#ghost headcanons

[amaranthinespirit]

husband!simon riley follows you around like a lost dog 24/7.

whether it be in the comfort of your own home, or out in public, the man is basically your shadow. like a moth to a flame, he is the moth and you're his flame.

it doesn't matter where you saunter off to, chances are, he's stomping right after you. Around your house, he's following you to every room.

need the bathroom? keep the door open, he'll lean against it with his arms crossed over his chest, either watching you silently or tapping away on his phone.

cooking in the kitchen? he's hovering over your shoulder. you can't count the amount of times on one hand you bumped into his broad, brutish chest, stepped on his foot, or, definitely not on purpose, whacked his groin with a small pan. still, he never learns.

watching TV in the living room? you best bet he's going to sit his big ass right next to you. even if you're on the single person armchair, he'll squish you into the armrest if it meant being next to you.

showering? not without him because he'll join you, and find a way to release pent-up need at the same time, that is if you aren't already stressed that day, then he'll just wash your hair and run a relaxing bath for you to soak in peace afterwards.

In public, people give him weird side glances, numerous occasions where you've had concerned folks tap you on your shoulder and give a small point over your shoulder, to which you reply sweetly with the biggest smile on your face, "oh, that's just my husband!"

he keeps a thick finger hooked into the waistband of your pants, or shorts, or looped in one of your belt loops to keep you near him. since you're much smaller than him, it can be easy for you to get lost in big crowds, and this just assures simon that you're never out of reach.

it's a funny thing to watch for the guys to watch, observing their lieutenant follow you around aimlessly like a big puppy, eyes soft as he gazes down at you, sharpening when another person approaches or observing.

you think it comes from never being able to control his surroundings, his obsessive need to keep you safe, more so now that you have a wedding ring on your finger, forever tying you to him. not physically, but he wouldn't hesitate to if it meant keeping you safe.

[nastylittleghouls]

Dew "it's always a good time to feel Aether up" drop

[cod-bin]

obsessively domestic simon headcanons

-he sleeps better when you’re touching. doesn’t matter how—your ankle resting on his, your fingers tangled, your whole body draped over him like a blanket—if you’re not touching, he won’t sleep. just lies there, blinking into the dark.

-he never says “i love you” the same way twice. sometimes it’s “text me when you get home.” sometimes it’s “eat something.” sometimes it’s him holding your wrist a little too tight before he lets you walk away.

-every time you wear his hoodie, he watches you like it’s the first time. like he forgot how good it looks on you. he doesn’t say anything. just tilts his head a little. maybe bites the inside of his cheek.

-he always smells like smoke, metal, and your shampoo. he uses it when you’re not looking. swears he doesn’t. but his side of the pillow always smells like you. it’s better than that shitty 7-in-1 anyways.

-he’s terrifyingly quiet when he’s angry. except with you. with you, he talks. not loud. but honest. “that scared the hell out of me.” “don’t do that again.” “i can’t lose you.”

-he doesn’t take pictures, but he has so many of you. little ones. secret ones. blurry and off-center. your hand on his thigh. your silhouette in the kitchen. your laugh mid-bite. he looks at them when he misses home.

-sometimes he just stares at you mid—conversation, like he forgot everything you were saying because your face is doing something soft. like smiling, or existing.

-when you’re sick, he’s unbearable. no one else can take care of you right. he brings you water, meds, hot tea, his hoodie, five blankets, a knife, and a death glare for anyone who even breathes near you.

-he gets shy after sex. not during—he’s dangerous during—but after, when you’re in his arms and breathing hard, he gets quiet. almost sweet. brushing hair from your face like he can’t believe you’re real.

-he doesn’t say “forever.” but when he fixes the cabinet in your bathroom without asking? when he memorizes your coffee order? when he adds your birthdate to every form he fills out? that’s him saying it.

I LOVE WRITING THESE

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@little-mini-me-world @eremika104 @trixilove257 @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @lostintransist @avgdestitute @h0lydrag0ns @poshestpigeon @fertilise-me

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[milkandkissesss]

𝐂𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

꧁—————————————————————꧂

John is not a morning person. He usually overdoses himself with coffee and cigars in early morning at base. When he’s home and off duty, he would take his time to wake up. Hours of just smothering you and touching you here and there, savoring it up so he knows what to think about when he’s away. He’s literally the king of sloppy morning kisses.

Usually wears just boxers to bed and occasionally a white tank top, the hair on his chest popping out like it’s been caged behind the two white straps of cloth, while he places your hand over it. He loves to let his arms hug you tight before sleep, so you “couldn’t get up in morning” and leave him alone in bed. When he’d get too pushy or needy, you’d either give in, or just get him off you, saying how it was already late noon, making him grumble but comply.

Soap would do anything to stay in bed. He got wrote up a few times for sleeping in and had to do pushups or any other form of physical labor as punishment.

When he’s back at his apartment with you, its heaven. He gets to laze around, moaning and groaning just because he knew he should get up. Absolutely hates when you get up before him and the other side of the bed is cold. Could spend the whole day rolling around, playing with your clothes or doing a lot more. Just boxers is more than enough for him, he’s not embarrassed nor afraid to go around the house like that.

Always uses excuses like “We need to start our day off good” and then proceeds to lovingly get into your pants.

Gaz is a morning person oddly enough. Back at base he’s always up early, though his face doesn’t really look like he’s enjoying it much. He just has on a straight expression, or a small stern look.

When he’s back home, you got used to long mornings. He’d wake you up with some kind of gentle touch, and you’d go together to the kitchen to make coffee, tea or whatever the hell your heart desires. Dresses up the moment he steps out of bed. He loves those morning sun rays that filter through the curtain, and watching them glow your skin and face is the most fulfilling thing he’s ever felt. Comes up behind you while you are bust at the counter, and just touches over your sides, wanting to soak in your being.

Ghost doesn’t care. At base he’s always up when he needs to be, and always says how it “doesn’t matter what he likes” since the rules are rules.

At home, he adapts to whatever you like. Early morning, he’s up. Sleeping in, he’s all for it. Loves to worship you even when you’re sleeping. Would wake you up with some kind of kissing, and would appreciate the fact that now he can use his hands for something else besides hurting. Absolutely adores your thighs, and loves to tangle your legs together under the blanket. His hands grasping at your flesh like some kind of emotional support plushie. You two don’t have any kind of schedule, and just go with how you feel that morning, which thats okay. You’d get up, take a small shower together and go down to eat, while he tells you how brave he was out in the field.

[oceantornadoo]

simon riley AND reader who are absolutely terrible at dating.

he ghosts you after the first date. you thought it was a once-in-a-lifetime connection with unmatched banter and crackling physical tension. guess not. you lose a couple of nights of sleep over it and chalk it up to men ain’t shit and move on.

simon who can’t stop thinking about your date as he gets shipped out the next day. runs through an op quicker than ever, barking at soap more than usual, toeing the line of unprofessional. every day that passes is a day he can’t touch his personal phone, leaving your text thread abandoned.

you get a text a month later. “you around?” have to check the thread to remember who it was, finding yourself absolutely shocked, struggling to remember the hulking mass of a man who made you giggle so much over that one dinner.

simon shows up to your picnic date with apology flowers and a new leather jacket. explains why he was gone without prompting, a gruff monologue as you find yourself getting distracted by the new scratch on his eyebrow and the scruff on his face. unconsciously, your fingers brush it barely, wanting to make sure it was real.

simon stops mid-sentence, gripping your wrist in an iron hold. the shock of what you did hits you, profuse apologies spilling from your lips as you try to explain and tug your wrist back. he won’t let you though, keeping it in place, your soft skin against his worn calluses.

“‘s okay, love. jus’ ask next time. still jumpy from work.” you finally snatch your hand back, embarrassment warming your body as you nod your head in acknowledgment. he thinks about letting the awkwardness settle and take roots, adding a string of failed dates to his black book.

instead you make the choice for him, attention catching on a nearby curious toddler. you give the little bugger a wave with your biggest smile, sticking out your tongue to make the kid laugh. simon decides then and there that he’s going to keep you.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Just walked out of the shower with a funny idea. The 141 men wanting to join in the shower, but maybe jumping out or smth cause the water is TOO hot, feeling like it could easily burn their skin down.

Soap is diving into that shower without a second thought because he takes any chance to see you naked/touch you he can. He yelps, swears in Scots, and nearly slips and falls (taking the shower curtain with him if there is one) as he attempts to escape the hot water.

Gaz, knowing that you take showers that are hotter than hell, politely watches from inside the bathroom, acting like he’s brushing his teeth or styling his hair. Will risk his hand to touch your butt.

Ghost braves the hot water and the reddened skin afterward because nothing is stopping him from having some quality shower (naked) time with you. It’s straight-faced, thousand-yard stare, and a silent scream on the inside, but Ghost is right there with you.

Price wants to join and knows better. He’s reaching in, yanking the temperature knob to “cold” to startle you, giving him an opening to hop in before turning the water temp back to an appropriate temperature. He’ll give promises of “I’ll keep you warm” instead of suffering under a scorching deluge.

CoD Headcanons / AUs / Quick Writes Masterlist

[circe69]

“my fuckin’ pussy” simon says as he’s pounding you in a mating press. your heel-clad feet are hung over his burly shoulders, flopping with every thrust.

“mmmn, yer fuckin” pussy” you slurred back.

“oh my, we’ve gotta talker, doing a little repeat after me? fuckin’ simon says, huh?”

he’s such a tease.

[wadewnstonwilson]

ghostwalker headcanons || suggestion by anonymous

pairing: ava starr (ghost) x john walker (u.s. agent)

author note: let me know if you guys want me to make this into an actual fic!! also would love to make more headcanons in the future for anyone you're looking for so please feel free to drop me an ask!

Relationship Dynamics (Enemies-to-Reluctant-Allies-to-More)

Mutual Distrust: Ava thinks John is arrogant, impulsive, and way too loud. John thinks Ava is a ticking time bomb who disappears mid-mission just to avoid responsibility. They argue a lot. But they always seem to end up on the same side when things go sideways.

Trauma Bonding: Both are broken by the government in different ways—Ava by S.H.I.E.L.D., John by the U.S. military and public failure. They don’t talk about it directly, but there’s this unspoken understanding when their gazes lock after a brutal mission.

Unintended Intimacy: Ava phases into his room by mistake one night when her suit malfunctions. He’s half-naked, confused, and holding a beer. She threatens to break his jaw. He tells her she can’t scare him. She vanishes. His hands shake for ten minutes afterward.

Rough Training Sessions: Their sparring matches are legendary—full of aggressive hits, low blows, and smug taunts. Ava has phased her fist through his body to grab his spine once. John has pinned her down and refused to let her phase out until she said please. (She didn’t.)

Character & Personal Headcanons

Ava:

Has learned to phase silently in and out of rooms just to mess with people—especially John.

Carries a worn-out photo of Bill Foster and sometimes stares at it when she can’t sleep.

Doesn’t like being touched unless she initiates it—and even then, it’s rare.

Secretly listens to classical music to calm her quantum sickness.

John:

Overcompensates his need for validation with bravado, but hates himself for it.

Sleeps with the light on when no one’s looking.

Has a deep-rooted need to protect others, even when they don’t want or need it.

Keeps a journal that starts off as a mission log, but slowly becomes letters he’ll never send to Lemar.

Romantic/Sexual Tension Headcanons

Enemies with chemistry: They bicker constantly, but something in the way she stares him down after a fight makes his heart race. Ava pretends not to notice when he lingers too close, but she does.

The First Kiss: It’s messy. After a near-death mission, they scream at each other in a rainstorm—he calls her reckless, she calls him a government dog. She phases mid-argument and then reappears right in his face. He grabs her jaw. It just happens. Violent. Desperate.

Protective Instincts: John flinches every time she phases and winces in pain, always asking if she’s okay. Ava rolls her eyes but secretly… it means something that he notices.

Slow Burn: They don't officially become anything for months. But everyone on the team notices how John only ever lets Ava talk him down when he's spiraling, and how Ava’s vitals stabilize fastest when John’s voice is in her earpiece.

Thunderbolts Mission Headcanons

Ava is the infiltration specialist and John is the tactical brute. They’re the classic “stealth vs. strength” pairing. It drives them both insane. He hates that she doesn’t follow orders. She hates that he has to give them.

On one mission, John throws himself in front of Ava to take a bullet from a quantum disruptor. She phases too late. The blast burns through him. She holds him while he bleeds, whispering, “You idiot. You absolute idiot.”

After that, she phases into the medical bay every night just to make sure he’s still breathing.

[machveil]

Roommate!Simon Riley who’s always got presents on hand for your birthday and holidays. he’s almost embarrassed about stockpiling gifts for you, all neatly tucked in the back of his closet… almost. that nagging embarrassment is quick to fade when your eyes light up, always excited that he bought you something and how, “Simon Riley, you didn’t have to get me anything!”

Roommate!Simon Riley that specifically likes buying you rings. nothing too fancy that would raise your suspicion, but always something shiny and pretty - something he wouldn’t dare tell you how much it cost. silver, gold, anything in between, if he thinks it’d look good on you he buys it. he likes seeing those bands decorate your fingers, reflecting in the light when you happily show them off to friends and family

Roommate!Simon Riley that gets one engraved - his initials delicately printed inside the band. he plays nonchalant, voice even when you notice, “Hm? Engraved is it? Didn’t know.”. you laugh it off, tell him ‘thank you’ before grabbing your phone. he loves when your friends ask you about the jewelry, how you always point to him as the one whose covered you in pretty metals and eye-catching accessories

Roommate!Simon Riley who has a matching ring, your initials engraved on it. snug on his ring finger when he’s at base - pretends it’s a wedding band, that his spouse is waiting for him at home. Simon doesn’t flaunt that ring at home though, not when he can have you tucked against his side. no, Simon doesn’t have that band on his ring finger, he slips it on with his dog tags. tucked under shirt, safe and sound on that silver chain as he holds you tightly

[fromthealtarbelow]

So, just a quick doodle I did after a long work weekend ft. my OC, Stratus, who was born in the Ministry!! Her stuff aligns with other headcanons I've posted on this account. Her Sire is Chain, her Dam is Omega (she is Terzo's stepchild /j).

She does have horns, but they're a bit too large so the Ministry often has them trimmed/filed down. She is unsuitable for the public (big mean lesbian) and has been tasked as a security ghoul. She may or may not have littermates! Haven't thought about them much.

[empresskylo]

simon doesn’t use his phone much. and he definitely doesn’t use it to take photos of himself. but you’ve begged him for photos. he’ll text you what he’s up to, and you always respond “let me see!” he finally caves and does what you say, though he won’t lie, it embarrasses him a little bit. and then one day, after he’s done showering, he sends you a quick mirror pic, his chest bare and damp, sweatpants low on his waist, with the text “just finished showering.” you hadn’t even asked this time, he just figured when he told you, you’d plead for a photo, so he was just saving time. and when you respond with how badly that made you need him, he comes to the conclusion that maybe sending you photos isn’t so bad.

[sillylittlerain]

Papa Emeritus Terzo Cosplay

I was at festival today, as Terzo. Was really nervous, but in the end I'm very happy. And this was my first time cosplaying

[nastylittleghouls]

Mountain: I'm back! Dewdrop: Did you buy eggs like I asked? Mountain: Even better! Dewdrop: What the fuck did you.... Mountain: *holds up a chicken* Mountain: Her name is Fluffers.

[khioneee]

simon is one of the girls (sort of)

boyfriend!simon was always invited to girls’ night—not out of obligation, but because everyone genuinely wanted him there. he fit into the group effortlessly, his quiet, protective presence becoming a staple at every gathering. whether it was lounging around in pajamas with face masks on or heading out for a wild night at the club, boyfriend!simon was part of the plan.

if it was girls’ night, boyfriend!simon was there. need someone to open a bottle of wine? he had it uncorked in seconds. carrying heavy bags for a night in? already done. if the group was heading to the club, simon was always the first to volunteer to drive everyone home safely at the end of the night.

boyfriend!simon never overstepped, but he wasn’t a silent bystander, either. when conversations got lively, he’d chime in with the perfect sarcastic remark or sly observation, earning a mix of giggles and mock glares. and when a topic turned to relationship drama, he always gave it to you and your friends straight.

“dump the bloke,” he’d say bluntly, not even looking up from his drink. “if i hear his name one more time, i’m blocking his number myself.”

your friends always groaned, but soon enough, they started messaging him directly for advice.

out on the town, boyfriend!simon was the designated protector. no one had to ask—he was always at the edge of the group, watching for anything suspicious. he made sure no one lingered too close, and if someone tried to chat up one of your friends unwantedly, simon’s presence alone was enough to send them packing. if they didn’t get the hint, simon would step forward, voice low and deadly calm: “you’ve got somewhere else to be, mate.” that always did the trick.

despite his intimidating size, boyfriend!simon never felt out of place during your quiet nights in. he sat comfortably among blankets and pillows, scrolling on his phone as face masks dried and reality tv droned in the background. your friends teased him mercilessly about it, but he didn’t mind.

“you’re basically one of us now, si,” one of them joked once.

he gave a small shrug, not looking up. “just don’t expect me to paint my bloody nails, yeah?”

with boyfriend!simon around, you and your friends could relax fully, knowing he’d take care of everything—from heavy bags to creeps at the bar. he wasn’t just there for you—he was there for everyone you cared about, making sure nothing went wrong on his watch.

one night, after everyone had left and it was just the two of you, you leaned into him, curious. “why are you so sweet to my friends?”

boyfriend!simon didn’t miss a beat, brushing a strand of hair from your face as he answered softly, “because they mean a lot to you—and you mean everything to me.”

an. i desperately need a man like him.

[ediblechainsaw]

my headcannon for ghost in a relationship is that he's not that touchy at first.

he won't hold your hand in public when you first start dating, or wrap an arm around you as you two walk.

and it isn't that he doesn't want to- god, he wants to- it's that he's at war with himself. because, when his hands have always inflicted pain, how could he trust them to be gentle? and paranoia sets into his bones, that someone dangerous might see him and you, and you might get hurt by just being around him.

so he settles for longingly staring at you from across the room, or treating you like nothing more than an aqquatince.

but late in the night he comes over. he sneaks through your window, a shadow in the dark before the dim light from the lamp in your room illuminates him. you're half asleep, but this has happened enough that you roll onto your back and hold your arms open for him to fall into you.

simon wishes that he could peel back your skin and crawl into you, that he could nest inside of your ribcage and use your beating heart as his pillow. that he could become a piece of you.

his kisses are deep and soft, his hands never staying in one place. they roam around your body, rubbing and softly squeezing, mapping out your curves and dips, memorizing every dimple and freckle so that when he's on his missions, when it's him trying to get some sleep on a cold, hard floor, that he can remember what it's like to be loved softly, to be allowed to hold someone that is soft and loving and understanding.

he'll hold you for hours. if he doesn't have to go to base in the morning, he won't leave. he'll trap you in your bed, your favorite prison, his arms the best restraints. it'll be late noon before he'll let you go, only because of your growling stomachs and the promise of warm food.

but he'll follow you around, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you make breakfast, pulling you onto the couch to watch a movie, running a bath for the both of you. he cherishes every moment that he gets to be with you.

if he has to go to work, though, he's gone long before sunrise, so no one will see him. but even as he does paperwork, suffers through mission briefings, helps train new recruits, he replays the night over in his head. you have a special place in his mind, a shrine with all the memories he has with you.

he counts down the hours until he can see you again, until he can melt into your warm embrace.

[elegantcath]

💀🖤 “Things Ghost does that show he cares (even if he won’t say it)”

You’ll never hear Ghost say “I love you” first.

But his love is written in silence, action, and instinct.

He’s the kind of man who shows he cares through what he does — not what he says.

Here’s how you know he loves you:

He memorizes escape routes in every room you enter

He doesn’t sit down until he’s mapped the exits. If there’s danger, he’ll already have a plan to get you out — before you even know something’s wrong.

He always walks on the outside of the sidewalk

Without thinking. Without fail. Like he’s a damn Victorian husband protecting you from horses — or modern cars and gunfire.

You tease him. He ignores it. Keeps doing it anyway.

He fixes your gear when you’re asleep

Your comms were glitchy. Your knife sheath was loose. Your medkit was misplaced. He doesn’t mention it — he just makes sure you’re safe, even when you’re unconscious and drooling on your pillow.

He lets you touch his mask

Nobody else gets that privilege. But when you reach for him, he doesn’t flinch — not because he’s comfortable, but because you matter more than his fear.

He watches over you like a ghost

When you’re stressed, he notices. When you’re angry, he clears space. When you’re crying, he doesn’t demand you stop — he just stays close, grounding you with his quiet presence.

Sometimes without a word.

He remembers what you love, even if he pretends he doesn’t

Your favorite candy. That specific tea. The old movie you once mentioned in passing. You find those things in your bag, waiting. No note. Just him.

You know it’s him.

He always takes the blame

Even if it wasn’t his fault. Even if it costs him.

He’ll say it was his call, his failure, his responsibility — because no one touches the people he cares about. Not on his watch.

He doesn’t let anyone disrespect you — ever

Ghost doesn’t shout. He doesn’t threaten. He just stares. Long enough and cold enough that people fall quiet fast.

My OC Cat knows the look well — the one that says: “That’s mine. Try again and I’ll end you.”

He’s not good with words. He’s not soft with strangers.

But with her — with you — he’s something else entirely.

A protector.

A shield.

A silent constant.

He won’t say “I love you.”

He’ll prove it — again and again, until there’s no doubt.