and it made something ache within him. Not that any aging had stopped Johnny from being, well, Johnny. He was still as energetic as ever, putting him through his paces near enough every day. He brought excitement to his life every day.  

He wasn’t sure he could ever get sick of it.  

His hands shifted, skimming over his partner’s shoulders. Shirtless, because he was a bundle of heat, but he could never bring himself to complain. Well, maybe in summer, but it was a fucking rarity it ever got warm enough to complain about in England. His fingers traced over the scar on his shoulder, a memory of Las Almas, of the concern that had unwittingly flooded him at the thought of losing him. The beginning of the end, at least of Ghost’s attempt to be distant. He’d never been more relieved that things hadn’t gone how he’d planned.  

His reminiscing was cut off by a sudden, sharp alarm, and a groan escaped the man asleep next to him. “S’too fuckin’ early, Si, you’re a madman,” he grouched, burying his head into the crook of his neck and looping an arm around his waist. Simon’s lips twitched in amusement, running one soothing hand over his shoulders, whilst the other fumbled to turn his alarm off.  

“Running in the morning is-” 

“Nice and peaceful and there’s no idiots to bug you, I know,” Soap cut him off, continuing to grouch. He did him the luxury of pretending he couldn’t feel the small smile pressed against his neck.  

“Exactly,” he hummed, his other hand now moving to ruffle Johnny’s hair. The man reached up to swat it away lazily, only settling when both of Simon’s arms were looped around his back. “Sometimes, you can see the geese flying, too.” 

“The geese?” 

“Yeah. They fly in a ‘V’ formation. You know why one side is longer than the other?” 

Soap lifted his head, eyes still soft with sleep, a mixture of curiosity and suspicion in his eyes. “... Why?” 

“Because there’s more geese on that side.” 

Soap stared at him, his curiosity dissipating into joking frustration, and he groaned once more. Rolling over, he buried his head into the pillow. Simon pretended not to notice the slight shake of his shoulders as he laughed. “You’re an evil man,” He informed him, “Go do your fuckin’ run, I’m going to sleep, like a normal person.” 

A chuckle was drawn from him, and Simon sat up, smoothing the other man’s hair before he pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Then, he drew back, standing and making his way over to the wardrobe. Most of Soap’s stuff was strewn over the floor lazily, clothes crumpled and creased, but he liked to keep his neat. He grabbed a hoodie, trousers, gloves, and his mask, sliding them on. After a quick trip to the bathroom, he made his way out, appreciating the cool air of the morning against his skin.  

His run around the grounds was somewhat brief – the frost that had settled made it slippery in places, and he didn’t want to make a fool of himself quite so early. After getting his fill, he returned to base, stopping off at his room to switch out some of his clothes. The bed was empty, the duvet mussed up and thrown to the side, and he smiled to himself as he fixed it.  

After cleaning their room, he slipped back out, heading to the kitchen area, tilting his head at the sound of voices. They were sharing their base with another team for some training exercises, and though he grumbled internally at the amount of new people here, he couldn’t deny that it was useful practice.  

Soap was in the centre of the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal, animatedly talking about... something. There were two others watching – a small, wiry woman, the sniper of the other group, and a tall, muscular blond. Both looked enraptured, laughing as his partner flapped a hand out, only to nudge his bowl precariously close to the edge, nearly knocking it over.  

It looked domestic. It looked almost normal. There it was, another ache in his heart, an almost physical pain. Simon wanted this. He wanted more of this. He didn’t want adrenaline, and fights, and combat, he wanted Johnny, still ruffled with sleep, smiling widely and preparing his own breakfast. He wanted mornings where they could sleep in, and a home with him, together, and all the nice things that came with it.  

The thought threw him off kilter. There was a time, long ago, when he’d given up on the idea of domesticity. He was 7, wide-eyed and innocent, begging his brother to help as they sat in their bedroom upstairs, listening to the shouting downstairs. Marriage was a lie. It shackled you to someone else, and it left you unsafe. Relationships were unsafe. He built walls so impenetrable he figured nobody would ever make a dent.  

Of course he should’ve known. Soap was a demolitions expert, after all. Blowing shit up was his forte.  

Their eyes met, and Simon felt the air sucked out of his lungs. He spun around, and swiftly made a tactical retreat out of the room. What was he thinking? Marriage? He wasn’t a marriage guy.  

... But he couldn’t deny, now that he’d given it a word, how much he wanted it. He wanted it so much it hurt. He wasn’t a marriage guy, but he wasn’t a relationship guy, either, and he’d somehow made it work.  

Finding himself instinctively back in their room, he grabbed a knife from one of their drawers, flipping it around his fingers as he thought. How the hell were you supposed to propose? How did you know what ring was right? Where do you propose? He was fucking useless in this matter. And it wasn’t like he could ask anybody for help – Gaz had been going steady for a while with his partner, but they weren’t anywhere close to being married. Price was married to the job, according to him. Soap was... well, the marriage candidate. He didn’t even know if Alex and Farah were a thing, or if they were just close friends. 

Simon had a very short group of friends. It was fucking awful.  

Just as he was about to give up all hope, he finally remembered the one married person he knew – Laswell. It was perfect. She could help. Definitely. He just... had to ask. And swear her to secrecy, because Soap couldn’t know. It had to be a surprise.  

He placed his knife down, pressed his head into his hands, and groaned. Maybe he was an idiot for thinking this. Things were good as they were – why ruin them? 

But then again... the thought felt so nice. No. He was going to do it. He was going to ask Johnny to marry him.