"Hey Luv"

"Hey luv"

Ghost's voice came in from the other side of the phone, as deep and sweet as usual. As gentle as it always would be when it came to you.

To others he was a strong soldier. A big brother and role model to the recruits and a friend to his mates.

To his enemies he was a horrifying man who stopped at nothing when it came to achieving his goal. Burning down and killing anyone who stood in his way

To you he was a sweet and funny man who stopped at nothing to see you smile and laugh around him.

"Hi, Si"

You smiled as you heard his voice, knowing that you only had 5 minutes before he went onto his mission.

He let out a hearty chuckle at the nickname, feeling your smile from the other side of the phone

"How have you been?"

"Good, just finished cleaning the house."

You answered quickly throwing away the wipes you used to clean the countertops, the trash can making a loud sound as it closed.

"That's great. Miss your pretty face. Still smiling, yeah?"

You smiled bigger, getting slightly flustered as you tried to think of something to say back.

"Miss you too, when will you be back?"

".. I love you a lot, no matter how far away I am. Y'know that yeah?"

He showed you love in many ways but almost never did he outright tell you he loved you. He showed in acts of service and sometimes physical touch if he had a rough week.

"I love you too, si. Everything okay?"

"Yeah luv, everything's fine. Just needed you to know I love ya. Mission'll be a while"

"Oh alright, I'll let you go now. I'll see you when you get back :)"

And with that he hung up.

But little did you know the mission would be his last.

You Drew Stars

Hunter x Jedi reader

Mess around and find out.

Angst

Pt 10 to You Drew Stars

“We’re almost there.” Tech’s voice rang out through the otherwise silent cockpit as he exited hyperspace.

Hunter glanced up from sharpening his knife and took in the view of the large planet. The world seemed flush with life as mountains rose and trees filled the land. You wouldn’t think that this world would have a secret lab conducting unlawful experiments with kidnapped clone troopers… Clearly the perfect choice for the empire to set up such a dangerous operation.

“We will have approximately three minutes when I land to get inside without being detected by security.” Tech stated once again.

“Got it.” Hunter put the storm trooper helmet on that Rex obtained for them.

He already didn’t like the way the suit fit him or how it was a lot less mobile then the uniform he used to wear when he was fighting for the republic… How times have changed.

“Wrecker, make sure you get the ship somewhere inconspicuous and wait for our signal… And it all else fails… Do what you do best.” Tech stated.

He then motioned for Wrecker to take the controls as soon as he landed the ship near one of the secret entrances to the mountain.

“Let’s go.” Hunter stated.

Echo and Tech followed behind him, each wearing an identical storm trooper outfit to Hunter’s. They remained quiet and vigilant as they entered the mountain and made their way up one of the ventilation shafts.

When Echo peaked his head out and saw that the coast was clear, they exited the vent and began pretending as if they belonged there.

The three stayed clear of any suspicious personnel that could blow their cover as they made their way to the level that they were keeping clone troopers.

“Up ahead and to the right.” Tech voice spoke through their personal comms.

They entered the room and was met by rows of multiple clone troopers being held against their will.

“He should be in one of these cells.” Echo said as they began their search.

Each cell was met by another familiar face, but none with the signature crosshair tattoo and permanent scowl.

…

“Can I come with you? Please? I can’t just sit here waiting a moment longer. I’ll go crazy.” Omega pleaded with Phee as she was boarding her ship.

“I know, but your brothers insisted that you stay here and I didn’t expect an urgent call from Sid. It should only take half a day tops and I’ll be back for dinner alright?” Phee tried to say.

“See! You said it yourself. Only half a day tops which means I should be able to go with you!” Omega begged and the look in her big eyes that quickly made Phee fold.

With a sigh, Phee motioned for the young girl to follow her, “Alright, but you have to listen to everything I say. Promise?”

Omega nodded eagerly as she strapped herself in the copilots seat, “Promise.”

“And I expect to get one of those smoothies that you and Wrecker have been making.” Phee said with a small grin.

Omega crossed her heart, “As soon as we get back I promise to make you one.”

…

“Do you think he might be on another level? Did we miss something?” Hunter asked as he looked into another cell.

Each cell they past left an empty feeling in each of their hearts. One, that their clone brethren were locked up and two, because their brother was nowhere to be found. The image of what has become of their brothers in arms have left a permanent scar in their minds.

Tech shook his head, “Negative. All clones have been stationed here in this cell block.”

“But he’s not just any type of clone.” Hunter shook his head, “They could have transferred him somewhere else.”

“I highly doubt that. He has to be here. There is no other place where he could be.” Tech urged as they moved forward.

“I’m going to check the layout and see if there’s a turn up ahead.” Tech looked at his data pad following behind Echo and Hunter.

“Let’s not give up just yet. We’ll keep searching until we find him.” Echo said with certainty laced in his voice.

…

“What did Sid say that she needs to talk about anyways?” Omega wondered as she swung her legs.

“Don’t know.” Phee shrugged, keeping her eyes on the stars while she flew her ship, “She just said that it was important. Maybe if we’re lucky enough, it’ll be another treasure hunt.”

“Oo!” Omega’s eyes lit up, “We haven’t gone in one of those in a while! That would be fun and I’m sure my mo-” Omega suddenly stopped swinging her feet as her happy expression fell realizing she caught herself forgetting again.

“I lost my mom when I was young too.” Phee mentioned when the silence grew heavy, “She was an amazing women. The best treasure hunter in the entire galaxy and one day… Something went wrong and I never saw her again.” Phee spoke gently, “It’s the memories that you have that counts so don’t be sad. Be proud.”

Omega nodded, “I just… I feel that she’s still here with us somehow.”

“I feel like that about my mom too.” Phee said.

Omega fell back into her seat, leaning her head against the headrest, “She would have liked a treasure hunt.”

Phee smiled softly, “I’m sure she would have.”

…

They were cutting it close as their pace quickened with each turn. They knew that it was only a matter of time before storm troopers will be poking their heads around the corner and figuring out they weren’t actually one of them.

This whole mission was dangerous and yet none of them would turn back. Not if it meant saving their brother.

“There!” Echo quickly pointed towards one of the last few cells.

Hunter let out a breath of relief as the three of them ran up to the cell.

There they found Crosshair, barely moving on the ground with bruises swelling over his skin. It looked like he had been through hell…

What happened to him? Hunter thought as Tech quickly got to work on disarming the cell shield.

“None of the others look as bad as he does.” Echo mentioned what Hunter was just thinking, “They wouldn’t have done this to just any clone… There must have been a reason…”

Hunter and Tech both nodded in agreement.

“Maybe because of Omega?” Hunter questioned.

“That is highly plausible. The cell should be open… Now.” Tech stated and suddenly the shield vanished.

Hunter and Tech quickly made their way to help their brother up as Echo stood guard.

“Crosshair.” Tech gently shook his brothers arm and doing a quick scan to check his vitals.

To that touch, Crosshair reached up and held his brother’s arm in his own death grip.

“Don’t touch her.” Crosshair growled before he fell unconscious again.

“Her?” Tech furrowed his brows underneath the helmet, “Crosshair, who are you talking about?”

“What does he mean by her?” Echo asked as he glanced towards the three in the cell.

“I don’t know, but we have to go. We’ll ask him later.” Hunter shook his head before helping Tech lift their brother in their arms.

“Echo, we need to get to a database. Rex requested we obtain all information about Project Light.” Hunter ordered and as quickly as he was trained to do, Echo tracked down where they needed to be.

“You need… Go…” Crosshair was once again fading in and out of consciousness as he muttered each word, “In… Trouble…”

“We’ll go soon, brother.” Hunter tried to console his brother as they entered a room filled with computer systems, “Just hold on a bit longer.”

Echo quickly inserted himself into the data base and began searching for the proper file that he needed.

Suddenly they were sealed shut inside the room as red lights and a loud alarm started blaring throughout the base.

“I think they suspect we are here.” Tech stated as a matter of fact.

Echo, Tech, and Hunter took off their helmets.

Hunter sighed, “Didn’t notice.”

Hunter looked to Echo with urgency, “Echo where are we at with those files?”

“Almost there.” Echo muttered without looking away from the screen, “You just need to buy me some time.”

…

“Come on. Up out of your seat little copilot.” Phee patted Omega’s shoulder as soon as she landed the ship.

The two were off the ramp and heading towards Sid’s bar without a worry in their mind, save for the boys of course. They both only wished that they would come back safe and sound with Crosshair.

“Oddly quiet tonight.” Phee remarked as she noticed the streets were pretty bare, unlike what she was used to seeing.

“I’m going to head to Sol and grab some cakes for my brothers if that’s okay?” Omega asked.

Phee nodded her head, not seeing the harm in it, “Sure thing. Grab me a snack while your at it too. Something fruity.” Phee smiled as she pulled out some credits and handed them to the girl.

Omega nodded her head and took off, leaving Phee to continue the rest of the way to Sid’s.

“Hey Sid!” Phee called out the the older woman as soon as she stepped into the bar.

It only occurred to her then that the place was empty also and a unwanted feeling began to make its way through her chest, sending pulses to her brain that told her to run.

“I’m sorry, but I need to know where the kid is Phee.” Sid appeared from her office, followed by two storm troopers, a short man in a coat and…

“You…” Phee’s eyes widened at the sight in front of her.

The cloaked woman’s body was covered by a black coat with a hood to conceal her face.

Phee held her breath as she waited for the mysterious form to reveal themselves. Slowly, the figure pulled the hood down with a metal arm to reveal a face that confirmed Phee’s gut feeling.

Phee breathed out in disbelief and happiness, “You’re alive.”

It was the man in the coat that spoke next.

“My name is Dr. Hemlock. Sid here told us all about you and how much you love treasure.” He threw a bag onto a nearby bar table and the remnants inside revealed jewels that she has never even seen before, “I know you are a smart woman and you don’t want to be caught up in this mess so be a dear and tell us where Omega is.”

Phee glanced at the bag intently. She slowly looked at the Jedi who had a glazed look over her eyes as if she wasn’t even present.

“What did you do to her?” Phee glared at the doctor.

“Don’t mind your friend, she wouldn’t even remember you even if you tried to tell her.” Hemlock waved his arm and without a second thought, the General ignited her lightsaber.

“Now. I am pretty sure I have made us a fair trade here.” Hemlock said and this time his voice was far from kind, “Tell me where the girl is.”

…

Hunter could hear footsteps quickly approaching them. He placed the rest of Crosshair’s weight to Tech before he smashed the key code to enter the room.

“That should buy us some time, but not a lot.” Hunter stated, but with a less than confident look as the banging continued outside of the door.

“Hunter…” Echo’s voice was oddly quiet as he stared at the screen in front of him.

“What?” Hunter turned to look in Echo’s direction.

He didn’t like the way that Echo looked up as if he had just seen a ghost.

“What is it?” Hunter repeated, his voice snipped as he waited for Echo to give him an answer.

“It’s.. It’s the general…” Echo took a pause to collect himself, “She’s still alive.”

…

Omega felt herself slow her run as she reached the Sol cafe. The lights had been shattered inside, leaving the cafe as dark as the street outside.

“Omega?” A familiar voice called out to her.

She hasn’t heard it in quite a while, but the waiter poked his head out from behind a booth with wide blue eyes, “What are you doing here?” Indul asked.

Omega rushed to him, wincing as she saw the deep gash that scarred his right leg.

“Are you alright? What happened to you?” She asked as she looked around at the destroyed restaurant.

“I don’t know who they are… There was one one… Black robe, they wore a hood and wielded a lightsaber. They killed Jun.” He pointed shakily to the kitchen.

He looked up panicked and scared, “They came in here looking for you Omega… You need to run. Get away as far from here as you can.” He struggled to talk through the steering pain, but the urgency was president in his voice.

Her hands hovered over his wound, not sure of what to do, “I can find Phee and she can help you.” Omega said as she stood.

“I don’t need any help.” Indul shook his head with a sigh, “But you can’t go out there by yourself.” Indul struggled to stand, “I’ll go with you.”

Omega immediately shook her head and gently sat him back down, “I’ll be fine, you need to stay still.”

“Mary is grabbing some medical supplies for my leg.” Indul assured as he placed his hand on top of hers, “Go… And may the force be with you.”

…

“Tick tok.” Dr. Hemlock spoke in a bored tone as he glanced at his watch.

“I won’t.” Phee shook her head as she took a step back and crossed her arms, “I don’t know how many pirates you’ve come across, but I ain’t one of them.”

Hemlock sighed, “I really hoped that you would have been more easily suaded like your dear friend Sid here, but I suppose it can never be that easy twice, can it?” Hemlock motioned to his new toy, “Kill her and find the girl.”

The Jedi stepped forward, a murderous look in her gaze as she lifted her lightsaber.

Phee raised her hands up, “You don’t have to do this. Please.” She said as she took a few steps back, the jedi matching with a step of her own.

Suddenly the doors to the cantina swung open and two cans of smoke rolled through the doors.

“Hurry!” Omega shouted to Phee who took no time in following the young girl out the door.

The two bolted down the street as they headed straight for their ship.

“How did they find us?” Omega asked.

“Sid sold you out kid!” Phee said as they ran.

“What? No. That can’t be!” Omega yelled shocked.

“We’ll talk about it later, this way!” Phee yelled as they took a right.

They were almost to their ship when suddenly large rubble and stone broke from a building, sealing their path shut. As they turned they could see the glowing purple from a lightsaber.

“Who is that?” Omega asked as she squinted at the cloaked figure.

“It’s…” Before Phee could answer, Omega was falling to the ground in a heavy sleep.

As Phee looked up in shock, she watched her old friend wave her hand and in a second she was out like a light.

…

“What do you mean?” Hunter’s voice was cold.

He could quiet literally hear his heart beat loudly in his eardrums blocking out the banging on the locked door as he stared at the screen that showed the very being he couldn’t live without.

He could see her face, void of any emotion as she stared at whoever had taken the photo. Her scanner showed active on the screen with the word successful project written in the top right corner of her file. His mind was racing with confusion as he tried to piece together what could have happened to her during these last few months…

The pain she must have endured. That thought alone sent a knife through his heart.

“She must have been alive when… They took her.” Echo muttered as he glanced at his brother’s reaction, “She must be who Crosshair was trying to protect…”

“Alive?” Tech echoed the word as Crosshair leaned into his side. He kept a tight grip on his brother to keep him balanced, but that didn’t stop the lump that formed in his throat, “She was alive and I left her.”

Hunter’s fury laced in his bones as he ripped the frame piece from piece. His voice roared through the sealed room as he ripped through everything he could find. Echo, Tech and Crosshair stood against one of the walls as they watched Hunter mentally loose himself. They listened to the sound of the shields disappearing in the next room, letting them know that Hunter had just inadvertently released the clones being held hostage.

“We left her.” Hunter’s voice was barely a whisper.

He headed straight to the sealed door that now opened up to the stormtroopers on the other side. Each swift movement, each yell gave way to a storm trooper falling to the ground until Hunter stood above them remaining victorious and blinded by rage.

His brothers slowed stepped to the entrance of the room, watching their brother with concern.

Hunter stood there, unmoving as each clone warily stepped out of their cells.

“Burn this place to the ground.” Venom laced his voice and fire filled his eyes as the sirens blared and the battle cries of his brethren rang out through the halls.

“We’re bringing her home.” Was Hunter’s final words as he grabbed his blaster and led his brother’s back to the Marauder.

Just hold out for me a little longer mesh’la, I’m coming for you.

Taglist

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around the clock

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

genre: fluff! (working drabble!)

warnings: slightly suggestive, cursing, handyman!ghost

synopsis: ghost finds comfort in always being busy, whether that'd be completing household maintenance or chores but what does he do when there's nothing else to fix? well, it's simple, he goes over to your place–

a.n. hi lovelies! life's been picking up BUT it's finally spooky season! 🕷 pls take handyman!ghost to compensate for the fact that I dropped off the face of the earth for a bit <3

-

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ghost would definitely have the characteristics of being a handyman– specifically, yours.

-

paid leave was a valuable but rare benefit that many military personnel took advantage of. traveling, relaxing, or staying with family were typically on the itinerary for most. to catch up on lost time. to ground and comfort them with the humanity that they might’ve forgotten about while on the battlefield. a solace for their minds, souls, and hearts to rest. service members could request leave at any time, fortunately, but ghost never had a reason to. he found comfort in being constantly busy. proved to be less on the mind. an escape from the pain that frequents him whenever he opens his eyes and follows him into his sleepless nights. he recalls price mentioning his unhealthy coping mechanism– the word ‘escapism’ leaving his lips in a sympathetic grimace. a sensitive emotion that reached the captain’s eyes and caused ghost to uncomfortably shuffle on his feet. he wouldn’t label it as ‘escapism,’ per se, just favors his hectic life. so when he chooses is forced to take his paid leave, ghost keeps himself active; repairing his plumbing system, fixing broken light fixtures, or testing any of his home appliances to ensure they’re working properly. he’s continually restless. likes strenuous and taxing work. makes it easier to fall asleep at the end of the day. and, by the off chance there’s absolutely nothing left to maintain in his compact flat (because a couple bare rooms, small porch, and no backyard is hardly a feat to clean), he’ll sit on his threadbare couch. might tap his fingers against his thigh while the living room clock obnoxiously ticks. the silence is deafening, ironically. his heavy-set eyes float to glance at the time and upon noticing this is the predicament he’ll be in for a couple more weeks, he abruptly gets up, pockets his keys, and makes his way to you.  

ghost who stiffly stands at your front door when you answer the familiar knock. frankly, you’ve noticed the way he knocks on your door is strikingly different than how he does on missions. a strong rap but not powerful enough to scare you. it’s a sign that’s irrevocably him. served as an indication of his presence. it was up to you whether you wished to entertain his trivial inquiries. you peep your head out first, not quite believing the sight before you, and he raises a brow at your widened eyes. “simon?” you ask incredulously. his plain balaclava shifts when he catches how you intuitively open the door wider for him. to make room for him in your home. “remembered you asked about patchin’ and paintin’ your walls,” he explains like it’s ordinary to recall a conversation from weeks ago. astonishingly, he was right. you had, offhandedly, mentioned that you nailed picture frames to the wall which created noticeable holes that you didn’t know how to fix. you reminisce at how he held back an amused scoff when you emphasized that it was an honest mistake on your part. didn’t entirely think it likely that he’d personally fix it. “oh,” you glance at the rather large toolbox in his hand as your voice trails off, “like, you want to fix it right now?” he offers a singular nod as a response.  

ghost who’s a second away from packing up his home repair tools/gadgets and heading back home when you glance behind you to stare at your place in contemplation. your lower lip caught in-between your teeth. he hesitates. isn’t accustomed to the sensation even when he has a weapon in his grasp. his mind whirs. the green-eyed monster of jealousy bleeding its way into his heart. “unless,” he dreads the words before they leave his lips, “you have a bloke to help ya with it?” his words are stiff. ghost shifts to lean against your doorframe in an attempt to ease off the bitterness in his voice. drawn to the movement, you can’t help but become aware of how he fills the entire entryway with his physique. your cheeks burn. a quick shake of your head followed by a resounding, “no, I don’t and I haven’t called a handyman either.” and it’s the perfect remedy to quell his discontent. his rigid posture loosens with the answer. while you step to the side to welcome him in, you hurriedly clarify with an awkward laugh, “had to think for a bit because I didn’t want you to see how much of a slob I am,” and hope that the joke lands. the universally polite comment to excuse the untidiness. ghost isn’t focused on the clutter, however. he’s basking in the fact that you’re not seeing anyone. offhandedly throws in a murmur of, “not a problem, sweetheart,” when he eases by you. and the way it borders raspy satisfaction reduces you to a puddle. 

ghost who allows his gaze to wander to your decorated walls and dainty furniture while you explain where the tactless gaps in the walls were at. picture frames encasing friends and family were thoughtfully tacked onto the walls. trinkets lined the shelves to serve as memoirs. he stops himself from reaching up and picking one up for closer inspection. wouldn’t be fair if he did. truth be told, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d put up a photograph in his own flat. his loved ones and comrades stayed etched in his mind. recurrent and persistent. your place, on the other hand, seems well-inhabited, lived-in, and loved. he could almost spot the glow that you managed to sprinkle everywhere you went regardless of the situation. a feature that endlessly puzzled him. the addictive familiarity that accompanied you and made every place feel like home. ghost likes it. it’s comfy and cozy– you. and his mind slips into the possibility of adding a few pieces of him in your home. his work boots at the front door. his toothbrush residing beside yours in the bathroom. his shirt in your closet. “need any tools to help fix the damage I made?” your witticism forces him out of his train of thought. halts the delusion from straying too far. he’s quick to recover, however, and murmurs, “got everythin’ I need here,” while his eyes are solely fixed on you. a declaration that’s spoken as profound as a pass of thunder. and you wait with bated breath, mind whirring to reciprocate the sentiment but ghost is already trekking past you. he gets to work almost immediately by using a putty knife and a joint compound to patch up the holes in the walls. but goodness– his eyes. the raw dedication that manifests and bleeds out when he glances over to you. his words are a certainty that he grasps onto. 

ghost who, unsurprisingly, fixes the blunders in the walls with ease. it’s a minor task that’s covered with a gentle hand and some paint. nothing that he can’t fix. but truthfully, the afternoon passes far quicker than usual. with fleeting smiles and stolen glances whenever his focus shifted to you. it was spotting your figure, halfway hidden behind the kitchen entryway, from the corner of his eyes. it was finding you tampering with his tools whenever his back was turned and hearing your soft laughter when he halfheartedly chided your roaming hands. a serenity disguised as a luxury that ghost could never afford. “want to hear a construction joke?” your voice fills the house; he prefers it that way. yet, your inquiry falls flat because he’s short-circuiting. with a hand on his shoulder, you lean forward to inspect the spot that he’s working on. forces the two of you closer. your breath is a hot puff against the shell of his ear and he visibly pauses. you’re warm. he turns his head sideways, purposefully staring ahead, and decides to indulge you, “sure.” “hm,” you hum and the pleasant noise goes straight through him, “I’m still working on it.” and when you’re rewarded with an amused huff from his lips due to the punchline, a grin stretches across your face. it’s a meager detail that he imagines as he trudged back (with heavy feet) to his bare flat later that evening. yet, it’s the only solace that allows him to sleep a little easier that night.  

ghost who questions his rationale when he’s hauling his lawnmower and other tools onto the back of his pickup truck just for you. well, he supposes you never did ask him to mow your lawn but your front yard is in need of his care. his personal touch. afterall there were various benefits of keeping a lawn clean and tidy. encourages new grass growth and deters pests– or so he justifies. surely it’s not due to the appreciative smile you throw him when you tug your curtains back to find him trimming the edge of the grass. he hears the click of the window opening before your voice calls out to him, “you didn’t need to, si!” but ghost has never given half an effort to seek your favor. lives his life in extremes. so he spares you a glance while genuine words leak from his mouth that he attempts to mask in his surly voice, “jus’ wanted to.” and hastily wretches the starter cord on the lawnmower so it roars to life. pretends not to catch onto your longing stares when the sun’s rays are scorching and he’s compelled to shed a couple layers off. sure, you had tasks at hand rather than blatantly gawking but it could wait. and he didn’t particularly mind the attention. especially when you’re seated by the window so prettily with your face perched atop your hand. admiration pooling in your wide eyes. you watch with bated breath as he one-handedly tugs off his bulky sweater to reveal a fitted black shirt and dirty jeans. a combination that has you visibly gulping as he continues pushing the machine across the lawn. he’s a tantalizing brew of brawn and power. a darkness that you wish to traverse upon. satiates you with a knowing look when he stretches and the fabric of his shirt is pulled taunt across his broad chest. and he huffs in delight when you hurriedly reach out to yank the curtains closed. 

ghost who picks you flowers (weeds) but doesn’t know the difference. he ends up discovering a clump of golden dandelions growing near the edge of your fence and decided to pluck them. pinches the stems in between his fingers until it breaks. ends up harvesting a handful of them. the question is: what does he do with them? he saunters over to your front door, raps his knuckles against it, and patiently waits for you to answer. of course. then, he hands the dandelions to you, unblinking but brimming with good intentions. because he’s not aware that dandelions are the most notorious weeds that many desire to get rid of. just acknowledges that they’re pretty and you’re pretty– so it only makes sense. another gift for you. anything for you. he watches as you absentmindedly twirl the stems in your grasp, speechless. and, without warning, he’s flushed for a reason far beyond just the weather. a terrible queasiness that was unlike any he’s experienced. his mannerisms are fidgety, mind itching to leave, and save him the humiliation of offering you weeds. but then your lips break into a wide smile. a dazzling one. knocks the breath out of his lungs. you’re uttering repeated ‘thank you’s’ though, clearly too distracted to notice his predicament, before scurrying into your kitchen. he’s left stunned while you call out, “how did you know I have a pretty vase to match with these?” 

ghost who’s knocking at your door in the early mornings, greets you with a gruff, “mornin’,” and slinks past you into your home. doesn’t even pause despite the fact that it’s barely the crack of dawn and the sky is still hazy from the remnants of last night. the birds are barely tweeting out to each other, still testing to find a harmony to start the day. you’re as bright as the sun, however, when he offers a glance to you. an expression of stupor and excitement conveyed on your face due to his arrival. he’s stopped by a couple times now yet the warm buzz never dims: if anything, it flourishes like the row of flowers he planted on your front porch. vibrant and all-consuming. “still finding stuff to fix, si?” you joke while tilting your head. you stop him by the kitchen counter just as he’s about to state that everything looks maintained for now. “‘course,” he rumbles as his gaze sweeps to you, “soon you won’t need me though.” his statement is heavier than he expected and he opens his mouth to thwart the abrupt negativity but you beat him to it. the words tumble from your lips, “pretty sure I can always find something here that needs to be fixed.” your voice is soft as you add, “just as long as you want to stay.” he watches as your eyes flicker to the floor but it’s too late. ghost has already seen the tenderness that belongs wholly to him. your vulnerability that he wishes to cradle in his grasp. his hands clasp and unclasp by his sides before he finally mentions, “your fence needs fixin’ today. don’t want the strays comin’ in and fuckin tramplin’ on everything.” 

ghost who’s true to his word and tirelessly works to replace your fence posts even in the scorching heat. scratches the back of his neck while muttering something about how they’re rotted on the bottom. and it’s almost hypnotizing to observe how he works. methodically checking each panel’s angle to see how severe it is. he detaches the surrounding pickets and stringers from each post in order to pull the wooden planks out. it’s demanding manual labor, more exhausting than his previous projects, which is why he requests your help. “just need ya to hold these up for me and I’ll straighten out the rest. can you do that for me, pup?” he explains as he hands you a singular fence post. and you try– you really do since he asked so nicely– but the wood is coarse against your fingertips and the sweltering sun hits the nape of your neck too harshly. you huff, voice bordering a whine, “I can’t do this anymore, si.” and ghost, the saint he secretly is, just raises his head to peer up at you. he’s currently on his knees, denim jeans caked in dirt, and dripping with enough sweat that the edges of balaclava curl at the edges to expose slivers of pale skin. “be good for me, will ya?” an inquiry that sounds more like a command due to his thick accent. his dark eyes search for yours, squinting in the sun’s rays, before he goes back to digging around the base of the fence post. however, when even the rare sight of his bare skin does little to serve as a reward against the extreme heat, you’re pouting again, “can’t we do this another day–” “oi,” he interrupts you when his large hand blindly reaches back to clamp over your knee. his thumb moves to caress the inner portion of your knee and you can vaguely discern how each of his fingers press against your skin. featherlight touches that sear your skin. his gaze snaps to yours, a dark brow arching at your unwillingness to move. the next demand leaves his lips in a low, tempting voice, “behave.” 

ghost who’s a sucker for your large, beseeching eyes and only shakes his head when you prance back into your house. you’re humming a light tune when you skip up the steps, away from the harsh weather, and leaving him to continue angling fence posts alone. it’d be a crime for him to deny your wish. and it’s not like he bends to your every whim. sometimes. he huffs, half in amusement and half in disbelief, before hauling another slab of wood. it’s not like the task was terribly difficult. he’s proficient– a machine that rather enjoys ruthless duties. just assumes that teamwork would lessen the strenuous work. and having your company was always pleasant. he’s in the act of lifting another fence post when he spots you bounding towards him, a glass cup in your hands, and a radiant grin on your face. his heart flips. pounds against his chest like a sledgehammer beating against fragile wood. “made some lemonade,” you offer and raise the glass to him, “for the hard worker.” notices the hesitant tremble in your fingers and your sudden shyness compels him to inwardly crumble. like you weren’t already the cause of his peace. there’s a swirly straw and a decorative umbrella in the drink which catches his attention. calloused fingers skimming the edge of the vibrant garnish, he’s silent. has never gotten this treatment from another person. it's foreign to him but not unwanted. his eyes are unblinking, caught in a trance, before he’s murmuring honest appreciation for your generosity.

ghost who prods, a bit of humor in his voice, as he sips at the beverage, “a bit sweet, yeah?” coerces himself to ease the smirk that threatens to overtake his face when he recognizes how your eyes widen in alarm. recognizes the panic that spreads within you when you quickly suggest, “is it? let me try.” and he’s more than happy to comply. wordlessly edges the straw between your glossy lips so you can take a sip. half-lidded eyes trained on how your lips curl around the straw, an action that serves as his newest vice. one that he’s certain will take ages to treat. constant time that’d be spent with you. always you. “you’re right. it’s kinda too sweet,” you naively remark, flicking your eyes up at him. you’re so sweet to him– soft voice and all. he’s not looking at you, however. no, ghost lifts the straw to take another sip and as he pulls away, his tongue darts out to lick his lips. to chase after the taste of you. memorizing it. saccharine and gloss. a primal act that has you aching for more. “m’fault then,” his amused voice was snuffed by his blank expression as he gently gripped your jaw. you watch as he slowly blinks, blond lashes sweeping against his cheek, and lowly hums, “forgot I like sweet things.”  

pick one. this is your blind date

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25

26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30

(assume that whoever you get is single)

i um… um i- i when- uhhhh mf um my uhhhhh

A relationship with Ghost would consist of the following:

Being mutually attracted to each other but it's 98012334823 years before you make things official.

Price, Gaz, and Soap essentially going "FINALLY!" and welcoming you to the group with open arms because it's about damn time Ghost found some happiness of his own.

You and Johnny double-teaming Ghost to poke fun at him.

Realizing that Ghost actually has a pretty wicked albeit deadpan sense of humor. You can especially see it with Soap. Can and does encourage Soap to do the thing rather bluntly because he and Gaz have a betting pool going.

Simon being your silent but everpresent protector whenever he's with you. He likes to be in the background observing his surroundings. His eyes never leave your form, though.

Finding out he's quite the handyman. Simon likes keeping his hands busy.

Giggling and/or guffawing whenever he says the word knobhead or taco.

Never failing to become flustered at the way he looks at you. Simon emotes with his eyes more than anything. His gaze is powerful.

Learning to interpret his grunts. They actually vary depending on his mood.

Ghost having to buy boxer briefs (men's boxers are friggin' COMFORTABLE, you hear me?!) and hoodies more than usual because you almost always take his old ones. He doesn't mind as much as you think he does. In fact, he likes it when you wear his clothes. He just won't ever say it. Much. He will, however, show you how much he likes it...

Realizing that for all his size, Simon moves in silence. You've lost count of the number of times he's scared you.

Ghost having no problems entertaining you, especially when it comes to random ass conversations. Some of his responses, especially when said in a deadpan tone, are unintentionally hilarious.

Never failing to be impressed at the way he can multi-task, especially when you're talking to him. You tested it once because you thought he wasn't listening. He was. He repeated the last thing you said to him. Oh.

(Referencing this post) Ghost knowing he's in hot shit when you call his full name, complete with a middle name that changes every. fucking. time. To date, he is Simon Marie Amadeus Atherton Riley. Soap caught the Marie part and now he has the rest of 141 convinced that's Ghost's middle name.

Ghost learning the importance of self-care. Whenever he's in hot shit, it's almost always because he's pushing himself or won't allow himself the opportunity to rest.

Giving each other space when necessary. Ghost absolutely needs space to decompress when he gets home and afterward, you two are inseparable.

Using each other as human pillows. Whereas Johnny becomes The Soapurrito™, Simon tends to sploot on top of you. Especially when he's dead tired.

Texting him random ass questions and depending on the answer, Simon is yet again in the doghouse.

Talking about potential tattoos he can get. He shot down the idea of getting your name tatted on his lower back because... no.