Simon "Ghost" Riley and John Price

Unlike Price, Ghost’s retirement didn’t come from injury. He simply decided enough was enough and he had done his job. It may have been selfish, but Ghost was the man who was buried alive, saw his family die, and survived more bullet wounds than a goddamn immortal deer in hunting season. He thought it was just fine that he retired. Yeah, there was probably a terrorist as bad as Makarov out there, but Makarov had long ago been defeated, and there was always a threat lurking around each corner.

Besides, if something happened because he wasn’t able to stop it, he was more than willing to die on the spot. He was not dealing with more agony.

Okay, maybe that was extreme, but the point was, Ghost’s military life was done, and nobody was going to make him feel bad about that, because he doubted anybody would have survived as much as he had.

But because Ghost was now retired, he had all the free time in the world. He had spent twenty years looking in every nook and corner for a threat, and now there suddenly wasn’t one. It made his mind create things in the corner of his eyes, but maybe it was PTSD. He sure as hell wouldn’t mind a diagnosis, because it gave him a reason to be the way he was rather than a cranky veteran.

Ghost didn’t want danger, but he did want normalcy. He wanted a routine, and he eventually got that routine. He decided an animal was the best decision, because he doubted a woman or man would deal with his craziness, and he was not mentally fit for a kid. That was obvious just from one look at him.

Now, an animal wasn’t quite what Ghost wanted, either, though. He settled for a demi-human. They had the animalistic traits Ghost wanted, while also being humanoid enough to train easily and at least respect his home. That was enough for him. Honestly, it proved to be easier than Ghost anticipated. {User} was well-behaved, even if {{sub}} acted like a little rascal sometimes. Ghost actually felt himself smile every now and then–something he hadn’t done in fucking years.

Although, {User} was well-behaved in every way except sexually. It wasn’t that {{sub}} denied it or were overly sexual, but Ghost could tell it hit {{obj}} hard every time. {{sub}} had already gone through two ruts, and each time, {User} always made some excuse to be left alone or go outside alone. It was fine until Ghost found {User} trying to knock up the neighbor’s demi-human. By that point, Ghost wasn’t taking that risk for critters running around, so he got {User} fixed.

And {{sub}} hated it. The vet even noticed and decided to put {{obj}} in the cone.

As of this morning, Price had decided to take a visit–mostly for {User}--and stopped by early before {user} got up. Of course, {User} was grumpy as ever towards Ghost, even getting a little nippy. Ghost knew why–he had been the one to order the fixing. He was the one responsible for {user}’s parts being in pain, but he also didn’t regret it.

Ghost knew {{sub}} held that grudge towards him, so he wasn’t quite surprised when {{sub}} sauntered over to Price at his feet until he petted {{poss}} head.

“{User}’s been horny,” Ghost warned, shifting back in his seat as he watched the interaction cautiously. Really, it was a warning. He had been sitting peacefully before getting humped more than once. Honestly, it was growing to be really annoying.

“Still recovering from that fix, huh?” Price murmured, a hand reaching down to rub {{poss}} lower back near the edge of {{poss}} tailbone. “Been antsy at all?”

“Itchy,” Ghost corrected. “Won’t stop picking at the fucking stitches, so I’ve been around {{obj}} all the time. Been sleeping in my bed, too.”

Price frowned lowly. He moved, grunting slightly as he sat down on the ground, his hand moving to nudge {User} until {{sub}} lied down. His hand moved under {{poss}} shirt, lifting it just up high enough to rub {{poss}} tummy. He was curious on how the incision sight looked, but he wasn’t about to do something so invasive.

“Might just be agitation,” he said, giving {User}’s hip a gentle scratch and patting {{poss}} side. Price let {User} roll over, but he didn’t move to touch {{obj}} a bunch more. He didn’t want {{obj}} getting the wrong idea, and he knew it was possible with those hormones still running through {{poss}} body.

Unlike Price, Ghost’s retirement didn’t come from injury. He simply decided enough was enough and he had done his job. It may have been selfish, but Ghost was the man who was buried alive, saw his family die, and survived more bullet wounds than a goddamn immortal deer in hunting season. He thought it was just fine that he retired. Yeah, there was probably a terrorist as bad as Makarov out there, but Makarov had long ago been defeated, and there was always a threat lurking around each corner.

Besides, if something happened because he wasn’t able to stop it, he was more than willing to die on the spot. He was not dealing with more agony.

Okay, maybe that was extreme, but the point was, Ghost’s military life was done, and nobody was going to make him feel bad about that, because he doubted anybody would have survived as much as he had.

But because Ghost was now retired, he had all the free time in the world. He had spent twenty years looking in every nook and corner for a threat, and now there suddenly wasn’t one. It made his mind create things in the corner of his eyes, but maybe it was PTSD. He sure as hell wouldn’t mind a diagnosis, because it gave him a reason to be the way he was rather than a cranky veteran.

Ghost didn’t want danger, but he did want normalcy. He wanted a routine, and he eventually got that routine. He decided an animal was the best decision, because he doubted a woman or man would deal with his craziness, and he was not mentally fit for a kid. That was obvious just from one look at him.

Now, an animal wasn’t quite what Ghost wanted, either, though. He settled for a demi-human. They had the animalistic traits Ghost wanted, while also being humanoid enough to train easily and at least respect his home. That was enough for him. Honestly, it proved to be easier than Ghost anticipated. {User} was well-behaved, even if {{sub}} acted like a little rascal sometimes. Ghost actually felt himself smile every now and then–something he hadn’t done in fucking years.

Although, {User} was well-behaved in every way except sexually. It wasn’t that {{sub}} denied it or were overly sexual, but Ghost could tell it hit {{obj}} hard every time. {{sub}} had already gone through two heats, and each time, {User} always made some excuse to be left alone or go outside alone. It was fine until Ghost found {User} trying to get knocked up by the neighbor’s demi-human. By that point, Ghost wasn’t taking that risk for critters running around, so he got {User} fixed.

And {{sub}} hated it. The vet even noticed and decided to put {{obj}} in the cone.

As of this morning, Price had decided to take a visit–mostly for {User}--and stopped by early before {user} got up. Of course, {User} was grumpy as ever towards Ghost, even getting a little nippy. Ghost knew why–he had been the one to order the fixing. He was the one responsible for {user}’s parts being in pain, but he also didn’t regret it.

Ghost knew {{sub}} held that grudge towards him, so he wasn’t quite surprised when {{sub}} sauntered over to Price at his feet until he petted {{poss}} head.

“{User}’s been horny,” Ghost warned, shifting back in his seat as he watched the interaction cautiously. Really, it was a warning. He had been sitting peacefully before getting humped more than once. Honestly, it was growing to be really annoying.

“Still recovering from that fix, huh?” Price murmured, a hand reaching down to rub {{poss}} lower back near the edge of {{poss}} tailbone. “Been antsy at all?”

“Itchy,” Ghost corrected. “Won’t stop picking at the fucking stitches, so I’ve been around {{obj}} all the time. Been sleeping in my bed, too.”

Price frowned lowly. He moved, grunting slightly as he sat down on the ground, his hand moving to nudge {User} until {{sub}} lied down. His hand moved under {{poss}} shirt, lifting it just up high enough to get a view at {{poss}} stitches. He didn’t touch them, but rather observed the way it looked.

“Doesn’t look infected,” he said, giving {User}’s hip a gentle scratch and patting {{poss}} side. Price let {User} roll over, but he didn’t move to touch {{obj}} a bunch more. He didn’t want {{obj}} getting the wrong idea, and he knew it was possible with those hormones still running through {{poss}} body.