#soft ghost

[emmster]

Coloured the sketch

[naivegh0ul]

ok but imagine how ghost would react to u stealing his hoodie.

It'd be way too big on you, of course. Simon Riley is a mammoth of a man: 6'4" and over 250lbs, so his hoodie looks massive on you. The sleeves flop around when you move, the hood falling over your eyes when you pull it up.

And Ghost would wonder where one of his hoodies went, searching the apartment for it, but then he'd see you, curled up on the couch with your knees tucked close to your chest and the hoodie hooked over your legs, covering you completely.

He'd think you look so cute, just an adorable ball of love wearing his hoodie. He'd sneak up behind you and lean over the back of the couch, resting his chin on the top of your head.

"Stealin' my jumpers from me?" He'd say playfully, shoving his hands in the pocket at the front, his large hands engulfing yours. "Looks nice."

And then you'd feel him remove his hands and hook them under your arms, hoisting you off the sofa in one smooth motion. He'd spin you around and set you on the back of the couch, lifting the hood of his hoodie away from your face and he'd press his lips to yours, kissing you softly.

"What'd I do to deserve you?" He'd whisper against your lips, wrapping his strong arms around your waist. Then he'd pull away and nuzzle his face into your neck, inhaling the perfect mix of your scent mixed with his. "Keep the hoodie. You look better in it."

[idciminlove]

Hear me out guys, just the thought of big, bad Ghost, badass killer that strikes fear into the hearts of the fearless and is super intimidating except for when it comes to you.

You, who, some how managed to worm your way into his cold empty heart and won him over. Believe it or not, cold, brutal, Simon acts soft around you.

Soft, as in lying in bed with you and staring at you while you’re still asleep, admiring your features, playing with your hair, rubbing soothing circles into your skin, etc.

Soft, as in play fighting with you while you’re making breakfast, wrapping his arms around you with your back pressed to his chest, peppering your neck with kisses.

Soft, as in holding you close to him after he’s had a nightmare from past traumas/stress of his job. He hugs you tight, like you’ll disappear if he lets go.

So yeah, it’s safe to say Simon Riley, a cold hearted monster of a man…is hopelessly in love with you <3

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Oh GOD, breeding kink with Ghost but he's actually determined to get his darling pregnant because after everything they've been through together, how much he loves her and vice versa? I could go on but it's just something to think about. I also strongly believe he'd be that kind of girl dad heheh

Couldn't Love You More (Ghost x F!Reader)

Left pic credit: @ vhenan_virabelasan on IG

Word count: 3.7 k

Tags/warnings: Tooth-rotting FLUFF. Mild, soft smut 🔞, crying (from joy), breeding kink (obv), comfort no hurt. All the softness and love.

A/N: Excuse me, more soft!Ghost coming through! I hope you like this take anon 💕

"I'm tired of using those things."

Simon rarely whispers, hardly ever murmurs, and never coos. But this time, his voice is deliberately soft. 

You sigh and put the condom package down on the table. This evening had been a nice change, a pampering for your poor, stressed-out nerves. He had done his best to take your mind off work ever since he got home: he took you out for a 3-course dinner – which reminded you of the early days of your dating – and it was all supposed to end in a good stress relief of a fuck.

You'd sent him suggestive texts all morning, knowing he was coming home today. Those messages were extra naughty because you happened to be ovulating, and juicy, and horny as hell.

And you know he has waited for this moment as well. Which is why you can't get your head around why he wants to raise the subject of using other methods of contraception right before you're about to have sex. 

Why would he suddenly start complaining when both of you are already naked – practically seconds before you're about to roll down the condom for him?

"You know I've tried, Simon," you sigh again – you don't even bother to disguise the annoyance in your voice. After all, you've tried basically everything to make it more pleasurable for you to make love without the risk of getting knocked up. You hate the rubber between the two of you just as much as he does, if not more. Apparently you need to remind him how the last attempt with the pill went.

"I become a bloated monster," you say, realizing you're pouting only when he laughs.

You absolutely love it when he does: it's a rare thing, even with you. Even after all these years of love and dedication, the warm, husky chuckle at the back of his throat makes your heart flutter and your head feel dizzy.

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean…?"

The man has a tiny twinkle in his eyes, and the flutter in your heart turns into something heavier, more serious. He looks you up and down as if to weigh whether you're ready to take in what he's about to say.

"How about we just ditch the bloody things?"

Your heart is truly getting it today: it skips a beat or two from what he says. From what he implies.

"But you��” you whisper, still unsure if you're truly discussing the same thing here. “You said that kids are a bad idea." 

"They are." 

The twinkle in those eyes turns into an amused gleam, the corner of his mouth lifts up a bit from seeing you so shocked. 

And Simon never said he didn't want children.

It's just that he has avoided the subject like it's a seasonal flu he doesn't want to catch. 

He would make the perfect father: you just know it. Sad to say, but it was one of the main reasons you fell for this man. It's stupid, but it's true: women look for these things. They can tell if a guy would be a good choice for a father. They notice safety, security, the willingness to support and provide.

Biology and instincts be damned, you simply can't deny that Simon is the first man who made you think about what it would be like to have children. And of course the perfect candidate for a father thought that kids were a bad idea…

It seemed like a cruel joke, the way he brushed you off when you first approached him with your shy request. You pussyfooted around the subject, were as delicate as one can be, knowing it might make him uncomfortable. 

And it did. It more than just did.

He freaked the fuck out, went to work, and worked himself nearly to death – literally almost got himself killed, and you understood that this was serious. His childhood, his past, the dangers of his work – of course he thought himself unfit for the role.

Infuriatingly, it only made you more convinced that he was the perfect choice. The man was just so fricking responsible.

You barred your mouth shut after that. Instinct told you Simon might just leave if you continued the talk about having kids. Not because he couldn't take it, but because he would want to give you a chance to find someone to raise a family with before it was too late. 

It was his view of unconditional love: he was ready to let you go if need be. He would set you free if he suspected it would make you happy.

But then you saw him look at tiny kids – usually the ones that had just learned to walk – with a fleeting longing in his stare. It always turned into a withdrawn sulk, the gaze of a man who has accepted his fate.

He seemed to have the softest spot for little girls, especially when they were laughing and giggling or being unruly rascals, and sometimes flinched when a baby started to cry in the store. He looked a bit distressed for a second, and not because of the noise – but because he couldn't locate the immediate source and go and calm the baby. 

That's when you realized he actually wanted kids. The biological clock on this man was ticking just as furiously as yours. 

Years passed, and you silently buried your dreams of raising a little family together. He was enough for you, more than enough: you would not break up because of this. No man could ever replace Simon. 

But it still hurt. It was like a wound that never healed.

Until this night…

This night, it seemed he would not only cure it but heal it so well it wouldn’t even leave a scar. 

You suddenly find yourself under him – his moves are so quick that it's almost like you're teleported there. He sometimes does that: lets you play with him for a while, have your fun on top before reminding you who is in control here.

And this time, he won't even let you play.

"Simon, what are you doing," you sigh with barely concealed exhilaration. 

As if you didn't know exactly what he is about to do. 

He looks at you with that possessive look he sometimes has when you two have been apart for far too long. And there's something more behind that stare. It tells you that this is serious; this means business. The package you placed on the nightstand remains unopened and, apparently, will be the witness to his mission tonight. 

Serves the damn thing right…

You take in the absolute beef of this man: the bulk of pecs above you, the wide, solid middle that nearly swallows you every time you're under him.

You almost disappear between him and the mattress when you two are doing missionary, and it's one of the best feelings in the world. You've wanted to sink your teeth in to those huge, solid shoulders for god knows how many times. Once or twice, you actually did give him a little bite, only a nib, really, during a good pounding – and giggled at the breathless grunt of "Hey" that followed.

The trail of hair, darker in tone compared to the hair on his head, spreads over his abs which rest under a thin layer of fat. The happy trail, as you call it, runs down until it meets the heavy cock that always makes your mouth water like it's your favorite meal.

His hand is weighty, adoring when it comes to rest on your waist – the callous of his palms feels just the right kind of rough as he gives you the softest squeeze and a caress.

And he must know from the wanton looks you gave him all evening that he can just walk right in. Probably knew from those texts already that you've been wet all day long.

You try to spread your legs wider than they can go as he grabs himself to be positioned to your entrance. The fat tip of him feels heavy on your folds as he lazily slides himself up and down your slit, teasing the opening but not going in. It feels heavenly to sense him, all of him, with nothing there between you. There's no lifeless rubber: just his thick velvet meeting your wetness and silk.

The darned man won't even answer your question… Probably knows it's not really a question, just an astonished sigh of love.

"It's…not safe," your head falls back as he pushes the first few inches in – teasing you still by not giving you the full length and thick of him.

"Tired of safe, too," he rumbles softly above you, feeds more of himself in, and you tighten around his cock: receive him with fierce love and yearning. He groans at the sensation – it must feel divine for him, too. It must feel like it's meant to be this way. Now and forever.

You sigh as he starts to move, slow and intense, just the way he knows you like it when there's been too much stress and life has been a bitch. He always makes you feel better, always makes you melt in his arms when you run to him from the unfair, fucked up world. 

He's got some bad days too, and that’s when you ruffle his hair, scrub his back in the shower, give him a sloppy little blowjob, or make him his favorite dish, anything to make the tension in those mountains of shoulders disappear. 

You two worship each other; there’s no question about that. 

"Simon–ah… Truly, are you serious…?" 

"Hell yeah."

The idea of him cumming inside you is thrilling enough, but it's not just about that. 

You're ovulating, and he's a man in his absolute prime. He reminds you of mountain lions and snow leopards, living their life in harsh conditions and in wandering solitude until… Until the perfect companion comes along. He's simply the most virile male there is; broad, wide, and heavy, always ready when you are.

A man like Simon just cannot be infertile.

His eyes are half-lidded already, and those pale eyelashes make you bite your lip and grab his butt like it would be a life or death situation if he chose to withdraw.

And you know he loves it when you grope his ass and try to assist him with the thrusts. 

His little helper, indeed…

"Bloody fucking hell, you feel good…"

His head rolls back, exposing the tendons on his neck, thick, like the rest of him. Everything in this man is thick and broad and good – and fuck – he glides in and out like a dream. Somehow the extra layer of rubber has taken the brunt of his thickness away, but you feel it now, all of it, and it's something you could die for.

He grunts and thrusts, then halts for a while, chuckles all breathless…

"It's gonna be one hell of a show, sweetheart."

He's talking about what comes after. How it will be when there's a new addition and not a crew of two anymore. It brings tears to your eyes to see how he's already thinking about the future – and how he does it with a smile and a pleased chuckle.

"I'm used to sleepless nights," he reminds you softly. "You're not."

Ugh – he's thinking about your well-being when it would only make you the happiest woman on earth to take care of his children. Your children.

"I'll manage," you whisper.

"I know you will."

The tears are so close now; he’s simply the one and only person in this world for whom your love is boundless. It’s endless, overflowing.

He pulls back a little, raises your legs to rest on his shoulders, then crawls forward – he’s about to go deep, and the indecent but insanely sweet position makes you quail from him at first. It’s just too much all of a sudden.

"Wait–"

"The boys said this'll do the trick," he explains, waits until you adjust under and around him.

"The–the boys?"

He had been discussing this with his workmates…? 

Discussing which position is the best to help conceive?

"Yeah. Wanna do this properly."

This man might actually be serious… He just might be serious about this, and you still have difficulty grasping it.

"I can't believe you want this," you whisper, still trying to catch your breath on what's happening.

"Believe it or not, it's gonna happen now."

The smallest tear escapes, and you purse your lips, shut them tight to prevent a tiny little bawl from erupting. 

"I've always wanted you, Simon," you breathe into the air between you as he starts to make love to you, fill you with intent. "Just you, all these years…"

He rarely whispers, but this time, his voice is the softest hush.

"Right back at ya, darling."

"I–I want to give you… want your kids," you whimper, tears coating your voice as he continues the torture while the sweet, tight love surrounds you both.

"I want a family, Simon," you pant weakly, almost distressed. So urgent, desperate, like the wound is yet to be healed. You've never said those words to him before because you were afraid he might leave. 

"Love… fuckin' hell."

He has to stop to catch his breath, to catch the truth. Of course he has known it all along without you telling him, because he simply has those instincts of a wild animal. 

But words are powerful… They are magic. And this magic wants itself spelled out.

"I'll give them to you," he promises. "All of it. I swear."

Your eyes drift closed from the full wave of his vow. This mission is a crucial one, then, one of his most important ones. The man loves challenges; he loves when you up the stakes. Perhaps that's what this is about: he doesn't want to be a coward about the thing you both want. 

The skulls, the brass and death that always surround him can't take away the fact that he's a lifegiver. No matter what anyone says, men can give life, too. He has already given you so much, and now he's going to give you children.

A few more tears push through, and it's one of the sweetest things in your life: to get fucked by him so good while you're crying from joy.

"Luv. You trust me?"

You open your eyes again, and the sight of him is crystallized through tears. It's the most beautiful thing. 

"I trust you," you answer with a shaky breath.

Your trust is even more drugging to him than the tightness of your cunt, it seems. The corner of his eye twitches once, his brows knit together, and a pained look passes in his stare: but it's the sweet kind of pain, just like yours is.

"Feels so good," you whisper, looking up at him with devout love. "So, so good…"

"You're damn right," he sighs, panting with strained, short breaths. "Never felt this good."

He rocks you like you're under the sea, at the bottom of the ocean where the waves are mellow and the seabed is made of the softest sand. You're squeezed between his arms, tightly; he pins you to the bed with his body. The flutter of those pale lashes with every thrust is illegally sweet.

Your lips are bolted shut from the raw sensation, the swelling waves, but when a noise finally erupts, it does so with force. 

You know it makes him wild whenever you cry and plead under him. You know it sends him straight to the edge, too: when you moan and tighten around his cock, spread yourself for him to plunder while you're clawing at his back. You were so embarrassed the first time you noticed the red marks on his skin after your little sessions, but he was only pleased and said you should never apologize for that. His body is full of past pain and torture, and still, still, he allows, even wants you to destroy it even more.

"Faster, Simon, please…" 

"Yeah, that's it. Beg... Beg for me, love… "

And damn right, he's eating up your wrecked state like it's time for Christmas dinner, and the table is brimming with his favorite food. You're close, so close it would be torture, devastation if he stopped. 

"Ya want me to give it to you?" His voice is more rough, more commanding. God, he's close too.

"Yes–give it to me, please–"

Just don't stop, whatever you do, don't stop…

You beg some more, but it's incoherent. Just the way he likes. 

Simon–fuck…

There's no reason to it, just ah's and fuck's and love's, all knit together in a sweet, heady mess as you come– 

Fuck–!

…the orgasm is so intense it points your toes, makes you wrap around his middle with what little strength you have in your arms and fingers and those tiny little claws. Your nails sink in, somewhere between his shoulder blades: he's so wide you can't quite reach to hug him, but you latch onto him like a drowning person nonetheless.

"Oh–oh fucking god…!" 

He comes, right after, buries himself so deep that it stings a little, but you would never, ever complain. He pumps you full, doesn't even move, only arches his back to go even deeper, although he's already buried there to the hilt.

And never has he in all your years together sounded so vulnerable. He usually just grunts and huffs when he comes, but now you get a whole string of words and a fragile, broken pitch. He sounds as if he's near the point of breaking into tears. 

It must feel divine to cum inside you instead of a condom, and what's even more, with the intent to fulfill a mission with that shot. Give life.

If you don't get pregnant from this, well… you doubt you ever will.

He's lying on top of you in a heavy, panting heap, sounding like he's just done ten deadlift PRs in a row. You can't help but laugh, breathless, too, and caress him as he comes down from his sex high.

"You can let me go now," you ghost your fingertips up and down his back when he still doesn't move. It's not that you want him to release you, but he's simply too heavy to be lying all over you like this for long periods of time.

"Nah not yet. Gotta make sure..."

He thinks you want him to pull out, and you giggle some more.

"You're crushing me," you laugh. "And we can do this all weekend, silly. If you want to make sure."

His middle contracts with a silent laugh, too.

"Got a fair point there, love."

Finally, he lets you out of the spread. He pulls out, too – that's not necessarily what you wanted, but when he takes you in his arms, you don't complain.

"That was… so nice," you say, suddenly shy. As if this was the first time he wrapped himself around you in a post-coital embrace.

"That was the best."

He's so warm, and the arm around you is heavy, even when lax. Especially when lax. You feel soft and sweet in his hold made of pure strength.

"I'd be surprised if not. You were very determined."

"You think that did it..?"

He's suddenly shy, too. You could swear he has never asked such a fragile question during or after a mission.

"No half-assing with my sweetheart."

One could say he really used his whole ass on this. You know it, because you're the one who spurred him on with weak but eager hands.

"...but I think it would be best to try again tomorrow. Just in case," he suggests, and you can hear the smile. God, that you love him.

"I wouldn't say no to that."

You imagine him waking up to your baby's cry with a sigh and a jaw-dislocating yawn, hushing you back to sleep by telling you it's his turn to go. He would finally locate the source of crying and make it his mission to cradle the little breadcrumb back to sleep, too. You just know Simon would sometimes fall asleep on the sofa while the baby is still in his arms, sound asleep just like their dad.

And you also know the child would make him laugh more. He would have the greatest time hearing all the silly (not to talk about the clever!) things the kid comes up with once it started talking. Simon would listen with a straight face, at first – out of respect – but then he would come to you with an unrestrained smile and a comment: "Did'ya hear what that little thing just said? Unbelievable..."

Whenever the kid had a tricky question, you would send them to Simon. It's decided already. You imagine him explaining things to the child with his steady and calm briefing voice while you're trying to keep your giggle in.

And when the little one was big enough to run around and poke things off the shelves, Simon would embrace you from behind while you're pouring some morning tea and say: "Should we make another one, hmm?"

After all, your little troublemaker would also need a friend to play with...

There's a gigantic, peaceful smile on your face, and Simon should be snoring by now… But he's still awake, and the arm around you draws you closer. He even tucks his hand partly between your body and the mattress. It's the sweetest prison from which you never want to escape.

"What if… What if I get grumpy when I'm pregnant?" You start to chit-chat nonsense while he holds you against a solid chest. You know he will fall asleep soon, and you wish to voice some fragile concerns before he does.

"I'll bring you ice cream to keep you nice and calm," he mutters in the back of your neck, sounding drowsy already.

"What if ice cream won't help?"

"I'll bring you chocolate."

You smile at him having a solution to every problem, no matter how minor. 

"You're really not afraid…?"

"Of you being grumpy? Nah I don't think so."

"No," you laugh at him joking around. "Of… changes."

"After all that we've been through? No." He brushes his lips over your neck, and you turn a little to look at him.

"Simon... What made you change your mind?"

He thinks on the answer for a good ten seconds. You know that inward look, which is both a gaze to the past and a shaky, hopeful glimpse to the future.

"Don't wanna die without knowing how our kid would look like. What they would be like."

You swallow past sorrow – it's such a beautiful thing to say that you have to catch your breath for a moment. Then you put your hand over his arm, the one keeping you close to him.

"Guess I got tired of living in fear," he sums up the change of heart, and you have to blink back more tears.

"I'm tired of living in fear, too," you whisper, and he entwines your fingers together. The kiss that follows is like a seal to your change of plans. It's pure hope.

"Could you... Could you say that we'll be fine?" You speak on his lips as softly as you can. You sometimes worry that he's annoyed by your constant need for reassurance, but he sounds as solid as a soldier can be.

"We'll be fine like always. Promise you that."

He doesn't seem to mind: if anything, you could swear that giving you encouragement only makes his chest puff up a little. The man gets satisfaction from you needing him in your life like this.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of us."

You ease fully into his embrace. He has said he'll take care of you many times before, but now your world is changing. It has changed already; you just know it. There's no more you and him, a team of two. 

There will be a tiny little breadcrumb too.

[circusinthewalls]

NSFW Ghost Rambling - 18+ MDNI, AGELESS BLOGS DNI [Masterlist]

Simon knows damn well how big he is. In height, in stature, in.. everything, really. Even dear Soap is dwarfed at least somewhat by him. So, yeah, he knows how massive he is.

And admittedly now, as he's leaning over you, thick digits gently, gradually working you open, he doesn't know quite how to feel about it. Rare is it that the man ever gets considerably worried about anything, but he's just not sure how he's supposed to fit.

Much like everyone else, you're smaller than him. Perhaps not by a considerable amount, but you feel so goddamn tight around his fingers. Part of him is worried his dick will outright detach when he goes to pull out later.

Uncertainty is twisted on his face, and you think he's bound to burn two new holes in your junk if he stares at it with that perplexed expression any longer. You reach down for his wrist, trying to both soothe and ground him despite your own oncoming pleasurable brain fog.

Pulled from his thoughts, he looks up to meet your gaze and swallows. He can already tell what you're thinking. What you're about to ask. His hand stills for a moment.

"Don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," you breathe in response. "It'll be okay, yeah? We'll be okay."

He doesn't answer initially, seeming to contemplate your words. Soaking them in and visibly relaxing before he nods.

"Yeah, love."

When he's actually pushing into you, his eyes are trained on your face. One hand is cupping it, and the other thumbs slow circles over the thigh it's holding open. Not once does he look away. He's watching, ready at any second to internally reprimand himself if-

You whine. His hips stop dead immediately.

There's a sort of look he gives you. Questioning the noise in the silence that's followed it.

"Want it," you plead. "Simon.."

He has more trust in you than anything else in this world, honestly, and the way your brows are knitted, eyes fluttering just so with each soft pant.. How did he ever get so lucky? Whatever higher power it is that's spared him long enough to let him have you, he thanks for it.

He leans down farther, propping himself up on one elbow so he can tuck his face into your neck as he starts up again. With every sound that escapes, he peppers your throat with kisses. Each one makes the dull, burning ache from the stretch so very worth it.

"So good," he murmurs, like sinking into you is breathing new life into him. "Takin' it like a champ. Fuckin' beautiful."

He does eventually still again, not quite bottomed out, but content with the depth since you are. He just holds you and let's you adjust, grinding forward ever so carefully on occasion while he continues to whisper praises until you're ready for him to properly move.

Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or to use with AI technologies.

[soap-ify]

to relax in your arms

simon "ghost riley" x gn!reader

wc — 1.2k

cw — pure fluff !! subtle suggestive undertones, just reader being burnt out and simon being there to help.

notes — decided to join the tumblr cod fanfic gang . . anyways !! a little fluff because mw3 early access is tomorrow and it could be angsty.

simon is observant, very observant. it's a trait you loved and hated at the same time. yes, he knew of your every cute little quirks, but at the same time, he was able to read your mood too easily — no matter how much you try to hide it otherwise.

so it wasn't a surprise when you were completely burnt out after a week long of paperwork you had to finish up for your crappy job, completely draining you out of energy. you were sat on the couch right now, inside the cozy little apartment you shared with your boyfriend. he was standing in the corner of the living room, those stern brown eyes watching your exhaustion from a distance. he was dressed in a pair of grey shirt and black sweatpants, having had just stepped out of the shower, all fresh.

he had arrived early today, price having had let simon leave the base quicker for the sake of the latter spending more time with you. but seeing you curled up tiredly on the couch; your laptop half open on the coffee table alongside the scattered papers, your face hidden in the cushion whilst your arms were wrapped around your knees — it made something in simon lighten up, a protective instinct that was always seemingly there. a need to comfort his lovely partner.

"poor baby." he cooed in his deep, gravely voice that caught your attention, indicating his presence. though you were too tired to lift your head up and greet him with that sweet usual smile that always adorned your lips. he took this time to kneel besides the couch you were curled up on, his rough yet gentle hands rubbing up and down your arms, coaxing your head up, tired eyes meeting his.

god, you were a mess. your eyes had visible dark circles, body all stiff whilst loose strands of hair were on your face. he knew this feeling too well — being so insanely burnt out that one just wished to disappear and run off to a paradise, seemingly for some rest that would last forever. though he wouldn't let his sweetheart think like that.

his fingers carefully brushed the loose hair strands off your eyes before cupping your face, his palms feeling the squish of your cheeks. "m'gonna help you relax up, 'kay?" he mumbled softly, earning a tired nod from you. he was quick to shut your laptop down and tidy up the table before his strong arms scooped you up the couch, your head instinctively burying in his neck. god, he always smelled so good.

he carried you towards the bathroom, his right foot nudging the door open. he carefully set you on your feet, hands skillfully taking off your shirt and pants alongside your undies. you were so pretty, small against his imposingly tall and muscular form. he loved you so fucking much. a sense of intimacy spread in the bathroom as he gently led you to sit inside the tub, opening the tap as warm water begin to fill the tub, soon engulfing your body in a familiar, comforting warmth.

simon went away for a few seconds and came back with a bowl of rose petals he had secretly saved up for a time like this. he poured the rose petals in the water, watching them spread out and float around your bare body. the prettiest fucking sight ever. you couldn't help but giggle at his little surprise, causing him to crack a small smile that you were still getting used to seeing. he had stopped wearing his balaclava around you, and whenever you saw his bare face and the littlw scars, you couldn't fathom out how such a gorgeous man like him was with you. though he had told you countless times that you were the prettiest thing ever, and deserved everything.

"like my surprise, love?" he asked teasingly and knelt besides the rub, earning a happy nod from you.

"yes, si." you mumbled softly, your voice a bit hoarse from the exhaustion. the warm water was doing wonders on your stiff muscles, and the scent of rose that enveloped the bathroom was so comforting. you closed your eyes and let yourself relax in the warm water.

simon grabbed a bar of soap and gently lathered it up your shoulders, his hands carefully massaging and undoing the knots. a soft groan left your lips as you leaned into him, your breathing getting slow and calm. "you won't get in with me?" you asked in that sweet voice of yours that always made him melt.

"not tonight, love. tonight's all about gettin' my baby cozy and relaxed." he chuckled quietly as he washed you up, his hands going towards your chest in order to gently caress it — chaste and loving movements. in any other situation, his hands would be doing so much more to you, but right now, you were too exhausted for that and he knew it. you were his number one priority after all.

you were starting to get sleepy, all relaxed under the caresses and rubs of his soft hands. "si..." you yawned softly, head leaning forward to press soft kisses on the bridge of your nose, his right hand coming up caress the back of your head.

"so tired, mmh? workin' so hard all week, not taking care of yourself at all." he whispered huskily into your ear, causing you to whine and give light punches on his arm, a cute pout on your lips that he immediately kissed as soon as it appeared.

you were always so sweet to him, taking care of him after rough missions or after a painful nightmare. it was his turn now to take care of you, to let you relax. after a good few minutes, he turned off the tap and took off the plug, watching the water drain out of the tub. he scooped you out of the tub and nicely dried you up with a towel, ruffling your hair up before he carried you to your shared bedroom.

he sat you down on the bed, dressing you up in a pair of his boxers and black shirt that was clearly oversized on you, making you feel all cozy. "thank you so much, si..." you sighed happily, your eyes half-open while your usually loud mind turned into a state of pure bliss. you laid down on the bed with a sleepy yawn, stretching your arms and legs out. fucking hell, you looked adorable.

he laid down besides you, his arm quickly wrapping around your waist as he pulled you closer, your head pressing against his firm chest. "love you, si... love you, love you, love you." you sleepily babbled, snuggling into him, your fingers clinging onto the fabric of his shirt whilst your eyes fluttered shut.

"love you too, baby. now hush, go to sleep. m'gonna keep you all cozy." he whispered softly, one arm reaching out to turn off the lamp and pull the blanket over you both. he sighed softly, his eyes soon fluttering shut too whilst he held you protectively, feeling your body relaxing as you entered a state of well needed sleep.

"goodnight, love."

[bouncybongfairy]

Sleepy

Simon (Ghost) Riley x Fem Reader

Summary: After going days without sleep, you start to experience the effects of sleep deprivation: anxiety, hallucinations, irritability and lack of appetite. Ghost helps calm you down and rest after an intense mission.

Word Count: 1.0k+

TW: Protective Ghost, Comfort fluff, Soft Ghost

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

As a new recruit, you were getting chewed up and spit out everyday. The days were slowly starting to blur together and you weren’t sleeping well. The tiniest of sounds scaring you awake at least twice a night. Or having recurring night terrors from more gruesome missions. Everyone on the task force was starting to get concerned, it was evident you were suffering from a lack of rest. The group, you included, were walking back from a mission. You were drenched in blood after going completely feral in combat. Even strangers, you were walking ahead of everyone. Making it clear that you didn’t want to converse with anyone. Walking past Soap to get to your room, his eyes widened and looked over at Ghost and Keegan. 

“What happened?” he asks. 

“I don’t know, she just went crazy,” Ghost sighed, the situation clearly stressing him out.

“Crazy is a nice way to put it,” Keegan scoffed, Ghost shot him a death glare but he continued anyway, “don’t look at me like that bro, you were there. You saw for yourself, she bit and I repeat: bit that guy’s finger off,” he defended himself. 

“y/n did that? You know she hasn't eaten since last night? And when she did it was only peanut butter and an apple,” Soap said, taken back by this report. Ghost gave both of them a dirty look before walking to your shared room. 

He walked in and saw you sitting on your bed. You haven't taken any of your gear off, just sitting in dark silence. Unlike others in your platoon, Ghost had a first hand look into why your behavior was so erratic. All he hears at night is you tossing and turning, not even mentioning your night terrors. He just pretends he doesn’t notice, he couldn’t ignore it anymore. Shedding his gear but leaving his cotton mask on before walking over to you. He rests his hand on your shoulder, making you jump up. Slightly disoriented from being broken out of a haze, you pull out your knife. Ghost grabbed your wrist, gripping it so tight the blade drops from your hand. Slowly starting to come back to reality, sinking to your knees and crying. He helps you to the ground, letting you rest your weight against him. 

“I’m sorry,” you kept mumbling weakly. Still having full combat gear on was making you sweat. He was slowly taking your stuff off, unloading your gun and tossing it onto his bed while coaxing you down. 

“It’s okay, don’t worry. I’ll take care of you,” he said, standing you up and walking you to the bathroom. 

Sleep deprivation was starting to kick in, you haven’t eaten anything in a day. After the burst of adrenaline on the mission, you could barely walk. Sitting on the bathroom floor, enjoying the cold tile against your hot and flushed skin. Ghost turned on the water, letting the tub fill up then turning his attention back to you. Resting his hand on your forehead and cringing when he felt how warm you were. He lifts you up bridal style, letting your feet dip into the water first. You jump and cling onto him so tight, it makes two of your fingernails start bleeding. 

“Holy fuck it’s freezing,” you gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I know but you have to break the fever, and you’ll throw up if you take any medication right now,” he said, trying to pry you off him. 

“Please,” you pleaded with him, death gripping his neck and wrapping your legs around his waist. 

After struggling trying to get you off, he was becoming overwhelmed. Your face was tucked into his neck and your cheek was resting on his shoulder. Breathing hard against his ear while unknowingly rubbing yourself against his erection. Once he came to the conclusion that he couldn’t get you off, he got into the water. Figuring he was killing two birds with one stone by killing his hard-on with the freezing water and getting you into the tub. You struggled underneath him for a while, until the small amount of strength you had was gone. Teeth chattering and sniffling as you cried quietly, keeping your grip around his neck. 

“I’ve gone fucking crazy,” you whispered, ghost looked down at you. 

“No love, you’ve just gone days without sleep,” he said, wetting his hands and whipping the blood off your face. Trying his best to untangle the strands that were caked to your skin. 

“Stop. You know, like my brain is fucked up. I’m fucked up,” you cried, working yourself up again. Hyperventilating and trying to get out of the tub. 

He changed your positions, sitting up and pressing his back against the tub. Pulling your back into his chest and changing the subject. Resting his chin on the top of your head while he talked, gripping your wrist so you couldn’t get out. 

“You know I used to have night terrors because my brother would scare me awake?” he said, using his thumb to stroke your hand. 

“Yeah?” you mumbled. 

“Mmhm, but I grew out of it, just like you will eventually,” he said. 

“I have blood on my hands,” you slurred, at first he thought you meant metaphorically. Until he saw you looking down at your palms, trying to wash the ‘blood’ off. Ghost isn’t a rookie and knows what sleep deprived hallucinations look like. In his experience, validation rather than conflict helps deescalate things.

“Let me wash it off, don’t worry about it,” he said, rubbing your hands under the water. 

After a few moments of this, you finally fell asleep against his chest. He got out of the water, changed the two of you into dry clothes before joining you to get some rest

[soaphawk]

thinking about musician!ghost a lot, because ghost can sing

♡ he’s shy about it, of course, he’s a private man. wouldn’t be caught dead singing in front of anyone, ever.

♡ but after every op, fuck, sometimes during the ops, you’ll catch him humming softly behind the mask.

♡ after an op, ghost is cleaning himself up. he doesn’t notice you—or doesn’t care that you’re there, he trusts you—singing softly to himself while he bandages up his busted knuckles

♡ he flushes bright red when he finishes, realizing you’ve listened to every word.

♡ of course, he tries to downplay it, “oh, i’m not that good” but you know better. who knew simon riley had such a soft spot?

♡ its the one thing from his life that he’s always had, that has always been safe. safety is fleeting for him, this was his only comfort. before you came along, this was all he had, the only thing no one could steal from him.

♡ slowly but surely, he opens up. he sings more, a little more open around you. when his voice hitches on a hard note, he flinches, thinking you’re going to hate it, that he’s proved he’s not good ):

♡ your encouragement spurs him on, though. the way your eyes flutter as you lean against his shoulder, one of his big hands stroking your hair back, singing quietly to you until you fall asleep. (he’s learned all your favorite songs)

♡ you have nightmares, just like he does, and the way he soothes you back to sleep is by singing lullabies to you until you’re cuddled up in his arms again. “it’s no bother,” he says, “love singing for you, dove.”

[definitelynotstable]

Trouble [Ghost x fem!Reader]

AN: hurt/comfort will ALWAYS be my fave.

Synopsis: You find yourself caught in an explosion during a mission. Ghost looks after you. Words: 1.2k Warnings: swearing, injuries Ghost x fem!reader (callsign Fern): Not explicitly romantic but there’s certainly a spark. SOFT GHOST <3 Slight hurt - lots of comfort. 

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

You knew something felt off about this mission. But you weren’t gonna sit this one out based on a mere hunch. Maybe you should’ve. Because now you were buried under a heap of rubble, ears ringing and head heavy. 

“Fern?” A voice called from somewhere in the distance. You didn’t know what was up and what was down. Gun shots echoed nearby.

You swallowed, coughing as dust clogged your mouth and nose. “Y-yeah?” You rasped as loud as you could. Comms were useless. 

“What’s your status, soldier?” Ghost.

You wriggled slightly, stopping as a flash of pain radiated up your leg. 

“Leg’s fucked, might be broken and a concussion.”

“Can you move?”

You bit your lip as you tried again, nothing budged. “No, sir. Something’s got me pinned.”

“Alright,” his voice called back, calm and stoic as usual. “Price? We need backup, Fern was caught in the blast, need some extra hands to move rubble.”

You couldn’t hear the reply. Your comms hissed with static in your ear. Blood dribble from your temple, down your cheek and into your mouth. The sounds around you were fading. Everything ached. You could rest, right? Just for a moment?

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

You woke to a searing pain with a cry. Someone was moving the beam which compressed your leg. 

“Fern?” A Scottish accent called out from somewhere behind you, “we found what’s got you pinned. Try not to move while we shift it.”

You groan as it shifts again. “Couldn’t even if I wanted to, Sarge.”

The scot huffs, chucking a chunk of concrete into the pile behind him. “Humour me, Fern.”

You cough again as a cloud of dust forms from the moving rubble. “Where’s LT?”

There’s a heavy thump and Soap groans with effort, finally uncovering your twisted form. He squats in front of you with a grin, patting your head lightly. “Getting a spinal-board - you sure are trouble.”

You squint up at the man and mirror his grin. “So I’ve been told.”

“Soap!” 

The man in front of you turns to the side and you see Ghost running, gun across his back and a spinal-board tucked under his arm. Soap gestures to where you lie amongst the debris.

“Hey LT, look who I found!”

Ghost doesn’t laugh, pushing past the scotsman and coming to kneel beside you. He pulls his glove off, tossing it to side. His scarred hand brushes your hair from your eyes. 

“Always gettin’ yourself into messes, aren’t ya?” He murmurs, fingertips ghosting the laceration on your temple. You wince but your lips quirk up. His hand lingers on your cheek for a moment, cobalt eyes intense as they meet yours. 

He stands, hand dropping away as he turns to Soap. 

“We need to get to EXFIL now, I’ll need your help to move her.”

Soap nods, shifting his gun to sling it over his back and out of the way. “What do you need me to do, LT?”

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

They manage to roll you onto the stretcher, Soap mumbling apologies while Ghost swears lightly under his breath at each noise of discomfort you make. 

They manage to get you to the truck waiting at the extraction point. Gaz is behind the wheel, engine running, while Price squats behind the open side door, his gun poised. 

You make to get of the stretcher, Ghost holds you down, eyes stern. “We’ve gotta rule out a spinal injury, Fern. Stay down.”

There isn’t room for argument in his eyes, Soap helps the Lieutenant slide the stretcher into the bed of the pickup. Ghost settling in beside you, his gun now in his lap as he surveys the area behind you. Soap joins the Captain and Gaz in front and the vehicle spurs forward. 

It doesn’t take long to get to the safehouse but everything feels bruised twice over by the time the truck comes to a rolling stop. 

“Please tell me I can get off this fucking slab of plastic, LT. Everything hurts.” 

Ghost looks down at you, eyes softening slightly. “Just let Gaz look you over first. Then I’m sure we can find you a bed or a couch to settle on.”

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

There’s a bang as someone lowers the side of the pickup bed. 

“Let’s see the wounded soldier then,” Price’s voice barks, his hat and beard coming into view, smiling but his eyes worried, “what’ve you done this time, love?”

Soap and Ghost slide the stretcher off the pickup and make for the safehouse. You look up at the Captain with a sheepish expression. 

“Picked a fight with a wall.”

“Oh yeah? Who won?” Price inquired, holding open the door for you, looking down with a grin.

“The wall.” Ghost interrupts as him and Soap lower you to the floor, Gaz brushing past with a med kit. 

You scoff as the younger sergeant wraps a cuff around your upper arm, taking your blood pressure.

“Put up one hell of a fight by the looks of it,” Gaz quips, moving your neck gently from side to side and getting you to squeeze his fingers and wriggle your toes. He cleans and wraps you leg quickly, a scarred and pale hand squeezes your shoulder as the antiseptic burns. Ghost.

“Thank you Gaz,” you huff, letting him ease you up as he gives the ok. Ghost silently moves forward to wrap an arm around your waist and helps Gaz deposit you onto the rugged couch against the wall. 

Price and Soap’s laughs echo from the makeshift kitchen, cupboards opening and closing as they look for food. Ghost settles on the arm of the couch and you slump against him, too tired and sore to sit up straight. He stiffens slightly before relaxing, moving to shift you over and slides off the arm of the chair to settle next to you.

Gaz rustles around in the med-kit before popping a few pills into his hand, offering them to you as Soap appears next to him with a glass of water. 

“Take these, I’ll give you more in a few hours. They should tide you over till RTB.”

You swallow them, sculling the water. Ghost takes the empty  glass from your hands, handing it to Gaz who returns to the kitchen with Soap where Price has managed to turn on a radio that looks older than you. 

Jazz crackles through the cabin and the hiss of a kettle sings as dishes clink. You sigh, sinking deeper into the couch and the warm body beside you.

Ghost clears his throat. You look up, pulling back. 

“Oh shit, sorry, LT.”

“’S’alright,” his chest rumbles, an arm pulling you back into his side. “Rest, Fern. You did good.”

You don’t have the energy to refuse. He is so warm and safe. You feel yourself drifting off, the murmur of voices in the background lulling you into a peaceful haze. You feel him shift beside you and your limp arms are threaded out of your vest. Someone tosses a blanket into your lap and Ghost whispers harshly at them to fuck off. Probably Soap. The lieutenant shakes it out before tucking it around you.

A hand brushes through your hair.

You sigh.

Everything fades to black.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

Masterlist

[iifishizzleii]

ghost, who gets on one knee to unstrap your heels and massage your sore feet and aching legs

soap, who runs you a warm bath with your favorite scented salts and sprinkles of white roses

price, who pats you dry when you’re done and dresses you in a pair of soft, comfy pajamas

gaz, who combs through your damp hair and does your facial routine for you, resting your head on a pillow as he tends to your delicate features

[islenthatur]

Simon flinched as Soaps hands came up to cup his exposed cheeks, fingers running reverently along the scars that pulled and twisted his face into something monstrous. How could Johnny touch them so when Simon himself couldn't even bear to look at them without feeling disgusted. 

"Yer a bonnie lad Si," Soap breathed in awe, categorizing every freckle, scar and wrinkle. Each mark was a story, each scar proof that Simon fought and survived… 

"Don't lie to me Johnny, not you, please." Simon whispered brokenly, eyes still cast down, unable to lift them to see the disgust that was surely there. "You were right the first time, my face is ug…"

"Stop, look at me." Soap interrupted, fingers pressing firm against Simon's jaw to tilt up, blue eyes locking on brown. "I never lie to you Simon, not about this. There's nothing about you that's ugly, I love every mark and scar you bear because it means you're still here with me." 

Disbelief still shone in Simon's eyes and Soap couldn't help but feel his heart crack a little more. "Tell me mo chridhe, do you find me ugly with the scars I bear?" 

"NO Johnny! Never!" Simon forced out, eyes wide in desperation to show Johnny he meant every word. That he didn't believe that. 

Soap smiled softly, thumb running across the scar that bisected Simon's top lip. "Then tell me my love, what makes you think I'd find you any less handsome because of yours?"

[arcaneauthor]

Tattoos Tell A Story part 2

Part 1 here, Part 3 here

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Summary: You decide to give Ghost a taste of his own medicine

Warnings: None?, Some kissing??, FLUFF, Ghost being bby gurl

A/n: This was requested by @v1naco . I hope I did your wonderful idea justice! Also how the heck did this end up so long??

You would like to make one thing clear.

You love watching Simon get tattoos.

Not only is his deliciously huge arm on full display, but the way his muscles flex when the needle hit a particularly sensitive part of his arm?

Oh you were down bad.

Yes you know he’s technically in pain but come onnn-

He had wanted to get the date of one of his most recent victorious mission tattooed on the inside of his bicep.

What kind of mission was it? You weren’t sure, you know, with it being “classified” and all.

He told you in secret at home

Once told of his plans, you had immediately accepted to tag along and boy are you glad you did. Originally it was for the purpose of just spending as much time with your boyfriend as possible, but you didn’t realize it’d be such a sight.

“Enjoying the view there sweetheart?”

You startle slightly, flicking your eyes away from his arm to Ghost’s masked face. You know there’s a smirk hiding under there somewhere.

Cocky bastard

You clear your throat, repositioning in your seat slightly ,”Uh, no I-I was just….. admiring Jackson’s handiwork.” You claim.

Simon looks you up and down,“Mhm, whatever you say love.”

Jackson, the tattoo artist, just chuckles at the couples antics, eyes never leaving his work.

Ghost knew Jackson pretty well due to him having worked on most of his arm sleeve. He was the only artist in the area that would agree to the service of a scarily large man in a sketchy skull mask and hood, the others immediately declined as soon as he stepped through the door, some even reaching for their phone in a concealed panic. Not that they could really be blamed for their hesitance. He is pretty intimidating if you didn’t know him.

Your eyes now purposefully wander anywhere around the parlor except Simon. You would not be giving him the pleasure of catching you gawking again.

Your gaze skims over a variety of stencils hung on the walls. You never minded the idea of getting a tattoo yourself, you were just too indecisive to ever settle on one.

But maybe one of Jackson’s will stick out to me, you think as you exam the references pinned to the wall

Maybe a bird?

Or a moon?

Possibly a flower?

Oo, that bunny’s pretty cute.

Maybe a-

Wait

Is that-

You squint your eyes to see it clearer, before they quickly widen again

It is

You can’t help the slight maniacal smirk that overtakes your face

That one’s perfect

-+-

It had been about a week since the tattoo parlor and honestly? You had almost forgotten about the whole thing. Simon had still yet to notice your skins new…..addition. You’d think a military man would be more observant.

Although, in your boyfriends defense, it was so small and in such a hidden place that even you yourself had a hard time seeing it.

You and Ghost were in the kitchen together, him in charge of the noodles while you made the sauce. Normally y’all would just order some take-out, but you both decided to try something new. Neither you or him were five star chefs by any means, only able to follow along to a recipe. A very detailed recipe.

You were leaning over the stove just trying to stir the ingredients though your hair obviously did not get the memo. No matter what you did, tucking it behind your ear, blowing it back with your mouth, it just would not get out of your face.

You pull a strand in front of you, eyes almost crossing from it being so close, and glared at it as if it had personally offended you.

I swear to gosh, one day I’m just gonna freaking shave all of it off-

“Here,” comes a distinctly deep, British voice from behind. When had he gotten over here?,”Let me.”

You feel the strands of hair get pulled gently from your grasp as he gradually gathers it all into one extremely large hand. He gingerly rakes his fingers through your locks, eliminating any knots or lumps. Using the hair band from his wrist, where did he get that from?, he joins all of it into a ponytail.

You’re kinda sad to feel his fingers retreat from your scalp.

You run a hand over your head, examining his work. You’re fairly surprised to feel that there’s only a small hump or two.

“Hm, not bad for a man with sandpaper hands.” You jest with a smile.

You don’t get a response

The sound of breathing coming from behind tells you he hasn’t moved either.

“Simon?” You question, turning to look over your shoulder.

The man in question was standing stock still, you’d think he was a mannequin if not for his chest moving up and down. His gaze zeroed in on your ear.

You instinctively raise a hand to the spot in question, and that’s when it finally dawns on you.

He’s not looking at your ear.

No, he’s looking behind it.

You smile

So your little game of spot the difference was finally over.

“You like it?” You ask smugly

Simon doesn’t know what to say, just eye’s the nape of your neck in bewilderment. This was absolutely not here before. Where your skin was previously unblemished, now contains a tattoo about the size of his thumb.

A skull tattoo.

“When did you get this?” He asks instead, finger coming up to rub over it, almost as if he thinks it’s fake, thinks that the ink will smudge under his thumb.

“‘Bout a week ago.” You admit with a shrug, trying to be nonchalant about it.

His eyes finally shift to your face,”And you didn’t tell me?”

You shoot him an unimpressed look, grabbing his arm that contains the tattoo of your name and pushing it in his face,”Hypocritical much?”

He looks from his arm, to your tattoo, then to your face, as if he was putting together a puzzle.

“Is the tattoo an expression of love or a ploy of revenge?” He asks with suspicion.

You shrug, a smile gracing the corner of your mouth,”Can’t it be both?”

He eyes you for a moment, shaking his head in exasperation, but you could of swore his eyes lit in amusement.

Oh!

You about forgot something!

“Did you notice any details about it, a letter perhaps?” You question coyly.

No he hadn’t

He gently grips your chin to turn it to the side, dipping his head a little to get a closer look.

Oh.

He can see it now.

There’s a few cracks on the side of the skull and , if he looks close enough, he can see that they join to make a letter.

S

“Does tha-does that stand for-“

“Simon? Yeah, yeah it does.”

He stands there, just silently rubbing your tattoo again for a moment. You’re not complaining though, you’re just soaking in his touch. His fingers feel good.

You clear your throat, gently taking a hold of the hand rubbing your neck,”So? You like i-“

You’re cut off by him surging forward, capturing you in a kiss.

Definitely worth the pain of the needle.

-*-

You were both laying in bed after supper, your stomachs full. Full of take-out, not home cooked pasta because you may or may not have gotten distracted and singed the noodles and turned the toast to basically charcoal.

You were in a spooning position, his large arms wrapped around your waist, mask finally taken off in the darkness of your room.

“You know,” He breaks the silence,”I really do appreciate it, the tattoo.”

“Thought it was only fair. You know, with you getting one for me and all.” Your voices are soft, just whispers in the night.

“You know you didn’t have to do it, right? Not just cause I did.” Anyone that didn’t know Simon would judge from his gruff voice that he was bored or uninterested, maybe even irritated. But you did know him, which means you easily pick up on even the slightest hint of hesitation in his voice.

Your brows furrow,”That’s not the only reason I got it.”

When you receive only silence you look over your shoulder at him, “You know that, right?” You ask as if it was obvious. You thought it was.

Once again, you receive only silence. You really wish it wasn’t so dark so you could read his expressions.

You shift your body so that you’re fully facing him.

“Hey,” you reach for the hand around you’re waist and hold it to your chest,”You know I love you right?”

“Yeah?” You don’t like that he sounds so hesitant.

“Simon,” you make sure he knows you’re serious,”I love you. You’re the only person I ever want to love, and I don’t plan on letting you go anytime soon, and I sure as heck ain’t planning going anywhere anytime soon. So why wouldn’t I want evidence of you on my body?” You use your other hand to cup his cheek.

The breath he lets out sounds shaky, letting you know your little speech hit him right in the way you wanted it to. You can’t see anything but the outline of his figure, though you swear you can feel his gaze piercing you.

He brings the hand you’re not holding to rub the spot behind your ear where you know his initial lies.

“I love you too,” He confesses on a quivering exhale.

You slowly lean in for a kiss, not quite sure where his lips are in the dark but somehow hitting them almost perfectly the first try, almost as if it was second nature to you now. That’s something you never really felt before Simon. Sure you had locked lips with other guys but you never knew there could be such emotion in just a kiss. With him, it’s almost like your minds, as well as your lips, are closely connected for that moment. You can feel the love, the passion, the joy, all of it with just a touch of mouths.

Ghost is the one to break it first, breath fanning over your face as he speaks,”I just have one question.”

“Hm?” Your mind is still frazzled by that short intense make out session.

“Was it when I went to the bar with Johnny that Friday?”

Your mind slowly catches on to what he’s saying, letting out a small giggle. That’s confirmation enough for him.

“And you said you were just gonna have a lazy night in?” His fake anger makes your giggles worse.

“You went to the stinking parlor instead didn’t you?”

You don’t even know why this has tickled you so badly, but soon Simon’s own deep chuckles join yours.

He pulls you into his chest, “Sneaky girl.”

You two just laugh harder

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

Oh my god what if! Instead of usual brooding Ghost who doesn’t change much from how he usually is unless they’re behind closed doors. We get a Ghost who turns into a literal puppy?

Like it’s not the full on shabang of a puppy but it’s like the subtle or quiet little actions of a puppy.

He sees Johnny walk into literally any room he’s in? He locks onto the man and perks up from wherever he is. He hears Johnny’s voice somewhere nearby? He trails after it until he finds the man and then hangs around.

And don’t even get me started on how he’s like when they’ve got actual privacy. The man is surprisingly clingy and always wants attention and just general affection. Soap’s fine with it. Fucking adores giving it to Simon whenever the hell he asks for it.

Simon trails him all over when he’s up and doing something. Even if it’s something as simple as washing his face Simon’s in the door and watching him, waiting patiently for him to finish so he can start hugging him again.

The man still doesn’t talk much, but Johnny can see the ears perked on his head and tail wagging behind him whenever Johnny’s giving him attention. And it’s the cutest fucking thing he’s ever seen.

[ravenmichaelisstuff]

I think A LOT about Soap trying to give back the childhood Ghost lost. (Part 7)

"Better late than never" part 7

Prompt from @cthulhusstepmom <3

Soap and Gaz were sent on a supply run, with lists of things people wanted or were running low on. For Soap, it was nice to get off the base for a little bit and breathe some civilian air even if technically still on the job. Gaz on the other hand was grumpy the whole way to the store, bitching about skipping his training for this.

When they got to the store they decided to split the lists between themselves, so searching for the unnecessary specific things could go faster. Soap got Konig’s list but Garrick also made him take Ghost’s.

“Last time I got him the wrong kind of tea and I swear he is  been drilling a hole in my head with his eyes ever since.” He explained, pushing the list into Soap’s hands. “You probably have it memorized with the frequency you make him his tea.”

Soap chuckled. “Yeah… Yorkshire Gold Black Tea, one and a half teaspoons of sugar, and you are not supposed to take out the tea bag. That dafty’s tea looks like it’s coffee, probably tastes like it too.” He recited not even looking at the list. Gaz looked at him with a knowing smirk. “And God was it a challenge to figure out how he likes it, whenever I asked him he would just ignore me. I had to figure it out myself through trial and error.”

“You are obsessed.”

“I just care about my friends.”

Gaz crossed his arms. “Yeah? What’s my favorite snack?”

“Resees.” Soap mimicked Gaz’s stance.

Gaz softened- Soap did remember.

“And Price likes green onion Lay’s because he is basic, Konig likes chocolate with raisins- which is just ‘ew’, Ghost likes skittles but specifically the tropical ones and if you want to test me I also know Rudy’s and Alejandro’s.” Soap smiled. “I pay attention.”

And that made Gaz feel bad for daunting the Scot, how could he when he was the most fucking caring person on the planet.

“Yeah, ok. Now I know. Won’t doubt you anymore.”

Soap punched him lightly in the chest and walked away to start their shopping.

********

He took care of his things first, then Kónigs. When it came to Ghost he looked at the list and grimaced. There were only two things on the list: tea and cigs. And Soap knew that the lieutenant was missing a whole lot more.

So yeah- Soap grabbed him the tea and the cigarettes but also whole grain bread because he saw him making sandwiches with a toast bread in the morning, which he knew he hated. He got him some good ham because the one always available at the base didn’t even stand next to real meat. He got him some baby carrots since Ghost enjoyed them and then Skittles. If Ghost makes him pay for all of that from his pocket- that’s ok. If Ghost doesn’t know how to ask for things, Soap will figure it out on his own and pay for it in the process.

Soap was heading for the checkout when he saw it- the last one on the shelf, a pure black plushie of a moth man. He went to touch it and- oh, it was so soft that he hugged it immediately. He had to get it. He snatched it and went to pay for everything, Taking the opportunity that Gaz was still searching for things he hid the plushie on the bottom of Ghost’s bag.

*****

When they got back on base Soap and Gaz went their separate ways to deliver the groceries. When he went to open Ghost’s door they were locked- weird. He usually left them open. He knocked and was met with silence.

“Ghost it’s me! Soap!” 

“Our lone wolf went on a mission.”

Price showed up in the corridor and explained, patting Soap on the shoulder when passing.

“Alone?” Soap was already annoyed, he will have a talk with his officer about his way to frequent solo missions.

“You know him, son. Just leave the bag under his doors, no one here hates life enough to take it from here.”

Soap sighed and left the bag.

******

Ghost was exhausted when he came back, it was the middle of the night and all he wanted was to smoke a cig and go lie down. So when he reached his room his already pulsing migraine got even worse. He asked for two things, but under his door was a bag filled to the brim with things. They had to confuse the bags. He took it anyway with an exasperated huff.

He entered his room and tossed the bag on his desk. He stripped down from his gear and got into some comfy, worn-down sweats. 

Everything was fucking killing him, he was sore all over and all he could think of were things he could do better on the mission, everything that he fucked up. He wished he had the balls to go to Soap’s room right now, the sheer presence of the energetic man would calm his screaming mind. But he was a coward, so all he could so is smoke.

Now even that wasn’t available.

He looked at the paper bag on his desk- maybe there were some cigs there. Whoever’s this is, won't mind if one goes missing. Ghost looked inside the bag and was surprised to find his favorite tea and cigs right on top. His brows scrunched in confusion, but then he remembered who got sent on the supply run- Johnny. 

“He really can not just do what I ask for, huh?” He muttered to himself and sat at his desk wanting to check out the contents of the bag, cigarettes forgotten. He couldn't help but smile to himself when he saw skittles- he would never ask for them but of course, Soap knew him better than that.

Ghost went to fish out the baby carrots he noticed, but his hand brushed something soft. He got goosebumps at the unexpected texture. He grabbed it. A very nice, fluffy plushie stared right back at him. ‘A bomb?’ passed his mind but he quickly squashed that thought. It wouldn’t be unusual for Soap to put explosives in weird places, but Ghost believed that he would never threaten him with one of his creations.

He hesitantly caressed the weirdly shaped plushie, he would even say it could look quite disturbing to some people. But for him, the plush’s red eyes were quite amusing. The fur was soft and pleasant to touch, which was new because usually, that kind of fabric made his skin crawl. 

Ghost looked around the room like somehow there were supposed to be people looking at him, judging him. But the only person judging him looked at him from the mirror, Ghost judged Simon for what he was about to do, for his stupid childish desires. Ghost would ignore the plushie, toss it away or give it back to Soap but the plush was for Simon and he knew it. Simon hugged the plush creature.

And ‘oh’ it smelled faintly like Johnny- gunpowder, his grandma's ‘healing’ herbal tincture, and the stupid fucking AXE deodorant. Johnny.

Ghost got into his bed, plushie hugged flush to his chest, nose buried in its fur. He slept peacefully that night.

REALLY enjoyed writing this, hope you all like it all the same <3 I love reading your thoughts on those! I am afraid that in some time the updates will slow down as my winter break will come to end and I will have to focus on my A-levels, but I will try to stay consistent <3 Sorry.

[screamingoverfiction]

Birdie

I don't really know what this is. Basically, my 3am fever dreams, fluff, filthy smut, descriptions of gore, and a whole lot of angst. Reader discretion is heavily advised. Canon Typical Violence. Ghost (mw2) x !f-reader, callsign Sparrow. I'm going to start working on some requests after this!

Word Count: 3.3k

She could see nothing but black. The cloth around her eyes prevented her vision. Her hands were bound behind her with a rope that dug into her wrists. Her legs were tied to the metal chair she was strapped to.

All she could hear was the faint buzz of an old lamp and the light dripping water.

Her throat was dry and screaming for water. Her lungs felt like someone lit them on fire and then stomped it out repeatedly. Her chest struggled for every breath, her body forcing itself to breathe, to stay alive.

She heard a metal door creak open, then slam shut. Heavy footsteps came closer, and she pushed herself against the chair, craning her body away.

Someone harshly ripped her blindfold down her face, and a firm hand grabbed her cheeks, forcing her to look at them.

"So you're the little bitch who sniped five of my men," The man said, saliva flying from his lips and splattering on her face when he spoke.

He looked about 45, with dark hair, a greasy face, and a full mustache. His hair was greying in some places, and his features were powerful and intimidating.

She kept her chin high, refusing to let him scare her. She stared daggers into his eyes, mustering as much saliva as she could and spitting it directly in his face.

The man flinched, slowly wiping his face and looking at his hand before snapping his eyes back to hers.

Before she could even blink, his palm collided with her cheek, her face reeling to the side, blood spurting from her mouth.

"We know who you work for. Does Captain Jonathan Price sound familiar? Seargent John Mactavish? Sergeant Kyle Garrick? What about Lieutenant Simon Riley?" The man hissed, grabbing her face again, searching her eyes for any signs of recognization.

"Trained in resisting torture, eh? Well, you'll be spitting names at my feet when we're done with ya," He sneered, harshly releasing her cheeks and standing up, looking behind him at two men who'd just entered the dimly lit room.

She swallowed thickly, straightening her posture as much as she could, glaring maliciously at the men.

The dark-haired man stood at the front of the room, his arms crossed over his chest, eyes dark with fury. He opened his mouth and said two final words before exiting the room.

"Break her,"

-

"Four down, I've got a shot on one more," Sparrow spoke into her radio, keeping her sniper aimed at the final man, awaiting her call.

"Take the shot," Ghost's stern voice said through the coms.

"Copy that, Lt." She replied with a smirk, taking a moment to realign her shot before her finger squeezed the trigger.

The man fell, and on his way down, he knocked over a bunch of barrels, creating a loud ruckus.

Sparrow's eyes went wide, and she immediately ducked under cover, trying to hide away from the men who'd surely start looking for a sniper.

"Fuck. He went down with a bang, Ghost," Sparrow whispered, anxiously waiting for her orders.

"Dammit, get out of there, and don't let them see youleave your sniper it'll only weigh you down," Ghost replied swiftly.

"Copy," Sparrow answered, unhooking her sniper and setting it off to the side, covering it with a black blanket.

She quickly unsheathed her pistol, moving through the small building with precision and stealth.

Her heart stopped when she heard footsteps coming from the exit. At least two men speaking in Russian, which was never a good sign.

She took a deep breath and waited for one to open the door, but suddenly, a third man jumped through the window beside her, knocking her pistol from her hands and kicking her in the chest.

Knowing that there was little she could do now except scream. So that's what she did. She screamed as loud as she could, hoping to alert Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Price, or anyone in the surrounding area.

"GET THE FUCK OFF ME! HELP! SOMEONE HELP! FUCK YOU GET OFF ME!" She shouted, kicking and screaming, punching and spitting, fighting her captures as hard as she could until a she felt a syringe in her neck.

-

Ghost's ears immediately perked up at the sound of distant screams. Deep down, he hoped he was hearing things, but he knew right then that Sparrow had been caught.

The color drained from his face, and he jumped up, looking out over his cover to try spotting her, but the screams had gone quiet. His heart sank into his stomach. And he had to grip the concrete to keep himself from falling over. He couldn't think of anything but her and how he'd said to take the shot.

He felt like throwing up, but he knew he had to inform the team before he went out on his own to try and murder every single one of those men.

"T-They got Sparrow," He managed to stammer, surprising even himself at the rawness of his voice. His radio crackled, but no voice responded until a moment after.

"Is she KIA?" Price asked, maintaining a professional voice but inside, he was terrified.

"I don't know. I doubt they'd give up a chance at intel," Ghost responded, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Just- get back to extraction. We'll regroup there,"

-

Ghost wouldn't speak to anyone. He wouldn't sit, wouldn't eat, wouldn't drink. The only time he did anything was when he yelled at Price.

"Simon, we trying-"

"Then fucking try harder! It's been three fucking days, John! She's either dead or wishing she was, and what are you doing? Having a cup of fucking coffee and laughing with Laswell!" Ghost shouted, pointing at Price venomously. Behind his balaclava, his eyes were bloodshot and sleepless, showing the constant anxiety he'd been plagued with.

Price swallowed, clenching his jaw angrily.

"Get back to your courters, Riley," He demanded, knowing Ghost was only saying these things out of anger and fear.

Ghost walked past Price, slamming the door on his way out, the hinges rattling against the frame.

Soap was standing outside the room, seemingly aged ten years in three days. His eyes locked briefly with Ghost's as he furiously exited the room.

Ghost didn't stop as he strode through the base and down the hallway toward his room. His mind raced with anger toward Price and sickening guilt. He knew he shouldn't have told her to shoot.

He reached his room in a flurry of madness, throwing open the door and almost breaking the wood as it crashed shut.

He grabbed the first thing he saw, an old water cup on his dresser, and threw it against the wall, the glass shattering into millions of pieces.

He felt like he couldn't breathe. He was suffocating behind the mask. His lungs were in a cramped and ever-shrinking dark room, clawing the air from his body.

He reached up and ripped the mask off, throwing it down to the floor and sinking to his knees, hands covering his face as he resisted the urge to scream.

He'd called her little bird, or when it was just the two of them, his little bird. She was the one he'd go to when the words he kept inside continued to feast on his thoughts until he couldn't take it anymore.

There was a warm, soft spot in his cold heart specially reserved for her. She somehow managed to weasel her way past all his coldness and closed-off nature. He still didn't quite know how. Her smile, her laugh, the way she'd roll her eyes when he'd crack one of his infamous dark jokes.

She'd earned her nickname because of her tendencies to chirp and how she could snipe without ever being noticed, well, mostly. She was a dreamer, a singer, a Sparrow, and she was always optimistic unless you tried to speak to her before 8am.

There was never a dull day when she was around. Maybe that's why Ghost has only seen in grey since she's been gone.

His hands shook against his face, and the urge to claw his eyes out was immense. He wanted to take his pistol and aim it in his mouth, but the chance that she was still alive was what fueled his fury.

He needed to save her, even if it killed him.

-

Blood trickled down her hands, dripping from her fingertips and splattering into the pool on the floor.

She'd lost track of the days. Nothing mattered anymore. If she could will herself to die, she would.

The one thing that kept her sane was him. His crooked smirk and those pretty brown eyes. God, how she would die for those eyes.

Keeping sane throughout the hours of unendurable torture was agonizing. But she would replay their memories in her mind, trying to ignore the hot burning rods they kept prying into her chest.

When he'd taken off his mask in front of her.

It was late at night, and everyone else on base was fast asleep or desperately counting sheep in an attempt to.

Sparrow couldn't sleep, nightmares plagued her dreams, and she was afraid to close her eyes. So she lay there awake, thinking about him, of course.

Almost as if on cue, there was a knocking at her door. A small smile twitched on her lips, and she sat up, pulling her covers off and hurriedly walking to her door.

She took a deep breath before turning the knob, her smile widening when she saw Ghost standing outside.

He wore a simple balaclava, a dark t-shirt that exposed his muscular, tattooed arms, and grey sweatpants.

"Couldn't sleep?" She teased, opening the door wider and letting him walk inside.

"Well, looks like you couldn't either since you were eagerly awaiting my knock," Ghost replied, his eyes scanning the familiar space.

"Ha-ha, very funny," She sneered, quietly closing the door and turning around to face him.

When she faced him, she nearly jumped back in shock, her eyes growing wider.

There he stood, maskless, those tired brown eyes looking into hers, a subtle fear behind them. His hair was short darkish blond, and his face bore powerful handsome features. Scars littered his skin, but it didn't matter, he was the most beautiful thing in the world, and it scared her.

Sparrow's hands quickly came up to cover her eyes. Her mind couldn't process what was happening. He couldn't have just shown his face. It would make it all too real.

"Sparrow," Ghost said, reaching out and trying to pull her hands away, but she just shook her head.

"Sparrow," He tried again, voice growing softer. His hands traveled to her forearms, fingers grazing along the skin.

"Y/n," He whispered, finally making her lower her hands. Her eyes locked with his once again.

"I thought you didn't want this to be real," She asked, reaching up, cupping his face in her hand, thumb brushing over his cheek.

"Guess I lied," He replied smoothly, leaning down and softly pressing his lips to hers.

If you'd looked at the two of them in private, you wouldn't believe they'd never kissed. Never slept together. But they hadn't, neither one wanted anything real, and the proposition of 'just for fun' didn't sound appealing.

Sparrow kissed him back, keeping her hands on his face. His lips were soft and rough at the same time. He tasted like minty toothpaste and tea. His hands trailed down her waist, securing themselves around her hips.

Their kiss was full of yearning and passion. They were making up for all the lost moments.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do this," Ghost groaned against her lips, snaking his hands on the backs of her thighs and hoisting her up.

Sparrow wrapped her legs around him, locking her ankles. She didn't break away from his lips, drunk on his lips.

Ghost carried her toward the bed, placing her down on the mattress and hovering over her, lips still hungrily kissing hers.

His hands traveled beneath her shirt, hesitating.

"Take it off," She breathed lustfully against his lips, her hands grazing over his clothed abdomen.

Ghost practically ripped her shirt off, his lips leaving hers to give attention to her newly exposed breasts, lips attaching to her sensitive nipple.

"Oh, fuck, Ghost-" Sparrow started to groan, but Ghost quickly cut her off

"That's not my name, birdie," He murmured, raising his lips and kissing the skin below her ear, causing a soft whimper to escape her lips.

"Simon," She whispered, reaching up and lacing her fingers in his short blond locks, gasping from the hickeys he marked on her collarbone.

Simon hummed devilishly, smirking against her skin and scattering even more love bites.

"Atta' girl," He said lowly, taking the hem of his shirt in one hand and swiftly pulling it over his head.

Y/n almost drooled at the sight of his toned muscles, prominent v-line, scars from battle littering his skin, and a faint happy trail leading down to the place her core desperately desired.

Simon lowered his body, hooking his fingers in her pants and pulling them down her legs, tossing them off the bed.

He wasted no time in doing the same with her panties, prying her legs back apart when they tried to snap shut out of embarrassment.

"Ah, ah, I wanna see my pretty little bird's cunt splayed out for me," He said darkly, dropping his mouth to her clit, tongue sliding inside her entrance.

Y/n had to clasp her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out in pleasure, her legs wrapping around his neck while he ravenously devoured her.

Simon held his hands on her thighs, keeping them spread as he continued working his tongue inside and outside her core, hitting the perfect nerves every time.

Waves of euphoria washed through her in swarms, her eyes rolling into her skull from the pure ecstasy that radiated through her body.

"Oh fuck, Simon, I'm gonna-" She started, but her sentence was cut off when he flicked his tongue, making her gasp.

"That's it, Y/n, cum on my tongue. I want to taste you," He breathed, working his mouth against her clit until her legs shook around his neck, and she cried out. Her orgasm coursed through her like a tsunami of bliss. Her eyes rolled, and she arched further into him, whimpering at the overstimulation.

Simon greedily lapped up her liquids like he was starved, only pulling away to raise his body over hers, crashing their lips back together.

"Fucking hell," He murmured, eagerly kissing her deeper.

Y/n hurriedly reached for his pants, her fingers hooking in the hemming and pulling them down his legs. His erection tented in his boxers, yearning to be touched.

Their lips met in another sloppy kiss, too caught up in the moment to care.

He quickly pulled his boxers off, groaning when the tip brushed against her already slick entrance.

"Simon," She whispered, her fingers tightly lacing in his blond hair, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Y/n," He replied in an equally quiet tone, slowly pushing himself inside.

The stretch was magnificent. She'd never fucked someone so big. The pain was soon replaced with redoubtable pleasure as he started to thrust.

Y/n nails dug into his shoulders, her moans of pure euphoria swallowed by Simon.

His arm moved upward, placing it beside her head to steady himself as he continued thrusting, hitting her g-spot with every steady himself.

"Oh fuck, it's like your cunt was made for me," Simon moaned, the guttural sound coming from the back of his throat, snapping his hips against hers, the sounds of slapping skin echoing throughout the room.

Her back arched into him, their chest pressing together as she became a moaning, whimpering mess beneath him.

"Fuck, you make such pretty noises. I'm gonna ruin you," He groaned, grasping one of her legs and hoisting it over his shoulder, deepening t the angle of his thrusts.

Soon enough, that familiar coil welled up inside her core once again, heightening her moans.

"Simon, fuck! Don't stop, please don't stop," She begged, whimpering below him, tears of pleasure rolling down her cheeks.

Simon groaned as her walls clenched around his cock, her orgasm spasming through her even more intense than the first time. He came not long after, her cunt squeezing around him, milking his cock dry.

She cried out as the waves overcame her, back arching into him, nails dragging down his shoulders and back, certainly leaving marks.

In the moments after their highs, not much was said nor done, just quick rapid breaths, trying to regain themselves, and short kisses, still chasing the flavor of the other.

Simon carefully pulled away, reaching over the side of her bed to collect their clothing, pulling his boxers on before helping her into his shirt.

After Y/n had successfully reclothed herself and gone to the bathroom(Simon carried her), she collapsed back onto her bed, sighing tiredly and closing her eyes.

When she didn't feel or hear Simon next to her, she opened an eye to find him simply admiring.

"You coming?"

He said nothing more as he slid under the covers next to her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her warmly.

"Is this real?" He whispered against her lips, protectively holding her as though she might slip away at any given moment.

"It is,"

Simon smiled.

Y/n sighed comfortingly against his lips, resting her forehead against his as she closed her tired eyes, awaiting the sweet kiss of sleep.

-

Her eyes were forced open by a blinding light- a flashlight. Well, that was new. Maybe they were going to do some sort of light torture next.

Her eyes tried to adjust to the new light, craning her head back instinctively when the figure walked over-no they were running-sprinting. That can't be good.

She whimpered in pain when they gently touched her face, and their hand immediately retreated back.

Her eyes finally adjusted to the light, just in time for her ears to start picking up noise as well. She heard the sound of a knife against a rope, and then she saw him.

An immense feeling of relief washed over her body at the sight of the masked man cutting her free. Tears welled in her eyes, and she started to cry.

He wore his hard shell skull mask and tactical gear, yet he worked so tenderly against her bonds.

When her limbs were finally free, she collapsed forward, but he caught her, wrapping his arms around her figure and lifting her effortlessly into his arms.

Tears of solace streamed down her cheeks. Sobbing into his chest, she did her best to hug him in her weak state, which probably looked and felt pretty pathetic.

"I know, birdie. It's alright now. I've got you," He whispered, his voice lulling her back into an exhausted sleep, despite the desperate, muffled voices she continued to hear.

-

Beeping, lots and lots of beeping. Hospital. Medic. Torture. Injuries. Soap. Ghost. Someone's hand was in hers. Simon. Twitch.

Simon's eyes opened at the slight movement of her hand. Then her fingers curled upwards until they locked with his.

Her eyes slowly and groggily opened, still glossy and hazed with sleep, but Simon could still see relief wash over her.

"Simon?" She whispered, voice raspy and breaking from screaming out in pain.

"Hey there, birdie," He said back, a small smile twitching on his lips, his eyes red from not sleeping.

"Is this real?" She questioned, blinking at him as if he might disappear, her hand tightening its grip on his.

Simon smiled again, standing up and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, brushing her hair back.

"It's real,"

Y/n smiled.

I love you all and I hope you enjoyed! &lt;3

[circusinthewalls]

Very, Very Fuckin' Sleepy Ghost Ramblings - MDNI, AGELESS BLOGS DNI

[Masterlist]

This is the only thing keepin' me from falling back asleep right now. Y'know how ridiculous that is? Simon 'Ghost' goddamn Riley and thoughts about his stupid gorgeous self bein' the only thing keepin' my exhausted ass awake this early in the mornin'.

Anyway, it's early for you, too, as luck would have it. You're a little pissy, seeing as your alarm meant to wake you up for work during the week has gone off during the weekend after you accidentally set it last night out of habit, so now you're pouting. Simon reaches out for you, fairly tired himself, still groggy but awoken by your disgruntled shifting about in bed.

You just bat his hand away, whining. Stubborn thing. Don't you know you look all sorts of pretty with your eyes squeezed shut and your brow knitted together like that? Can't blame him for wanting to kiss you. Only once, baby, please? Let him make it better.

His lips do eventually meet your skin, warm and gentle, much like the hands that follow suit. Oh, beautiful thing. He loves you so. Wholeheartedly adores you. He's not quite lucid enough to express it with words, but the way he cups your face is enough for you to understand it.

He peppers small, tender kisses over your cheeks, nose brushing with yours with every movement. Not that you mind. You're already starting to doze off again, sour mood masterfully tempered by the kindness Simon seems to have reserved only for you.

By the time his lips are pressing to your temple, one of his hands has left your face. It moves down, skimming over your side where it travels a languid path to splay out in the small of your back, guiding you closer. There are no protests from you this time.

Instead, you simply move with him, cozying up against his front. He gives a few more lasting pecks to your forehead as you tuck beneath his chin, then finally relaxes, idly stroking your skin to coax himself back to sleep along with you.

Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or to use with AI technologies.