soap dropping you off at your place after your first date, pointing out the weird guy very poorly hiding in the alleyway next to your building
it freaks you out to the point where you ask johnny to stay the night, your nerves running you ragged because what if this guy tries to break in after johnny leaves? it’s only natural that he calms you down with soft kisses and gentle sex
simon only leaves his place in the alley after he gets a text from johnny, a photo of your head on his chest, fast asleep and his fingers running through your hair
a few seconds later another picture comes through, a pair of frilly panties with a damp crotch
Giant of a man, thick muscles underneath the same black compression shirt he always wears off-base. The few times gaz can convince him to grab a drink or two at the bar, he's always being approached.
This time is no different when you spot him and gaz. Christ, they look good. Military, obviously, tall and strong and dangerous.
"Ever taken anyone to Paris, sir?" You grin, bat your lashes in the way you know men like when you glance between him and gaz.
"...killed a few politicians there." Ghost grunts into his drink, completely missing the look gaz shoots him.
"What."
"Screamed like hell." He gets this giddy little smile on his face, twisting the scar tissue. Next to him, gaz wondering what the point of trying to find a third is if this is how ghost acts. "Before I cut the tongues out, of course."
"Uh. Right." You turn to leave, absolutely baffled. Surely the fact that made your stomach flip is....nothing to think about.
Thinking about soap with ace!reader who isn't sex repulsed but certainly isn't interested in being touched down there.
You love johnny, your roomate and maybe–boyfriend, and you love watching him enjoy himself. Mostly that means him spending four hours straight soldering...something, or watching a show with him on the couch.
Sometimes it also means this.
"Fuck— fuck, thank you—" soap whines into your neck, desperately grinding against your thigh on the couch. Absently, you play with the remote for the vibe in his ass, splitting your attention with the movie on screen.
"You're cute like this," you tell him, turning the vibe to the highest setting to watch him gasp and jerk. "Yknow, I saw someone strap a wand to a boot online yesterday. Seems like your kind of thing."
"Mmmhhh!! Please, please– I'd make it if you let me—" soap tries to bargain, fucked out and dizzy at the thought of it. Despite what others may assume, soap is embarrassingly easy to please without taking your clothes off.
He never once pressured you to do anything with him, and it took him months to make the connection between you not wanting "proper" sex to you being ace. Maybe that's why you feel so comfortable now, doing these things with him knowing it's never a precursor for more.
"Yes–! Mhhh yes, thank you, love you–!" Ah. He came.
You leave the vibe on until he starts squirming uncomfortably, only turning it off to laugh "were you serious about the boot? I think you'd look nice on your knees for me."
You laugh again, louder, when soaps hips give an involuntary grind into your thigh.
ah yes not me drawing eridian ghoap after watching PHM for the second time
I really liked the way Rocky responded "not enough" when Grace asked how long he and Adrian have been together and it gave me such huge ghostsoap vibes. What doesn't give me these vibes these days tho
There's just this ethereal longing in this phrase. Unlike Jayvik's "in all universes" and its we-will-never-be-apart-we-will-always-find-each-other flavor to it, the "not enough" is classic longing/yearning but in a happy way, my heart is bleeding lol
Nikolai is a man hardened by warfare; he's anything but naive, and he isn't hopeful. Hope is for those who have a God to answer their pleas.
Yet, for a split second, he allows himself to wish his eyes were deceitful. With clammy hands and a breath that shudders out of his chest, he prays that there is a supreme being and that he is merciful enough to spare him from what lies just a few feet in front.
It's the most juvenile of his desires, to have a few moments more. That perhaps life is eternal, and he'll be spared from the scene that awaits him merely a few feet in front. That he wasn't so late throughout his life, late to speak his mind, late to be loved, and late to answer the only call asked of him.
Perhaps, in the midst of preemptive grief, dilatoriness and patience look far too alike.
He sought out the location as quickly as he could, as always, like a dog bounding back to its owner. Never one to deny a man's whims when they're his only source of reach. He shows up, faces the hollow man he was once so intimately familiar with and then disappears until he's next beckoned.
And he is too late.
The blood-soaked fabric is proof that predator John may be, he wasn't at the top of the food chain. And his hand is cold to the touch.
Nikolai doesn't bother with the stages of grief; he never had any doubt as to how John would meet his end.
i want food truck simon slinging some hot, shit food that tastes crazy good when you're hammered. smokes cigarettes and wears his big ass boots. sweating and grunting; terrible customer service.
fucks the cute health inspector when she rolls up with a disgusted face and bad attitude. makes fun of her cute clothes after he's rolled down the service window, got her propped up against a wedge of a wall, his nasty mouth up against her neck and his hard prick fat in her fancy cunt.
he fails the inspection, but gets her number. fucks her stupid and cooks in her kitchen instead. still smokes.
Socially awkward Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader | Pure Fluff and Meet-Cute!
In my heart of hearts, I just know that Simon Riley flirts like he’s never talked to another human being in his entire life.
He’s surprisingly willing to converse with the boys, having worked with them for years, but even then, it took ages and a monumental effort to get him to come out of his shell.
But if they’re at the bar, and god forbid a pretty girl even looks in his direction, he goes dead silent. Nervously twirling his glass of bourbon on the table (a tick that not even his closest friends notice), resisting the urge to bounce his knee, mind an incomprehensible buzz of pure static.
He’s not as subtle as he thinks he is. Why?
Because he just stares at you. Unspeaking and incessantly. For damn near twenty minutes straight. Like an utter creep.
And that…well, it’s kind of impossible not to notice.
Just when you’re contemplating telling the bartender that there’s a masked serial killer sitting in the corner, your friends pull you back into their unstoppable shenanigans.
It’s only later that night when all your friends have gone home and you’re struggling to hail a taxi in the pouring rain that it all comes to a head.
One minute, you’re whistling meekly into the rainstorm, like Rose off the edge of the titanic. And the next, the rain has stopped altogether.
When you turn to see who’s holding the umbrella above your head, you literally flinch when you see the giant masked figure from back at the bar.
He doesn’t notice your awkward expression.
“Hello,” he says—stupidly—still staring like an idiot.
“Um—hi,” you reply weakly, trying to gauge whether or not you could sprint in these heels without breaking a leg.
…Meanwhile, Simon’s entire body is imploding trying to think of what to say next. Like, we’re talking heart racing, palms sweating so fiercely they’re practically dripping, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth never to work again.
He doesn’t introduce himself. Doesn’t give you his name or even ask for yours. Nope.
What’re the first words that come out of his mouth, you might ask?
“You like Marlboro Red?” He grunts brutishly.
After sitting in silence for a few minutes, a respectful distance between the two of you, the fear is slowly hedging into straight up confusion.
“No,” you answer bluntly.
“…Okay,” he replies after a painfully long pause…LIKE AN UTTER IDIOT.
For the next ten minutes, you sit in pure, uninterrupted silence. Simon, holding the umbrella above your head even when his shoulders become drenched in rainwater, making sure to blow his cigarette smoke in the opposite direction.
And you, slowly taking stock of the man before you.
The way his eyes flit back and forth between your face and the street, watching carefully for a taxi.
The way his hands shake around the handle of the umbrella, not daring to move a single inch, as if you were a T-Rex threatening to eat him.
The way he quietly takes stock of the entire situation without you even having to ask, despite how you can practically see his pulse jumping in his neck.
When a yellow taxi finally comes cruising down the street, he doesn’t hesitate to let out a loud whistle—one that is much, much better than your crude attempt. Without jostling the umbrella, he takes your purse from your hand and wordlessly opens the door for you, making sure you’re comfortably seated before he withdraws the umbrella.
When he goes to hand you the purse, content never to let you see his face again, you don’t let him escape so easily.
You grab him by his pale wrist, yanking it through the taxi window while you pester the driver for a spare pen. Simon can only stare down in shock as you scribble ten little digits onto his skin, making sure they’re not smeared by the falling rain.
“See you soon,” you quip as the driver turns the ignition.
Meanwhile, all Simon can do is look on incredulously, only managing a single, hoarse word: “what?”
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you met your husband.
Needless to say, the proposal somehow went even worse than your first meeting (it was the best day of your life).
back on this train of thought recently,,,,,,,, like, simon is unstable and highly aware of it, hates himself so deeply and is incredibly distrustful of literally everyone, and he's just barely managing to trust that john even likes him as a person and can hardly grapple with his own feelings for john that go against every instinct in him to push everyone away and hate and distrust everyone ...
when it comes to broaching a romantic relationship he just is Not ready for it. he can barely convince himself trust john as a friend, nevermind as a romantic partner. and he's not willing to jump the gun on something that is quickly becoming one of the only positive relationships he has with someone, even if it means that john moves on and just remains his friend forever ...
I just think simon has to learn to like himself and to trust john before they even consider progressing into anything romantic
I think at first john would find it a bit confusing and take it a bit like a rejection? but simon is forcing himself to be completely open and honest, vulnerable, with him, it's taking a lot for him to be actually honest instead of pushing john away and fleeing at the idea of relying on anyone for anything and john isnt stupid enough to not notice that,,,
and the more john sees of simon---the nightmares, the instinctual tensing and flinching at sudden movements and touches, the way he struggles to not shut everyone out and rely on people---the more it makes sense, and the more john respects simon for not pushing himself into something he isn't ready for...
aka slowburn but it's like intentional
Too many ideas, too little time @soapghosteyes - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
