#ghost call of duty

[lukasaurusart]

Some old gouache painting practice with ghoap eyes

[bi-writes]

Ooo ooo ooo know what I think Simon in MOB would love?? a fashion show after he picks up his girl from shopping. I mean she seems like the kinda of girl to show off what she got, cuz simply she’s just so excited and he’s just so grateful for a show from his little love

mail-order bride (18+)

it's always raining lately. the weather has been cooling as the winter months get closer, and the rain has been a constant reminder of the days coming that would be spent inside.

simon didn't mind spending time inside. he liked being inside, in his house, away from others. when he was home, it was just you there. thing 1 and thing 2 occasionally appear, but it's you that takes up the space in the kitchen watching your dough rise impatiently, you that takes up that corner spot on the couch with your favorite knit blanket with a terrible movie on. the sight of that, he'll never get over it--he'll never get used to the pretty girl that lives in his house and wears his ring and sleeps in his bed and says his last name when they ask her, "your name, ma'am?"

his phone buzzes in his pocket as he ducks his head to get into his truck. he pulls it out, sighing, starting up the car when he reads your message.

all done! waiting at the corner.

when he turns onto the main street, he sees you standing at the corner with your umbrella, waving at him with a big smile. he can't help the one that blooms under his mask; fuck, he's beaming whenever he looks at you.

he puts the car in park, coming out to greet you. you hop on your toes as he comes around the car, and he dips his head under the umbrella as you stand high on your toes and kiss him over his mask.

"simon--"

"missed ya."

"it's only been a few hours--"

"'s too cold ta be out 'ere, baby, let's get ya inside."

you hum as he smooths his hands over your jaw, giving you another kiss through the mask before picking up the shopping bags that you're holding. he takes the umbrella from you, holding it as he guides you off the curb and into the passenger side of the car. he smacks your ass gently as you hop up, and you squeak when you sit down, giggling as you push at his chest.

"simon!"

"wot? wot did i do?"

"you're a dog, i swear."

"dunno wot y'mean, baby, tha's my wife in my car, and she looks bloody lovely."

you bite your lip, shaking your head.

"get in the car, simon, jeez..." you whisper, but your mind is running, and simon is looking way too good in this leather bomber jacket get-up he decided to pull out today. fuck, his arms have never looked so big, have they? has he been working out more?

just as he leans in for more, you put a hand on his chest, smiling down at him.

"slow, down, simon..." you touch your nose to his. "i got a surprise for you. let's go home, hmm?"

simon always skirts over the speed-limit, but you hold his hand extra tight as he swerves a little more than usual on the way home.

when you make it inside the warmth of your house, simon helps you take your jacket and boots off, hanging everything by the door and ripping his mask off so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck and kiss you there, his words muffled as he tries to talk between kisses, as if not kissing you might deprive him of something as necessary as breath.

"wot's the surprise?" he whispers, and you turn around to face him, giggling as he cups your cheeks and kisses you firmly, on the mouth, feverish and eager. "taste like chocolate, buy some sweets while ya were out, did ya?"

"simon--"

"fuckin' hell, don't say my name like tha'," simon groans, backing you up until you hit the wall with a gentle thud. his hand slips into your hair to cushion it, his hand taking the weight of the wall as he kisses you again, harder this time. "so pretty, tell me--"

"simon!" you laugh, "just go sit down...sit, you're so impatient--"

he can't sit still. his knee is bouncing as he sits on the couch, and he sucks on his teeth as he watches the door of your bedroom. it's closed, and he can hear you moving around behind it. a few moments later, you open the door just slightly, poking your head out with a sheepish smile.

"ready, simon?"

"fuckin' hell, ready since the day i was born."

you swing open the door, bouncing into the living room. simon raises his fist to his mouth, biting on it, and he curses under his breath when he sees you wearing the most adorable dress he's ever seen.

it won't see the light of day for a few months since it's nearing winter, but you could wear it at home all you like (he hopes you wear it every fucking day).

it's cherry red. big fluffy skirt, made up of many layers. it's made of linen, with a sweetheart neckline and short sleeves, and it is perfectly tailored to you. simon closes his eyes for a moment, fuckin' get it together, mate, and when he opens them again, you're standing there in the living room, very sheepish, hands behind your back.

"do...do you like it?" you ask. "i...they had this dress there when i went a couple weeks ago, but none of them fit, so i...i asked if we could take my measurements, and..."

"jesus fuckin' christ," simon breathes, leaning his head back against the couch. "baby, please stop talkin'. just for a minute, olright?"

"oh...okay."

simon takes a deep breath. he raises his palms to his eyes, and he rubs them hard. he keeps his eyes closed as he shifts his hips, smoothing a big palm down his stomach before taking a look at you again. he groans a little when he sees you again, standing there all shy, timid, nervous.

"give me a spin, luv," simon murmurs. you take the hem of your skirt and do a small twirl for him, spinning on your toes in the living room. simon clenches his jaw as he watches the skirt flutter a little, the layers underneath swishing and then falling over your thighs again. simon adores a good skirt; it's his favorite thing in the world to put his hands up them, to fondle the lace or cotton of your panties underneath it, to watch your chest rise and fall in panting breaths when he takes you apart with his fingers. he's in love with the way your breasts will fill the neckline of your dress, practically spill over when you bend at the hip and present yourself for him.

christ, he needs to fuck you.

simon cups himself through his jeans, and he relishes in the way your eyes widen. he unbuckles his belt, popping the button and shoving his jeans down until they sit just low enough that he can take himself out. your knees buckle a little as you watch him, your lips parting as you stare at the way he spits into his hand and spreads his wet palm over the tip of him.

"simon," you whisper, your hands wringing together as he tilts his head to the side and smooths his hand down his length. he grunts, shaking his head.

"pull y'r dress down," he murmurs, and you grow warm all over. your toes curl a bit; he's so big, tip nice and wet and pink. the girth of him shocks you, but it's always felt so nice in your mouth. you know how good it'll feel inside you, when you sit on him finally, when he-- "pull it down, baby."

you swallow hard, slipping the sleeves down your shoulders a little. you push it down just a little, just until your tits fall over the neckline and spill out. simon groans loud, his hand moving just a little faster, his head shaking a little more.

"come 'ere, baby," he says lowly, patting his lap. "come 'ere, let me put my mouth on ya."

you walk over shakily, making your way to him. you put your hands on the back of the couch before you settle with both knees on either side of him. as soon as your tits dangle in his face, he's leaning up and sucking one of your nipples into his mouth. you gasp, arching your back, and even with your skirt covering your laps, you can still hear the wet slap, slap, slap of simon's wet palm frantically pumping his cock.

"fuck--fuck," simon croaks, letting your go. there's a bit of drool pooling along the side of his mouth, and he swallows it down before nodding towards you. "sit back, sweet'art, let me see--"

you put one palm on his knee, leaning back, and use your other hand to gather up your skirt and lift it. simon sucks on his teeth as he sees your cunt, wet panties sticking to it, and he moves his hand a little faster.

"please cum, simon," you beg, your fingers pushing your panties aside. his face falters a little, his hand moving just a little sloppier, and you whimper. "please--please give it to me--"

he lets out a low breath as he cums, aiming at your cunt and watching as he paints your folds. you use your fingers to spread it, dipping your fingers inside yourself with a whine before moving them against your clit gently. simon uses his other hand to grip your hip, drawing you just close enough that he can smooth his cock through your folds, spreading your slick and his own cum and making a mess between your thighs. he chuckles, hearing you cry out, and you meet his eyes with tears.

"just the tip," you beg, moving your fingers along your clit faster. simon grins, so mean, licking his lips. he makes no move to help you, but he doesn't put himself back in his pants, either. "simon, j-just the tip--c-can i have just the tip?"

"oh, just the tip, luvvie?" simon murmurs. "think ya can take it? just tha'?"

"please--!"

your fingers are in a frenzy. it's so close, you can feel it, that beautiful mountain, you're climbing it, clawing your way up, and you just need a little more.

"simon!"

you nearly fall backwards. if it wasn't for his hand gripping your hip, you would've, but he catches you easily, his brows furrowing together as the tip of him slips inside of you nice and easy. your hips jerk a bit, rolling as you use just that much of him inside of you to bring yourself closer and closer and closer--

"fuck," simon breathes when he feels you cum. you tighten, sucking him in just a little more as you spill around him. globs of sticky slick pool along his cock, and you use a shaky hand to grip him gently and keep him there. even with just the tip, it feels so nice to be connected to him, to have him inside you, even just a little. your brain feels fuzzy and warm, your legs feeling blissfully weak as your spine melts a little into his hand just enough. he leans you forward until you're resting on his chest, and you squeak when he slips out of you. simon wraps his arms around your waist to keep you close, and your eyes flutter shut as you mouth at his neck absentmindedly.

"can't wait for it," you whisper against his skin. he's hot there, a little sweaty, and you lick timidly up his jaw to taste him. he grips your hair tight, smiling, and he pulls you back just a little so he can look into your eyes.

"and wot are y'gonna wear when i finally have ya, aye?"

you smile back, giggling soft.

"absolutely nothing, of course."

[cinnammonfairy]

⌗ hybrids – f! cat x doberman ghost! + heat + virginity loss + squirting + implied pregnancy/breeding ⋆˙⟡

where you go into heat, and your not-so-new friend simon helps you.

when price finally brought simon home, you did not take it all too kindly. only familiar with the presence of price and few other hybrids (being a house cat and all, always preferring to stay home), you grew uptight at the new imposing presence at your home. you knew price was only trying to look out for you by gifting you a companion, someone you could cling to when he was away, yet he also knew how shy you were too which could translate to unwelcoming behaviour towards those who are unacquainted with you.

simon having been briefed by price of your shy tendencies played along, preferring to wait until you grew accustomed to his presence around the house. which admittedly took... quite a while. price having been home for the start of simon's stay to get you on friendly terms did little to help, only making you ever so clingier.

when it came to just the both of you within the confines of your home, you avoided him with an admirable amount of effort. he knew it wasn't that you disliked him, you just haven't gotten to know him and how could you when you'd scramble if he walked into a room you were currently in? or if he'd be leaning on the doorframe of your shared bathroom waiting for you to finish your lengthy baths, the scent of your bathbomb wafting through the crack of the doorway your humming gleefully at the warmth of the water clear to his impeccable hearing, doberman hybrid and all does little to quell his ever growing fascination in you.

the week leading up to your heat (not that he knew), was filled with uncommon behaviour from you, once an early riser now you woke later into the day, your sweet scent heightened keeping him alert of your whereabouts throughout the house. your usually energetic self, that always found a way to keep busy around the house also grew tired easier, which was how he found you sprawled out on the couch late at night, a show you were keen on running on the tv. gathering your weak form in his arms, he lifted you up bridal style making sure to cradle your head in his arm.

your eyes opened briefly, jolting awake as you realized who was currently holding you and walking you towards your bedroom, before you gave in to the lethargy that seemed to engulf your body. letting him carry you up the stairs, his scent overwhelming your senses leaving your body the slightest bit feverish.

"i don't feel so good." your words coming out barely more than a whisper into the chilly night air, lights dimmed out due to the hour.

"i can see that, let me take care of you yeah? " his arms wrapping tighter around your form as he rounds the corner to your bedroom, tucking you in, and closing the door softly behind him before placing a call to price.

"...the date of her heats are usually irregular, but she's probably going into one soon." price's voice crackles through the phone speaker, as simon's brow furrows.

"what can i do to help her?" simon's reply earns a small huff from price, who's answer has simon's cock growing hard in his trousers imagining you begging for him.

"you can help her but only if she asks, she probably will though. god knows you feel much better than her dildo does."

the next morning he was greeted with the overwhelming scent of your slick, your warm body atop him, bare tits pressed against his chest, his blanket pushed aside so your wet little pussy could rub on his still covered hard on. every pass of his cock spreading open your pretty pussy, his tip catching onto your clit creating pleasurable friction.

"what's all this about angel? where did my shy girl go hm?"

"m' sorry si, need you..." his hands go to guiding your hips, as they grew sloppier. your wetness creating a patch on his boxers outlining his hard cock.

"s' alright pretty, i've got you." tipping your chin up to meet his gaze as he connects your lips to his, softly pecking them as a form of reassurance. price said to take things slow and he promised to try, you had no qualms kissing him back so sweetly as he cradled your cheek in his palm. with your pussy still rubbing on his cock, he moved you to lay below him lifting his body enough to peel his boxers off.

spreading your legs to expose your wet cunt, little hole twitching and leaking slick. your little clit glistening in the early morning sunrise, as he circles it softly with the head of his cock, dragging it down to your pool of slick and up to nudge against your clit, swiping it back and forth as you writhed on the bed moaning for him to,

"put it in now please si."

"so wet angel, i could just slip right in yeah?"

"'mhm! s' wet for you."

"such a good girl, so pretty for like this for me."

he positions the head of his cock on your hole, the both of you gasping as it enters. all the while rubbing your clit softly with his thumb, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, cheeks and lips. your pussy halfway enveloping his fat cock as your legs tremble softly, your hole clenching rhythmically at his intrusion. your hands go to his biceps as you feel the knot in your stomach growing ever so tighter, just from him putting his cock in. you've had a dildo and a couple pleasurable vibrators before to help you through your heat but never an actual cock, the feeling of his big cock entering your practically virgin hole was too much to bear, even more so as he rubbed at your clit so sweetly to build enough pleasure and wetness to take his cock. before you knew it, you were cumming hard on his cock a soft gasp left you as he worked you through your strong orgasm, clenching hard on his fat cock.

"so pretty... that was a nice one hm lovie, that feel good for your little pussy sweetheart yeah? y' love my fat cock stretching out your hole so much you can't help it huh."

"s' too big si..." you sobbed out as his fingers kept strumming your clit, prolonging your orgasm.

"you're taking it so well though sweetheart, i'm almost there baby. you can cum as much as you want angel."

your orgasm which left you wetter than before made it easier for him to ease his cock inside, groaning at your warmth as he bottomed out. he zoned in on where your eyes were currently resting, the filthy sight of your pussy plugged full of his cock as he took a testing shallow thrust, a mewl leaving your lips.

"your pussy's so pretty full of my cock sweetheart, you're taking it so well, 'm so proud baby."

"what do you say sweetheart?" he says, pulling his cock out halfway, watching as his cock slips out coated in your slick and cum.

"thank you si-i!" he slammed his hips once, again filling your pussy up full and catching you off guard.

his thrusts left you breathless as you looked into his eyes, pleading for anything and everything at all once. your current state of heat left your cheeks perpetually flushed which he found charming, your eyes fluttering, for someone who was practically begging to be fucked just this morning, he loved your sweet, shy and soft little mewls. slotting your lips together to meet for a kiss, one that you so kindly and eagerly return, he knows he's found your spot as a sweet little gasp leaves your lips. he rests his forehead to yours as you lock your feet on his back, your pussy clenching erratically as a telltale sign that you were approaching your orgasm.

"wanna cum si!"

"go ahead baby."

pulling out most of the way, he thrusts in to be met by a spurt of clear liquid splashing and splattering onto your stomach, his pelvis and abs. every time he pulls out the slightest bit to slam his cock back in to your tight squirting heat, he earns another splash of clear liquid that's prompted by his thrusts. the hot sight of you squirting uncontrollably whilst crying softly on his cock prompts his own orgasm, and pumping his load into you.

"made such a cute mess on my cock baby hm? my shy angel's a squirter huh?" he says as he pulls his cock out fully, rubbing his cock fast over your clit to be met by more messy squirts, his thick load now seeping out of your little hole.

"m s-sorry si, it's embarrasing." you choke out amidst sobs where he gathers you in his arms, sitting up and places you on top of him. opening your legs to scoop up his leaking cum and shoving back into your hole, which makes you squeal.

"no need to be sorry sweetheart, 'm so glad i made you feel so good."

you hid your face in his neck as you sunk back down on his hard cock, seeing his cum leaking out of your pussy was an extremely erotic sight to him. your heat making you insatiable for the need of another orgasm.

"go ahead sweet girl, ride me baby, use me all you want."

and you do, if it wasn't evident enough with the protruding bump on your belly with a possessive hand resting over it upon price's return wasn't clear enough, you were having simon's pups.

☆ hi omg um this was just like something i spewed out from my brain deliriously over the course of a couple midnights i acc kinda wanna continue it or make a couple parts of it ... haven't rlly made an intro post but i'm planning to soon .ᐟ ♡ also reqs are open but i'm having midterms rn so if you do plan to leave anything on there might not get around to it for a while :(

ᡣ𐭩 header by cafekitsune .

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

55 / 1.2k / first time meeting Ghost for medic reader

...

"Don't expect to be treated special," the skull-faced man tells you. " if someone needs patching, which is unlikely, don’t expect them to be a grateful patient." Ghost leads you through the halls, your medical bag slung over his shoulder. "And we don't care for small talk. Nor do we care how you do your job. Just do it. We don't care if you like us or not. Actually, I prefer you don't get any funny ideas about befriending me."

Is that all. Twenty minutes ago you arrived and already the Simon Riley so graciously rolls out the welcome wagon. You take it by the way he hefts your bag down that he's finished with his talk and you can get to work.

"That's perfectly fine," you tell him. Mildly, as if he didn't just tell you to mind your own fucking business in so many words. "Thank you. If you'll excuse me."

"I won't," he says. "The Captain tasked me with keeping an eye on you. Can't really do that if you walk away."

You halt and turn to peer at him. "I'm sorry?"

He doesn't even look at you. Instead, he begins casually cleaning an already shining knife. "Price told me to make sure you get nice and settled in. So I'm keeping watch."

Your jaw flexes. "Tell Captain Price I don't need a babysitter. You're dismissed."

He pauses The stare he gives you from behind that mask is halting. "You should really learn to be a bit more polite to your superiors. I don't take orders from you. If Price says you need supervision, I'm supervising."

"You're not my superior," you tell him. "And I'm not your recruit. I'm a contractor."

"Let me make one thing clear, medic," he growls. "Everyone on this base follows a chain of command, and that includes you. You might have a contract, you might not be a recruit, but on this team, you answer to the boss. And right now, he said I'm keeping an eye on you. So if you want to have words with me..."

He takes a step closer, leaning down to your eye level.

"I'd suggest you swallow them."

Even without the height difference, his gaze is like a physical weight. You stare back for a long moment. There's a challenge in those dark eyes, daring you to push him. He's looking for an excuse to put you in your place, and you know it.

You refuse to take the bait. Without saying a word, You turn your back and walk away, making your way toward the medical offices. He follows you, humming a tune and flipping the knife tip-first between his fingers.

If he wants to babysit, fine. It won't stop you from doing your goddamn job.

Days later, you're hard at work. It's near midnight. You've been on your feet for around 30 hours.

The door to the medical office slides open and Ghost walks in. It's clear from one look at him that he hadn't gotten any sleep either. He's been on a series of missions back to back for two days straight. With a deep sigh, he leans against the counter, arms folded over his chest.

"You're still awake?" he asks.

You glance at him. "You look like hell."

"Flattery will get you everywhere." His eyes sweep over you. He takes note of the dark circles under your eyes, the exhaustion clear on your face. It's obvious that you're just as tired as he is. "You've been at this too long. How long since you took a break?"

You look back down at your work. "Doesn't matter. There's still work to do."

He pushes himself off the counter and walks over to you. His footsteps are heavy on the floor. "This how you take care of yourself? Work until you pass out?"

"What's it to you? I do my job."

"You work yourself to exhaustion, you won't be able to do jack shit." He's now standing directly behind you. He looks down to see you're doing inventory of the medical supplies. He glances at how fast your fingers move, how you never stop. It's obvious that you're pushing yourself.

"I know what I'm doing."

"You're going to goddamn kill someone."

As you scan the list, you notice the tremors in your hands. Damn it.

"You have no room to talk." You turn around to stare him down so you don't have to keep seeing your own hands shake. Up close, he looks even worse. Christ, is that blood?

"Sit down," you command. "You're bleeding. You need a checkover."

He gives a deep sigh, tired. "S'not necessary."

He's downplaying the situation. Typical. But he does as he's told, sitting down on the exam table in front of you. There's no use trying to hide injuries from a medic.

You lift up the underside of his t-shirt to find the long cut stretching across his chest underneath. It was bandaged--though not well, and it's bleeding through. It isn't a life-threatening situation, but it'll need stitches, and it's definitely not the nothing he made it out to be.

"Hold this," you tell him, putting his shirt hem in his hand. "Keep still."

He winces. Despite his best efforts to hide the pain and discomfort, it's clear that it's more than a minor injury. He takes the shirt as instructed, holding it out of the way. He watches you in silence as you work, studying your focused expression and the methodical way you tend to his wound. You're not gentle by any means. But you're efficient. Even if it is annoying to have you fussing over him.

Though your work is hampered by your shaking hands and you're obviously frustrated about it. Your movements aren't as deft as they should be--not as quick as your eyes.

"Stay still," you snap.

"I'm not moving," he responds through gritted teeth.

Despite his best efforts to stay stoic, he frowns under his mask. Being patched up, sitting still and letting himself be tended to isn't something he's used to. Still, you're clearly in worse shape than he is. Somehow. His eyes dart from the sutures in his chest to your face.

You finish as quickly as you can. You know you've caused him unnecessary pain with this repair. But he shouldn't have gotten himself hurt in the first place. The cure should be more bitter than the cut, as far as you're concerned.

When you've snipped away the excess thread, you take a deep, slow breath, and it feels like whatever energy you had left escapes with it. You touch the stitches stretching across his pectoral muscle lightly. It jumps with the sudden tenderness. Then you apply a new bandage.

"There," you mutter. "Don't let it happen again."

"I don't plan on it." He scrutinizes your face again. Exhaustion and fatigue are etched into every feature. You're running on fumes. "You'd better go rest."

"Whatever happened to not caring about how I do my job?"

"Medic," he warns.

"I'm going," you mutter. "Don't you report this to Price again. I'm going."

"That's what I thought." He smooths his shirt down. He hides a smirk and rubs the aching stitches. "Don't let it happen again."

...

more Ghost / masterlist tag

[blingblong55]

Brutal Desire-Simon "Ghost" Riley NSFW

Kintober Day 8

Based on a request: for kinktober can you please make ghost eat us out? like no other action just us, him and his mouth? maybe we're in a relationship with him? Perhaps we came home drunk and got horny? I get turned on when drunk or high so yeah. I'm making this personal but I need this ---- F!Reader, MDNI, 18+, established!relationship, oral!sex, finergering ----

Going home after a night out. Fun. Asking your boyfriend to fuck you senseless… also fun.

Ghost's breath hitched in his throat at your words. Anything, you said. His mind immediately went to the gutter, conjuring up images of you on your knees, your pretty mouth wrapped around his cock, begging him to fuck your throat.

He shook his head, trying to clear the filthy thoughts. "You don’t know what you’re asking for, love," he warned, his voice low and rough with desire. "I’m not a good man. I’ve done things… seen things… that would make your blood run cold."

Ghost took a step forward, closing the distance between you. He could smell your perfume, mixed with the scent of alcohol and marijuana. It was intoxicating, and he felt his resolve weakening by the second.

"You’re playing with fire," he murmured, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. His fingers lingered on your cheek, tracing the delicate bone structure. "I don’t know if you can handle the heat."

His other hand found its way to your hip, gripping it firmly. He pulled you flush against his body, letting you feel the hard length of his cock pressing against your stomach. "Is this what you want?" he growled, grinding his hips against you. "To be fucked by a brutal, broken man? To be used and abused until you're screaming my name?"

His hand slid from your cheek to your throat, applying just enough pressure to make breathing difficult. "I’ll ruin you," he promised, his voice a dark whisper. "I’ll fuck you so hard, so deep, that you’ll forget your name. I’ll make you mine, body and soul. And I won’t let you go until I’m satisfied."

Ghost’s eyes were dark and wild behind the mask, his pupils blown wide with lust. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his blood roaring in his ears. He wanted you more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. But he knew that once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

You took his hand and nodded, “I want to,” you softly said.

Ghost’s heart raced as you took his hand, your soft voice confirming your consent. He felt a surge of primal desire course through his veins, and his grip on your hip tightened.

"Alright then, love," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Let’s get started."

In one swift motion, Ghost lifted you off your feet and carried you towards the stairs. He didn’t bother with the lights, preferring the darkness to hide the intensity of his desire. As he ascended the stairs, he could feel your heart pounding against his chest, your breath coming in short gasps.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Ghost kicked open the door to his bedroom and tossed you onto the bed. He followed you down, hovering over your body, his hand still gripping your throat.

"Strip," he commanded, his voice a harsh whisper. "Now."

Ghost watched as you fumbled with your clothes, your hands shaking with anticipation. As each article of clothing fell to the floor, he felt his cock throb in his trousers, urgent and needy.

Once you were fully naked, Ghost leaned back to admire the view. Your body, with its soft curves and supple skin, was a sight to behold. He licked his lips, imagining himself exploring every inch of you with his fingers, his mouth, and his tongue.

"You’re fucking beautiful," he rasped, his hand trailing down your body, skimming over your nipples and stomach before finally reaching the apex of your thighs. "And you’re all mine."

Without warning, Ghost plunged two fingers into your wet heat, feeling your walls clench around his digits. He pumped his fingers in and out, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in tight circles.

You moaned, arching your back and pushing your hips against his hand. Ghost chuckled darkly, enjoying the sight of you writhing beneath him. "That’s it, love. Let me hear you," he purred.

Ghost’s eyes darkened with lust as he watched you moan, looking at him through half-lidded eyes. Your expression of desire and submission sent a jolt of electricity straight to his cock, making it twitch and throb in his trousers.

"Fuck, you’re so responsive," he growled, his fingers continuing their relentless assault on your pussy. The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers pumping in and out filled the room, mixing with your breathy moans.

Unable to resist any longer, Ghost leaned down and captured your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue delved into your mouth, exploring and claiming every inch of it. He could taste the alcohol and marijuana on your tongue, mixed with the unique flavour that was distinctly you.

As he deepened the kiss, Ghost’s free hand roamed over your body, mapping out every curve and dip. His calloused fingers traced the lines of your ribs, the swell of your breasts, the valley between your thighs. He revelled in the feel of your soft, warm skin under his touch and the way your body arched into him, seeking more of his attention.

Ghost broke the kiss, leaving you both panting and flushed. He sat back on his haunches, his fingers still buried deep inside you. "You want more, don’t you?" he asked, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "You want to feel my cock stretching you open, filling you up until you can’t take any more?"

He withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking your essence from his digits. "You taste fucking amazing, love," he purred, his eyes locked on yours. "I can’t wait to eat this sweet pussy of yours."

With that, Ghost dove between your legs, his tongue replacing his fingers. He lapped at your folds, savouring the taste of your arousal, before focusing his attention on your clit. He circled the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue, flicking and teasing. “Oh f-fuck,” you say before covering your mouth.

Ghost chuckled, his lips brushing against your inner thigh as he continued his ministrations. "Don’t be shy now, love," he murmured, his tongue swirling around your clit with increasing intensity. "Let me hear you scream."

He could feel your body writhing beneath him, your hips bucking and grinding against his face. The sight of you so lost in your pleasure only fuelled Ghost’s desire, his cock straining against his trousers.

With one hand, Ghost reached up and pinched a nipple, twisting it gently as he continued to torment your clit with his tongue. He could sense your orgasm building, the way your body tensed, the way your hips jerked against his face.

"Cum for me," he growled, his words vibrating against your clit. "Let me taste your sweet release."

And with those words, your body arched off the bed, your back bowing as you came undone beneath Ghost’s skilled touch. He lapped up every drop of your release, savouring the taste as he continued to pleasure you through your orgasm.

When you finally slumped back onto the bed, Ghost wiped his mouth and grinned up at you. "Well, that was a sight to behold," he breathed, his breathing heavy and ragged from his exertions.

Tags:

@liyanahelena @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @frizzseaberries @frazie99 @idklols @katybaby00 @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @nellsbobells @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @Llelannie @Macnches2 @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @1234beeandpuppycat @sparky--bunny @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @pinkblossomsworld @lovelyvqer @the_royal_bee @beansproutmafia @soapybutt17 @asianbutnotjapanese @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @born4biriyani @mychemichalimalance @marshiely @iruzias @sleepyycatt @noodlezz-bedo @trinthealternate @azkza @VampyTheGoth

[the-palelady]

kind of a continuation of this because i am constantly thinking of simon being so soft with his partner.

i know people enjoy the rougher sides of intimacy, and surely there are times when simon loves that side as well, but with you he can't help but cradle you in the palm of his hand.

the sugary sweet whines and gasps that pass through your lips when he ruts up into you, your back pressed flush against the shower wall. your hair is sticking to your skin, damp with water or perspiration. you can't even tell the difference anymore. he's had you like this for so long, taking his time with you, worshipping you, whispering filthy words of praise into the crook of your neck as he presses his hips up, up, and up...

when he comes home from work, the remnants of blood and war staining his skin, you encourage him to lie back in bed for you.

"let me take care of you, si."

but that quickly turns into you on your back, legs hung up on his broad shoulders. you arch up from the silk sheets, palm pressed against the crown of his head. you try in vain to push him away, his tongue assaulting your overly sensitive bud in such a leisurely manner. he's snapped that band that still sits tight in your core so many times you've lost count.

or there are nights when he wakes up from a nightmare. he turns to check up on you. always.

your hair fans out around you across the pillow, knotted in places, a few strands sticking to your drool covered lips. the blanket is bunched up around your waist, t-shirt drifting up your torso to expose the softness of your stomach.

the storm that raged in his mind just moments ago all but ceases, waves no longer thrashing angrily, fat droplets of rain and fog no longer obscuring his vision. all he sees is you as he presses his lips against the dip of your hip, kissing one then moving to the other.

simon kisses every inch of you, covering you in the scent of tobacco and his body wash. scarred hands find the arch of your back when his lips trail up the line of your sternum, chapped lips dragging along skin that's so sweet he knows the dentist might find a few cavities the next time he goes.

when he reaches your tired face, eyes barely cracking open to meet his amber irises, he sees the confusion and concern. a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he whispers a quiet, "s'nothin', love," and you hum, relaxing in his protective grip.

i love you was a strangled series of syllables that simon never found himself capable of uttering. he wished deep in his heart that he could say those three simple words to you, but they never came.

so he instead would paint each letter, line and loop, one by one against the delicate flesh of your body with his lips until it was embedded in the furthest depths of your brain.

[allllium]

I know people say this a lot but Ghost literally gives you everything. I don't just mean buying you things, I mean acts of service, I mean all the happiness you never thought you could have.

When you're his, you're his. All the way.

You want an overly expensive piece of jewelry or something you collect, you're getting it. You want to move across the country, he's packing everything for the both of you.

Anything you ask of him he'll give you, even things you don't even know you want. He knows you better than you know yourself because he focuses so intensely on everything you say.

He wants nothing more than to give you everything he can because he's so scared you'll never know how much you mean to him.

And no matter how long you're together he'll never believe he's doing enough for you.

[machveil]

Simon: What are you doing?

S/O, face deep in his tits, grasping them firmly: Checking for contrabands

Simon Riley loves you, he does, and he lets you get away with a handful of shenanigans. he’ll let you color in his tattoos, closes his eyes while you paint his nails, but one of his favorites - he’d never say it out loud - is when you smother yourself against his chest

Simon Riley can’t help but find it funny, biting back a smile when your hands move up to cup his pecs. he can feel you smiling against his chest, a deep, rumbly chuckle leaving him when you grope at him, “Love, you need t’come up for air.”, he mumbles

Simon Riley who cups the back of your head, cracking a small smile when you peak up at him. sure, he works out and keeps in shape for his job - to be strong and tough so he can come home to you, but he’d be lying if he said you doing this wasn’t motivation too

Simon Riley who accidentally tugs at your hair when you pinch his nipple through his shirt. he’s apologizing while grumbling about you being a brat, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing, “Think you’re cute? S’that it? Cheeky little thing, aren’t you?”. he’ll flip you on to your back, smiling when you shriek, his hands moving to your sides, “Is this cute? What’s with the laughter, lovie? Ticklish?”

me too anon, me too

[narcoticv3nus]

In Love With a Hurricane ♡ Simon “Ghost” Riley

Kinktober Day XI: Uniform

summary: you and the hubby like to play dangerous tags/trigger warnings: 18+, f!reader, praise, dom!simon, sub!reader, clothed sex (except us), p in v, rough sex wc: 1.7k

MASTERLIST

“You sure this is what you want?” Simon asked one final time as he stood over you, arms crossed over his chest and his head tilted down at you.

Not Simon, you thought, your grin growing wider as you stared into the dark abyss of his eyes hidden behind the white skull mask.

Ghost.

“I’m sure,” you answered finally, leaning back on your hands against the plush mattress beneath you. You nervously fiddled with the soft sheets, pinching it between your fingers and rolling the smooth fabric between them.

You weren’t going to lie. You felt slightly intimidated as he loomed over you, his hands gripping his belt as he studied you. Silently, he crept forward, his boots softly thudding against the hardwood floor. He took your face in his gloved hands, thumb smoothing your bottom lip.

The texture felt different; the cool, smooth leather starkly contrasted his usual warm, callused hands. You blinked up at him, feeling a cold rush that caused tremors throughout your body. His eyes, once warm and comforting, had turned dark and piercing.

He tilted your chin higher as he leaned forward, letting out a thoughtful sigh as his eyes flickered back and forth between yours. His eyes narrowed, but only slightly. You noticed the distinct clenching and unclenching of his jaw before he pulled away. Even as he let go, you could still feel the soft buzzing sensation where his fingers used to be.

“Strip,” he commanded, jutting his chin outwards as he stepped away.

Simon’s gaze never left your face, his eyes staring intensely into yours even when you revealed your nude body.

It was as if he was searching for a hint of uncertainty, a sign that this wasn’t what you truly wanted.

He had seen you naked countless times before, and you had never felt as uncomfortable and exposed as you did then. It wasn’t just that he was fully clothed and that you were not. There was something about how he held himself and looked at you. You were used to him looking at you like you were a delicate, fragile creature. Now, he looked at you like an animal. Like prey.

You knew this was just an act. That the man standing before you was not Simon. This was Ghost. Yet you couldn’t help but wonder how much of the character was a part of him, if his feelings were genuine, or just a role.

You couldn’t help how your body reacted: goosebumps dotted your arms and chest, and a shiver ran up your spine.

It was as if you could see his pupils dilate through his mask.

Before you had a chance to cover yourself, he was on you, pushing you back onto the bed. The breath left your lungs as your back hit the soft mattress, and you were barely able to regain it before he was on top of you, pinning you down.

His hips ground into yours, his cock hard and hot against your stomach, straining against the black denim of his jeans. You could feel the heat radiating off of him as he pressed himself against you.

Your lips parted as he reached a hand between your legs, his fingers brushing lightly over the sensitive flesh. A soft sigh left your lips, and he leaned down, pressing his masked forehead against yours. A deep rumble rose from within him, vibrating through your body, making you quiver.

You wanted to reach out and pull him closer, but the look in his eyes told you not to. His eyes were still dark, and his gaze was fixed on yours, daring you to move.

Your hand dropped, and you dug your nails into the mattress. Your eyes fluttered closed as he dipped his fingers inside you, and your mouth fell open.

A soft gasp escaped your lips, and your toes curled as you felt his finger brush over the most sensitive part of your body. Your back arched as he pushed his finger deeper, curling and uncurling it inside of you.

You could feel the heat in the pit of your stomach intensify, and you moaned softly, tilting your head back. Your hips bucked as he added another finger, and you squeezed your eyes shut as the sensations threatened to overwhelm you.

His hand left your thigh and moved to your neck, the leather-covered palm pressing lightly into the hollow of your throat.

You felt your cheeks grow hot, and you opened your eyes to see the familiar black eyes staring down at you, filled with hunger and lust.

You squirmed under his grip, but his other hand quickly found your waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh there, holding you in place. You moaned, and he chuckled, low and deep. And as you whimpered, his lips pulled back into a smirk.

He continued to pump his fingers in and out of you, his thumb tracing circles on your clit, his hand moving faster and faster. Your thighs trembled as you came, a choked cry escaping your lips as he brought you to your release.

You collapsed against the mattress, gasping for air, your heart hammering in your chest. Your eyes darted back and forth between his, and his grin grew wider.

His voice was low and gruff. "Yer so fuckin’ perfect, y’know that?"

Your body was buzzing with electricity, and the words escaped your lips before you could stop them.

"Please," you gasped, "I need more." You pleaded, your eyes welling with tears.

Ghost's chest heaved as he watched you come undone beneath him, a primal satisfaction surging through him. He removed his fingers from your trembling body, leaving you momentarily bereft.

The sight of you begging for more only fueled his desire further. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his accent thickening with lust. His eyes roamed over your exposed form, taking in every detail as if committing it to memory.

His gaze never left yours as he lowered his body onto the bed, the weight of his gear pinning you in place. He undid his belt, pulling himself out as he positioned himself between your legs, his fingers tracing up your thighs, rough and scarred hands caressing your soft and supple skin.

He leaned in, the cold metal of his mask brushing against your flushed cheek, causing you to let out an airy whine. He whispered into your ear, his voice gravelly with desire, "Brace yerself, love." Then, without further warning, he thrust into you, eliciting a sharp gasp. He paused momentarily, allowing you to adjust to his size before resuming his rhythm, each stroke measured and precise, like the execution of a well-planned mission.

He tightened his grip around your waist, pulling you closer as he continued to drive into you—the room filled with the sound of your ragged breaths and the soft slap of skin on skin.

Ghost's movements became more urgent, his thrusts deeper and harder, his uniform digging into the softness of your thighs. You could feel your pussy clenching around him as you writhed underneath him, your nails clawing at his back through the thick material of his tactical vest.

Ghost's hips moved with a steady, relentless rhythm; each thrust punctuating the silence with a soft growl that reverberated in the back of his throat. You savored the sensation of him being inside you, the heaviness of his cock splitting you open, followed by the pressing of his tip against your cervix.

"Is this what ya’ wanted?" he asked his voice barely above a whisper, a hint of challenge lacing his tone. His fingers dug into your flesh, pulling you even closer as if trying to merge your bodies completely.

With a fervent growl, Ghost increased his pace, your body responding in kind. Each movement became a symphony of desire, the friction between you building a crescendo that threatened to consume you whole.

"Come for me again." His voice was rough, betraying the tight control he maintained over himself.

You could feel the familiar pressure building inside you once his thumb found your clit, rubbing in small, deliberate circles as he continued his relentless rhythm. The sensation sent a jolt through your body, causing your hips to buck against his, your moans becoming louder and more desperate. Ghost's breath caught in his throat at the sight, his release drawing near.

"That's it," he urged, his fingers working in tandem with his hips, pushing you closer to the edge.

Ghost's eyes narrowed, watching your reactions intently as he pushed you higher. The sensation of you clamping down on him was almost too much to bear, but he held on, determined to give you what you needed. His thumb pressed firmer against your clit, teasing and stroking in time with his relentless thrusts.

"Let go. Give it to me," he commanded, his voice barely recognizable through gritted teeth. He could feel your body tense beneath him, every muscle coiled tight as you teetered on the edge. When your orgasm finally hit, your eyes squeezed shut, broken whimpers spilling from your lips as you trembled in his arms. Ghost allowed himself to follow suit, his release tearing through with a ferocity that surprised him.

He buried his face in your neck, his breaths ragged and hot yet somewhat filtered by his balaclava. As he rode out the waves of pleasure that wracked his body, you quivered in ecstasy beneath him.

Ghost couldn't help but feel a surge of possessiveness. He held you close; his hand splayed across your lower back, his thumb still circling lazily around your sensitive clit as he savored the feeling of you coming apart.

Ghost slowly pulled out, your combined heavy breaths echoing through the otherwise silent room. He discarded his mask, revealing a look of raw passion and concern etched on his rugged yet handsome face.

His fingers trailed up your body, brushing aside damp strands of hair that clung to your forehead. He leaned in to plant a tender kiss on your lips, tasting the salt of perspiration and feeling the rapid beat of your heart against his chest. "Ya’ alright?" he asked, his voice softer than usual.

You nodded, a dopey grin stretching over your face as your eyes peeled open, assessing him through your bleary and cloudy vision.

“Good,” he grunted, his voice once again losing its once warm and soft tone.

“Because I’m not done wit’ ya’ yet.”

main masterlist, rules

[remiebear]

Cutie patooies!!!

[lanialania00]

[lukasaurusart]

More roach agenda…… I'm still and will be catching up with the art accumulation I got in my folders

[gloomwitchwrites]

Blood in the Garden Shed

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): Bluebeard Retelling, Fairy Tale Retelling, Biblical allusions, marriage, minor violence, horror, suspense, minor body horror, all hurt no comfort

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: Requested by @id-get-sleazy-for-ron-weasley for 3.5k Spooky Bingo (Free Space)

You have no memory of the time before your husband. Before—Simon. But why should you worry over that? Your house is perfect. Your husband is perfect. Everything is perfect. So why does the house feel alive, and why can you never enter the garden shed? Everything is perfect. Isn't it?

ao3 // main masterlist // 3.5k spooky bingo masterlist

You have no memory of the time before your husband. Before—Simon.

You cannot even recall when the two of you moved into the cottage you call home. There was nothing—and then there was a garden, a kitchen, a marriage bed.

Days are for tending to the house and reading in the solarium. The interior is your domain. Every day you clean the floors and fixtures, bake fresh pastries for Simon to take with him to work, and when Simon returns, the dinner table is set with a hot meal.

Evenings are for him. To indulge and care for him.

And if Simon tucks himself away in his study, you do not bother him.

And you do not enter the garden shed.

These are things he’s told you, and you adhere to them, because keeping Simon happy is your purpose. You live for his smile, for his touches, and his gentle kisses.

In bed, in the dark, you welcome him in and tell him how good it was after.

This is your purpose—it always has been.

“I’ll be away for a few days.”

“For work?”

Simon grasps your chin, staring into your eyes. “You know not to ask questions.”

Your gaze casts downward. “The house feels empty without you.”

“I’ll be back soon. Won’t be long.”

“I’ll miss you. Miss you already.”

“I’m right here, love.”

On the third day, the house comes alive.

The windows creak as if expanding in their frames. Every time you enter the hallway, you feel a rush of air, as if the house is exhaling. There are phantom fingers that brush your scalp and pull at your clothes.

“I’m lonely.”

“I’m here now, love.”

You push the food on your plate around. “How was your work trip?”

“Good,” replies Simon after he swallows.

“Anything exciting happen?”

He shakes his head. “This chicken is lovely.”

You perk up. “I used herbs. From the garden.”

Simon stops chewing. Glances up. “You took from the garden?”

You blink. “I—I’ve taken before. You—”

The garden. The garden is Simon’s. He tends to it like you tend to the house. Sometimes, you’ll awaken in the middle of the night and find him out there, digging.

“Only take when I’m here. You know the rules.”

Tears begins to form in your eyes. You hate upsetting him—worse—you hate your quickness to tears.

“No, love. No need for that.” He gets up and comes around the table. “I appreciate the effort. I love you.”

“I love you.”

Your neighbors don’t give you the time of day. Mrs. Heron accepts your cookies but insists upon you returning home. Mr. Badger gives you a gracious smile but suggests that Simon would prefer you home.

Strange. Unsettling.

There is an emptiness.

And the house breathes whenever Simon isn’t around, as if it too holds its breath for his arrival and departure.

“This is new.”

“It’s for you.”

“You built this for me?” you ask, all breathy with amazement. Your hand rests against the polished wood.

“You needed a new one. For all your books.”

Simon has been in the garden. He’s been in the shed. There is dirt on his clothes and skin. You smell the flowers, and something…else. Like rusty iron.

“Thank you, Simon. I love it.”

“More than you love me?”

“Never.”

The floor is squishy near Simon’s office door. You inspect the area, tapping it with your foot, and tell Simon that he needs to take a look at it. He reassures you, but the squishy sensation only grows until the entire hall and connecting bedroom are affected.

“It’s nothing. You’re imagining things.

“Simon—”

“Why all the questions?”

“Do you not feel that?”

“Are you not happy?”

The question startles you. “Of course I’m happy.”

“Then listen to me and move on. The floor is fine. You’re imagining things.”

But you’re not imagining things. The bookshelf Simon built for you leans now, and when you touch it, the same squishy texture greets your fingers.

The neighbors won’t give you the time of day, and there is no one to listen. You are alone in this house, even when Simon dwells within its walls.

“I’ll be gone again. Three days. Like last.”

“I’ll miss you. Miss you even now.”

“I know, love.”

The first night, the wind howls outside, and something scratches at your window. On the second night it storms, and with it comes a ravenous bang, one that startles you out of bed. It is a torrential downpour, but through the rainfall, you notice the door of the garden shed. It stands open, swaying in the breeze.

You rush out, the ground becoming mud beneath your feet. The door swings wildly, and when you snag it, the wind threatens to tear it right from your hands. The garden shed is off-limits. You should shut the door and go inside. Simon will know. He will—

—there is a pit in the floor.

Lightening ripples across the sky, and you see it again.

A…pit. Not a drain. There is no grate. Nothing sitting on top of it.

It’s open, but not large enough for an entire person to fall in. But certainly, pieces of someone.

“You were supposed to be the last.” You hear Simon’s voice just over your shoulder. A whisper even over the roaring thunder. “The final creation. The perfect wife.” You spin and find Simon standing there. “He promised.”

Simon stares up into the sky, the rain soaking him further. “You promised!” he screams.

The thunder answers with a deafening boom. Behind him the lights in the house flicker.

“Who promised?”

Simon rubs at his face and then sighs heavily. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Simon."

He digs in his pocket. “Drink this. You’ll fall asleep. Won’t hurt at all.”

“No, Simon.” He presents a small bottle and you smack at it.

“Why are you acting like this?”

“You’re scaring me!”

Simon lunges and you are unable to resist. There is no struggle. His hands are vice-grips. They wrench your jaw open, spilling the liquid down your throat. You cough—attempt to push it back up but Simon massages your throat, forcing it down.

Tears burn in your eyes. This is your husband. Your protector.

How could he do this?

A lingering burn sits in your throat. Everything goes blurry after, but nothing hurts. It’s just…numb. A sense of floating.

Lightening flashes, and you notice the stains around the pit in the floor. The tools on the wall.

Floating. Drifting.

And then nothing at all.

He kept your eyes.

A trinket and a punishment.

He preserved them in amber and placed them in his office alongside all the other wives. There are ears and limbs. Hearts. Nails. Strands of hair.

The rest of you went into the pit in the floor. Your blood watered the garden.

There is a new wife now. A new Eve.

Simon waited for three days in the garden after the storm before she crawled her way out of the dirt. He sent his thanks to Him. Carried her inside. Washed her and dressed her.

He says all the same things he said to you.

You watch from your perch on the bookshelf he built for you, now moved into his cluttered office. Here you rest with the other wives, the hundreds of others. Sometimes, their minds touch yours, a brief flicker of agony and loneliness before departing.

When he tells his new wife that he’s leaving on a trip, he really means this room. Simon stays here, spending time with each of you. Now you know why you were never allowed to enter. What would you think of him had you known?

Maybe this new one will break free.

Maybe she’ll be the last.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41

@saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36 @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@voids-universe @iloveslasher @talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel @haven-1307

@itsberrydreemurstuff @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld

@waves-against-a-cliff @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @spookyscaryspoon

@ash-tarte @enarien @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[ebodebo]

mama a ghost behind you💜

[machveil]

Simon “Ghost” Riley shower thought

we know he cracks terrible jokes with a dry delivery - comedy king - but I thought about why he does it. obviously, he could just do it because it lightens the mood on missions, or maybe he just genuinely likes to make jokes he does

but my take? even when he was a fresh-faced recruit he was still decently intimidating. he didn’t know he’d end up being a Lieutenant, someone that made others even more nervous to be around. so, after he entered the military, he starts cracking dry jokes to make other people less weary of him, “Oi, ‘ave you heard the one about two goldfish in a tank?”

[skauni]

If Ghost and Soap met when they were younger, Soap would have a catholic beliefs and gay needs crisis. Being raised catholic, he was taught certain things were acceptable and certain things weren’t—even though he never really understood it he went with it.

Ghost is the same way except his crisis would be because of religious trauma. Not because he’s willingly religious like Soap.

I think the first time Soap and Ghost would have met if they met when they were younger would be middle school. Ghost would be eating alone as the new kid in school and Soap would decide to leave his friends and go sit with the new kid. Make him feel welcomed, you know?

Ghost would start following Soap around like a lost puppy then eventually start sneaking off to Soap’s house to escape his abusive father. Soap loved when Ghost came over but hated the reason behind it, often staying up the whole night with Ghost so he felt safe. Soap’s mom was the same, she did everything she could to help Ghost feel comfortable in the MacTavish household, even if she didn’t completely know Ghost’s situation.

The two would stay friends for the rest of their lives, one of them realizing he likes the other and said other following soon after. Too scared to admit it till the end of senior year, both of them blurt it out on accident at the same time. Following that is silence and surprised looks, then finally Ghost says “Will you go to the movies with me, Johnny? …. Please?” To which Soap nods and snakes his hand into Ghost’s as they walk to the movie theater.

@valscodblog @thealtofvalleyxdoodles