keep persisting

Devotion

like rub her feet, help her shower, help her clean her teeth, her hair etc?? <33

it’s not like you were doing it on purpose

pairing: husband!simon "ghost" riley x chronically tired wife!reader

summary: your husband takes good care of you and things around the house

masterlist!

a/n: what a cute request, anon <33 had so much fun writing!!! requests are open!!

your husband was supposed to be returning home sometime soon.

simon was sent on a mission for only two weeks this time, one of the shortest in his career, but it has felt like an eternity for you. your chronic tiredness has not been treating you well these last couple weeks.

it’s not like you were doing it on purpose. a few dishes in the sink turned into piles, garbage started overflowing in the trash bins around your home, some finding refuge on the floor, your dirty laundry basket spilling over with your clothes— all the chores you’ve neglected since your husband’s been gone.

you haven’t been able to get out of bed, and when you did, it was to lay on your couch. no matter how much you slept, it never got better. you could sleep for over twelve hours and still feel drowsy when you woke, like you could use another fourteen hours of sleep.

you couldn’t even muster up the energy to shower most days, nor brush your poor teeth and hair. you were just so tired all the time, your body always feeling sore in random areas.

knowing your husband was returning later, you planned on cleaning up your disgusting mess before he arrived. he’s spent the last two weeks living in tight, dingy bunkers getting shot at, so you wanted him to be greeted with a spotless house.

things didn’t go quite as planned.

your chronic tiredness having other ideas, you fell asleep on the couch before you could start.

“sweet’eart?” simon calls out, removing his size 13 boots as he closed the front door to your shared home.

the beefy brit shrugged off his jacket, a groan leaving him as his sore muscles ached. hanging the jacket in its designated spot on the coat rack, “m’ home!” he called again, voice louder.

he heard no response back, thinking to himself, wonda where she ‘s?

rounding the corner, he saw the overfilled trash bin first, using his hand to compress the garbage. “hon’?,” your husband tries again, tying the bag off.

he placed the trash bag beside the front door, turning on his heel to search for you. he can take out the trash later, he needed to find his wife now.

passing the kitchen, the brute’s eyes landed on the sink— plates, cups, silverware, skillets, spatulas— any dish you would find inside kitchen cabinets sat cluttered underneath the faucet.

continuing to the living room, he spotted you laid across the couch. the slow rise and fall of your chest made your husband’s eyes soften, content with how your were looking so peaceful.

he quickly moved to throw a blanket over your goosebump covered skin, saddened at how his precious wife fell asleep before she could even cover herself. how long had you been cold for?

placing a kiss on your forehead after, the man got to work, wanting to help relieve some of the stress on your shoulders.

your husband knows you’ve been struggling with your chronic tiredness for a few months, and with him being absent these last two weeks, he could only imagine what it’s been like here for you. he wanted to assist in anyway he could.

simon walked to your shared bedroom, having a feeling he probably needed to start a load of laundry. his instincts being correct— he carried the laundry basket into the laundry room, throwing your clothes into the washing machine.

the brute started the dishes in his succeeding actions, placing all the dirty cups, plates, bowls, and silverware inside the dishwasher. he started the cycle, a beep being heard from the machine.

the man had to hand wash the cooking utensils— because they didn’t fit it was better for them to be cleaned like that anyways— all the skillets, pots, pans, and spatulas put into their respective areas after he hand dried them.

then he went around the house, collecting all the trash he could. empty soda cans and half filled water bottles sporadically sat on counters and tables, crumpled papers (your husband assumed was from your journaling), junk food wrappers, all shoved into the trash bag, simon tying it off after he made sure the house was spotless.

he grabbed the first trash bag from beside the front door and proceeded to carry both bags outside to the wheeled bin. trash comes tomorrow. m’ should go ‘head and roll it to tha edge, he thought, using his gruff hands to pull the bin down the driveway.

when he returned back inside, he placed new trash bags into the trash bins around the house and washed his hands.

buzz the washing machine signaled the first load was done, your husband walking over to transfer your wet clothes into the dryer. simon went ahead and put a second load of your clothes into the washing machine too, seeing your basket was still full. you probably had one load left after this.

tha house ‘s clean for ‘er now. hope she likes it, your husband rubbed a hand across his face, eyes fixating on your sleeping form.

simon lifted your legs, plopping himself onto the couch, resting them above his meaty thighs. he started lightly rubbing your feet— a slow and sensual massage for his sweet fawn.

he missed you so fucking much while he was away, his mind only consumed with getting back home to you the last fourteen days.

he softly dug his thumbs into the soles of your feet, small shhh’s cooing out of him at your silent quivering.

the man couldn’t help himself, bringing your feet towards his mouth, littering soft kisses across your toes. this awoken you, the pleasure lulling you from your slumber, “hi, sweet’eart,” you heard your husband’s deep voice, “m’ back,” accent thick. you felt him place another kiss, this time on the dorsum of your foot, “m’ missed ya so,” one more kiss, “so much, hon.”

“si?” you groggily question, fingertips rubbing your eyes. “m’ ‘ere, baby,” you heard him respond, now recognizing he was also caressing your feet.

“oh my gosh— si!” you hastily jumped off the couch, stumbling a little to catch your balance, “y-you’re not supposed t-to be here yet,” stumbling a little over your words.

you watched your husband stand from the couch, a small grunt escaping him, “yer not happy to see m’?” he holds his arms out, waiting for you to hug him.

your eyes widened at his assumption, “no! i am happy to see you,” swiftly moving into his hold, “i missed you so much too, simon.” the familiar feeling of the beefy brit’s biceps wrapping tightly around you provided some comfort, but you couldn’t stop the sudden water works.

simon pulled away from you, raising his hand to lift under your chin, forcing eye contact. he frowned at the sight of his sweet wife, big tears rolling down her blushed cheeks, hints of purple under her enchanting eyes— the brute just wanted to help you. “wha’s wrong, hon?”

a sob left you, your husband using his other hand to rub circles on your back. “i-i needed to clean the house before y-you got here,” you cried out, “i wanted to get ready too, b-but of course i fucking fell asleep.”

simon pulled you back into a hug, knowing you probably needed comfort and for him to just listen to you. “i’m sorry, simon. i wanted everything to be nice f-for you when you got back home,” he listened to you hiccup out.

he slid his massive hands up and down your spine, eventually choosing to reach behind your thighs, lifting you. muscle memory responded, your arms encircling his neck, your legs tightening around his waist— your husband’s koala bear.

“haven’t been keeping up with myself o-or chores since you left,” you told him, simon walking you both up the stairs to your bedroom. he kissed your cheek, a hand moving under your ass for better support, “it’s alrigh’. yer okay.”

“i-i feel so pathetic, simon,” you whimpered, your husband walking past your bed, to your bathroom, “i’m just tired.” he placed you on top of the bathroom sink, kissing your forehead while you released him.

“m’ sweet wife,” he kissed your lips, “yer so fuckin’ perfect, y/n.” he kissed you again, tasting salt from the tears on your face. “handled everythin’ for ya, sweet’eart. did tha dishes, laundry, took out tha trash. know yer tired,” he kneeds your thigh, his hand swallowing it, “jus’ let m’ take care of it, hon.” a beat. “let m’ take care of ya.”

this only upset you more, wailing, “you’ve been away on a mission, simon! living in small, grimy bunkers. i k-know you’re tired! you’re getting s-shot at and escaping d-death—” your hand covered your mouth, simon bringing his to remove it. “don’ mean nothin’,” he kisses your knuckles now, “will always take care of ya and suppor’ ya. wanna be there for ya.”

you looked into your husband’s eyes, heart melting at his sweet words, “ya just gotta let m’, y/n.”

a few seconds passed, the sensation of your husband’s hands on your thighs making you relax more. i really did miss simon.

nodding your head, “yes, si,” sniffling your nose.

your husband smiled, kissing your lips, satisfied with your answer. “good girl.”

he turned away from you, the sound of water pattering filling the air, “gonna take one togetha,” he motioned to the shower.

simon undressed himself first, shifting to you to help remove your clothes. “thank you,” you told him, kissing his shoulder before he grabbed you off the counter.

he held the curtain open, grabbing your hand to help you step in, following after you, “‘s tha water too hot, fawn?” “no, si.”

your husband took time to scrub your body, gently massaging the tight knots he found across your back, stealing a few kisses along your shoulders. when he began washing himself, you crossed your arms over your chest, “seriously?” he laughed, handing you the washcloth so you could return the favor. you had to use your elbows on some of simon’s knots, your fingers being too small for them. of course your husband got huge knots, everything about simon was big!

he began washing your hair next, lathering the strawberry scented shampoo through your locks of hair threaded between his scarred digits. “lean yer head back, luvie’,” he directed, using the shower head to rinse your hair. “needa do yer conditiona’ now,” he repeated his actions, the conditioner frothing. “feels so good, si,” you hummed, lightly rocking on your heels.

you shampooed and conditioned your husband’s hair when he finished yours, the large man having to slightly lean down for you to reach— he loves accommodating himself to your height. you snuck kisses along his jaw and neck, down his sculpted chest and abs, eliciting a hushed groan from him. “love ya so much,” he smooched your head.

you both got dressed in your matching pjs, simon choosing them for you two, “wan’ to match with m’ sweet wife.” “great idea, simon!” you happily clapped, smiling up at him.

he brought you back to bathroom when you were clothed, squeezing some toothpaste over your toothbrush, “open for m’.”

you obeyed, the brute beginning to brush your teeth. he made sure to reach every side, the man using his thumb to pull your mouth apart wider, “stick yer tongue out.” following his command, ahhhh fled from your throat as he brushed the pink muscle, “atta’ girl.”

simon dried your hair for you, even detangling the strands, “sorry, luvie’,” when you’d slightly wince. “it’s alright, si!”

“light yer candle for us, yeah?” your husband asked, walking out your bedroom. continuing down the stairs, he shouted, “needa finish tha last load of laundry!” “i will, si!” you called back.

now, you were laying in your bed with your husband, entangled in one another’s arms, legs sprawled over his. some tv show you and simon started before he left played on the screen, laughs occasionally leaving both of you.

I was thinking about simon ghost riley x reader about really rough sex. I mean literally fainting at the end.

If it’s too much to ask it’s ok, I understand fully:)

Hey sweety, thanks for your request 💖 I think this story isn't exactly what you crave for but I hope you'll like it anyway.

Simon Ghost Riley x you

Thirty Minutes

spicy, rough sex, fainting

It was one of those rare weekends when Task Force 141 actually had time to breathe. No missions. No radios crackling. No one disappearing before sunrise. Just a quiet safehouse tucked away from the rest of the world, a bottle of good whiskey that somehow kept refilling itself, and the kind of evening that made everyone forget, if only for a few hours, that tomorrow they'd all be soldiers again.

Price occupied his usual armchair with a cigar that hadn't been lit in nearly twenty minutes, while Gaz had somehow become referee in an argument he clearly wanted no part of. You were curled up in one corner of the worn sofa, one leg tucked beneath you and a warm glass of whiskey in your hand. Soap had claimed the cushion beside you long ago. Not because there wasn't space elsewhere, but simply because he was Soap.

"Right," he said, pointing his glass at you. "Settle something for me."

You narrowed your eyes. "...Why do I already regret this?"

"Tomatoes are fruit."

"They are."

"So." He leaned closer. "Ketchup's a smoothie."

You stared at him for a heartbeat. "...Johnny."

"What?"

"You've actually thought about this."

"I've thought about it loads."

A laugh escaped before you could stop it. "Oh,that's awful."

"So I'm wrong?"

"You're horrifyingly convincing."

He slapped the arm of the sofa in triumph. "I knew she'd get it!"

Price pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'd like it noted that I've commanded military operations less ridiculous than this conversation."

Gaz lifted his own glass. "I'd also like it noted I want absolutely nothing to do with it."

You pointed at him. "Too late."

"Exactly." Soap nodded enthusiastically. "You're involved now."

Gaz sighed. "...Brilliant."

Across the room, Simon watched the whole exchange over the rim of his glass. He hadn't said much all evening, he rarely did, but every now and then your eyes drifted toward him anyway. Each time, he was already looking at you. You smiled, and he answered with the smallest lift of an eyebrow.

It was enough.

Soap, blissfully unaware, kept talking. "And mustard?"

"Oh no."

"Hear me out."

"I'm not hearing you out."

"If ketchup's a smoothie..." He spread his hands dramatically. "...mustard's soup."

You laughed so suddenly your whiskey nearly ended up on the floor. "You absolute menace."

"As long as I'm memorable."

He bumped your shoulder with his, and you bumped him back. Nothing unusual. Just the kind of easy affection that had always existed between friends.

But when Soap reached over to flatten a strand of hair sticking up from where you'd been leaning against the sofa, Simon's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

Price noticed first. Of course he did.

He quietly nudged Gaz with his elbow, and Gaz followed Simon's gaze without moving his head.

"...He's counting."

Price glanced at him. "Counting what?"

"Every time MacTavish touches her."

Price took another slow sip of whiskey. "...Poor bastard."

A moment later, without taking his eyes off his drink, he murmured, "He's got about five minutes left."

Gaz watched Simon for another second.

"...Less."

You didn't hear either of them. You were too busy arguing with Soap over whether cereal counted as soup when a quiet voice finally cut through the room.

"Love."

It wasn't loud. It didn't have to be.

You turned immediately. "Hm?"

Simon set his glass on the table. "Come to bed."

There was no edge to his voice, no obvious irritation. If anything, that made him harder to read.

You glanced from him to the others. Soap was already launching into another completely ridiculous theory, and you couldn't help smiling. "I'll be there in a little while."

Simon didn't move.

"I promise," you added.

For just a second, something flickered across his face. Disappointment, maybe. It was gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

He gave a single nod. "Right."

Then he stood and left the room. The bedroom door clicked shut behind him without a slam, and Soap watched the hallway for a moment.

"...Think he's annoyed?"

"No," Price said quietly.

Somehow that answer made the room feel colder.

The conversation carried on, but it had lost a little of its momentum. Half an hour later, Soap stretched, drained the last of his glass and finally stood.

He looked down at you with a grin. "You've tested the poor bloke enough for one evening."

You laughed. "...Have I?"

"Aye."

He ruffled your hair one last time. "Night, lass."

"Night, Johnny."

When the house finally settled into silence, you rinsed your glass, switched off the kitchen light and padded down the hallway. The bedroom door was closed, just as he'd left it.

You hesitated for half a second before opening it.

Only one bedside lamp remained on.

Simon sat on the edge of the bed, forearms resting loosely on his thighs, a book lying unopened beside him.

He looked up the moment you stepped inside.

Neither of you spoke while you closed the door gently behind you.

"I told you to come to bed."

His voice was quiet. Not cold, exactly. Just... tired.

You nodded. "I know."

Simon looked down at his hands for a moment before meeting your eyes again.

"I sat out there watching him make you laugh." A small pause. "Watching him forget where the line is."

His jaw shifted.

"And watching you stay."

There wasn't a trace of accusation in his voice. That somehow made it worse.

You crossed the room until you were standing between his knees and, without really thinking about it, slipped your fingers into his hand.

"I'm sorry."

His thumb brushed absently across yours.

"I wasn't worried about Johnny."

"I know."

"I trust him."

You blinked. "...You do?"

"I trust him." A faint exhale left him before his fingers tightened slightly around yours. "I just wanted you with me."

Your heart twisted. "I wasn't choosing them."

"I know."

"I just..." You searched for the words, your gaze dropping briefly to your joined hands. "I haven't laughed like that in weeks."

A tiny smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.

"I noticed."

You huffed a quiet laugh. "But I should've noticed you."

Simon didn't answer straight away. Instead, he reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering briefly against your cheek.

"You've got no idea what thirty minutes felt like."

You closed the last bit of distance yourself and rested your forehead against his. "I'm here now."

For a moment he simply stayed there, quiet and still, as though he needed the closeness more than he wanted to admit.

"There has never been anyone else," you whispered. "There never will be."

A long breath left him, one he seemed to have been holding all evening, and then he kissed you.

Gently at first. Slowly. Like he was making sure you were really there.

Your hands settled on his shoulders before one slipped into his hair, while his found your waist and drew you closer. For a few long seconds, neither of you said anything. The kiss stayed soft and careful, your lips brushing his again and lingering a little longer this time.

His breathing caught, and the hand at your waist tightened, not enough to hurt, just enough for you to notice.

You smiled against his lips. "There you are."

A quiet sound escaped him, somewhere between a laugh and frustration.

"You've been driving me bloody mad all night."

You couldn't help smiling. "I know."

"No..." His forehead came to rest against yours. "You don't."

His thumb brushed over your cheek.

"I sat there for half an hour trying to convince myself I wasn't jealous."

You looked at him. "And?"

A dry huff left him. "Didn't work."

You laughed softly, and that tiny sound, the same laugh he'd been listening to all evening, finally broke whatever restraint he still had left.

He kissed you again, harder this time. Needier. Like the relief of finally having you close had nowhere else to go. When he drew back, his forehead rested against yours for one last heartbeat.

"I've got you."

Then he lifted you.

Your back met the wall and his mouth found yours again, the kiss deep and hungry, but his hands moved more slowly. They mapped every inch of you as he stripped away your clothes, as though the urgency in him was fighting with the need to feel you, to make certain you were really here.

When he finally pushed into you, it was slow and deep - a long, deliberate thrust that made you gasp and cling to his shoulders. He held you there for a moment, his breathing rough against your skin, before he began to move with deep, controlled strokes.

The hunger in his expression was impossible to miss. Everything he'd held back while sitting across that room seemed to have followed him here, stripped of words now and burning beneath the surface.

His hand found your throat, fingers wrapping around it with firm pressure. You moaned softly as he pushed into you again, slow and deep, the combination of his grip and the intensity making your head spin in the best way.

For a while, he kept that control.

Then, little by little, it started to slip.

The longer he held you, the tighter his grip became and the deeper his movements grew until something in him seemed to give way completely. His pace quickened, turning rougher, more desperate, and every powerful thrust dragged another broken sound from your lips.

The pleasure built too quickly. The pressure at your throat sharpened everything until you were trembling in his arms, and when the first orgasm hit, you clenched hard around him with a choked moan.

He didn't stop.

He kept moving through it, deep and relentless, and the second hit even harder. Your legs shook around his waist, but still he didn't slow. His grip remained firm, almost too tight now, narrowing the world until there was nothing beyond the two of you and the raw need that had finally broken loose.

By the third, everything was too much. The brutal pace, the pressure at your throat and the overwhelming pleasure crashed together until your vision began to tunnel. You reached up and pressed his hand harder against your skin yourself, giving him everything.

A low, wrecked groan tore from Simon, and the last of his restraint disappeared.

You shattered again. Your whole body locked, thighs trembling violently as white-hot pleasure flooded through you. The lack of air and the intensity finally pushed you beyond what your body could take.

Your vision faded to black mid-moan.

Then there was nothing.

When you stirred again, the room was dark.

For a moment, you couldn't remember where you were. Then you felt the steady rise and fall beneath your cheek and recognised the warmth of Simon's chest.

His arm tightened around your waist the instant he realised you were awake.

"There she is," he murmured, the roughness in his voice softened by unmistakable relief.

You blinked up at him, still sleepy. "...Hey."

His thumb drifted slowly through your hair before he gave the smallest shake of his head.

"Scared me for a minute."

You frowned. "What happened?"

His jaw flexed.

"I pushed too far." The words came quietly, almost reluctantly. "Should've stopped sooner."

You studied his face in the darkness. It wasn't quite guilt you saw there. It was concern, real concern, hidden beneath the same carefully controlled expression he wore whenever something had shaken him more than he wanted anyone to know.

You reached for his hand and laced your fingers through his. "I'm okay."

Simon held your gaze for another second, as though making sure you meant it. Only then did some of the tension finally leave his shoulders.

Your thumb traced slowly over his knuckles.

"I'm sorry I made you sit out there."

He was quiet for a moment. "I know."

You looked up at him. "I really wasn't choosing anyone else."

"I know."

Another pause passed before a small smile appeared, subtle enough that most people would've missed it.

"Didn't stop me being jealous."

A sleepy laugh escaped you. "I noticed."

"You did eventually."

You nudged him lightly with your shoulder.

"I'll do better."

"I know you will."

Simon bent and pressed a kiss to your forehead before settling back against the pillow, his arm still firm around you.

I’m glad you found them funny ❣️ here’s some more !!

cw: none, English it’s my first language !

—————

It’s a mission abroad when he cracks yet another stupid joke.

You don’t remember if it was in Russia or Greenland, but what you do remember is the freezing cold.

I need to be the last pick for the special forces teams, (cod), and i prefer to unintentionally hear push-and-shove angst with the group captains over not needing dead weight on their teams.

As a female rookie, that's not surprising, but still hurts. (Contracts severe depression) and the guys on the team im assigned to are tough as nails and meaner than wasps.

Make it task force 141, or Kortac, and so on.... idc.

Have one of them notice the hidden symptoms of depression, and have a comforting yet confrontational ending.

Dont make it soap. Or Roach. Or that Mexican. Like, maybe könig or ghost or something. Have fun. I will critique the finished product 😁

My first few days of training went horrible, my current Lieutenant, Ghost is a prick.

During this mornings trainings I was being pushed to the brink  and I was mercilessly teases for it. 

We were doing push-ups and I was shaking at 15. 

Other soldiers snickered and I heard 'pathetic' covered by a cough.

Ghost marched over to where I was and gruffly instructed, ''Stand up straight soldier''

I did so, trying to keep a straight face. Boy, was I in for it now.

He got down right to my face and studied me for a second before speaking again ,more authoritative now. "You think this'a joke?''

I responded ''no sir!''

''Then act like it''

and with that he forced me to redo my pushups with his foot on my back.

All of my training went like that for the first week. Me being singled out, being made to do more work and reps than everyone else, and being down right mocked for it.

Later when I was organizing my locker is when I first heard it. Loud agitated voices, drifting down the hall.

Whatever conversation that was supposed to be private was clearly not anymore. 

I paused, trying to pick out specific words and place voices. 

It was a string of complaints.

"Cap'ain with all due respect I will not have her. She is arrogant and en'ilted. That will get both me and my men killed on the field. I will not take that risk, you know that. She is nothing more than a unnecessary weight. '' A voice with finality stated. 

Something tightened in my chest, they were talking about a 'she' not 'he'.

"Come on simon you know we could use the help. She seems enthusiastic and ready to do whatever you ask. What's wrong with that?''

I had to stop eavesdropping momentarily as a  soldier  walked towards the room with the voices. I acted like I was busy, but I needed to know more. Even though my stomach was knotting with anxiety.

The big soldier stepped into the room, pulled the door too and the voices began again, quieter this time.

''Oh Konig, good to have you here, we were um just..um discussing arrangements..''

''Oooh ja, you're talking about the rookie right?''

''Yes..see about that, Simon put in a request to have her...transferred to your unit.''

''Kortac? You sure she's up for that? I mean, I'm not doubting, nien. Aber its just that, I saw her...training the other day and she just doesn't have...the potential we need''

The pauses and the hesitance in their voices made it clear they were choosing their words carefully and wary of who might be listening. 

I quickly finished with my locker not wanting to hear more, and left the hallway, choosing to do anything else. 

My mind swam as I fumbled to find something to do. 

Was I really that useless? Was it because I was a girl? No way I was arrogant or entitled! I was just empowered and maybe they felt like..I dunno inferior  to that? And getting transfered? but I just got my assignment! And when were others watching?!

I ended up heading to bed early. Skipping the evening mess hall, not wanting to see anyone. I'd probably have to sit alone,  anyways. 

I stayed up late that night in my bunk, thinking.

I just needed to toughen up a little and show them I was a worthy asset. That they could proudly take me on missions, to let me wear the insignia they so  proudly displayed themselves. I just needed to cut out all distractions, focus on my training, and work up the ranks a bit, get stronger.

Simple.

Early the next morning before morning P.T, a knock came on my door, it was Captain Price with my transfer orders. I took them without a word, just with a simple salute. 

I was transferred then to Kortac, the guys there no better than 141. Didn't matter to me anyway, I didn't care.

They all were the same, bone-headed boys with nothing  but vulgar insults and constant belittling. 

I made a pact with myself then, to never crack. I could be one of 'the guys' they'd just have to see it themselves.

I trained like no other, taking on konigs commands and orders with immediate  obedience and practiced discipline, I improved a great deal. 

I improved but at what cost? My spark for being helpful and enthusiastic was gone. Replaced buy a stillness and silence. 

 Quickly,  I got  distant from everyone which I didn't even know was possible. They kept to themselves and I kept to myself, just how I wanted it. 

Thats why nobody even batted an eye when I skipped every other meal, when I went to my room early, or when I was up at odd hours for training. Nobody questioned when I started drinking or smoking, frankly nobody cared.

But aprently the Colonel did. Hoo boy, did he set me straight. Not with harsh words or with more harsh training like the Lieutenant had done, but he just sat with me. 

 I was sitting up on the roof peeling an old orange cause I had missed mess hall again and was starving, only problem was it was 2 am. 

Only when he cleared his throat did I know he was there. I nearly jumped out of my skin. How does someone that big walk so unnervingly quiet? 

He sat next to me at a respectable length, and just gazed out into the night, no doubt trying to figure out what to say . 

''Um..you can't sleep?''

''Nope, I chose not too'' my words were polite but clipped, making it clear I was in no mood for small talk.

He hesitated by continued to pry. "I know your not in the mood but you never are anymore. What..happened?''

I shrugged dismissively. ''I have no idea what you're talking about''

I went back to dissecting my orange, eager to indulge.  

His voice harden a fraction and it made my hair on my neck go on end, I had never heard that tone from him.

It nearly came out as a growl, his eyes narrowing at me.

''Oh nein, dont get smart with me. You know what I'm talking about, dont play coy.''

I open my mouth to defend myself again, not looking up from my snack, but he interupts, yelling.

''You know what I'm talking about. The alcohol, the smoking, the late hours! What the hell has gotten into you?!''

There was an akward pause.

''Oh that? I just got tougher.''

Konig takes my fruit forcing me to look at him for the first time. "No, no you didn't. You just got a whole lot dumber''

I can feel myself getting more defensive as he calls me out more and more. ''Excuse me? Who are you to mettle in my business? And what do you know about-''

He cuts me off his a raised hand. ''This isn't the first time I've seen this. I've lost way too many recruits and good men due to stupidity like this. You'll never amount to anything if you keep running yourself into the ground.''

That last part made me mad, making me stand up and distance myself. My voice grew louder. ''Are you frickin' kidding me?! 'never amount to anything'? How about the time where you told the captain and the lieutenant that I didn't have potential! That I wasn't cut out for this! Admit it! You didn't want me in your unit either!''

Konig's eyes widened slightly, trying to recover ''you heard that? You know things get throw around..''

''Every single, stinkin' word!'' 

My vision blurs with angry tears I didn't want to let go of, this was humiliating enough. 

My voice cracks as I continue. '' You know how much that stung!? Knowing I was useless to both sides? and then you of all people have the gall to ask if I'm okay and to act like you care?!''

''I-I...do care..'' his voice drops almost into a whisper.

He then slowly stands up and moves in front of me, my  half peeled orange still in his grubby mit.

He sighs, glancing to the sky then back to me, voice more steady now. ''Listen, I do care. You're not useless either, you have improved much quicker than anyone I've ever seen. You have unbeatable drive and fire. I just dont want you taking off too quickly and  getting hurt.... You remind me of someone I trained and they died under my command. I just didn't want that same fate for you.''

He then takes the palm of my hand and places my beloved orange back in my hand, giving me a final look. 

idk if this is rage bait but like “that mexican” ?

Widower!Ghost who still carries a piece of you with him everywhere.

Widower!Ghost who uses the tumbler you always brought with you to work. Even though it has started leaking and leaving a mess.

Widower!Ghost who can’t come to terms with the fact that you are gone, so he uses your shampoo and body wash.

Widower!Ghost who talks to you in his dreams. He usually vents about his day at base or whenever he’s out on deployment and in need of comfort.

Widower!Ghost who uses your backpack whenever he’s deployed. He somehow manages to fit all his necessities into a bag fit for a lady.

Widower!Ghost who keeps a picture of you, at your happiest, in his left breast pocket.

Widower!Ghost who always brews two cups of coffee in the morning. He uses your favourite mug just for you, and never drinks from it. He waits until he’s done with his own before pouring yours out in the sink.

Widower!Ghost who visits you every day. Unless he’s deployed, in which case he wears your heart locket around his neck.

Widower!Ghost who wishes the two of you had more time than you were given, but knows that in the little time you had, you loved a whole lifetime’s worth.

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