Asher. NB. 90's baby.

Thinking about ghost who, since you moved in together, has always had a preferred side of the bed.

He doesn't like sleeping next to the wall, as you've come to learn. The fist few nights he would grumble and push you further onto the bed before snuggling up to your back with a "my spot now, love. Comes with the relationship."

Not that you mind, of course. You like how it almost feels like he envelops you, tucked between the wall and simon.

It's not until you two stay at a hotel this unofficial rule you've decided ghost lives by is brought into question.

You don't think much of the bed being in the center of the space, it's a standard layout. So you pick a side arbitrarily, exhausted and wanted to pass out. Only to peek your eye's open to ghost looming over you, frowning "yer in the wrong spot. I go there."

Which....makes no sense. There's no wall, no nice space to hide in. The thought ghost had a designated place without the presence of a wall makes you question the entire rule itself!

Every place after that, you start taking greater note, until it huts you.

Ghost always sleeps on the side closest to the door.

In fact....ghost is always closest to the door. Manhandling you into a different seat at restaurants, or climbing over you on the sofa to claim "his spot".

A physical barrier between you and the entrance.

Ghost has been protecting you this whole time without you even realizing. He's been enveloping you in his form of safety. If someone were to enter with bad intentions, they'd reach him before you.

Preliminary trials show subjects unable to stop themselves from seeking pleasure, overwhelmed with their libido. The entire ride back to base is tense, you sat in the back, overwhelmed and panting and—

Wait. No.

You seem....completely unaffected? Well, not totally, you're snuggling up to ghost a bit, but other than that you seem fine.

"What?" You finally huff when price glances at you for the fourth time in a minute, "yes, the drug is still in affect, I know what you're thinking."

"Well then shouldn't you be..." gaz trails off, face heated.

"Honestly? I don't see the big deal." You hunker down further against ghost, most of your kit having been discarded on the floor to avoid overheating "this feels like normal ovulation to me. Seems like a skill issue."

....no one mentions the fact price got hit with a much smaller dosage a few weeks prior and literally had to be sedated so he didn't do anything stupid before getting to a secure location.

You're a lone survivor in the apocalypse, group having been picked thin from well...everything. zombies are one thing but humans are another.

Maybe ghost thinks he recognizes you, some intern that used to work on base, or at least close enough. You're defenseless to this monster as he drags you further into the abandoned apartment complex he seemed to call home. He? It? You're not sure.

The days are long of it simply following you everywhere, he doesn't try to restrict your movement around his...territory? Happy to let you roam, watch you scavenge for food.

Nights are...worse.

The monster forces you into his den, a pile of clothes covered in old blood. Some items he holds often, a blue cap, a boonie hat. Sometimes it puts them on you, wraps you up in all three arms. Grumbles and Gurgles in your ear, not sleeping but playing at it.

The hand never strays lower that your waistband but...surely it won't stay like that.

What will you do then? ...would you run?

Source

i imagine the live camera feed goes off one night while youre lying in bed. new sheets still hugging you warm after the dryer. the boys are off doing their personal night routines, heavy guard dogs lay at your feet.

with the chime of your phone, a notification alerts you of outside movement. you consider it to be a waving branch or passing car, yet check it nonetheless. something about inner intuition.

youre glad you did.

watching silently as someones shadow skirts along the darker parts of around your house. passing the kitchen windows with a ducked head, then round the back.

"fuck," you bite your lip. sighing quietly as you toss your phone. "johnathan!" four heads from the bathroom peek around the doorframe slow, eyes open with the use of a full name. johnny fights a grin, ready to watch his captain get chewed out by their lady.

"..ye' love?"

"theres some weird guy wandering 'round the house outside," you inform dryly. plucking your phone back up and leaving it there. you reach for your wine glass on the bedside table, sipping as their hearts fall to their ass.

sure, anxiety stirs low in your gut. nipping at your reason and concious. but youre also keen of what your boys have lived through, the dirtest negotiations and most horrific actions.

alway do they come back home into your arms.

you could blame it on pure lack of sleep, but its nicer to pin it on the assumption youre probably the safest person in town. you were even willing to bet in the city.

so you continue with scrolling through ao3.

paying a half mind as military tense rounds over their bodies. simon whistles for the dogs and grabs his pistol. grunting and rolling his bare shoulders in atonished anger at somones sheer audacity. i mean for fuck sakes the mans tired. 

johnnys sneaking grin falls, replaced by a flat face as hes quick to grab a flashlight and gun. moving out the door on simons heels. big dogs herding around them.

"stay 'ere yeah love? dont open the fuckin' door," johns voice is a low growl. grabbing a hunters knife ( anniversary gift from you, his names carved in the wood ) and moving to the window. room lights flipped off when johnny left. scanning the open grass with an annoyed brow twitch. "kyle, wi' me."

kyle nods, glancing back three times to make sure youre content. careful to lock the bedroom door and leave a weapon with you, which he drills in not to touch less you hear the burglar. with a final glance, hes gone with the rest of them.

your ears perk for movement outside. glass shatters and a door kicks open. youre pretty sure you hear the guy shriek — most definitely simons doing, weird fucker was waiting in the dark — a brisk struggle before the house falls silent, words they dont want you hearing are exchanged then hes thrown out onto the grass.

hes quick to jump up and scurry off, wet pants uncomfortable and now stinking.

"Seriously, soap, you have your own personal medic." Gaz rants between bites of crisps that certainly aren't his, not that ghost stops the sergeant from stealing from his plate "it's unfair. How the hell did you convince 'em that you're worth that much work?"

"Ach, yer being dramatic, gaz." Soap grins, leaning back in his seat "you all get help, no harm done."

"Hrmph. Took me twenty minutes to get an assist." Ghost grunts, opens his mouth expectantly for a crisp from gaz. "Seems like bloody favoritism, johnny. How'd you do it?"

"....you want to know my secret?" Soap prompts, an absolutely gleeful look on his face.

A pointed look from both of them.

"I moan and whine when I get patched up." Soap preens at his statement, oblivious to the widening eyes of his teammates "fucker seems to love it, pretty sure it's some freaky sexual thing."

"And...you're...okay with that?" Gaz asks, only mildly shocked.

"I once whimpered at a thorn in my pinky and honest to god got a little star-pattern bandage for it not a minute later." Soap points out.

Sukuna hated how sharp your tone got whenever you were upset with him. It was obvious too and you were the only one in the estate who could be as petty. he clears his throat before speaking, his gaze avoiding yours, “Wife.”

The first time the two of you crossed paths in two days and you looked at him as if you wanted nothing to do with him. The maids couldn’t even cut a grape with how tense the air was. Him avoiding your eyes only made you click your tongue and bow.

Moving to walk past him, he turns around just as quickly, frantically grabbing your wrist, “WAIT!”

Eyes widened, breaths were caught, and you were annoyed.

clearing his throat once more, he lowers his voice immediately, “wait. please.”

now you’re sitting in his chambers, on his large bed, your hands rested in your lap gracefully. your gaze sharp enough to make the room feel smaller, he stands before you nervously looking everywhere but at you.

“I’m sorry.” he lets out quietly, opening his mouth to continue, “I shouldn’t have shouted at you like that. when you clearly worried.”

he glances at you in between words, feeling like a puddle under the weight of your gaze, sweat beads at the corner of his temples, worried you would dismiss him, he continues. “I was frustrated and took it out on you.”

He looks up from your feet, a falter of your expression no where to be seen, he kneels in front of you, gently taking the back of your hands into his palms, “I may not deserve your forgiveness,”

his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your wrists, “But I would love it if you found it in your heart to forgive a fool like me once more.”

he dips his head into the palms of the hands smaller than his, his eyes closed, eyelashes kissing the middle of your hands as he pressed himself there, awaiting for your forgiveness.

a small huff leaves you, followed by a defeated sigh. your fingers curl into his face, cupping gently. you lift up his chin, his ruby red eyes meeting yours as they looked at you with such longing.

you find yourself leaning down to press a soft kiss to the corner of his eye, a small sign of your grace.

The corners of his mouth couldn’t help but tug at the feeling, leaning into the palm of your hand while he melts into your touch.