#itllbeoneofthese

[itllbeoneofthese]

Slow Sunday mornings with Simon and Johnny

The whole day is made up of sleepy moments. You wake up early, used to doing so during the weekday, then you fall back asleep when you realize there’s no rush to start the day. Eventually your eyes re open to hushed whispers as Soap and Ghost have a quiet conversation.

You climb on top of Ghost and listen to what they’re talking about. Eventually Soap is the one who decides to get up and make some coffee. Then Simon follows and you’re left in the warm bed cradled by blankets. You don’t fall asleep but you lay around for a while until you hear the sound of clinking dishes.

The three of you sprawl out on the couch to eat breakfast, a show that you’ve been trying to watch together plays in the background. You get through a few episodes before Johnny gets angsty and goes for a morning run. Simon lounges with you on the couch as the morning turns to noon. With the book you had started reading laying against your chest you fall asleep again and the hulking man besides you does too.

This time you wake up to soft kisses being littered across your face. In your sleepy state you complain, that is until you see it’s Johnny back from his run and that he’s brought you pastries from your favorite bakery. Your eyes are closed while you let out content humming at the taste of the pastries.

You let Simon sleep some more and follow Johnny into the shower after you’ve finished eating. He washes your hair and you wash his. You tell him about the book that you feel asleep reading and he listens intently. You mess around with his wet Mohawk, making it look all sorts of silly ways. Your stomach rumbles and the conversation of eating something for lunch comes into play.

Slowly noon melts into evening and the evening trickles into night. Somehow you forget that Sunday scaries were ever thing. You end up back in bed with Johnny on one side of you and Simon on the other. Somehow sleeping all day only succeeded in making you sleepier and between you all you’re the first to fall asleep. You have no worries about the week ahead of you, not when you know that next Sunday you’ll be able to repeat this same day again.

[itllbeoneofthese]

Have you ever had that feeling of knowing that if anyone knew you for who truly are they would find you utterly unloveable. So for that reason you push everyone away so that none of them will ever be able to look at you and tell you to your face all the reasons no one ever sticks around long enough…

Well then you might need some therapy and you might really like my fic It Will Come Back! A COD zombie AU with Ghoap x Reader slowburn and a whole lot of angst. I use this fic to project my emotions so maybe you can do the same.

[itllbeoneofthese]

Somedays Ghost wakes up with the weight of war still on his shoulders.

He feels it when he turns in bed to get up, heavy, so heavy, it feels like it’s crushing his lungs.

He wonders if one day his skin won’t smell like gunpowder. Wonders if one day he won’t feel like blood is still running down his hands.

On his nightstand there’s a picture; a blue eyed man grins over at Simon, the printed image illuminated by the rising sun.

A hand lands on Ghosts back, and a barely audible whisper escapes you as you ask, “A nightmare?”

He leans into your touch, “…just thinking.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, planting a kiss on the back of his neck, “I’m sure he could use some new flowers, I’d be happy to join you,”

Ghost lets his gaze leave the picture and land on you. He can feel your breath on his skin and the faint smell of your shampoo. Things feel a little lighter. He nods, “We’ll get him roses, he always hated roses. Maybe it’ll give him a laugh in the afterlife.”

[itllbeoneofthese]

Ghost is ugly. It seems as plain as day to him. His lip is snarled upward from the cleft pallet he had as a child, which despite surgery is still ever present. There’s a deep scar running down his eyebrow that has left the area with very little hair. Although his blonde eyebrows have never been particularly visible against his ghostly pale skin. The edges of his ears are curled in giving that distinct cauliflower look to them. And along his neck a deep scar wraps around, running over his adams apples.

Then there’s you. Soft from the shell of your ears to the pink of your palms and those are only the parts he’s seen so far. You have scars —impossible to not have them when doing what you two do — but they seem to decorate your skin instead of decimating it. Your face is lovely when you smile and it’s lovely when you’re mad.

He can’t imagine anything about him would make you take an interest in him. The day you do see him without his mask, freshly out the showers with his short hair still damp and his skin glistening, he freezes. You freeze too. “Fuck, left my mask in- shit I’m sorry.” He spins around rushing back into the showers. He doesn’t expect you to follow behind. Or to stop him just as he’s about to grab his mask. Or to exam him with such an expression on your face that leaves him feeling more exposed than he already is. Least of all he doesn’t expect you to unwrap the towel around his waist and fall with gentle grace to your knees. The only thing that doesn’t surprise him is just how soft your mouth is, just like the rest of you.

[itllbeoneofthese]

Grief Is A Strange Thing

Ghost Dealing With Soaps Death (Ghoap, Ghost x Reader, Angst, Grief)

Part 1: Routine

Its not until the silence settles in that Simon realizes Johnny is really gone.

The ride home after parting with Kyle and Price gives him too much room to think. He can still see the ashes pouring out of the urn. It was only a few hours ago that the wind beat against his skin and allowed Johnny's remains to be scattered across the Scotland highlands.

It’s setting in as he drives on the long stretch of road that leads back to the apartment. It’s a few hours away. Just enough to start thinking “I ought to call Johnny”, only for the sting of his own thoughts to set in.

Time goes by in dreadful boredom, and constant silence. Months pass by in that way; whispering around Simon till they slip away one by one.

Coffee brews in his apartment with no chatter in the kitchen. No music streams out of the bathroom along with steam from Johnnys morning showers. Dinners are long forgotten without the child like question of “What are ye making for dinner?” So Simon goes to an empty bed with an empty stomach. And it’s not just that which is empty. An empty space on the couch. An empty passenger seat. An empty space at the table. And all through it: silence.

People try to distract him from it all, he tries too for what it’s worth. He knows Johnny wouldn’t want grief to consume him like it did when they first met. When only Ghost existed and Simon was but the memory of a man.

Kyle invites himself over for dinners almost every Wednesday. Simon doesn’t complain when the man makes him a home cooked dinner. Every time, they set a glass of scotch on the kitchen counter.

Twice a month Simon goes on runs with a group of runners in his neighborhood. He doesn’t particularly enjoy it but Johnny used to be part of the group. Back then Simon always said no to the brunettes offer of early morning runs. Now he regrets never having said yes.

Price of course drags him out for drinks at least once a week. New members of 141 occasionally join as Price insists that Simon has gotta make new friends. He doesn’t. But still, he gets his ass out the house with a little Scottish voice in his head nagging at him to be more sociable.

Every Sunday he goes to the small flower shop down the street from the cemetery and buys an arrangement of blue flowers. Then he goes to Johnny's grave, replaces the flowers from the previous week and spends the rest of his day talking more than the most talkative man he ever knew. More times than is acceptable he has fallen asleep with his head rested on the gravestone, his half asleep mind warping the cold stone into a warm shoulder.

All of this becomes routine. He grows used to the silence and the solitude and Johnny's voice telling him to push through the pain.

It’s a particularly rough day when Simon walks into the flowers shop and sees…you.

Over the last year and a half Simon has curated his routine. Over the last year and half Simon has visited this shop once a week, every single week. Over the last year and a half he has never stumbled across you.

You give him a lovely smile, and set down the flowers whose stems you were trimming. You glance down at a brown watch on your wrist that matches your brown apron, “Early riser! You’re my first costumer today, how can I help you, love?”

Simon stares, blatantly so, no attempts to hide his confusion either. He looks at you like one would look at someone who just used your spare key to walk into your home and start watching TV in your living room. You’ve broken his routine. He can’t even try to miss the little voice in the back of his head saying “Well go on then Si, break the silence.”

[itllbeoneofthese]

Currently in love with the domesticity of romance, the gentle mundaneness of it all which in essence makes it anything but mundane.

Waking up in the middle of the night with a warm hand on your side. You're pressed to Ghosts chest since he always runs cold. But Soap keeps his distance, sleeping in only his boxers. But he likes touching you both, likes the gentle reminder that he's not laying alone in bed, so he rests his hand on your hip and lets the edges of his fingers hold onto Simon.

You know how Ghost likes his tea and how Johnny likes his coffee. You can't remember when you learned or if you even asked. But one morning you just knew that Simon only lets his tea brew for four minutes and likes to add just enough milk so that the tea is the color of his eyes.

And at some point it became custom for you to come home with a sweet treat for Johnny if you so happened to pass by the bakery (or even if the bakery was nowhere close by). If only because the way he smothers you in kisses with the taste of sugar and chocolate on his tongue is the closest thing to heaven that you've ever felt.

There's just something so simple and still complex about this part of love.

[itllbeoneofthese]

Rewatching Hannibal and I’d truly forgotten just how homoerotic the vibes were

[itllbeoneofthese]

Drabble: You Are Not So Different From Ghost

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You think you’re different because you laugh at the jokes told on base, because you respond when spoken to and because you care about the lives you end. But when your expression falls flat you’re just like him, nothing but brutality behind your eyes. You are both killers and whether or not there is guilt it does not change either of your actions. Maybe that’s why you look away every time his blackened gaze meets yours. Every interaction you have with him is a mirror held up to you showing you the person you try so hard to pretend you are not.

He kisses you harshly while you both lay blatantly exposed and attempt, yet fail, to hide yourselves. He wears a skull mask while you wear a mask of yourself. And when the roughness of your kiss leaves blood in your mouth you can’t tell if it’s his or yours. Even in the darkness you can feel the reflection of yourself staring back at you through him. Can you condemn Ghost when you are just like him?

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───