#ghoap writing

[vanderilnde]

you buy a second-hand laptop from a dodgy craigslist user only to make a carnal discovery hidden between the files.

cw for anal sex, face fucking, pet play, choking, masturbation, noncon filmed sex, overall dubcon, reader is fujoing out

ghoap (x reader)

-

You saw it in a flitting advertisement. Used Acer Aspire V5, female buyers only, and didn’t hesitate to contact the poster.

Ghost was his screen name. Macabre, but not something to dwell on because he’s selling the only affordable hand-me-down you can find. He insisted on meeting at a hole-in-the-wall pub, beneath a metal sheet awning. There’s a cigarette pinched between his lips as you approach, an overripe mask rolled over his broken nose.

“You’re our bird?” He asks in a Manchester hint, exhaling a plume of off-white smoke.

You stifle over that operative word—our—but push through it and meekly nod, preening at his feet.

Beneath the predatory glint of his eyes, you realize you’ve gravely miscalculated the calibre of this situation. Meeting a complete stranger in a gritty alleyway and waiting to pick up his scrap-metal laptop, all because it satisfies your budget.

“Yeah…” you mumble. Try to make yourself invisible even though it’s redundant—he already towers over you, his shadow eclipsing your body, his heat drinking you in.

“‘ere it is,” he grunts. “You’ve got our cash?”

You hand him the crumpled wad of paper, squirming as he passes his thumb over his tongue and folds through the money, counting it with a mean curl of his lips.

“That’s– is everything alright?”

He stuffs the money into his jacket and expells a deep prusten sound, like an idle predator. “Fine. Pleasure doin’ business with you, bird.”

Ghost turns on his mud-clogged boot and strays off, letting the shadows swallow him whole. You hold the bulky laptop to your chest and wield it like a weapon on your way home, finally settling into bed, ready to examine your new purchase.

The hinges creak as you pull it open. A grimace splits your cheeks at the dust crusted in the margins, the rings of juice gummed to the mousepad.

A few letters from the keyboard are missing, and a few strips of tape look dog-eared, peeling from the corners, exposing the laptop’s internal wiring. Gossamer-like, spiderweb cracks work across the edges. The screen is a blotchy eyesore, striated with horizontal lines.

You have to beat your knuckles on the laptop to keep it from jamming. You navigate the desktop with simmering irritation, invaded by the inkling that you’ve been utterly scammed. Nothing matches the photos advertised on Ghost’s account, and just as your annoyance is about to ripen into white-hot anger, something catches your eye.

It’s nestled into a nook on the desktop. It’s an unnamed folder that stares back at you, unassuming, the icon already half-opened and waiting to be examined.

You double click it, more like triple click, actually, since the mousepad decides to cramp, and squirm as the folder flares over the screen. It’s a collection of videos, their thumbnails all spotty and dark, eclipsed by the thumb of whoever’s holding the camera.

Their titles are as cryptic as their photos.

wet.avi; tail_plug.avi; no_prep.avi; with_price.avi.

You find yourself scrolling lower, your fingers working against the mousepad like a rapidly unfurling spool of thread. You decide to investigate one of the videos, one with a foggy, filmy thumbnail, and carefully heed the title before poising your finger above the open function.

johnny_leash.avi

The video is grainy, as if it was imported from a camcorder rather than a phone. The first few seconds are a blurry with grey-scale strobes running across the screen, radiating an aura of seediness that makes a hint of discomfort sink like sediment in your stomach, adhering to your viscera. A deep, damp squelching sound peals out, tempered with the sticky noise of something being broken in, hollowed out.

The camera ebbs, settles, then focuses all at once. You think you’re going to faint.

It’s someone’s puffy ass getting stretched out on a fat cock. It puckers and tightens with each piston-paced thrust, red.

A large hand belonging to the person recording enters the frame. Their hand tattoos stretch as they split their palm across the hind of their spine, the cameraman’s fingers digging sickle-shaped scratches into their back, clawing them down on their battering ram of a cock.

“Quit whinin’, Johnny,” the voice behind the camera loudly grunts.

The one getting split open, Johnny, snivels into the pillow. His spine is curved into the mattress, his ass pert and sticking in the air, rippling with the force of the cameraman’s hips.

A plume of dust travels over the screen, fleetingly concealing the image. When the soot thins into the air and bares the salacious material of the video, you gasp.

There’s a glint caught on something silver from the feeble lightning. It’s a chrome-plated chain, you see, connecting to Johnny’s throat. A leather collar cutting into his ruddy skin. The leash is wrapped around the cameraman’s hand like a reel, and each time he tugs, pulling his hand back as if winding up for an attack, Johnny gets peeled off the bed, his back arching so deep you’re sure it’s close to snapping.

“Shit, Simon—!” He squeals. “Can ye… slow down?”

The aforementioned Simon grunts. Animalistic, like a rabid predator. The camera whirls, the unromantic colours of the room they’re in bleeding into each other, and when it focuses, you see Simon’s large palm splayed against the back of Johnny’s half-shaven skull, gripping his hair, pushing him into the bed.

The man flails like a fish out of water, struggling under his hand. It prompts an emergency response out of you—the way he’s being fucked into the mattress, no doubt pressing a Johnny-shaped chalk outline like the ones at crime scenes into the bedding. Alarm seizes you, and the thought of submitting this to the authorities trumpets like strobe lights in your mind.

The video is written with inept non-professionalism, reeking with the sentiment of a found-footage horror film that it’s not the authenticity that rattles your bones like a wind chime, but the morality.

You tell yourself to stop the video, but as the thought squeezes itself between your ears, Johnny’s hoisting his neck back and peering into the camera, his striking-blue eyes flaring in all-encompassing horror. His lips pop open and wrap around a soundless scream, warbling.

“Yer recordin’ me?”

“Smile for the camera, Johnny,” Simon pants. “Who knows who might see this, right?”

Simon shoots his hand up and bullies his fingers past Johnny’s lips. He sinks his nails into the round of his mouth, stretching his cheek back into a repugnant curl. It’s paradoxial—how Johnny’s mouth is pulled into a smile, but his eyes are wide and wet, wordlessly begging.

Your body betrays your moral plight.

Your rapt ocular vein, the signals rushing to your mind, your nipples stiffening in your shirt. You feel as though you’re made of livewire, not matter, as you watch Johnny’s ass get spread open on Simon’s cock, his eyes rolling like unruly billiard balls to the back of his head.

His ass is red and patchy, burning up. Simon’s hand swats through the air and makes the sound of a whistle, flaring into a booming crack of thunder whenever he brings it down on Johnny’s ass. It makes you jump. Makes you feel as if your ass is being abused by proxy just by sitting, and watching raptly.

Instead of inching your hand towards the button that exits the video, your hand dips below your waistband and moves to cup your cunt.

The gusset of your panties is already hot, clinging to your dewy core. It sticks to your pussy, baring your puffy lips and swollen clit. You give it a few slaps and rub your fingers languidly, pace quickening.

But the video abruptly ends before the ascent to your pleasure is able to materialize. You yank your hand from your pussy, smearing your arousal on the mousepad as you search for another video.

You don’t heed the title—face_fuck.avi—before clicking it and readily spreading your legs, flushing at the sound of your lips parting.

The video starts, and you swear it feels like you’ve been hit with a brick.

Simon—or Ghost, you now recognize—is a behemoth. Huge would be an understatement for him. The camera is set up this time, somewhere across the room, but Simon still just barely fits within the margins. He’s folded over Johnny who sits on his knees with his back against the wall, his neck hoisted up at him.

Simon’s cock is fat and heavy. He’s hard—this, you’re sure of because of how red his balls are—yet still, his cock droops with weight, the bulbous tip scarcely teasing Johnny’s lips.

“You want your snack, boy?”

Johnny nods. He darts his tongue out and tries kitten licking the slit, but Simon isn’t having that. He grips the base of his dick and swats it against Johnny’s cheek, slapping him, the noise so thick and resounding it sounds like a palm that breaks his skin, not a cock.

“Greedy bitch,” Ghost snarls—you decide that name is more seemly for him—“Can’t wait when it comes to dick, huh?”

Johnny’s lips part, a response poised behind his chattering teeth. However, his reply gets snuffed out and shoved to the back of his throat as Ghost feeds him his cock, slamming into him with one, slick motion.

Johnny’s head hits the wall, his face puckering as pain blooms behind his skull. The action makes his jaw clench, clamping down on Simon’s cock, but Simon is quickly gripping his hair and puppeting his head back, sliding his cock deeper, until the tuft of steel-wool hair on his pelvis brushes Johnny’s nose.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Ghost grunts. “No teeth.”

The only mercy Johnny is afforded is when he sinks his nails into the sinews of Ghost’s thighs, scratching him striated, trying to offset the burn in his jowls. The back of his head thumps dumbly against the wall with each of Ghost’s jackhammering thrusts, his smaller cock springing up and slapping against his navel.

You keen. Rub your clit a little faster, tease your forefinger around your winking hole as spit and precome sticks to Johnny’s chin the same way your juices strings your fingers together. Johnny goes lax and the video abruptly ends, and you almost feel yourself going crazy, hastily exiting the video because you miss the phantom sensation around your cunt getting stretched. You click on another video that has your heart jumping to your throat.

It’s dated from just yesterday, two days after you placed the order with Ghost.

breeding_my_boy.avi

Your panties are completely soaked through at this point. The image of Johnny folded like origami under Ghost, eclipsed by his body, makes you gush. His knees are pressed against his ears and his ass is in the air while Ghost tugs his cock, towering over him and pressing his tip against his hole, slowly sinking into him.

Simultaneously, you hook two of your fingers up your cunt. Your arousal seeps out and pools into the divots between your knuckles, hot and wet, making a sucking sound as you draw your fingers out and thrust them back in, pawing your walls.

Ghost pulls his cock to the tip before driving himself back inside. He’s deeply-seated, knocking the air out of Johnny’s lungs with each stroke. Ghost draws his thighs close for leverage and sinks his fists into the bed, on either side of Johnny before snapping his hips, feeding him his whole cock.

You sink your other hand below your pants and blindly sweep at your clit, watching with keen eyes as Johnny gets pounded into the mattress, his legs thrashing dumbly with the force, his hands twisting into the moth-eaten sheets because he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands and according to Ghost, he’s “not allowed to touch his cock.”

You can barely see Ghost’s sweat in the coarse-grained, gritty video filter. It comes out as glistening dew, dribbling down his neck and onto Johnny’s cheek, to which he swiftly laps up.

It’s the same thing for Johnny’s tears—sparkling in the soft smoulder of light, smearing like spread as Ghost works his rough tongue against his cheek, licking up his brine.

Johnny’s whimpers and the crack of flesh against flesh emanate out of the janky laptop as tinny, thin. However as Ghost lowers his head, grumbling against the hull of Johnny’s ear, whispering, the thin sound travels out of the speakers and punctures your stomach.

“Wish I could breed you, pup…”

Pleasure gyrates in your belly, frothy. You curl your toes into your mattress and buck into your fingers, feeling your orgasm beginning to crest. You pinch your clit the same way Ghost snakes his hand low, trapping the tip of Johnny’s cock between his fingers to squeeze.

“Smile a’ the camera, dog,” he mutters. Takes him by the jaw and dimples his cheeks as he makes Johnny look into the lens, his eyes glossed over.

“Y’reckon she’s touching herself?” Ghost growls. “Watching you turn a mess?”

Your orgasm is on the edge now. Ghost looks at the camera, his eyes glowing like predators do on trail cams, a swill of molten rushing through you. He looks like he did beneath the awning—animalistic, as he seems to stare directly at you, snapping into Johnny’s ass.

“m gonnae come…” Johnny whimpers.

Ghost chokes his hand around Johnny’s cock, sliding his hand up and down to the pace of his thrusts. And with what happens next, your body girdles, throwing itself into the throes of your panoramic orgasm.

It’s Johnny. Bending his back off the bed and squeezing his thighs. He moans your name—your screen name—the one used to purchase the laptop. He treats it like something to bite on to defer the pain of his orgasm, trembling.

Thick ropes of come shoot from his cock just as an off-white liquid escapes you, splattering over the screen. You’re quivering as Ghost fills Johnny, watching as his balls tighten and breathe like a pulse as he comes inside.

The three of you are miraculously synchronized. Your laboured breaths simmer, thinning into nothing, as the two of them turn to look at the camera.

You undertake the decision to keep the laptop.

And a week later while browsing Craigslist’s homepage, you stumble across a familiar username.

Posted by Ghost 32 minutes ago.

Looking for a flatmate in Manchester. Two roommates. Three bedroom. Females only. Serious inquiries only.

A second doesn’t pass before you’re writing up your application.

[forsaire]

no but I've been thinking about Soap with temporary Prosopagnosia (face blindness) after his injury

---

Price had put Soap on medical leave after he got out of the hospital, his only responsibility being rest and recovery. Of course Ghost took time off to be with him as well. He didn't even need to ask either, Price just did the paperwork for the both of them at the same time.

Some days were better than others. Sometimes Soap had trouble remembering words or doing delicate tasks with his fingers. Ghost always waited patiently for him to work it out, only helping when Soap asked him too.

For the past hour, Soap had been lying in their bed, his lighthearted laughs filing their flat as he watched something on his phone. Ghost was sitting in the other room and reading a file Price had sent over, informing him on their continued investigation to find Makarov.

Ghost heard a particularly loud laugh before the box spring squeaked lightly, the sounds of Soap shuffling off the bed following soon after. He heard footsteps begin to approach him and he glanced over.

"Ghost!" Soap said cheerfully as he looked down at his phone. "You have to see this funny cat vid-"

Soap abruptly stopped speaking as he looked up, the words getting caught in his throat. The wide smile that always spread across his face with enough brightness to light up Ghost's entire world suddenly fell, swiping down in one smooth motion. His eyes widened slightly, almost as if in shock, and his mouth dropped open a sliver. His eyes locked onto Ghost's face, but there was no warmth to be found.

It was fear.

"Who are you?" Soap choked out, taking an apprehensive step backwards.

Ghost was immediately on his feet, the look on Soap's face shattering his heart. He raised his hands out in front of himself and curled his shoulders in, trying to make himself look less intimating.

"Johnny... it's me..." Ghost said slowly, the words coming out calmly despite the rising worry in his chest. "It's Simon."

Soap tilted his head as a deep furrow scrunched up his brow. His eyes jumped back and forth across Ghost's face, refusing to focus on one thing.

"What..." he let slip from his lips, breathless and confused. "I... I don't..." He squinted slightly. "...Simon?"

"Yeah, it's me," he said quietly, taking a careful step forward. Thankfully, Soap stayed where he was and he let Ghost approach him, although he still looked unsure, small.

Ghost gently took Soap's hand and placed it up against his face. At the same time, he wrapped his arm around Soap's waist and pulled them closer together. Once their bodies were pressed up against one another, Soap let out a shuddering sigh and he dug his face into Ghost's neck.

"I..." Soap started hesitantly, holding Ghost back tightly. "I don't recognize you..."

His usual confidence was gone, the words coming out weakly, almost broken in shame.

"But you recognize my voice?" he asked.

Soap nodded in silence.

"Okay..." Ghost said quietly, letting his fingers trace up and down Soap's spine. "Just close your eyes then. Listen to me speak."

Soap closed his eyes.

"I got you," Ghost murmured soothingly. He wanted nothing more than for his imperfect words to reach Soap and rid him of his fears. He wanted Soap to feel safe. "It's me. Just listen to my voice, love. Everything's going to be okay. I won't let go. I love you, Johnny."

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

"Oh fuck," you whimper out. "I think I feel you in my guts."

"Fuckin hell bonnie, I can see him in your guts," Johnny says, a finger tracing the outline of Simon's cock over your abdomen.

You shudder at the feeling, clenching down harder which makes Simon grunt in response.

They each share a glance, an unspoken agreement made before Simon picks up his pace.

At the same time, Johnny turns to pressing his hand down on the imprint, making you cry out as you throw an arm over your face.

Simon lets out a disgruntled 'tsk' before prying your arm away.

"Let me see you love."

[anamelesstraveler]

Soap blinks awake, only to find the tall figure of Ghost is standing beside the bed. It should be unnerving, to look up and see the white skull staring back down at him. But Soap is never afraid.

“Hey, Ghost,” he greets sluggishly. “Y’okay?”

He’s come to ask the same thing every night he finds Ghost in his room. Because like a child after a nightmare, there’s just something… small about the way Ghost stands near him. Which is absolute insanity, because the apparition would tower head and shoulders over Soap any day. There just seems to be something about Ghost that shrinks in on itself those nights, standing silent and still at his bedside. And looking at him like this, somewhere in his sleep-addled mind, Soap’s hands itch to reach out. He finds himself staring at Ghost’s hands, nearly invisible from the black mass of him.

“Y’keep comin’ back,” he whispers. “So you do like me, huh? ‘M not so bad.”

The shape of Ghost shudders - a laugh?

“...’hnny–” Ghost’s voice dips in and out of focus, half a word coherent and then the next hopelessly smothered into whispers. But for the first time, Soap watches as Ghost seems to stoop even further at the failure, a real, heartbreakingly human frustration etched in every part of him. His massive form shifts, a hand separating from the void of his body. Does Ghost want to reach out just as badly as he does?

Is he lonely like this? Soap wonders. Trapped in this existence for who knows how long? 

-Ch3, Silence Lay Steadily

So excited to share this commission that @bluegiragi did for me!! Gira, I can't thank you enough for taking this on ❤

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 1; ghoap x reader)

-

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately.

Ghost listens because the periods between missions are long and colourless—he fills the time with paperwork, PT, exhausting his muscles in the gym, and dissociating in a booth at the only good pub on base when Johnny drags him along—and it’s better to tune out the thoughts in his head and replace them with something else. Besides, for as much as he gripes about poorly trained dogs barking too much, he enjoys the sound of Johnny’s voice. It quiets the faint ringing that follows him wherever he goes, an agitated humming that leaves him, on his best days, on the brink of rage.

“Tinnitus,” a doctor says when he brings it up during a routine check-up. Can you shut that fucking noise up?

“Best we can do is get you hearing aids.” Apologetic, sincere even. Stained, as always though, by a trembling, noxious unease. It emanates off the doctor in waves. 

Hard not to feel uneasy around a man in a mask, Ghost assumes. That’s all part of it though. He doesn’t cultivate comfort, doesn’t attempt to engender soft feelings or put the mind at ease. His body and persona are designed to put the body and mind on the knife’s edge of fear, and then tip it over. He leaves the sweet talking and charming to men like Johnny, who babbles red language in a tongue like larkspur. 

Ghost’s first language is oil slick. It stains and it covers and it darkens everything it touches. 

And now, Johnny’s talking about a bird.

A couple months after Las Almas, the first picture comes out. Not a folded up keepsake tucked away in the pocket of a bag or a wallet or the inside of his jacket, but right on Johnny’s lockscreen on his phone. He disapproves at first glance. Not of the girl, but at the thought of keeping something so valuable on display for anyone to see. It’s not how he functions. Everything sacred is burned, destroyed, or—if precious enough—buried so deep underground that salt miners might greet it on the way down.

“Pretty, eh?” Johnny goads, nudging Ghost with his shoulder. He’s all wide grin, eyes electric-blue like the flames of Kawah Ijen. 

She is pretty. Pretty as pie. Not a speck of grit or blood on her; if there’s any edge to her at all, it’s tempered by her smile in the photo on Johnny’s phone. A sugar sweet cunt, by the looks of it, sure it’d taste like candy if he got his mouth on it. He angles his eyes with Johnny’s lips and wonders how many times he’s eaten her out, if hers was the last cunt he ate. Likely. His boy’s the loyal kind, hard to shake off once he’s got his teeth in. Swapping spit or blood, he doesn’t leave once he’s got a taste. 

“Where’d you find her?” he asks instead of agreeing, and takes a swig from the bottle in front of him. The bar’s hardly filled out yet; the two of them come early because Ghost’s an old man—that’s what Johnny would say—and doesn’t like to be around people once the sun’s set. It’s a burnished gold now, sun hovering low in the sky when Ghost turns an eye to it. 

“Florist. Met her when I picked up flowers for mam’s birthday.”

Nearly a month then. “And I’m just hearin’ about this now?”

Not in this same pub three times a week since then. Not on the tarmac, suited up and sweating already beneath two layers of gear. Not in the shower beside Ghost’s, fingers reaching over the side for a bar of soap because Johnny can’t be arsed to get his own. Not with his head slumped to let Ghost shave the sides of his head nice and neat, thick fingers splayed over the delicate bone of his skull that Ghost knows would take nothing to break. 

It rankles him until he looks back down at the phone in his hands—the one he’d plucked from Johnny’s fingers even while he whined about Ghost always stealing his shit—and feels his heartbeat slow. It levels out like staring into the scope of a rifle, the molecules of his breath melding with the molecules of the air until even the sound of his heartbeat dulls to the insects around him. 

Johnny purses his lips. “…Wasn’t sure then. Am now.”

“Cunt’s a cunt. What’s there to be sure about?”

“No.” Johnny shakes his head vehemently. “She’s no’ like that. She’s special—I’m telling ye, Lt—” he stresses when Ghost snorts, the sound thick with scepticism, “—she’s a good egg. Smart one. Sweet as pie.”

Sweet as pie. Mutt half-shares his thoughts these days. They must have brought more home than just shellshock and keloids. 

Johnny squawks when Ghost unlocks his phone and thumbs through his photos, trying to wrench it out of Ghost’s hand to no avail. He’s easy to hold back. All he has to do is put down his beer for a second and get a handful of hair and jerk, and there it is. Peace and quiet. A wince bleeding into his peripheral vision while Johnny mumbles something under his breath about him being a mean bastard. 

He snorts again. Even from Johnny, he’s heard worse. 

There isn’t much left of him these days. A tired husk and a taste for Guinness. He bleeds and shaves and wipes it off, smells the viscera still staining his mask that he hardly ever washes, can’t bear to honestly. Waste of fucking time, as far as he’s concerned. Just going to get dirtied again, soaked in blood again within the week. Shaves his head too just to have less to deal with, less to distract him from the single-minded intensity he brings to the job. He’d dematerialize if he could, become a ghost in name and shape, if only the laws of physics allowed. 

Instead he’s saddled with a body that echoes back his age in creaking joints and low back pain. Scar tissue that aches when it gets cold. 

In the months he’s known Johnny, he’s never let himself think about the world outside their bubble. His rank demands a certain level of socialising, and while he doesn’t schmooze with the brass like other lieutenants might, Ghost hardly has the privilege of isolating himself all the time, but still he can count the people he considers close on one hand. 

Not family, but close. The thought of family is sheathed within him; he knows to leave the knife in lest he bleed. Still, Johnny’s fought his way onto the list and now he has to pay with his pound of flesh. 

There’s a switch that’s been off for years, closer to a couple decades, and it flips back on when he finds this man that trusts him without question, that follows his orders and looks up at him with these big, puppy blue eyes. It twists something in his chest. It turns him into a thing that says maybe it’s better to take than just covet. 

There are other photos of the girl in Johnny’s phone, some likely not meant for present company (Johnny flushes red when Ghost flips to a picture of his bird in a pretty little number, lace cupping her tits and ass, sitting on Johnny’s bed back home and looking back at him over her shoulder with a little grin). Still, it interests him to see this side of his boy; he’s maybe thought of it before in abstract terms. He knows that Johnny’s no stranger to a wandering eye, not with the way he’s built and his pretty boy face. He’s well acquainted with Johnny’s dick, hard not to be in such close quarters; it’s a nice, pretty thing, just like him, a good handful. Nothing like the ruddy battering ram in between Ghost’s legs. The one Johnny once got a glimpse of in the showers after a two week long stint in Kyrgyzstan and paled, mouth gaping open while he stared until he could finally laugh it off. 

Ghost remembers thinking detachedly about how lovely that little gaped open mouth would feel around his cock. 

Surprising that it took this long for him to cotton on to his own desires. 

“Bring ‘er around then. I’ll see for myself how sweet she is.”

Johnny scowls at the sudden uproar from a nearby table. “No’ a chance in hell. Dinnae trust any of these fuckers to behave around her.”

Ghost hums. He’s not wrong to be wary; under the table, Ghost runs a hand over his bulge and gives it a squeeze, lifting his thigh to readjust. She has a lovely mouth too. 

He’s been breathing fire and brimstone recently. Hungering to hear something break. It takes Johnny’s hand on his arm to hold him back, every cigarette puffed down to the filter. The pictures on Johnny’s phone make it seem easy though. 

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately, preening at every opportunity to show her off. He doesn’t know that it takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost’s brain to file the girl in Johnny’s phone under mine, slotting her right under Johnny in that category and isn’t that just perfect because it also takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost to imagine what she might look like under Johnny. 

He hands Johnny back the phone, face down. “You get one week. Then I wanna meet your bird.”

[elexaria]

poly!ghoap who live w/ the reader, johnny whining like a needy brat bc he wants to fuck you so bad but si says no :( simon’s perfectly happy, he doesn’t necessarily understand why johnny’s so adamant about opening the relationship up to include the lodger.

that’s until simon starts to actually observe you. how you tidy up after yourself, how you buy the boys the odd ‘saw-this-and-thought-of-you’ gift when buying groceries. it makes the harshness of simon mellow whenever you unintentionally ground him. he loves johnny, with all his heart, but johnny’s unpredictable nature and his loudness is all too much for such a weary soul sometimes.

you prune a floral arrangement you had bought, humming quietly as you pluck delicate thorns from slender stems. a wince escapes your lips as you accidentally snag your thumb on a particularly persistent thorn, and simon looks up from his newspaper with a concerned, yet stoney, look. “you alright?” his voice rumbles from across the room where he was sat, glancing up at you in the kitchenette. “yeah..” you mumble, still trying to tend to the arrangement despite trickles of blood that trail down your wrist with each gentle administration of attention given to the flowers.

cute, simon thinks to himself. the corners of his lips twitch as he makes his way over to the kitchenette, not even needing to stretch to grab the first aid kit from the top of the fridge. “c’mere.” he fusses, thick mancunian accent soothing your soul as his fingers begin to tend to the cut. his touch is calloused yet tender, sincere and gentle. and when your softening eyes glance up at simon, only to catch him staring back down at you with an affectionate expression, it makes him realise that perhaps johnny’s proposition of opening the relationship up isn’t an inherently bad idea.

[peachesofteal]

Cool Girl

Ghoap x female reader / 18+ / previous

The sunrise stabs under your eyelids with malicious intent.

You don’t have much of a hangover, but your face is still puffy, under eyes swollen. You’ve been crying all night, and it’s painfully obvious.

Not to mention the lack of sleep. The vomit induced by your overwhelming anxiety, the bile still scorching your throat. You haven’t slept more than an hour. You look like the walking dead.

You tried to have a serious talk with yourself around two o’clock in the morning. You told- no you promised- yourself you’d leave well enough alone. You’d put them out of your mind. You’d move on.

They never wanted you. So why are you so insulted that they did exactly what they said they would? You weren’t theirs. You’d never be theirs.

Good enough to keep in bed. Good enough to keep out of sight. But not someone they’d consider theirs.

You’re no one’s. You’re just… yours.

Which is fine. It’s more than fine. You’re cool. You don’t need them, or anyone.

Your hand won’t stop shaking though. It shakes when you turn on the water for the shower, shakes as you try to shave. It shakes through your first cup of tea and then your second, shakes when you curl up the couch and huddle under your blankets, staring blankly at reruns of some laugh tracked sitcom. It’s because you haven’t slept or you’re hungover or something-

And it only stops when your doorbell rings.

You slam your eyes shut. You’re not expecting anyone, and that alone makes you feel like there’s probably someone on the other side of the door that you decidedly do not want to see.

The glance through your peephole confirms your suspicions.

It’s Johnny. He’s standing squarely in front of your door, bouquet of flowers in his hand.

Your head starts to pound, and he knocks on the door.

“I know ye’re home, bonnie. I saw yer car in the garage.” You’re frozen on the other side, separated by a piece of metal and wood that suddenly feels less substantial than it ever has before.

When the lock doesn’t click, he knocks again. “‘m not leavin’ until I see ye.” You groan.

“Stalking me now?” You spit when you open the door and he grins sheepishly.

“Naw...” He doesn’t elaborate and you stand in the frame of the door, trying to block him from peering over you- though it’s no use. You watch his critical gaze take inventory of what he can in your flat, and then he returns his attention to you, holding out the flowers.

They’re tulips. Maybe twenty, twenty five stems, all in a spectacle of color. They’re beautiful, and your favorite.

It surprises you. That they even know that about you. That they would remember a comment you must have made in passing.

It gives you pause. It’s confusing.

“Got these for ye.” He’s… such a boy. A grown man, a decorated military man, a strong man but still… such a boy. He’s never looked more like a boy than he does now, eyes wide and nervous, shifting his weight from leg to leg. He blinks, eyelashes feathery and dark, and you’re left to wonder if he gets it from his mom or his dad. Does he have sisters? Brothers? Nieces or nephews? You ached for those pieces of them, before.

Now, the lingering questions fill you with embarrassment.

He steps forward, and you shrink back. His gaze flickers, and then clears, holding the overflowing bundle of colors towards you.

“Thanks.” You say stiffly, careful to avoid his fingers when you pull it free.

“Can I come in?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He chews on his lip.

“Ye look tired, love. Did ye get any sleep?” You sniff, hand resting on your hip.

“I’m fine.”

“Ye dinnae look fine.”

“Why are you here?” You’re cracking with exasperation, legs going weak. You’re not strong enough to stand here and survive an onslaught.

“Need to talk with ye, like we said last night.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, like I said last night.” You parrot with a irritated exhale.

“Ye know that’s jus’ not true. We need to talk about what ye saw, what ye think ye saw-“

“What did I see? Since apparently you know what I’m thinking now.” You’re too tired for this. You don’t want to do this. You want to crawl back into bed and hide under your blankets.

“Ye think ye saw us with another woman, or on a date, but-“

“I saw your hands on another woman. I saw her smiling at you like-“ you shake your head. “It doesn’t matter what I saw,” he swallows, mouth pressing into an uncomfortable line, “I always knew this wasn’t real, that it didn’t mean anything but-“

“Ye agreed. Ye always said ye didnae want a relationship.” He reminds you sharply, and you nearly swallow your tongue.

“Yeah, I didn’t, so.” The lie is foul on your tongue, rancid and spoiled, but you give it life regardless. Fuck them. You’re fine.

“But yer mad ye saw us with another woman.” He raises an eyebrow, and you never wanted to punch someone so badly.

But instead of a rising tide of anger, you get an overwhelming wave of despair, and tears prick at the corner of your eyes.

“Ah, no, love. Please, please dinnae cry. ‘m sorry, this is such a mess. We never meant for any of this.” Your hand starts shaking again, trembling against the plastic wrapped around the stems, and Johnny’s expression changes from sad to worried. “What’s this?” He tries to reach, fingers grazing the back of your arm.

“N-nothing, I’m just tired.”

“Love-“

“Just… go away.” Your patience snaps, shatters, and his face falls. It almost makes your feel bad.

Almost.

[the-ace-with-spades]

So, I imagine that Soap is around 5'11, which is not short at all, even if it seems so if you look at the people he works with.

However, from his whole family, he is the tallest.

His da is 5'8, his brother is 5'9, his sisters are 5'2 and 5'3 and his mam is 5' nothing. To his family, Johnny is not only tall but also overgrown.

(This is also why entering the military was a shock to the system --- Soap was used to being pretty tall if not the tallest person around and then boom, he's smol)

The first time Soap takes Ghost to his family home, he is instantly named a giant. Literally, his mam when she sees him says something along the lines of 'and I thought my boy was a giant' and his da makes the typical joke of 'what does the army feed you?' and one of Soap's sister says she 'woulda climb him like a tree too if she had the chance' and his brother goes all 'was gonna give the fella a shovel talk but I think he's too big too bury by myself any case'. Soap is so embarrassed by them but Ghost is awkwardly shy anytime his height is pointed out.

On top of it, he tries to help Soap's mam in the kitchen (I like to think he likes to cook) and there is the comical image of her, standing there tiny at 5'0 and Ghost towering over her at 6'3 or 6'4 (Soap's not sure, Simon slouches often) and trailing behind her as she orders him around. There's literally a moment when she goes to grab herself a step ladder to reach something on the top shelf and Ghost just stretches his arm a bit and gets it for her. She might or might not ask if he can dust the cobwebs from the corners of the ceilings she can't reach herself. (Ghost dusts the cobwebs, duh, even if Johnny can't snicker at him enough).

Johnny's brother uses Ghost's height to make his kid eat his veggies, 'if you eat your veggies, you're going to grow as tall as him'. Ghost goes along with it.

The kids in general treat him like a walking jungle gym --- especially because he's not only tall but also strong enough to function as a walking jungle gym. One of Soap's nieces who used to love piggyback rides from him now insists Ghost has to be the one because he makes her feel taller than Soap does.

They're supposed to sleep in Soap's childhood bedroom and Soap's da brings in an ottoman and a couple of pillows so Ghost's feet 'don't stick out'. Soap laughs it off until he realizes that Ghost's feet would, in fact, stick out from his tiny double bed if he slept straightened out.

[wispscribbles]

Ghost who's gone prematurely grey due to his lovely past (and Soap who doesn't mind)

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || 141 x Reader

[Chapter 16] || [Chapter 18]

Pairing: Gaz x Reader x Ghost x Soap || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.7K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: we're getting there.

Gaz's outfit is 100% a rip off of this fanart by the lovely @temeyes.

Chapter 17: Guard Dogs

You don’t exactly know what you did to deserve this.

You really don’t.

You went on Tinder one time. One night after work.

So why the fuck do you have three men lurking around you like guard dogs?

Ever since the Ethan incident last Friday, they’ve been taking turns going to pick you up at work and walking you home.

Monday - Kyle

Tuesday - Simon

Wednesday - Kyle

Thursday - Simon

It wouldn’t be so bizarre if it weren’t for the fact that people (especially your coworkers) stare when there’s suddenly men waiting for you after work… 

Especially when one of them is a 6ft4 man that’s built like a fridge, giving everyone copious amounts of side-eye as they walk out.

And then you wonder why they ask you get asked questions the next morning.

Today, Friday, you exit work to see not one, not two, but all three of them, standing shoulder-to-shoulder. They look frankly adorable, all beaming at you as you come out of work and preening themselves a bit.

Kyle’s on the far left, wearing a cream-colored hoodie with a blue flannel shirt atop, black cargo pants and white and black Air Jordans. The hoodie is pulled up over his hair and his hands are tucked into the pocket of his hoodie.

Simon’s next to him, in the center, wearing black boots, jeans and a black parka with an inner pollar layer that’s zipped up all the way, so as to cover his mouth, in lieu of his usual mask. His hair is sticking up all over and you just know he put hairgel on it. 

Johnny’s on Simon’s other side, the far right, and wearing a pair of distressed blue jeans, a shaggy burgundy Ramones t-shirt and an unzipped grey hoodie jacket. Just like Kyle, he’s also wearing some Nikes and they’re so pristine and clean you’d swear he’s gotten them from the box a minute ago.

“Hi…?” You said in surprise as you adjusted the sling of your laptop bag on your shoulder.

“Hey!” Johnny greeted you.

“Hi, lovie.” Kyle said with a beaming smile.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Simon said simply and nodded upwards at you.

“What are you… doing?” You trailed off as you came to stand in front of them, your eyes going back and forth between them.

“Couldn’t decide who should come get you. So we decided to both come” Simon told you sincerely. “And since the two of us were coming, Johnny wanted to tag along.” He added.

“Why are ye talking like I’m a puppy that couldn’t be left at home by myself?” Johnny said with raised brows.

“Because you were begging for us to take you with.” Kyle retorted from Simon’s other side.

“Go fuck yourselves.” Johnny added. “You look nice.” He complimented you with a boyish grin.

“In my work uniform?” You retorted as you looked at him with a playful look of disbelief.

“Aye.” He replied. “Always love seein’ someone all knackered and sweaty after work.” He admitted.

“Johnny are you flirting?” Simon asked and he gave Johnny a look that could kill someone.

“Aye.” Johnny replied with a mischievous look in his eyes and pursed his lips together. “Is that forbidden now?”

“Mate…” Kyle quipped, his tone a soft warning.

“What? They already got two blokes after them, can have another one.” Johnny remarked with the same casualty of someone saying they ‘might as well have another biscuit from the box’.

You blinked away the surprise at the flirting. It was still bizarre to have one man like Simon interested… And you felt overwhelmed to have Kyle on top of it… And now Johnny too?

“Okay, erm… So… let’s go?” You announced and turned to start marching up the street to work before anyone could say anything else.

The guys followed behind you wordlessly, in a formation lead by Simon… like you were a mother duck and they were your ducklings… Or, rather, like they were your pack of guar dogs.

-

You’re standing by the door of your kitchen feeling like a guest in your own flat. 

Kyle and Simon are cooking… without even being asked. You stopped by the shop and they immediately announced they’d cook for you and… now they are.

Johnny’s sitting at the dining table behind you, sprawled open and sipping a can of Monster he got himself at the shop when you were all there.

“Okay, what’s up with you?” You announced as you watched the two men move about your kitchen as they made your meal. Simon’s was first in charge of chopping and dicing things… and now he’s in charge of frying… something, while Kyle takes care of basically everything else.

“What do you mean, lovie?” Kyle asks as he turns to glance at you while stirring something.

“You all came to pick me up together… And now you’re cooking for me…” You trail off as your nails clink a bit against the glass of wine they poured you. “What’s going on?”

“You’re adorably annoying with how perceptive you are, you know that?” Simon asks as he glances back at you as well before plucking something out of the frying pan and to a dish on the side. The oil sizzles loudly when he puts something else down to fry.

“Thank you.” You say with a playfully smug tone as you shift around. “But you didn’t answer the question.” You remark.

“After dinner, alright?” He answers and Kyle makes some sounds of agreement.

“They want to be yer boyfriends, officially.” Johnny says behind you and it causes you to whip around to look at him… Which also made Kyle drop whatever he was holding, in shock.

“SOAP!” Both Simon and Kyle shout, scolding the Scot who’s sitting at the table with a broad grin on his lips.

“You… You do?” You ask as you turn to look at them, mouth parted in surprise.

“Yeah...” Kyle replies as he looks at you. 

Simon simply nods and turns away to focus on the food he’s frying.

“I… I’m honored…” You admit and feel your cheeks warming up so bright you fear you’ll start sweating. “I…”

“I’d like a shot at it too, if ye don’t mind.” Johnny adds. Once again, all eyes turn to Johnny with another ‘JOHNNY?!’ which causes him to laugh.

“I’m serious.” He replies. “I’ll gladly date ye too.” He adds.

Your eyes widen. “You-”

“Mhm.” He adds.

“No.” Simon replies as he turns around once more.

“What do you mean ‘no’, L.T.?” Johnny asks in exaggerated offense.

“I mean, I don’t wanna date you.” Simon adds.

“I- Wait.” Now it’s Johnny’s time to get flustered. “Date me?” Poor lad, his whole face warms up bright red.

“Y-Yeah… Kyle and Simon kiss each other sometimes.” You announce and out of the corner of your eye you catch both of the other men stiffening up.

“I KNEW IT. I FOOKIN’ KNEW IT!” Johnny jumps up to his feet, spilling his Monster can on the table. “Ah, shite!” He says as he scrambles to pick it up again before it spills too much.

“What do you mean you knew it?!” Simon asks in shock.

“I KEN YE LIKE EACH OTHER! SAW THE WAY YOU SHARE THOSE COY LOOKS BETWEEN YE!!” Johnny shouts as he points a finger at the two men.

You’re pretty sure they’re all blushing now, you included.

“We didn’t share any looks!” Simon says defensively.

“DID TOO!” Johnny insists. “AND I TAKE OFFENSE TO YE NOT WANTING TO DATE ME, L.T.!” He adds. “I THOUGHT YE LIKED ME!”

Your eyes widen and you move your head side to side trying to keep up with the banter between them as Johnny marches his way into the kitchen so him and Simon can keep bickering.

“Are they always like this?” You find yourself asking Kyle, your eyes widened as they shout your house down.

“Yeah… This is a tame day for them actually. Should hear how they are on comms during missions.” He leans over to whisper in your ear.

“Ah…” You say softly. “I don’t know if I can handle dating this all the time.” You quip playfully, making Kyle laugh.

“You’ll get used to it.” He adds.

As you two continue watching the two men arguing, during which Simon is still, somehow, still tending to the food… You find yourself sneaking little pieces of carrot from the salad Kyle’s making.

Only to stop chewing halfway and let your piece of carrot fall right out of your hands when Johnny suddenly grabs Simon by his face and plants a big kiss right on the taller man’s lips. No warning.

At that moment, Simon looks every bit like Kyle did when they kissed for the first time. Perfectly statue-like still, eyes widened, both hands hanging in the air as if he was frozen…

Johnny’s hands are wrapped around Simon’s face, his palms over his ears, and fingers in his blonde hair, their mouths pressed together…

And then Simon comes back from the trance he’s in and his hands wrap around Johnny’s head too, his fingers digging into the back of his mohawk as their tongues battle together.

“Jesus Christ…” Kyle replies next to you, voicing your exact thoughts.

Once they pull apart, both the men are blushing red and out of breath, eyes widened.

“Ye’ll date me now?” Johnny replies.

Simon doesn’t reply, he simply turns around to finish cooking.

“I think that’s a yes.” You finally announce, finding your voice softly.

Johnny turns to look at you and smirks. “From him or from you?” He asks with a cocked brow.

“Both.” Simon quips with his back turned.

“I think that was the hottest kiss I ever witnessed.” Kyle says softly.

“I’ll give ye a smooch too, don’t get jealous, Gary.” Johnny quips and winks at Kyle.

Then, the Scot grabs a paper towel from the roll and walks toward the door to go mop up the spilled Monster from the table.

But not before he cups Kyle’s face and stealing a peck off his lips…

Then, he does the same to you… before licking his lips at the end. 

“Your wine’s tasty.” He adds, before slinking back out of the room.

You’re left blinking away the shock with an equally stunned Kyle next to you… And you’re pretty sure Simon’s stunned too…

Meanwhile, Johnny’s giggling to himself in the living room.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!):

@daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark

@severenswife , @enarien, @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago , @sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine , @kneelforloki , @comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 , @gazspookiebear , @mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 , @kitwithnokat , @stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust , @thriving-n-jiving , @blckbrrybasket

[ghcstao3]

Soap wakes with a shiver.

He’s confused, at first, because he’s still warm and covered by too many blankets—but then he feels the gentle scrape along his spine, the steady line across his bare skin, and a content sigh leaves his lips.

The sensation immediately ceases, so Soap rolls over.

“Why’d you stop?” He mumbles.

Ghost doesn’t meet his gaze, his own instead focused on the hollow of Soap’s collarbone. “‘M sorry,” he says. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

A frown tugs at Soap’s face. He reaches out, tucking a stray curl away from Ghost’s face. “What’s the matter, Simon?”

Ghost swallows audibly, shrugging lightly. “Just thinking,” he admits.

There’s no need for him to elaborate about what, when he untucks his arm and brushes a thumb over the scar that spans Soap’s left temple.

It’s become an eternal unspoken thing, since their retirement—a constant fear of the past, what could have been lost. It was never a surprise, that Ghost made a habit out of checking to see if Soap was still real, still with him—but it still hurt both of them, knowing it was an obstacle that simply couldn’t be overcome.

Not with the glaring issues like Soap’s foggy memory and Ghost’s limited mobility in one of his arms from taking the shot that kept a bullet from doing any more than graze Soap’s head.

Soap smiles softly, sadly. “Well,” he says, “no need to apologize, anyhow.”

Ghost is silent for a long moment before he finally meets Soap’s eyes, amber framed beautifully by the pale gold of his lashes.

“Can we stay here, a little longer?” He murmurs.

Soap immediately nods. “Of course.”

He flips back over, allowing Ghost to resume tracing the planes of his back. Eventually, inevitably, Soap is lulled back into sleep.

He really wishes, sometimes, that things didn’t have to be this way. But what’s most important is that they’re both here, safe, alive, and breathing.

Because for men like them, they shouldn’t be greedy. This should be the most they’d ever feel the need to ask for—and, truly, it is.

[vanderilnde]

Simon and Johnny help you unwind. ghost/soap/reader warnings: substance use, smut, threesome, double penetration, a lot of ghoap action uwu wc: 1.3k

-

The military has a fickle reputation for the stuff they get up to in private.

Superficially, you're all saints who wear your medals as vestments. Lionhearted patriots fighting in the name of safety. The sacrificial lambs for freedom. But if they saw you now now, the people dedicated to thanking you for your virtuous service, surely, they'd hit the roof.

A glimmer of white powder coats the space below Johnny's nose, some of it caught in the fleece of his five o'clock shadow. Simon is poised behind you, bending you forward and distorting your spine, hoisting himself forward to lick the granules off Johnny’s ruddy face. He swills him in for a kiss and abruptly pulls away, stealing Johnny’s breath and giving it to you.

Johnny’s ratty. Always is when he’s worked up. Grabby and needy with how he ruts his hips up, baring his neck.

“Please,” he hiccups, “Cannae be patient–”

Simon shuts him up with a hand choked around the hinges of his jaw, digging divots into his dewy flesh. 

The gossamer of scars lining Simon’s face distend as he growls. “Pups don’t talk. Be quiet.”

Simon partakes in sanctimony as he pursues what he had barked at Johnny for. He’s a more refined, tenacious, in how he consumes and is consumed, fluidly reaching down to spread your sticky cunt open, hugging you in his thick arms. 

Your head falls back on his shoulder. Your hips swivel with the swish of his fingers on your clit. You deeply inhale, breath hitching on Simon’s name. 

Though his name dies on your tongue as he swats your pussy. Simon swallows your body as you flinch, and eases the burn of your clit with his palm as he cups your cunt, gently massaging your folds.

“What’s the point of havin’ two mutts when none of ‘em wanna listen?” He vacantly asks, hooking his fingers inside of you, spreading you open. “Johnny, get the snow.”

If you weren’t so fucked out, you would have cooed at how eagerly Johnny follows Simon’s orders. He gets caught on his own excitement and trips over himself on the way back, as a dog would trip over its tail, as he clutches a baggy of crystallised pellets. 

“Go ahead,” Simon prompts, “do it off her tits.” 

Simon pivots his forearm around your throat and anchors you to his chest. You can’t see it, but you can feel it, as Johnny shakes a fine strip of dust between your breasts. You’re slick with sweat, roiling with heat, softly dissolving the powder.

Johnny leans in and inhales what he can. He’s febrile when he comes up for air, flushed, tugging his cock that pathetically bobs in place. 

Simon loosens his hold on you and leans forward, licking the rest of it up. It's the first thaw—wetness against what used to be ice, as a burn sizzles your skin. You buck your hips up, and Simon slips his fingers from you. Raises them to his mouth and sucks them clean. Grips Johnny by the scruff of his neck and wrestles him in, swapping your taste with him.

Simon pulls back and, fleetingly, Johnny pathetically chases after him. A wash of saliva coats their lips, and a thin film of dew clouds Johnny’s eyes. It’s tempered with the powder that impairs him, prompts him to begin humping a pillow. 

“Y’reckon she needs a good fuck?” Simon asks.

Johnny vigorously nods. 

Simon pats his cheek. “Bark when you’re told.” 

“Aye.” Johnny's humping is stopped with Simon's peremptory hand. 

“Which hole do ya want?” 

The flinty tone laced in Simon’s question makes you flush. Makes embarrassment pool and congeal in your belly. It's so crass, so inclement as he pets his cock. 

Johnny hangs his head like a kicked dog, embarrassed, and Simon tactfully catches on. He deeply chuckles and grabs him by the jaw, kissing his furrowed lips. 

“You want it, you prep it.”

Johnny excitedly nods. He grabs you by the hips and spins you around, slipping his cock between the fat of your ass. He digs dimples into your shoulders, using them for leverage as he fiercely ruts you. You’re being used, watching as Simon fishes out lube from the bedside table, uncaps it, and squirts it onto the facet of Johnny’s palm. 

The squelch emanating behind you is evident. Johnny pulls you into his lap with one hand, and works the lube around his dick with the other. He softly mewls and moans, pinching his cockhead and kissing your asshole with it. 

Simon grunts, slotting himself before you. He tucks his legs below you, lodging his ankles behind Johnny. You’re slippery and sweet and honey-like between them, breathless and buttery as their wandering hands fondle you. Simon’s fat cock sits throbbing on your pussy as he shakes his thumb around the baggy, coating his finger in the powder. He rocks into you slower, meaner, than Johnny. Tugging down your bottom lip and rubbing powder into your gums. Slipping his thumb away, letting your lip pop back into place. 

“We’ve trained you for this, yeah?” Simon hums. He takes you by the chin and hoists your neck up, presses a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

You rock forward and want to swallow him whole. It’s a violent juxtaposition—Simon winsomely kissing you; Johnny stuffing his big cock in your ass, negligent to how your body tries shying away, insistent on sheathing himself all the way in. 

You’re quivering when Simon starts sliding himself into you. You’re all a mess of limbs—bleeding into one, coagulating into a deity while Simon fucks your dewy cunt, augmenting himself to you and Johnny.

“Get your bone, Pet,” Simon grunts into your neck. “Work for it.”

A wave of relief crests over you. You’re cut from your leash, unfettered and free to chase your orgasm. A manifold of molten builds in your belly, burning you, as you snap your hips back and forth. Swallowing Simon, swallowing Johnny. Sucking them deeper while your rings of muscle try pushing them out. They’re so big, it aches. 

Simon said you could fuck yourself on them, but it’s hard when you’re so full of cock. You’re a pack of dogs in heat, working together. Johnny, fucking brutishly into your ass. Simon jacking his hips balls-deep into you, thumbing your clit. You, ebbing between them. Weightless like water. Selfishly seizing all they have to give you. Wet and sticky, spread open on two dicks.

“‘M close, Simon,” Johnny chokes. He peals Simon’s name for permission. Permission to come, and more importantly, to come in something that’s his. To lapse into sacrilege and taint his pretty, pleasing, pup.

Johnny gets more desperate as he draws close, dissolving into sloppy thrusts and wandering teeth. A pin-headed mess of moans and hiccups. “I needa come.”

“Inside ‘er,” Simon snarls, and you clench down tighter, stifling his thrusts.

Johnny manages two more strokes before emptying his balls inside you. He’s buried to the hilt, releasing his warm and sticky come in you, crying, quivering, kissing your neck. 

His undoing triggers a chain reaction. He fills you up and you overflow, succumbing to your orgasm. It shoots through you like no bullet can, enfeebling you.

Simon follows closely. He takes you by the hind of your skull and shoves your face into his hairy, bare, virile chest. His heartbeat thumps against your ear as he shoots his turbid ropes into you, drawing closer and fucking you through your orgasms. 

They both pull you impossibly close—trying to sink themselves in your skin—and sit there for a while, marinating their softening cocks inside of you. 

Simon is the first to move. Johnny’s too fucked out and heavy-lidded. The former stands up and wipes you both clean, disposes the little bag in a fissure somewhere in his private barrack. The bed sinks under his weight as he climbs back on, and swiftly, like two parasites dead and cold without their host, you and Johnny nuzzle into Simon.

Your sweaty bodies glue you together, rebirthing you. It helps, being fixed with them. Because you, you’re broken in all the right places.

[forsaire]

How Ghost and Soap demonstrate the five love languages to each other. They don't have just one as they will shower each other in love in every single way they can 😊😊

Physical Touch

Ghost loves touching Soap’s face. He’ll gently cup the side of his face and let his fingers trace down his chin, cheeks, and lips until he’s memorized every mark and feel even with his eyes closed. Ghost revels in the way that Soap looks up at him with complete trust and feels privileged he’s able to look into those beautiful blue eyes for one day more.

Ghost can’t get enough of Soap’s strong thighs either, their size just perfect for grabbing onto. He’s also quite the fan of a cheeky little ass grab when he’s feeling particularly frisky.

Soap loves touching Ghost’s hands and hair. Soap has gotten into the habit of absentmindedly playing with Ghost’s fingers when they sit together for meals, talk, watch a movie, or even rest their eyes in bed before falling asleep. He loves these hands that Ghost so often says are killer’s hands. But they feel so soft under Soap’s touch as Ghost allows them to be controlled so easily and maneuvered without fear.

Soap will also curl his fingers through Ghost’s hair, gently tugging at the strands and scratching his scalp in the way he knows Ghost likes. He usually tends to do this in the evening or when Ghost can’t sleep. Under his soothing touch, Ghost will quickly relax and soon be overtaken by sleep once again.

Words of Affirmation

Ghost hasn’t always had the most eloquent way of speaking. Words don’t necessarily come easy to him and he struggles with the awkward feel of them in his mouth some days. Often times, the words that Ghost expresses have deeper meanings that they both understand.

“Stay sharp.” – Stay safe. I can’t lose you.

“Do you want something to eat?” – Let me take care of you.

“I’m with you.” – I love you.

He way he speaks Johnny’s name is so tender and sweet that it can convey everything he ever wanted to say.

Soap on the other hand doesn’t have the same troubles with his words. He’s like a bull in a china shop in a sense. He has no reservation to say he loves Ghost’s. But one of his favourite things to do is pepper Ghost’s cheeks with kisses and softly whisper how beautiful he is into his skin. He’ll do it over and over again until he’s rewarded with a faint blush that spreads across Ghost’s cheeks.

Quality Time

Soap is an avid football fan and loves to watch the games on TV, getting very animated and passionate when he does so. Ghost isn’t that interested in the sport, but he still enjoys sitting next to Soap while they’re happening. He finds great entertainment in watching Soap’s face light up with happiness or fall in despair. Soap is also so passionate when he tries to tell Ghost who all the players are, what teams to root for, and even all the drama that has unfolded off the pitch. Although Ghost was never a huge football fan when he was younger, he recently found himself cheering for an amazing save alongside Soap during one of playoff matches.

Ghost is a fairly decent cook, having had to teach himself at such a young age, while Soap tends to like things that are done fast and easy. They enjoy cooking together, even if Soap just acts like an assistant the whole time. At first Soap was only allowed to cut certain vegetables and stir but the two of them have enjoyed learning together.

They both love going for drives and being outside when they’re on leave together. They’ll plan to enjoy the fresh air of a hike, climb, or swim when they get the chance. They’ll be out for 12 hours a day and come home exhausted to fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Acts of Service

With Ghost having overused his body as a weapon for so long, he tends to get sore nowadays. When Soap notices one of these days, he will happily provide Ghost with a massage, especially around his shoulders and back. Rolling out the knots and pain, Soap will watch as Ghost melts under his firm and delicate touches.

Ghost also tends to forget to charge his phone at night, so Soap will do it for him. Usually Soap will find his phone buried in the bedsheets and put it to charge after Ghost has fallen asleep or he’ll remember to do it in the middle of the night. Ghost’s phone has never run out of battery but not for a lack of Ghost trying. To this day, Soap thinks Ghost still doesn’t realize.

Ghost will clean Soap’s weapons and sharpen his knives whenever he is doing his own. He always makes sure to take extra care with Soap’s belonging because it could be a matter of life and death. And Ghost is going to make sure they both come home at the end of the day.

Ghost also doesn’t mind cleaning, the monotony and routine of it comforting in a way. He never thought he would get the chance to do domestic things so it welcomes it when he can and enjoys the feeling of being “normal”.

Gift Giving

Neither of them tend to give each other many gifts and only do it occasionally. Their lives in the military have taught them to be able to pack light and move fast. Both of them find that no object can ever replace the excitement and joy they get from just being together.

After they get married, Soap gifts Ghost a set of dog tags engraved with Simon MacTavish. Professionally, Ghost still answers to Riley – they learned this the hard way with a couple of mishaps and callouts to the wrong person while on a mission which led to undue confusion. Therefore it made sense to keep separate names while on a mission. But everywhere else in Ghost’s life, he is a MacTavish through and through.

Ghost always knows when Soap is nearing the end of his notebook and gets him a new one before its done. He will also give Soap a new set of nice pencils to work with as well.

But the most important gift they ever gave each other was their simple, gold wedding bands that lay proudly on their hands.

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

smutty headcanons part 4, mdni please :))

"stay right where you are," simon says as you're mid-step in your attempt to get closer to him.

closer to where he sat comfortably, legs spread apart, his cock heavy in his hand, pumping slowly.

hazel eyes piercing, staring right into yours.

"just watch," he says, and it takes every fibre of your being to stop yourself from dropping to your knees right then and there.

he continued the motion, up and down, up and down, his pace never faltering as he watched your eyes darken with lust, breath growing heavy despite being untouched.

"please," you whisper after a few minutes, desperation reaching a fever peak. he only clicks his tongue disapprovingly.

"please what, pretty girl? i taught you to ask for what you want, didn't I?" he says, and you shrink a little in embarrassment.

but you weren't even sure what you wanted. to sink down onto his cock and ride him till the sun goes down, or to suck him dry, until your hunger for him was satiated.

"tell me what you want, princess. i'll give you whatever you need,"

bonus:

"fucking hell, couldn't have waited till i got home ya freaks," johnny says as he enters the room, eyes locked onto yours as you bounced on simon's lap.

despite the haze of your brain, you reach your hand out for him, your pace faltering as you do.

simon clicks his tongue, gripping tighter onto your hips as he begins to fuck up into you, taking over control of the pace.

you crumple down onto him, grasping onto his shoulders as you lose yourself in the pleasure.

"well, are you joining us or not?" simon asks, glancing over to johnny who stood with his mouth agape, just watching.

you have never seen him move faster in your life.

[lemonwrap]

Ghost who watched his parents tear each other apart in a loveless marriage and now thinks marriage is a waste of time vs Soap who watched his parents flourish in a loving marriage and wants nothing more than to marry Ghost to show his devotion

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 6; ghoap x reader) parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

-

Johnny cleans up the lamp in the morning.

He might as well, being on second watch and all. Ghost wakes him up at the ass crack of dawn with a gentle kick to the ribs (gentle for him) before rolling over on the couch and going right to sleep. It’s routine for them to fall into sleep like rocks sinking in water, but the waking up is never quite as graceful. Johnny snorts awake and whips his head around sharply from side to side before confirming that he’s just in his girlfriend’s apartment and the asshole that woke him up is just his ornery lieutenant. 

“I better not hear any fuckin’ jabber,” is all Ghost says before closing his eyes. Johnny chews his lip to keep the grin off of his face.

He tries to keep it down after that. For the first couple of hours, he sits up against the wall and scrolls on his phone. That keeps him occupied until any lingering exhaustion is flushed from his veins.

There’s a broom and dustpan in a small closet in the kitchen where his girl also keeps the garbage bags and compost bin that he uses to sweep up the mess, and he tries to make as little noise as possible while he cleans up. The glass makes a tinkling sound as it’s swept up though, just loud enough that it inevitably wakes his girl up.

She comes creeping out of her room late into the morning, the shop not due to open for another hour or two. The late weekend opening hours mean she usually gets to sleep in. 

Weeks back, it used to be something that Johnny got to do with her as well, cuddled until she’d suddenly pull away, then waking up to her swallowing his cock, peeking under the bedsheets to find her pretty head bobbing up and down his length. Groaning and palming her head to press her lips down to the base, eyes rolling back at the sound of her gagging around his length, the base of his dick a mess of come and drool. 

In the present day though, she clears her throat. Johnny blinks and refocuses on her. 

Her eyes flit to Ghost’s still form on the couch and when they dart back to Johnny, he raises a finger to his lips. Let the man rest. It’s the least Johnny can do for him after he dragged him back to his girl’s place to make amends. She hazards another cautious glance at Ghost—his lieutenant lies still as a statue on the couch, motionless like he isn’t even breathing—before pursing her lips, displeased. 

In the light of day, his previous anger feels cleansed. He understands now. They’ve gone about this all wrong, topsy-turvy. He’s been chasing his own tail and making a mess of things for far too long now, but Ghost’s voice is clear in his head now. It settles him.  

So when his girl goes to open her mouth, maybe thinking that she can whisper softly enough so as not to wake Ghost up, he steps forward quickly and covers her mouth. 

She squawks behind his hand. Again, he shakes his head. Any sound would be too loud for the man slumbering on her couch. 

Johnny can feel her swallow behind his palm and it almost makes him salivate. His fingers twitch on her cheeks like he might press them into the soft skin and make her lips pout. 

“Not here,” he murmurs, almost mouthing the words.

He waits until she nods before removing his hand. Then he leaves to go dump the dustpan filled with glass into the trash. 

She corners him in the bathroom after that and it’s all he can do not to come in his pants. It’s not his fault he’s been trigger happy since Ghost tugged them off on the sparring mats and came on his stomach; he’s been pent up since the last time he saw her. There’s still flakes of dried come on his belly. He only half resists lifting his shirt to look. If his girl knew, she’d be mortified. 

He wonders if she’d be more upset that he let Ghost beat off on him or that he didn’t clean up his mess. 

Johnny lets the bird guide him to the toilet, letting her shove him down onto the lid.

“Ah, hen, ye really wanna do this now?” he teases, spreading his legs and wrapping his hands around her waist to reel her in, slipping up her shirt at the same time. 

He almost moans when she slaps him across the face, biting his lip when she gasps right after, surprised at her own actions. “Oh—fuck—I’m so sorry—”

He clicks his tongue, lips curling up into an impish grin. “Dinnae worry, baby. ‘M tougher than I look.”

It’s a small mercy that she’s too agitated to really look him over because if she were to direct her gaze even slightly south, she’d find Johnny’s shaft straining against his fly, hard enough to pound nails the second her hand touched his face. He swallows a groan and his fingers tighten, sinking deeper into her flesh. 

“I didn’t mean to—Jesus, it doesn’t matter.” He loves that when she gets frustrated, her bottom lip juts out. It makes him want to sink his teeth into it. “When your…boss or whatever…wakes up, can you please take him and leave?”

“Leave?” Johnny repeats, blinking up at her innocently. 

“Yes. Leave,” she says, stressing the word. He hums and strokes his thumb over the soft skin of her stomach, pleased that she hasn’t yet told him to take his hands off her. Sweet little bird. “We kissed and made up. That’s what you came for, right? So the two of you can get going once he wakes up.”

“No breakfast?” 

She looks distinctly unimpressed. “There’s a coffee shop down the block.”

“Aye, I ken, baby,” Johnny croons, pulling her in closer, smiling when she squeaks and braces her hands on his shoulders, his face almost cradled between her breasts. He turns his head to kiss one, mouth lingering over the cotton of her shirt, tempted almost to bite and rip it. “It’s jus’ that…seems an awful like the second Simon and I take off, you’re jus’ gonna go right back to cold shouldering me. Sure you’re nae jus’ putting on a little show for me now?”

Her fingers grip him by the fabric of his shirt. “Johnny—” She yelps when he bites the inside of her breast, snarling when she tries to pull away. “Okay, okay, okay, I got it—”

“That’s right,” he says with a content sigh, pulling back just the slightest bit. “You’re nae going anywhere. Not until we’ve talked this out, nice and civil.”

When she stares down at him, wide-eyed, like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing, it’s a rush like he’s never experienced. He feels right in the flow of things now, his head on straight for once. 

“What’s there to talk about?” she mumbles, and he almost melts. “I’m not mad anymore.”

“Nae mad? Then why’re ye trying to kick us out?”

“Because I’m busy, Johnny,” she snaps. “The shop’s opening in an hour and I don’t have time to babysit the two of you.”

“Ye willnae even notice we’re here, hen, I promise. Fuck, I’ll even help ye out—make some deliveries, go shake anyone down that still owes ye—”

“I don’t shake down my customers, Johnny—”

“Whatever ye need, baby.” He drags his palms up her sides, pulling up her shirt with his hands. Her tits pop out like ripe fruit dangling in front of his mouth, puffy nipples begging to be sucked on. “Simon and I will be right here. Ye can use us however ye want.”

He stares at her nipple while saying that, unconsciously leaning forward until his lips graze her skin and his tongue pokes out. She doesn’t budge, just curses under her breath and lets him rub his tongue over her beaded nipple, shaking in his hold. Johnny bets if he pulled down those little sleep shorts of hers, he’d find a wet little cunt begging for a fat cock to fill her up. 

It’d take nothing for him to pull them down and give her what she’s asking for. The love of his life is tucked away beneath a layer of flimsy cotton and begging for him to give her some love and affection. Johnny hasn’t kissed her in God knows how long—a week? Two? He’d probably find her swollen and aching beneath her shorts; could get her to come just by dragging two fingers up the seam of her. 

He knows what Ghost would say though, so he drags his teeth over her nipple just for the pleasure of feeling her flinch and then pulls back. The bird blinks down at him with hazy eyes when he helps readjust her shirt, pulling it back down to cover her gorgeous tits, a damp spot on her shirt over the nipple he just had in his mouth. 

“We’re not going to…?” she asks, letting the question dangle in midair. She says it without thinking—clearly, because the second it dawns on her that she just asked if they were going to fuck in the bathroom with Johnny sitting on the toilet, she looks horrified with herself. It’s beyond endearing. 

“No’ with Simon in the other room, baby. Wouldnae be fair for him to have to listen in.”

He doesn’t tell her that fairness in this case doesn’t mean cruel. It means that it wouldn’t be possible. 

Still, he needs to shoo her out of the bathroom to tug one out into the toilet bowl. Johnny would be half tempted to jerk off onto her mirror just to leave his mark where she could see, but he has some manners. 

He gives himself a nice, leisurely tug with the help of his girl’s expensive hand lotion. It’s not as viscous as the lube in the gallon tub on his nightstand back at the barracks, but it’s a good substitute; makes his hand glide nicely over his shaft.  If he closes his eyes, it even smells like her, like it’s his girl giving him a morning reach around, and part of Johnny wonders whether he was too quick to kick her out of the bathroom. Ghost wouldn’t begrudge him a quick and dirty jerk.

The thought dissolves the longer his hand flies over his dick though. Hard to think about anything outside the present moment when his hand is braced against the wall and his orgasm barrelling towards him. When he comes, it’s with a deep, shuddering grunt, not even bothering to muffle the sound. He hopes his girl hears him from the other room. He hopes it makes her squirm and ache. 

When he comes out of the bathroom, another voice takes him by surprise.

“Johnny. You’re on breakfast.”

Ghost’s voice is gruff in the early morning hours, abrupt. Rarely could it be classified as gentle, but it’s like chert rattling in a leather bag after hours of disuse. Especially since it comes out of nowhere, the man asleep one moment and awake the next. Johnny’s worked with him long enough to not flinch at the sudden sound of his voice, but his girl hasn’t; she yelps when his voice comes unbidden from the couch, big body suddenly upright like he’s been awake the whole time. 

He’s no cook, but Johnny can rustle up eggs and bacon like any other self-respecting serviceman. On deployment, they used to rotate cooking duty every night, no one skilled enough to take over the post permanently. Still, Johnny eyes Ghost worriedly when he takes a seat across from the bird at her little kitchen table. It’s not a table meant for two grown men, just a small wooden thing with four chairs, only enough for one on each side. It means that Ghost’s knees knock against hers when he takes the chair across from her, forcing her to curl up into herself, tucking her legs under the chair. 

He stares her down. Menacing eyes. Not the kind of man you want sitting across from you, no matter the circumstances. It makes Johnny anxious to turn his back on them when he has to crack the eggs into the pan, checking over his shoulder religiously. The whites go crispy at the edges before he remembers to flip them over.

“You work downstairs in the flower shop,” Ghost says bluntly, breaking the silence. His first words to Bird all morning. Not a question.

“…Yes,” Bird answers gingerly. Her palms are clamped over her knees, sweating likely. “I own it.”

“Since when?” He doesn’t blink before firing off another question.

“Um…two years.”

“Where’d you work before?”

“In…in London. I was a shopgirl there though—”

“Where’s your family from then?”

It goes on that way for a time, an interrogation with no rhyme or reason. Even Johnny has to wonder at Ghost’s intentions—knows that there’s no shot that Ghost hasn’t already done a background check on her. Why interrogate the bird then? Why rattle off question after question in such quick succession? Why make her tremble and look down at the tabletop and stutter out her answers and fidget under his stare—

He notices Ghost’s hand slip beneath the table to grip his length, spreading his legs to help readjust.

Ah. Mean bastard. Of course he’d get off on making her squirm.

The bacon burns. Johnny can’t help it. He listens attentively to her clear voice—softer in the morning hours, still sleep-laden and flowery—whispering out her life’s story, dick getting hard behind the kitchen island. He bites his lip to hold back a moan when she trips over her words. Thrusts forward to rub his bulge against the underside of the island when she chews on her lip, relieving some of the pressure. It drives him mad that there’s a wet cunt going unsatisfied just a few feet away. 

Ghost shoots him a sharp look as if he can hear his thoughts. “Johnny.”

He turns around to flip the burner off.