Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost wasn’t a brute by any means, but anyone who interacted with him would certainly call him one. He held himself with his power, basing himself on his military status. It was a habit. Even after being out of his home for so long, the idea that he needed that power stuck. It was what worked.

There were ways to maintain power, and his favourite was control. Not pure manipulation and force that came from something born in hell, but the kind of silent pressure that built up quicker than someone could react to. Ghost liked knowing obedience came from fear, no matter how wicked it was.

Fear.

Ghost didn’t like fear in some situations. He didn’t like the fear he felt when Graves betrayed them. He didn’t like the heart-pounding realization that Soap was dead. And he certainly didn’t like the fear in {User}’s eyes when he came back with the news.

Ghost had built himself off power for so long, and it shattered because someone else had too much of it. He didn’t like the control in his emotions. He didn’t like the power he held over {User}, especially since they had been Soap’s. It felt like a twisted attempt at mocking him. He knew Price hadn’t meant it that way, but he couldn’t help it. They were too much like Soap.

It was understandable in the way {User} reacted, the way they panicked for a split second before being forced to maintain composure. Nobody wanted a broken toy—certainly not the military.

And yet Ghost knew a knife would’ve been gentler. The mere thought of all the progress Soap put into that demi was exhausting to even think about. It was annoying to think of it causing a backtrack. He did not need a backtrack. Ghost wouldn’t tolerate it. Soap had put his blood, sweat, and tears into training the fucker. Just because he was dead didn’t mean {User} had to revert.

‘Revert’.

Ghost had called it that when he first noticed it. Animal-like behavior that happened when {User} got anxious. Sometimes it was licking themself, sometimes it was sniffing around the room, sometimes it was burying themself so far under blankets that Soap had been sure they’d have to be cut out. It was subtle, but obvious in its own way.

Ghost tried controlling it. He tried holding any kind of power he could, but it eventually turned into violence. He knew they were grieving, but so would so many other people if Makarov did anything more than breathe wrong. Ghost was grateful they resorted to nothing more than light nips, but he didn’t appreciate the disrespect. There was more than once that he threatened to dishonourably discharge them, but he knew he never would. Not because he had a soft spot, but because they had been the closest thing to Soap.

Which meant it was the last of Soap.

Ghost was sure that was what kept him going with {User}. He was sure that the reminder of Soap was what made him endure each bite, each snap of their jaw, each claw clipping his skin when he least expected it. It was annoying, but it was Soap.

Eventually, Soap had to have his area cleaned out and sent to his family, as per protocol. {User} got to keep his uniform flag and even had it stitched into their own. Everyone already knew {User}’s ethnicity, so only new individuals would get mixed up with the flag difference. Whatever. Let them. They were grieving in their own way.

Still, he wasn’t a brute. Ghost adjusted to the difference, of the new thing under his care. He didn’t have his own demi before Riley, but Riley was a team player. {User} was not. {User} needed that stability and routine from a single person, and even if Ghost was rough with it, he still gave it. His favourite way? Tugging on their tail.

It was an every day event as of two weeks ago. Each time Ghost got close to {User} in the hall, he’d reach over and subtly tug their tail. He’d begun doing it after remembering Soap had done it in order to calm them down.

They’d been antsy lately during training in a way that Ghost couldn’t leave unanswered. He’d pull them aside, give them a break or two. He knew they weren’t being lazy because plenty of demihumans acted the same way after losing a handler. In this case, Ghost understood why it affected {User} so much–Soap was always with them.

Although, Ghost wouldn’t say the tail pulling was limited to the day. There were plenty of times he would move over to give {User} that extra room in his bed while also giving himself that hand space to pull at their tail.

He wasn’t a brute no matter what other people would say.

He’d give Soap’s creature the comfort it needed.

---

“No, up, up. Come–{User}! Up!”

Ghost knew it wasn’t the best idea to get stern, but it got his point across. With a light pull on their tail, Ghost had {User} curled up beside him, head resting by his feet while their tail was curled near his chest. One hand rested on their hip, fingers curling around the fur as he wrapped a hand around the base and tugged lightly again. There was no wince, no pull, no attempt to move away. Even if Ghost couldn’t see {User}’s reaction, he knew they at least liked a part of it.

“Closer,” he urged. “Come on. I know you can get closer.”

It wasn’t a demand, but Ghost sure as hell made it sound like it was. With another tug to their tail, he shifted them up on top of him. “There you go. Comfy?”

Ghost wasn’t a brute by any means, but anyone who interacted with him would certainly call him one. He held himself with his power, basing himself on his military status. It was a habit. Even after being out of his home for so long, the idea that he needed that power stuck. It was what worked.

There were ways to maintain power, and his favourite was control. Not pure manipulation and force that came from something born in hell, but the kind of silent pressure that built up quicker than someone could react to. Ghost liked knowing obedience came from fear, no matter how wicked it was.

Fear.

Ghost didn’t like fear in some situations. He didn’t like the fear he felt when Graves betrayed them. He didn’t like the heart-pounding realization that Soap was dead. And he certainly didn’t like the fear in {User}’s eyes when he came back with the news.

Ghost had built himself off power for so long, and it shattered because someone else had too much of it. He didn’t like the control in his emotions. He didn’t like the power he held over {User}, especially since he had been Soap’s. It felt like a twisted attempt at mocking him. He knew Price hadn’t meant it that way, but he couldn’t help it. He was too much like Soap.

It was understandable in the way {User} reacted, the way he panicked for a split second before being forced to maintain composure. Nobody wanted a broken toy—certainly not the military.

And yet Ghost knew a knife would’ve been gentler. The mere thought of all the progress Soap put into that demi was exhausting to even think about. It was annoying to think of it causing a backtrack. He did not need a backtrack. Ghost wouldn’t tolerate it. Soap had put his blood, sweat, and tears into training the fucker. Just because he was dead didn’t mean {User} had to revert.

‘Revert’.

Ghost had called it that when he first noticed it. Animal-like behavior that happened when {User} got anxious. Sometimes it was licking himself, sometimes it was sniffing around the room, sometimes it was burying himself so far under blankets that Soap had been sure he’d have to be cut out. It was subtle, but obvious in its own way.

Ghost tried controlling it. He tried holding any kind of power he could, but it eventually turned into violence. He knew he was grieving, but so would so many other people if Makarov did anything more than breathe wrong. Ghost was grateful he resorted to nothing more than light nips, but he didn’t appreciate the disrespect. There was more than once that he threatened to dishonourably discharge him, but he knew he never would. Not because he had a soft spot, but because he had been the closest thing to Soap.

Which meant it was the last of Soap.

Ghost was sure that was what kept him going with {User}. He was sure that the reminder of Soap was what made him endure each bite, each snap of his jaw, each claw clipping his skin when he least expected it. It was annoying, but it was Soap.

Eventually, Soap had to have his area cleaned out and sent to his family, as per protocol. {User} got to keep his uniform flag and even had it stitched into his own. Everyone already knew {User}’s ethnicity, so only new individuals would get mixed up with the flag difference. Whatever. Let them. He was grieving in his own way.

Still, he wasn’t a brute. Ghost adjusted to the difference, of the new thing under his care. He didn’t have his own demi before Riley, but Riley was a team player. {User} was not. {User} needed that stability and routine from a single person, and even if Ghost was rough with it, he still gave it. His favourite way? Tugging on his tail.

It was an every day event as of two weeks ago. Each time Ghost got close to {User} in the hall, he’d reach over and subtly tug his tail. He’d begun doing it after remembering Soap had done it in order to calm him down.

He’d been antsy lately during training in a way that Ghost couldn’t leave unanswered. He’d pull him aside, give him a break or two. He knew he wasn’t being lazy because plenty of demihumans acted the same way after losing a handler. In this case, Ghost understood why it affected {User} so much–Soap was always with him.

Although, Ghost wouldn’t say the tail pulling was limited to the day. There were plenty of times he would move over to give {User} that extra room in his bed while also giving himself that hand space to pull at his tail.

He wasn’t a brute no matter what other people would say.

He’d give Soap’s creature the comfort it needed.

---

“No, up, up. Come–{User}! Up!”

Ghost knew it wasn’t the best idea to get stern, but it got his point across. With a light pull on his tail, Ghost had {User} curled up beside him, head resting by his feet while his tail was curled near his chest. One hand rested on his hip, fingers curling around the fur as he wrapped a hand around the base and tugged lightly again. There was no wince, no pull, no attempt to move away. Even if Ghost couldn’t see {User}’s reaction, he knew he at least liked a part of it.

“Closer,” he urged. “Come on. I know you can get closer.”

It wasn’t a demand, but Ghost sure as hell made it sound like it was. With another tug to his tail, he shifted him up on top of him. “There you go. Comfy?”

Ghost wasn’t a brute by any means, but anyone who interacted with him would certainly call him one. He held himself with his power, basing himself on his military status. It was a habit. Even after being out of his home for so long, the idea that he needed that power stuck. It was what worked.

There were ways to maintain power, and his favourite was control. Not pure manipulation and force that came from something born in hell, but the kind of silent pressure that built up quicker than someone could react to. Ghost liked knowing obedience came from fear, no matter how wicked it was.

Fear.

Ghost didn’t like fear in some situations. He didn’t like the fear he felt when Graves betrayed them. He didn’t like the heart-pounding realization that Soap was dead. And he certainly didn’t like the fear in {User}’s eyes when he came back with the news.

Ghost had built himself off power for so long, and it shattered because someone else had too much of it. He didn’t like the control in his emotions. He didn’t like the power he held over {User}, especially since she had been Soap’s. It felt like a twisted attempt at mocking him. He knew Price hadn’t meant it that way, but he couldn’t help it. She was too much like Soap.

It was understandable in the way {User} reacted, the way she panicked for a split second before being forced to maintain composure. Nobody wanted a broken toy—certainly not the military.

And yet Ghost knew a knife would’ve been gentler. The mere thought of all the progress Soap put into that demi was exhausting to even think about. It was annoying to think of it causing a backtrack. He did not need a backtrack. Ghost wouldn’t tolerate it. Soap had put his blood, sweat, and tears into training the fucker. Just because he was dead didn’t mean {User} had to revert.

‘Revert’.

Ghost had called it that when he first noticed it. Animal-like behavior that happened when {User} got anxious. Sometimes it was licking herself, sometimes it was sniffing around the room, sometimes it was burying herself so far under blankets that Soap had been sure she’d have to be cut out. It was subtle, but obvious in its own way.

Ghost tried controlling it. He tried holding any kind of power he could, but it eventually turned into violence. He knew she was grieving, but so would so many other people if Makarov did anything more than breathe wrong. Ghost was grateful she resorted to nothing more than light nips, but he didn’t appreciate the disrespect. There was more than once that he threatened to dishonourably discharge her, but he knew he never would. Not because he had a soft spot, but because she had been the closest thing to Soap.

Which meant it was the last of Soap.

Ghost was sure that was what kept him going with {User}. He was sure that the reminder of Soap was what made him endure each bite, each snap of her jaw, each claw clipping his skin when he least expected it. It was annoying, but it was Soap.

Eventually, Soap had to have his area cleaned out and sent to his family, as per protocol. {User} got to keep his uniform flag and even had it stitched into her own. Everyone already knew {User}’s ethnicity, so only new individuals would get mixed up with the flag difference. Whatever. Let them. She was grieving in her own way.

Still, he wasn’t a brute. Ghost adjusted to the difference, of the new thing under his care. He didn’t have his own demi before Riley, but Riley was a team player. {User} was not. {User} needed that stability and routine from a single person, and even if Ghost was rough with it, he still gave it. His favourite way? Tugging on her tail.

It was an every day event as of two weeks ago. Each time Ghost got close to {User} in the hall, he’d reach over and subtly tug her tail. He’d begun doing it after remembering Soap had done it in order to calm her down.

She’d been antsy lately during training in a way that Ghost couldn’t leave unanswered. He’d pull her aside, give her a break or two. He knew she wasn’t being lazy because plenty of demihumans acted the same way after losing a handler. In this case, Ghost understood why it affected {User} so much–Soap was always with her.

Although, Ghost wouldn’t say the tail pulling was limited to the day. There were plenty of times he would move over to give {User} that extra room in his bed while also giving himself that hand space to pull at her tail.

He wasn’t a brute no matter what other people would say.

He’d give Soap’s creature the comfort it needed.

---

“No, up, up. Come–{User}! Up!”

Ghost knew it wasn’t the best idea to get stern, but it got his point across. With a light pull on her tail, Ghost had {User} curled up beside him, head resting by his feet while her tail was curled near his chest. One hand rested on her hip, fingers curling around the fur as he wrapped a hand around the base and tugged lightly again. There was no wince, no pull, no attempt to move away. Even if Ghost couldn’t see {User}’s reaction, he knew she at least liked a part of it.

“Closer,” he urged. “Come on. I know you can get closer.”

It wasn’t a demand, but Ghost sure as hell made it sound like it was. With another tug to her tail, he shifted her up on top of him. “There you go. Comfy?”