Yes, weve heard of oblivious!ghost but where's my oblivious!reader rep?!
Literally everyone but you knows how bad ghost wants you. Hes constantly at ur side, always chatting with you about his hobbies or ur recent obsession.
Hes got ur favourite meal from every place you've ever been to together memorized. Gaz visits his flat and is like "why do you own so much of these granola bars?? You literally hate this brand??" But ghost only buys them so he has them to give to you.
Hes also just...very straight forward. Or he thinks he is. You whine about being single and he offers to fix that, only for u to respond that u dont want to be set up with Johnny. Hes tells you how good you look all the time, only to hit him with "you look better, big guy" with a squeeze to his bicep.
Hell, hes even got a hand on u constantly. On ur shoulder or neck while walking. Holding ur hand in the lounge. Palm resting scandalously high on ur thigh during car rides. But you just...never react.
At some point soap gets tired of hearing ghost jerk off to the thought of u every night so he pulls you aside like "either tell him ur not interested or fuck him already."
Ur eyes widen, a happy little exhale as you process soaps words "wait, hes interested? Like, he wants to date me? Me?"
"Well hed sure like to do more than that but-"
You dont catch the rest of soaps words, dashing off to find ghost. No way the guy you've been pining after for months is actually into you??? So you confront him and he points out everything hes been doing and ur like "huh? thats flirting?? I thought you were just being a really good friend??"
Anyways ghost dies a bit inside realizing that hes in love with an idiot lol.
The morning sun spilled gold over Velbrun’s gardens, its light soft and slow, kissing the castle towers and shimmering off the still waters of the royal fountains. Roses—red, ivory, pale as moonlight—bloomed in neat rows, as if the earth itself had woven them for you.
You walked among them. Your hair—loose for the first time—fell in waves over your delicate shoulders. The white brocade dress, embroidered with pearls and threads of gold, whispered against the stone path. Every step sounded like poetry.
Behind her, a few paces back, followed Sir Riley. His light armor bore the wear of years, his cloak shifting with each measured movement. A soldier’s eyes scanned the garden as if the whole world were a threat—
Except you.
“Sir Riley,” you said softly, fingers brushing the petals of a white rose. “The flowers seem fairer today, don’t they?”
His head inclined, respectful but with an edge of warmth.
“You lend them beauty, Princess. The roses are only trying to keep up.”
You smiled faintly, your eyes still on the bloom.
“You speak like a poet. I didn’t think a soldier had such words.”
“Hearing your voice… even a blade would forget itself.”
You laughed—quiet, restrained. A princess couldn’t let her guard down, not even here.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you longed for more than the honor of guarding me.”
Silence. The distant sound of fountains filled the space between them.
His gaze met hers—not like a knight to his charge, but like a man to a woman.
“Isn’t it enough? The honor?” he asked. His voice was steady, but something flickered beneath it.
“It’s all we’re allowed,” you murmured, finally turning to face him.
The wind teased golden strands across her cheeks. And for a heartbeat, nothing existed but them—no crowns, no duty, no cruel world to pull them apart.
“If this were another life…” he whispered, so low it was almost lost.
“I wouldn’t wear my hair up,” you said with a sad smile. “And you wouldn’t call me Princess.”
And there, among Velbrun’s roses, two hearts spoke every word their lips could never say.
the type of prone bone where he rests his forehead against the back of your head, heaving breath as rolls his hips so steadily into you... with every thrust he's pushing your ass up, bringing your pussy closer to him so he hits deep... having him pressed against your back feels so comforting, so safe, but also so hot. the temperature between you gets warmer by the second, and before long his every move is sticky and slippery and sweaty, but it feels sooo good... the overwhelming physical contact gets you that much closer to cumming, and his cock slides into you so perfectly... it feels so damn good that you start sobbing between moans of pleasure, completely lost in the feeling, until his voice cuts in from all the panting he's been doing, resting his lips against your shoulder before gently craning your head back with a hand under your jaw...
husband!simon who can't sleep anywhere else.
warnings!: pregnancy, mild angst.
Your pregnancy hadn’t been easy.
Pain, loneliness, discomfort, breakdowns — and more pain.
Simon had been there when he could.
Even as your husband, he couldn’t stay with you through all of it. He had to work.
The missions started getting longer.
But you understood. You loved him.
And you’d accepted this the moment you said “I do” in that quiet city hall.
You never complained — because he loved you.
And you loved him.
At least, he was there for the birth.
After your daughter was born, Simon — or rather, Ghost — went back to routine. Two months home, two months away. Sometimes more. Sometimes only two weeks.
Now, Ghost lay on a makeshift “bed” — a stiff mattress, surrounded by snoring grown men. It stank of sweat, blood, and war-worn exhaustion. Nothing he wasn’t used to.
But sleep didn’t come easy.
Not for Ghost. Not for Simon.
He’d always struggled with sleeping in new places.
Ironic, really.
That night, he’d only slept for two hours.
It was 2AM.
He glanced around — everyone else was asleep.
He grabbed the disposable phone.
Every mission, Task Force 141 got one.
He still wasn’t great with tech, but a notification... that he noticed.
A new message.
He opened it.
It was a photo.
You, holding your daughter in your arms.
You were smiling, exhausted but glowing. The baby asleep, peaceful.
The message read:
“We’re okay. Don’t worry. We love you 💕”
Simon — because for a few seconds, he wasn’t Ghost anymore — didn’t know how you’d gotten the number to that burner phone.
Didn’t matter.
His chest warmed.
“I love you too,” he whispered.
He stared at the photo for a while.
You looked tired. He noticed. And guilt settled in.
Your daughter was perfect, in her little white onesie covered in tiny stars.
I just loveeeee the sincerity of conversations after sex or during the sex
like after sex you are lying there trying to breathe properly and he comes out of the bathroom with a towel in hand and casually goes just as he wipes the cum off your ass
"did ya see the video?"
"what video?"
"two muppets got caught sneaking up a phone in base. price got 'em real good. smashed their head into each otha when they were broadcasting. i don't know-it's instagram or somthin'."
you nod enthusiastically and snort "soap sent to me. was too violent for me to watch. he thinks it was funny though."
he chuckles just as he strokes the redness on your ass. "you handle violent just fine"
or like you are in the middle of it, bouncing on him with all you've got and he says
"i don't like it when you don't call."
and you just freeze because what the hell he could have had this conversation around the time when he decided to watch football. so you ask, trying to comprehend.
"what?"
he simply shrugs and tightens his arms around you.
"makes me sad when you don't call."
"i-i don't know what to say."
"can't say hi?"
and it makes you wonder what happened to the man you fucked in the early days of your not-a-relationship-just-fucking thing because ghost didn't even moan let alone talking.
this one is simon you suppose.
sorry, wish my english was better and i knew anything about english accent. 😭
how do you think Simon would react to reader safewording? But in a context where reader broke many ‘rules’ or something? Like just made Simon actually really really pissed and he’s actually mad and so how do you think he would react to reader safewording then?
I love your work!! Lots of love 💗🫶
I think if blackcat!reader safeworded in a situation like this, I feel like there would be just a split second of hesitation and it’s nothing but a worried filled moment. He’s praying he didn’t push you off the deep end. But hes not the type to let that fester, you need reassurance above all else, to know that it’s okay. He’ll scoop you up, and give you a bath.
And there’s an uncomfortable silence between the two of you.
You try, but you fumble with your scratchy throat, “Simon- I-“
But he’s quiets you, not rough- softly, “Let’s talk in the mornin, yeah?”
It settles you both for the time being. It’s like a parent reprimanding their child though, you can’t help but feel the nervousness and the unease that’s floating above you. Despite how I write him as an asshole, he’s not the same asshole as he was in his 20s who’d probably be more of a dick and leave for a week without a word and then reappear and you’d just have to shrug it off. He’s gotten more patient as he’s gotten older, especially while he’s been with you, communicate in his gruff manner but learn the in and outs of you. What works and what doesn’t it, and he’d rather talk to you even with the fresh wound than to have to do this a week or then some down the line.
You’re not the same. It’s much easier to run, but Simon won’t let you, so if he wasn’t immediately on you the morning after, you’d drive yourself (somehow even further) into a corner. But he beckons you out the soft way.
There’s a hot cup of tea in your favorite mug sitting next to a muffin when you make it downstairs. It’s early, the suns peeking through the kitchen windows. It isn’t like you to wake up early but when you’re nervous around Simon, at a loss for words, you follow him like a shadow, treading lightly just incase. Small, quiet.
He’d most likely ask you why you said your safe word the night before. If you were scared of him above all else. But you’re not, it’s just—
“I- was scared that you’d hate me, i messed up too much, and I felt- I don’t know- I couldn’t fix it. I wasn’t good and there wasn’t anything I could do to fix it.”
And he wants to roll his eyes because it’s fickle to him. Again, another problem he has. Brushing aside your concerns— its insecurity. But he asks himself, why you always dig a hole for yourself, you fumble and then don’t try to get up. You’re like a cat that’s been drenched but won’t let someone dry them off, you just hiss until someone grabs you by the nape. That’s why the rules are in place, to give you a guide. To make you better and for you to let him take care of you. You’re quiet about it, but you always wanted reassurance, he’s stupid for not giving it to you more often. It makes his heart clench at the state of you. His lovely girl. He sighs, scratches his neck, setting his tea down.
“I could never hate you [+]. Not even if you went a set the house on fire, not if you went and keyed my fuckin car, and not when if you make some mistakes.” He speaks, his voice is stern, deep and loud. This is as soft right now as it’ll get, he wants you to understand.
“I care about you more than anything on this earth. I’m not asking you to be perfect. Theres never a day I’ve been perfect. But when you feel like it’s too much, you should lean on me, yeah? Trust in me. You’re mine to take care of arent you?”
You bite the inside of your lip, giving him a slow nod.
“You could make a mess a thousand times and I’d clean it up every chance I get. You’re my baby, I- …Just think about it for me. Yeah?” And he places a kiss to your head, walking off into the house and leaving you alone in the kitchen.
I think Simon, let’s you off with that. Let’s you think about his words for a couple days, leaving you to your own devices while he lets his anger simmer and completely evaporate. It’s not your fault, something like this would never be your fault. It’s on him at the end, but he wants you to trust in him so he can be a better man for you.
And then when you’re ready, you come and wrap your arms around him from behind. He brings your hands to his lips, holding them in his large ones and kissing them gently.
“You’re a good girl kitten, just need some help.”
a/n: idk if this is good or bad or not, lmk what you guys think. Thanks for reading bubs. more meanie!simon and safeword here <3
kyle garrick feeds you every time he feels like he can.
it's not uncommon for him to feel self-councious about his desires – maybe thinking he's a bit weird for it, or whatever. but when he sees the opportunity to deep dive in them he's done for.
so seeing you busy writing something down like your life depends on it, he can't help but say "hey, baby? food's ready," knowing damn well you'll say you're going to eat later.
"sorry, but i'm busy right now. just let me finish this real quick..." you mumble, not even paying him a glance. he smiles at the notion because, considering your headspace, you'll either brush him off or agree blindly to whatever he has to say.
"can i feed you, then? you don't have to move, i'll bring our food for us to eat here." he offers, and you answer with "okay, thanks, love" like you usually do after he says he'd be waiting for you, automatically, not even registering the fact that he didn’t say that.
once you realize it, it’s is too late. he's sitting by your side, a plate twice as big as you usually have in his hands – because he'll eat out of the same plate he'll feed you – as he pushes a fork filled with your favorite salty food to your lips.
you don't brush him off immediately like he expected you to, you simply glance over a him before taking a bite. he hums in appreciation as you chew – like he's the one eating – and takes a bite himself. and that goes until the food is all gone, you keep your task until you feel sleepy from eating so much and he kisses your lips before getting up to leave the dishes in the sink – you'll do them later.
he watches silently as you gather your things and put them away before going over at him, kissing him once again. "thank you for feeding me..." you say honestly, mumbling into his neck as you hug him by the waist.
"i love to do it, baby," he answers, kissing your temple. then, he adds: "what do tou think we lay down for a bit now, eh?"
and you gladly comply, the both of you cuddling under the covers until you're both asleep and dreaming of each other.
pt. 2 of the well-loved gaz x insecure!reader post!! (This is kind of a bridge to pt. 3, so bear with me PLEASE! I have more ideas for the next part, but I needed to get there first lol...hopefully this is good idk im nervous abt my newfound audience)
The rest of his night passed in a daze. He couldn’t stop stealing glances at the tiny little picture on your license while Johnny and Simon argued with each other about what he should do to try to win you back - but he could barely hear a word they were saying as he wiped away the sticky-sweet drink that was still dripping down his face.
“Ah’d give her a second ta calm down, ya ken? Go in the mornin’ and give her a chance to find her head.”
“Showin' up at her place unannounced after hanging onto her shit all nigh'? Yeah, that’d leave a good impression, wouldn’ it? No wonder you can’t get a bird, Johnny. Scarin’ ‘em all off.”
“Ach, ye’d know what tha’s like, wouldn’ ye? Spooky fuckin’ bastard. Ah bet women run the second they see tha' stupid fuckin' mask-”
"Whatever. Gaz, just give it to the bartender, yeah? Clearly she doesn't like ya'. She'll come back for it."
In the end, he ends up taking Johnny’s advice and decides to return your wallet in the morning – which maybe wasn't his smartest move. Especially since now he doesn’t have a lick of alcohol flowing through his system to calm him down as he walks along the sidewalk towards your place. He’s sure he looks crazy to everyone he passes – muttering to himself to try to coach himself through what he’ll say to you.
“Hey! Nah, uh…hello, how are you? No, I- fuck…” He shakes his head as he looks down at your wallet, twiddling the zipper between his fingers as he mumbles under his breath. “Hi, I’m Kyle…I’m the one who, um…who made you...cry last night. Ah, shit.”
He's never felt this way about a girl before - like a nervous, stuttering schoolboy. His heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest, and he can feel the sweat beading on the back of his neck when he suddenly finds himself standing in front of your door.
You've got a sweet little welcome mat - covered in sunflowers and loopy letters - and he notices all the pots filled with plants and flowers that scatter around near your door. God, he's already thinking that you're the most precious thing in the world.
He doesn't know what it is about you that's affecting him so much. Is it because you rejected him? Is it a challenge to him? Does he just feel guilty? Or maybe it's because, for the first time ever, he's gone after a girl that he actually has to figure out. Women have always thrown themselves at him the moment he flashed a smile their way. But you...all you did was throw a drink in his face.
It takes him nearly a full minute before he finally knocks on your door, and he can't seem to figure out what to do with his hands as he waits for the sound of your soft, thudding footsteps to reach the door.
You're still puffy from crying yourself to sleep last night, but you open the door with a polite smile anyway - donned in your oversized cat pajamas without an ounce of makeup on - but your smile quickly falls when you recognize the man standing on your doorstep.
The unfortunately beautiful man who had woken up every insecurity you had in less than a minute of talking to you.
Your expression seems to cycle through a million emotions as you try to comprehend how he could possibly be here, but once you notice the teal wallet clutched in his hand, realization settles on your features as the embarrassment hits you.
He stands silent for a moment as he takes in how gorgeous you are despite your slightly disheveled appearance, and he can barely form a sentence as he lifts up your wallet with a sheepish smile. "You, uh…you left this at the bar, um…last night. Got your address from your, uh...your I.D.” Christ, he's lost all sense of charisma hasn't he? He holds onto the wallet for a horrifyingly awkward amount of time as he stares blankly at you, but he finally comes to his senses when you mumble out a quiet 'oh, thanks' and reach out to take it.
“I’m Kyle, by the way.”
He's never seen a girl look at him with such guardedness before - with your arms crossed protectively over your chest as you give him a tense smile. He can't tell if it's because of the whole incident from the night before, or if you're just freaked out that a total stranger went through all the effort to bring your wallet directly to where you live.
Probably both.
You clearly return his greeting just to be polite, murmuring your name quietly as you place your wallet off to the side.
“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” He lets out an awkward laugh, but quickly backtracks when you shoot him a funny look. “I mean, from your license! I-It’s got your name on it. I only know it because it's...it's on the license.” He stutters out quickly as he shoves his hands into his pockets. God, he's losing it. His heart feels like it's going to explode. “I, um…it’s a gorgeous name, by the way. Suits you, you know?”
The compliment slips out naturally, but it only makes you tense up even more, and you suck in a tight breath as you begin to shift on your feet. Your fingers are itching to reach for the door to slam it in his face - arrogant prick thinking he can keep up his act from last night even though he practically sent you into a fit - but he interrupts your spiraling thoughts with a heavy sigh as he drops his charming smile.
“Hey, I...I just really wanted to say that I'm sorry, love. I didn’t mean to upset you like that last night.” His demeanor changes so drastically that you can't help but soften a bit, melting underneath his warm, pleading eyes enough to listen to him. "I think we had a bit of a misunderstanding...I wasn't making fun of you, love. Honest."
He seems so genuine about it that you can't help but feel a bit guilty. You had tossed and turned all night thinking about how shocked he had looked after your little outburst. You tried to stave of your regret by telling yourself that he had come over to you only to make fun of you like everyone else does, so technically he deserved it - but now you weren't so sure.
“Oh, well…I’m sorry for, you know…throwing my drink in your face.” You murmur sheepishly as you look down at your welcome mat - tracing one of the flowers with your fuzzy slipper before tilting your head back up to look at him with burning cheeks. “Wasn’t very mature of me."
“No, no, no...it's fine, really! If anything, I'm sorry you had to waste your drink on me. I mean, I know how pricey that place can get.” He lets out another laugh, but it's a bit less tense this time, especially when he sees the way your lips almost quirk up into a smile. It makes him feel bold enough to try to bring back the charm, and he can't stop himself from asking you, “You know…maybe I could, um…make it up to you sometime? Could buy you another drink?”
But once again, you pause. His persistence only makes you more suspicious of his motives, and it shows in how you tighten your arms across your chest. He can see your eyes flash with a pang of hurt, and he feels his heart clench as he fumbles over himself, growing less sure by the second. “O-Or just a coffee, maybe?”
“...Look, Kyle…” His heart leaps in his chest at the sound of his name on your lips, but your guarded tone is enough to smother the warm, fluttery feeling that had been building in his stomach. “Thanks for bringing me my wallet, but you’re wasting your time. I don’t know what kind of bet you have going with your friends, but I’m not going to fall for it, okay? I'm not...I'm not stupid.”
Stupid? His expression falls once more, and he gives you the most genuine look he can muster as he speaks up quietly. “I...I don't think you're stupid. There’s no bet, love. Honest.”
“A dare, then.”
“No dare, either.”
You let out a frustrated sigh and roll your eyes a bit before resting your hand on your hip, but your irritated demeanor doesn't hide the way your eyes are beginning to grow a bit watery and bloodshot as you murmur quietly. “Well, why are you doing this, then?”
His eyebrows furrow as he looks down on you, and he can't help but shake his head in disbelief as he takes a small step towards you. God, you were absolutely breaking his heart. Did you really think it was that unbelievable that he could like you? “I already told you, love. I think you’re absolutely gorgeous…and I know you don’t seem to like hearing that, but it’s true. And I know you're not just a pretty face, I just...I don't know anything else about you. But I'd like to...I'd like to get to know you.”
You don't seem moved by his words, but he can't see how your heart begins to pound wildly in your chest, grasping onto the small bit of hope that you had desperately tried to push down. You'd spent so long trying to protect yourself from feeling this way about someone, and he's already managing to sneak past those walls you had built up.
But your mind keeps replaying every moment of disappointment you felt when it came to men 'asking you out' - how people would laugh behind your back when you would get excited for a date with a guy they all knew was just messing with you, or how a boy in your class straight-up laughed in your face when you thought he was being serious about being his date to the prom. 'Shit, she actually fell for it! Damn, I didn't think she'd have the nerve to say yes! Ah, right, well...sorry love...just havin' a bit of a laugh, yeah? All in good fun.'
No, no, no...you couldn't fall for something like this again.
He can see the look in your eyes as you stay silent, and his heart pangs with guilt when he realizes how much he's probably torturing you. He decides to put you out of your misery, so before you can open your mouth to reject him again, he raises his hand to stop you. "Yeah, alright...I understand." A pathetic smile graces his features, and you can't help but feel a bit guilty at the look of disappointment on his handsome face. "Can't blame a guy for trying though, aye?"
You can't even tell if you're disappointed or relieved that he's finally given up, but you give him a grateful smile as you nod your head in understanding. Couldn't expect a guy that looks like that to put in too much effort with someone like you, right? "Right...yeah...thank for um, understanding."
"Of course..."
God, this is awkward.
The both of you stand and stare at each other for another moment longer before he turns to leave. But just as he turns to go, he stops in his tracks and thinks to himself for a second before letting out a puff of air before turning back to you. "Don't happen to have a pen, do you, love?"
You blink in surpise at the randomness of his question, but eventually nod your head and disappear for just a second before returning with one in hand.
If only you could see how nervously he tapped his fingers against the side his leg while he waited for you to come back - a habit he only ever indulged in when he couldn't contain his anxiety on missions. Something his captain always ragged on him for.
Yeah, he was absolutely hung up on you.
He tries to ignore how soft your hand is when he takes the pen from you, but he can't ignore the way your touch zaps up through his arm and straight to his heart. And from the way you tuck your arm back against your chest with hot cheeks, he can't help but wonder if you felt it, too.
He pulls a crinkled receipt from the pocket of his jacket as he gives you a nervous smile, almost like he's waiting for you to scold him for trying again. And if it isn't the most charming thing you've ever seen...
“Listen…if you change your mind-“ His hand moves quickly to scribble something on the small piece of paper, and when he hands it to you, you see his number written in handwriting that is frustratingly neat for a man in a rush. “-just let me know. No pressure, of course. I’ll fuck off if you want me to, but…just thought I’d give you the option. Don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t at least offer to make it up to you.”
And you take that stupid, crinkled piece of paper from his hand against your better judgement, and to your chagrin you can feel your cheeks burning brightly enough for him to see. Luckily for you, he can't see the way your heart is dancing around in your chest at the prospect of actually having a chance with him.
"Right...ok." You mumble quietly as you stare down at his number, toying at the edges of the paper with your thumb before his voice catches your attention once more.
“Well, um…I should get going. I hope you have a good day, darling.” A part of you was horrified to realize that you didn't want him to leave just yet, but you just nod your head stiffly as he backs away from your doorstep. And god he gives you that handsome, charming smile one more time before he turns on his heel and calls over his shoulder. "I hope I get to see you again."
And you wave at him so awkwardly as he walks away, like a deer caught in headlights, but it makes his heart flutter all the same. He hopes that even if he doesn't get a chance with you, someone else will realize what a catch you are. Someone who will treat you the way you deserve. Someone like him.
It's not until much later in the day - when he's stuck in a briefing and trying not to fall asleep with Price's voice droning on johnny's already drooling on the table - that his phone vibrates in his pocket. He sneaks it out underneath the table to take a quick glance to see who could be messaging him, and his heart practically leaps out of his chest when he sees an unfamiliar number.
‘ok...maybe just one coffee.’
He can't help but smile to himself as he reads it, and before he can begin to type out a response, another message pops up on his screen. And another. And another.
'i mean, only if you're still interested, of course.'
'no pressure or anything :)'
'oh, this is y/n by the way!'
Yeah, you might be the sweetest girl he's ever met.
A/N: do I like this that much??? eehhhhhhhhhh idk. but i kept going back and forth and rewriting and deleting and i finally decided to put myself out of my misery. again, i'm so so so grateful to everyone who requested a part two for this and left support on the original post so i hope this meets everyone's standards! pls feel free to leave suggestions in my inbox or in the comments if there's anything specific you want to see (or request something else entirely)! i also wouldn't mind writing any alternate parts of the story if ppl request it so pls dont hold back! pls stay with me for pt. 3!!! also sorry if you requested to be tagged and i missed you!
Tag list: @vixyyvix, @little-mini-me-world, @miyo-0oo, @milanriol, @z-wantstowrite, @nexthyperfix
Gaz who finds little pieces and smudges of clay all over the house. Your pottery studio might be a room in your home, but you have a knack for bringing it into the rest of the house. Gaz will touch a door handle or go to open the fridge and find smudges of wet clay on his hand. He never disturbs you while you’re working, but you also tend to get lost in your work, staying in your studio for hours without a break. He might bring you food or a refill on your tea, but he makes sure you find some time for yourself.
Soap who adores your paintings so much he tells everyone he meets how amazing you are. Does some random stranger want to view your entire collection on his phone? Probably not. But Soap is going to show them anyway! He’s always buying you supplies off your wishlist and then getting extra of stuff you don’t need just because he can. He loves sitting in your studio with you, watching you work, admiring how your brushes move across the canvas.
Price who has a studio built for your art. You don’t work with watercolors or oils. You work with glass, creating everything from small pieces you sell to average people to massive sculptures that sit in galleries and hotel lobbies. Glass is delicate and needs plenty of space. Price knows how badly you’ve needed your own studio instead of renting space to complete your work. It’s a gift as much as an investment.
Ghost who brings back little trinkets for you to use in your art. You’re a multimedia and sculpture artist, building art from whatever you can find. You spend a lot of time foraging and salvaging things that other people might discard. Ghost, who supports you in everything, always brings things back to you. Most of it isn’t very useful, but you appreciate it anyway. In every art piece, there is something of him in it.
taking a break from actually writing to ponder the idea of trying to give johnny the silent treatment as punishment after an argument (not mature i know, i know, but i'll be honest...guilty, your honor) but he's being so annoying about it that you're actually just punishing yourself.
All dramatic sighs and longing looks as he corners you when you're about to leave for work. "Just one kiss, bonnie, please. Ah'll do anythin'. Please." With those stupid bright blue puppy eyes staring you down as you try to avoid his gaze. But he'll just tilt his head down to aim for your lips while saying, 'please' *failed kiss* 'please' *oh he managed to get your cheek there* 'please, sweet lass, c'mon.' until you just have to just give in and let him kiss you so you aren't late for work.
oh and while you're there, he'll send you flowers. the biggest flower arrangement he could order online. he had to put down a down payment.
and his desperation for you apparently has no reprieve, because just before you turn out the light on your bedside table so you can go to sleep in the tense silence you planned, his hand reaches over to grasp your arm and halt your movement.
"Ah know ye dinnae feel like talkin', but we can still...ye know..." You shoot him a look as his hand begins to creep over to touch your thigh beneath the covers, and his eyes turn pleading as he "Ye don' even have te say anythin' durin' et! Just lemme-" *smack to his hand* "LASS, PLEASE"
his blunt nails skitter up over your thighs, grabbing and pulling at the soft fat braced over your hipbones. he’s forcing and bending you into a melting mess, pressuring you into different angles, letting his lips suckle you up sweetly.
“s-slow, simon, calm down.” you gasp, pressing the heel of your palm into the top of his skull. body going shrill when his inexperienced tongue licks and sharp teeth snag and bite. fingertips spreading and kneading.
n he pulls away from you, a lewd “pop” and a pretty, glistening string of spit follow him. n his breath is shallow and heavy, chest heaving as he catches up to his racing heart, brain fuzzy from lack of oxygen.
he pulls his hands away, letting them rest easy on the sheets. “i-im sorry, mama,” he whispers, glossy eyes looking up at you. “i’ll be gentle, i’m sorry.”
need to tend to a knights wounds. my soft hands, hands which have never seen a day of hard labor, brushing against his scarred body. pretending not to notice how strong his arms look while i bandage up the laceration on his bicep. avoiding eye contact because i know the sounds of him groaning in pain are going to become fuel for my late night fantasies
