#itllbeoneofthese

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.

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,”

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.

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.

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.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

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?