#cod x anyone

[lovelovelovelovelove987654321]

His Knight In Shining Armor

Simon doesn't quite think this is real. You. Him. The warmth. Doesn't quite understand how he can touch you without hurting you. Yet, at the same time, not hurting you is the only thing he understands. He would rather be buried alive- again-, would rather be surrounded by the rot and death that is his brain forever than lift a finger towards you. You are his everything. His sun, his moon, his rock, his ocean tides. Everything he does is governed by the push and pull of your mere existence. 

“Time izzit?” You asked oh, so sleepily, lips pressed against his throat, nose tucked under his jaw. “Time for you to go back to sleep.” And with a small huff, you do. He still marvels at that, you know. The way you trust him so much, that you take everything that comes from his mouth as truth. The way you feel safe enough around him to just close your eyes and sleep. Near him. The monster, the demon, the husk of a human being, the creature made up of the shreds of humanity left on the battlefields once the corpses have been dragged away. The thing that can't bear to look in the mirror because what he sees there shouldn't be allowed to roam the earth. Not in broad daylight, at least. Him.

Yet you just saw a man. A closed off, emotionally unavailable, stubborn man, but a man all the same. He’d surreptitiously ask what your eye scores were after every time you went to the doctor, because maybe you were hallucinating, just a little. A lot. Because how could you see anything worthy of love in him? 

He knew that, in the conventional western view, his body was attractive. He hated this body. It works, and that's good. But he hated how it accompanies him everywhere he went. He wished he could become a fleck of dust, maybe, be breathed in by you and settle in your lungs, listen to your heartbeat for the next several centuries. 

When he looked at his hands, he saw them dripping with dirt-thickened blood. When he saw his legs, he saw them broken and bruised. When he saw his feet, he saw the harbingers of all the death that followed him. When he saw his arms, he saw simply tools of war. When he saw his torso, his chest, he saw Roba. He saw the organs that should have done the word a favor by failing him long ago. He saw the heart he could no longer feel beating. When he saw his face, he saw no trace of the man he might have become. Instead, he sees a machine. 

When he sees his scars- oh, when he sees his scars- he sees the evidence of death and pain and hate and despair that surrounded him everywhere he went. He saw nothing deserving of life. 

But you. You.

When you saw his hands, you saw the hands you held when you were happy or scared. You saw the hands that had caressed you so gently, so lovingly. You saw the hands that had picked you flowers and given you gifts and brushed your hair from your face. (“I love your hands,” You’d told him once, twice, a million times.) When you saw his hands, you saw love.

And that gave him hope.

When you saw his legs, you saw the legs that had tangled with yours as you slept. The legs that took up room on the sofa, the legs that cracked and popped every time he stretched. You saw the legs that got humped by your best friend's dog, the legs that had run to catch up with you at the carnival and the supermarket and the park and the campground and everywhere else you had ever been. When  you saw his legs, you saw love. And that gave him hope.

When you saw his feet, you saw the feet that had tickled yours in the pool, the feet that had gotten buried under the sand at the beach, that wore the stupidest shoes you'd ever seen. You saw freckles and pale skin (“They look a bit like dead fish, Si!” You’d once said as you laughed.) You saw the bad circulation and wool socks and too-long nails. When you saw his feet, you saw love. 

And that gave him hope.

When you saw his arms, you saw the arms that had kept you warm on cold nights. The arms that had held you safe as you watched movies. The arms that had kept you together, had kept you from breaking apart, when you had laughed and cried and everything in between. You saw the arms that reached things on shelves that you couldn't, the arms that were strong enough to lift you up and twirl you around. When you saw his arms, you saw love.

And that gave him hope. 

When you saw his torso, his chest, you saw the solid plane of flesh that you leaned on for support. You saw the dips and curves, all perfect places for you to rest your head. You saw the weighted blanket you used him as. You saw the lungs that breathed in your laughter and smiles 24/7/365. You saw the heartbeat that kept you on track, reminded you that it would all be okay. You saw the organs that kept Simon alive. When you saw his torso, you saw love. 

And that gave him hope. 

When you saw his face, you saw the smiles he reserved only for you. You saw the eye crinkles, the nose scrunches. You saw the lip quirks and the dimples and and the beautiful brown eyes that housed the soul of your beloved. You saw the pale eyelashes, the under-eye bags, the smattering of extra pigmentation that were scattered across the bridge of his nose. You saw the furrowed brows and the crows feet. You saw his laugh and his voice and his whispers and his hums. When you saw his face, you saw love. 

And that gave him hope. 

When you saw his scars- oh, when you saw his scars. You saw his pain, yes. You saw the gruesome stories that were carved into his skin. You saw the death and the blood and the hatred that had imprinted itself in his very being. 

But.

You also saw the proof of how much he loved you. You saw the saga of his love, the confirmation that, no matter what, he would come back home to your arms. You saw perfect trails  to follow with your lips, the perfect places to press caring kisses now and then. You saw silly shapes of animals and constellations and plants and boats and maps of make-believe kingdoms. You saw everything that he was, everything he had done. When you saw his scars, you saw love. 

And that gave him hope.

Hope that he could be a better man. Hope that he could keep you safe and happy forever. Hope that, one day, he might be worthy of your love. Hope that maybe he could be something more than just the sum of his parts. Hope that, perhaps, your goodness might seep into his pores and infect him. Hope.

[ghostedbunnie]

mmm my brain is buzzing with an idea of knight! ghost stumbling upon a carriage getting robbed late at night. appearing like a monster that mothers warn their kids about when they misbehave, mask covering his face and after the bloodbath finishes and no one is left standing but him, he let's out a sigh before making his way to the carriage, one of the window is broken but the heavy curtains are drawn.

when he opens the door he doesn't expect to have the curtains thrown in his face and an absolutely feral maid trying to cut him with the shard of the window held so tight in her shaky hand that the other side cuts deep into her palm. something clicks in place for ghost in that moment, this little cornered thing protecting her mistress with ferocity of a tiger but with fear oozing out of her every pore.

with something that resembles a snort he knocks the shard out of her hand and pulls her out by the scruff as if she truly is just a little kitten showing her claws and he is finding it extremely amusing. the mistress is less of a fighter, he finds, it took one look at him all bloody and dark a picture straight out of nightmares and she passed out on the spot.

with the maid fighting him every step of the way he manages to bring them to his master, his king. turns out the mistress is a princess that was travelling to marry the king and for saving her life, he deserves a gift. anything of his choosing. anyone.

the maid could feel a cold sweat drip down her back when for the first time since they travelled together she heard his voice (she believed his vocabulary was made up of grunts and growls) when he pulled her in with his heavy gloved paw on the back of her neck, "I'll take 'er."

edit: full fic here

[shadow4-1]

"Can you just pretend to love me tonight? Please?"

Simon's never gotten a request like this before.

He's never had any qualms about selling his body. Whether it was for his cock, units of his blood plasma, or his war honed body. He's always done what he's had to - anything to stay off the streets and keep a full belly.

The girls who've paid him always wanted a brute, someone to mount them and take them for all they were worth. That was what he was used to, not some doe-eyed sweet thing begging him to be gentle.

"I want to feel loved." You admit, leaning back on the motel bed, thighs crossed in nervousness. "I um...I know I'm not very pretty-"

Simon leans forward on his knees and kisses you gently. Well, he tries to. The tip of your teeth graze painfully together as he mouths you. You squeak beneath him, hands going up to his shoulders to try and push him off on rabbit instinct. He pulls his mouth off of you just enough to mutter an apology.

"Sorry." He swallows.

You look up at him with impeccably beautiful eyes brimming with tears. You seem to finally understand there's nothing gentle about him even when he tries to be. Simon wants you to call him off, send him out of the cheap hotel. He knows he can't be as sweet at you want - as you deserve. He's just physically not built for that. At least, he's sure of it nowadays. He has a brief memory of holding his newborn nephew but it slips away just as quickly as it came.

"Can we just...go slow?" You ask again. Simon can hear the waver in your voice. You're unsure if you want to continue, but you seem to trust him for some reason. "Really, really slow?"

"Yeah."

He can do slow. He can do glacial. If there's one thing he can do, it's be measured, methodical. He wasn't a Lieutenant for nothing.

For the first time in years, he takes his time. He's used to the fast paced, hungry fucks that pay his rent in thirty minutes. This is...new, not wholly uninvited. He kisses down your collarbone, down the swell of your breasts. He nips at the lacy fabric (you dressed up for him when he was expecting just to rip it all off) as he makes his way down further. He laps at the skin beneath your belly button, making your belly flutter. Ticklish. He likes that.

Simon noses his way between your thighs, easily spreads your legs with his thick forearms. As he kisses down your cloth covered mound he admits he likes how you smell. Usually the taste of women turns him off. He prefers men, but desperate women pay more. You're desperate alright, although its a different type of desperation. Something about the nervous wetness staining your new panties has his cock jumping in his trousers. He presses his nose to the fabric, inhales deeply, and relishes in your shy squeak. Simon starts to understand your desire.

You want to be explored, mapped, and consumed slowly. You want to give up control but feel as if you can stop at any moment. You want to be seen, tasted, then completely devoured.

Instead of slipping your panties to the side, he licks his way down your thighs. You squeal and try to squirm away from the sudden sensation but he doesn't stop. He kisses down your calves and across the top of your feet. His hands are so large that they wrap around your soles completely. Simon pushes them up until they're up by your ears. He knows the position is uncomfortable for you, but he likes the view of your soft, cloth covered mound.

He nips at the back of your ankles and calves, licks down the expanse of your thighs, ans nuzzles into the gusset of your panties. Simon relishes in the squeaks and gasps ans twitches of your expectant body. It's been so long since he's teased someone, much less a sweet lil' thing like you.

Your scent is heady, comforting, nothing like he's experienced before. He finds he really likes just inhaling you in. You whimper, thighs shaking already. He hasn't even licked you yet. Simon finally admits to himself that you're stroking his ego.

He plants a firm, sweet kiss to your cloth covered cunt. The fabric is practically soaked through. He can smell your taste on the tips of his lips. His curiosity wins. He takes a firm, long lick from bottom to top. Simon tastes you, but also the flowery tang of your favorite fabric softener. You taste good. He wants more.

Simon finally releases his hold on your thighs. On instinct, or perhaps strain, they fall apart. You try to sit up but he tugs your body further towards the edge of the bed. He can feel the tension in his old knees from kneeling, but he ignores it. You've opened up your body to him. He wants to take full advantage of it.

Simon goes back to lapping at your clothed cunt. He doesn't stop until his tongue is raw from brushing repeatedly over the stitches. Drool drips down his chin.

"Off."

You huff in confusion, trying to sit up. Instead. With too easy of a tug, off come your panties. There you are. Simon knows he should slow his movements but he doesn't care. You haven't stopped him yet, and he'll be damned if he doesn't get those sweet lips in his mouth. He spreads you apart with his middle and forefinger. You're a sight to behold. Perhaps not pornstar perfect anatomy, but you're delicious looking nonetheless. He eyes your glistening, dripping slit. As bad as he wants to force his tomgue deep inside you, instead he presses a firm kiss to the hood of your clit. You jolt, trying to back away or pull him closer, he can't tell.

Simon follows your movement. He mouths hungrily at your clit, flattens his tongue and practically drools against it. He laps at you with a muted fervor. He doesn't want to hurt you. He can tell you're sensitive. It must've been awhile since the last time you'd had a man willingly do this for you. A damn shame.

Your shaky little moans are like music to Simon's ears. He follows them like a map. He circles your clit, traces the entrance of your hood, even dips lower to tease the sides of your inner lips. You seem to like that alot based on the sounds you make. He sucks on your inner wings and you squeal, thighs wrapping hard around the sides of his head. He does it again and and again until you're hiccuping in delight. Your slick drips down his chin and throat. You're such a good girl for him.

Simon knows he's going to make you cum, it's just a matter of time and technique. He has both on his side. He uses his other hand to pet at your entrance. He tries to commit your anatomy to memory, and so he takes his time dipping the pads of his fingers against your fluttering slit. Despite it obviously having been awhile, your cunt holds no resistance. In fact, it practically swallows up the tip of his middle finger. Fuck yeah, that's what he likes to see.

With measured ease, Simon slips his whole finger inwards and upwards inside of you. You keen and gasp and he can feel your insides twitching. You're tight. So tight he can feel his finger already starting to cramp up from the resistance.

If he's going to fuck you right he's still got some work to do.

[3amfanfiction]

You and Simon are walking home when something frightening happens. One thing about being in a relationship with him, you just KNOW he would be hauling you around like a sack of flour if something dangerous happened.

Cw: ptsd

It’s been a good day. Simon is home from deployment, the sun has just set and the weather is clear.

You’ve been out running errands with him for most of the day. Your partner’s been home for a week and this is the first time either of you have left the house. You miss him badly when he’s away but you’d give anything for days like today.

You’re walking down the sidewalk, hands tangled together as Simon carries the shoulder bag of groceries on his other side. The quiet evening is peaceful, storefront lights beginning to click on as the day winds down.

You’re not sure exactly what happened. One moment you’re chattering at Simon, telling him about the new recipe you were going to try out tonight and the next you’re being forced against the building, Simon’s hand pressing your head towards your chest while he slams his body into yours, covering as much of you with himself as possible.

You gasp in a stunned breath once your lungs stop seizing before your ears recognize the reverberating boom in the air. You watch with wide eyes as the bag Simon had just been holding spills groceries onto the sidewalk, cans and jars rolling away from the spilled bag.

You yelp as he pulls you away from the wall and half picks you up while keeping you tucked into his chest. He moves quickly into the alleyway you had just passed, keeping himself between you and the street. You shuffle your feet trying to keep up as he bodily drags you.

Si-Simon you gasp breathlessly in shock. What are you doing? But there’s no response. You look up into his face only for your heart to stutter in your chest. You’ve never seen that look on his face before. Two more booms shake the air before there is a faint crackle.

His eyes are steely above his mask. He doesn’t wear his balaclava when he’s home, but dons a blank, black face mask when you need to leave the house. You never thought you’d be scared of him but if he looked at you with that face you would freeze up in a heartbeat.

You realize what’s going on as a red glow lights up the alleyway before fading back into darkness.

Simon, it’s okay. We’re okay. It was a firework, baby. We’re safe. You’re home with me. Nothing. His gaze is jumping to every shadow, still sheltering you between his body and the wall.

You raise your arm to try and cup his cheek, attempting to bring him back to you but he rips his face away with a snarled stay down before shuffling you further into the alleyway.

His grip on you is tight as he shoves you into a deep doorway, wedging himself in after. You can feel his heart pounding from where your face is pressed against his chest, his other hand still holding the back of your head, pressing you against him.

You try again. Simon. Simon you’re home. You’re here with me and it was a firework. Some idiot has gone and started setting them off. There’s probably going to be another boom here in a minute and then you’ll be able to see it in the sky.

Like the universe is listening, there is another explosion right then with a trailing shower of lights afterwards. It casts enough of a glow for you to see his eyes again. They’re panicked and darting every which way trying to see where the danger is coming from.

You decide to wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze as hard as you can, hoping the pressure would help bring him back. You start talking, not giving a chance for silence to fill the space.

We were walking home from the grocery store. We were going to make that new pasta dish I was telling you about for dinner. I had just asked you about stopping in at that new tea shop on our way. You know the one, on the corner of 4th? They have a jasmine tea I’m really interested in trying. And I saw on their website they have a chocolate croissant too. I know how much you love them.

On and on and on. Narrating what you’d done that day, what you were going to do when you got home. The newest show you and him were watching together, how you had trimmed his hair for him yesterday, anything you could think of.

Finally, after what felt like years, his hold on you begins to loosen and his body begins to shake slightly with the adrenaline crash. The periodic booms making him clench back up each time.

After every explosion you made sure to reiterate, that was a blue firework. It looked almost like a weeping willow tree. You know the one . . . trying to bring him into the present and keep him there.

Eventually he stands up straight and you’re able to look him in the eye. He seems almost ashamed of what just happened. It’s okay baby. Let’s go get our bag of food and then we’ll go home. I’m thinking we order takeout and then cuddle for the rest of the night, how does that sound?

He nods his head before pressing a hard kiss to your forehead through his mask, apology or thanks you’re not sure. You make your way out to the street together, Simon insisting on staying bodily between you and the street still, head on a swivel with every movement that catches his eye.

By the time you get home he’s well and truly crashing. Slight shaking accompanying his movements, eyes beginning to go unfocused. The rest of the evening ensuring some part of you was touching him at every moment.

Next || Story Repository

[omegapropaganda]

[princessdimondheart]

Y/N: Simon?

Ghost: Yes, love?

Y/N: Can you come here for a second?

Ghost: yeah *goes to where Y/N is standing*

Y/N: sit on the couch *nudges him*

Ghost: *sits, confused* what is it?

Y/N: *places hands behind his neck and pulls his head closer* just come here

Y/N: *proceeds to shove Simon’s face into her well endowed bosom.*

Ghost: ?? Ghost: *muffled* ummm, ‘hat’s the poin’ of thiss luv?

Y/N: ssssshhhhhhh

Ghost: hah?? *tries to pull away*

Y/N: *shoves his face deeper into her boobs*

Y/N: sssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhh

Ghost: ….. *mentally: okaayyy* *gives up and relaxes*

Ghost: *tightens his arms around Y/N* *cuddles his face further in her breasts*

Ghost: *slides his hands down* *squeezes her ass with both hands* mmmmhh

Masterlist

[ceilidho]

Okay but ghost who is turned on by the size difference between you two. Ghost who notices one day that maybe your forearm and his dick are about equal lengths and thickness. Now he can’t stop imagining the bulge it would create in your tummy when he fucks you slow and deep. Ghost, who is guilty of manspreading whenever you walk into the room and lives for the blush that paints your cheeks as you notice his size, and he can’t help but puff his chest up with pride. Omg or ghost who remains unbeatable when you two spar, pinning you down on the mats so easily it’s laughable, pushing his pelvis into yours as one hand holds both your wrists above your head and he is absolutely living for the doe eyed look you give him from underneath. Just giving you my ghost brainrot of the hour lmao

His brain short-circuits when his whole hand easily fits around your wrist. He stops you from grabbing something and something thrums through him at the difference in size, but it digs in when he notices how wide your eyes go. Just staring down at his gloved hand on your wrist.

It's even worse if Ghost notices how much his fingers overlap around your ankle when he's pulling you back down the bed when you try to crawl away. He loves the way your breath hitches when your fingers barely touch after wrapping around his cock. When his boots frame your feet when he's fucking you from behind, it makes his blood pressure spike to see the two side by side.

He always makes you sit down first whenever you go out for a drink or stop at a diner for food. That way he's the first thing anyone sees before their eyes fall on you, and they never get too interested if they register the sheer size of him first. Their eyes sort of glance off you after that.

[adrianlikesdinos]

my favorite category of ship: taking characters from a stereotypically originally predominantly male fanbase and puting them in a tender loving domestic queer relationship

[yawnderu]

CW: mentions of kidnapping and stolen body autonomy.

Find a way in, kill the enemy, retrieve the hostages, leave. A routine of sorts that gave his life some sense of purpose to avoid going insane for the past two decades. Simon liked to believe he got over what happened in his past... truly, he did; and yet Manuel Roba’s horrors seem to haunt him no matter where how many years pass.

“C’mere.” Simon’s voice held no hostility, he made sure of it, yet your stiff position never changed. Legs angled to the right, hands folded on your lap, and eyes looking forward, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze even if it’s been hours since your rescue. Garrick, Price and Johnny have already tried to get you to talk multiple times, all of them with different approaches. 

Garrick was friendly, trying his best to seem approachable, a bright smile on his lips that you didn’t seem to notice, too busy staring at a wall no matter how much he tried to hold a conversation.

Price seemed fatherly, never once laying a hand on you even if it was itching to comfort you, and so he settled with telling you you’re safe now, how no one will ever get you again now that they're here. His words didn’t seem to do much, either. 

Johnny was… something else. His first attempt was a shitty pick up line, getting a reaction out of you for the first time— a nose scrunched up in disgust, but a reaction nonetheless.  

And Simon… Simon’s approach was different. The man was used to barking out orders and obeying them himself, not to deal with an unresponsive hostage. His behemoth frame was nestled next to you, putting a tray on the table and observing your reactions. From the way you swallowed thickly the moment the meal was presented to you, to the sound of your stomach growling. 

“Go on, then.” Your gaze follows his movements for the first time, the feeling of your stomach rumbling makes you more aware of your hunger, so many years being fed nothing but what was necessary to keep you alive by Manuel and his associates, so many years of being trained like a dog to obey to their very order. 

Simon can see the hesitation in your body language, too tense to allow yourself to dig in the way you wanted, yet no longer as stiff as before. There was a sense of relief at the fact that they didn’t seem to want to hurt you —unlike Roba—, yet years of non-stop brutal training can’t be erased within hours.

Roba’s training was engraved into your brain, and while the sense of security the SAS blokes gave you is something you’re thankful for, nothing guarantees they’re not working for him. You’ve seen other military men come and go throughout the years, always Roba’s friends, and always sharing the same disgusting, sadistic desires.

“Eat up.” The rest of the men watch the way you move, curiosity and amusement mixing at how strange your movements seem, almost robotic. Your forearms rest on the table, elbows away from the cheap wood as you attempt to hold your own cutlery— attempt, because it looks fully foreign to you, trying out different angles to make it work, and yet it's the first time in years you've been allowed to try and feed yourself.

Simon is the first one to catch on, having lived under Roba’s rules for long enough to know he enjoys taking people’s autonomy, to reduce them to nothing but a pathetic mess that depends on him. His gloved fingers are gentle as he takes the spoon from your hand, scooping up some food before holding it up to your lips. His full attention is on you, relief starting to make its way into his body as sees your rather soft lips wrap around the spoon, eating whatever he was feeding you. Lucky for you, this time it wasn’t an MRE… or beans on toast.

His gloved thumb wipes the corners of your lips every time you’re done chewing, and he’s quick to pick up more food from the plate, nothing but patience and kindness shown in his actions, so unlike the brooding soldier he's known to be.

“... two goldfish are in a tank…?” Johnny’s loud groan gets your attention for a second, yet you quickly glance back at Simon, curious eyes looking up at him, almost as if asking him to go on. 

“One turns to the other and says… ‘you know how to drive this thing?’” You can see the corners of his eyes crinkle before he even finishes his joke, clearly trying his best not to laugh at just how awful it was. A small smile hides in the corners of your lips, and Simon takes that as a victory, ignoring the questioning looks he’s getting from his team, for now.

[poorlywoventhread]

Sighing Y/N dug out a lighter from their pocket. To keep their hands occupied, realising the flame, then quenching it.

Y/N: "Want?"

Ghost responded by pulling out a cigarette tucked away within the folds of his clothing..

Ghost: You dont even smoke. Why do you carry that thing around?

Y/N: You know me. running around. Living life. Committing arson.

[wordstome]

SOMETIMES YOU JUST NEED A BIG TALL GUY WHO GOES “!!! 😳” WHEN YOU FLIRT WITH HIM OKAY. SORRY FOR HAVING GOOD TASTE!!!!!!

[lovelovelovelovelove987654321]

Sacrificial Dove

A/N: Hey! Hope you guys like this one! I have actually no idea what to write so asks would be deeply appreciated.

Content warnings: Some mildly graphic gore at in the last paragraph.

He should have worshipped you sooner.

He beats himself up every single day about it. He should have been kneeling in front of you from day one, because the signs of your strength had always been there, he just hadnt wanted to see them.

Instead, he saw weakness. He saw flaws. He saw someone too emotional, too sensitive, too indecisive to be in the 141. He didnt understand how you'd made it in. Sure, you did okay in training sessions. You were a decent shot, he could give you that. And, okay, you had an okay memory. Could rattle off facts about weapons like it was the end of days. Yeah, fine, you could admit that you had occasionally surprised everyone by suggesting a maneuver that none of them had thought of. Fine.

But anyone could memorize facts. How could someone who cried when they spilled their coffee be any good on the battlefield? For Gods sake, you had a 'good luck teddy bear' on your keychain! Someone like that would simply not be capable of shooting enemies point blank. No sir.

So when the next mission rolled around, Ghost wanted to protest. But that wasnt his way. So he glowered and went along with the stupid fucking idea of bringing you along. You would die, he was sure.

He moved away from you once they had touched down. He was absolutely positive that he would see your corpse once he circled back around. He did his thing, killed his targets, did what he was supposed to. As he neared your position, he heard rapid gunfire. Not at all unusual, given their line of work.

Your funeral would have a closed casket, he thought with some satisfaction. You had been too pretty. It would be good to see you dead.

But as he peeked around the corner all the air left his lungs. There you were, angel of death. Ghost had never believed in heaven, never, but this had to be damn near paradise.

You were coated in blood. Soaked. Dripping. You were holding a machine gun and utterly annihilating anyone who came near you.

When it was over and done, you wiped a hand across your blood slicked face and smiled at him. Smiled. And you had blood staining your teeth and your lashes were crimson and-

Ghost wondered how you would look with his blood covering you. He could be your sacrificial dove, if you would let him.

Thank you was Ghost's last thought 2 years later when you had betrayed the team. You had him chained up in a cement room, drains inlaid across the floor. 'They tortured the others' you'd whispered in his ear, 'But I wanted you to myself'. You'd kept his mask on, a small kindness or a huge tragedy, depending on how you looked at it. Ghost tended towards the latter.

You'd slit his throat with an approving smile, watched the life leave his eyes almost fondly, his blood trickling down your cheeks like tears.

[helios-sol]

hmm…had a ghost thought..take this.

“you broke his nose.”

simon flinches when your needle breaks the tender skin of his brow. he’s lucky it’s not too deep, less chance for a nasty scar.

“he slapped your ass.” is his only reply.

your sigh is heavy, the puff of air ruffling the bangs that hang in his face.

“i’m an adult,” your fingers work quickly, “i can take care of myself.”

the statement has simon quirking his brow and you’re cursing him.

“stay still-“

“what were you saying last night,” he interrupts you, “ ‘s-sir, please, need you so bad’ was it?”

your mouth goes dry, face flushing in an instant. the smug, satisfied grin on simon’s face makes you physically angry. you want nothing more than to rid him of it, render him just as speechless as you are. unfortunately, he’s far quicker to the draw than you.

“where’s all the bite from earlier?” he questions and he’s lucky you don’t make his stitches any more painful than they need to be.

“fuck you.” you grit out, lips pulling into a thin line. you don’t want to entertain him any further but he’s got other plans.

“plenty of that later sweetheart.”

you pretend to gag.

“you’re not as smooth as you think you are.”

simon huffs a laugh at that, face aching at the pull of his lips into a smile.

“still gets you hot under the collar.”

you frown, tying your thread into a knot before snipping the loose end. he’s not wrong but you don’t think you could live with him having that satisfaction.

“you’re insufferable.”

simon lifts your chin up towards him with a bloodied knuckle.

“you love it.”

you roll your eyes.

“yeah, sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“would you kick me out if i said it was you..?” he asks, tugging a clean shirt over his head. you stare at the way the material stretches across his back before meeting his glance from over his shoulder.

“no, but i would tell you you’re getting a bit soft.”

that makes him scoff and roll his eyes, lips ticked up in a slight smile.

“maybe, maybe not. i think i just like a warm bed and a nice ass.”

“SIMON! you’re such a jackass!” you cry out, cheeks warm with embarrassment.

He flashes you an apologetic grin, arms raised in defense.

“okay, okay. maybe i am getting soft,” he tugs you towards him by your wrist, “but i only have you to blame.”

[shadow4-1]

I'm imagining getting injured in battle and Ghost having to decide to leave you (and perhaps live) or stay (and you both die).

But you scream at him and tell him to leave. Sob and curse and tell him he needs to keep going. He's been your friend for so long-

"Oh, who m' I kidding." You hiccup out, pull yourself close to his chest. You snuffle into his neck and allow yourself a last moment of peace.

"I love you Ghost. I'll always love you."

You peck a quick kiss to the front of his mask before pushing him away. He's in shock, but he knows what he must do. He finally leaves, your phantom kiss sits heavy on the front of his face.

(There was no real danger to begin with. You both just decided to be a bit dramatic.)

[alwaysshallow]

someone mentioned here that would like to see more of higher ranked reader x ghost so......

i feel like johnny would try to set you up. like, play a little bit of matchmaker y'know?? and be a little brat about it considering simon is a bit stern about the whole thing.

he's like "bruh i don't like her" and the second johnny starts flirting with you, he's just deadly staring at him bc it doesn't sit right with him. watching you giggle at his jokes and your smile when you tell him you like a bit older men so his flirting won't work even if it's good.

simon is older. if he had a tail, it would wiggle when he heard that, spying around. probably he would be like hmmmm and then he'd bring you tea the next morning, acting like it's casual, but everyone knows he has a ritual with tea, he makes it for special people.

you're special. he even offers you to train with him, so he could teach you some things and you will teach him. he teaches you boxing - you punch his face a bit too hard and his nose bleeds a bit, but that apparently arouses him and his pupils dilate when you're apologizing. out of his lips almost slips that you could do this again.

ANOTHER THOUGHTS ABOUT THEM OOF

and something longer w plottwist

another!!!

[mactavishenjoyer]

Gaz:"So how did y'all get married if Ghost is legally dead?"

Soap:"Oh, we pretended he was Roach!"

Gaz, to ghost:"How do you feel about your man being married to your best friend?"

Ghost:"he's shagging him too so it's only fair."

Gaz:"HE'S WHAT?"