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pentrologram · 3 days ago

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What Normal People Do - 9

Feelings bubble over.

sjdkfjkslfk before we get into the good stuff, i js wanna say thank you to everyone who's left a comment so far <3 it truly keeps me going when i have dry spells of writing during school!! i love reading them and the only thing stopping me from printing them out and pinning them on a wall on my room is social norms lmaoo

ao3!

poly!ghoap/gn!reader

Not Shy of a Spark

You’re skittish now.

It’s the first thing Johnny realises when he returns to your flat. He had gone under the guise of returning a jumper you had left that Halloween night.

“Hi, bonnie,” he says, his voice nearly as soft as the cotton in his hands. He’s anxiously trying not to scare you, not keen to invoke the firey anger you had reigned on them the other day. You warily glance at the fabric in Johnny’s hands before hesitantly taking it.

“Um, thanks, Johnny,” you say shyly. “Uh, I’ve got to go now. Bye.” You shut the door on him, making him droop and drag his feet on his way back to his flat.

“Any luck?” Simon asks from where he is on the couch, Riley draped across his legs like a sort of blanket while he watches footie.

“No. Barely got anythin’ outta them,” Johnny says glumly, planting himself by Simon, and petting the top of Riley’s head.

"'S alright. Still got those reservations, don't we?"

"Well, yeah, but I dinnae want them to be mad at us," Johnny says, a pronounced frown on his lips.

"I don' think they're mad at us, love. Jus' confused, is all."

"What they said abo' the statue..."

"They wouldn't've done it on purpose, I'm sure. You saw 'em before, right, and they were half hammered," Simon says, scratching Riley's belly.

"I ken. They sounded bleedin' guilty t' other day, too," he remarks quietly.

"Probably beating themselves up abo' it right now. Ought to give 'em the reservations soon, mm?"

"Yeh." Johnny slumps further into the couch at the memory of you just minutes earlier, all meek and nervous.

"Johnny, love, 's gonna be fine. Things'll work out," he reassures, leaning over to kiss the top of Johnny's head. "You'll see." Johnny's dejected. For the first time in his life, someone that he likes an awful lot, seems... scared of him. And it scares him. He's not sure how Simon's so calm about it, so confident. Typically their roles are reversed- it's usually Johnny diving in headfirst to everything, ensuring the safety of Simon's prized personal space, his bubble.

The next day, Simon reaches out to you. Like all his prior texts, he's blunt.

Today 6:33 PM

- The Springfields, Manchester

- 8 PM tomorrow.

- ??

- wtf???

- See you then.

"What the fuck?" You repeat aloud to yourself as you lay on your bed, wallowing in self-pity after work. You'd been ignoring your neighbours for the better half of a week now and then... Simon springs a reservation to Ivy Springfields. The nicest place you've been to since you started work was a P.F. Changs once. But Ivy Springfields is a serious place- like, with a sort of unofficial, unannounced, unspoken-dress-code-serious, which makes you panic internally. You panic and dig through your closet, attempting to put something together that's loosely 'smart casual'- it's like looking for a needle in your piles of scrubs, jeans and soft, worn-out band tees. Eventually, you come across something that's acceptable, and as you go to steam it, you begin to reason why your neighbours would invite you out to dinner after a series of strictly casual and within the building dinners.

Perhaps they were going to put a hit on you- but that didn't really make sense. If they wanted to dispose of you they probably would've taken you to a McDonald's. Maybe they were going to put you down gently, then, explain that they've actually been secretly married for half their lives and just never told you- which seems a lot more likely, actually. You hadn't gotten your hopes up, thankfully, and hadn't deluded yourself into thinking that there might've been a chance that they liked you back. You didn't hate yourself, after all.

You sleep a little easier that night, knowing you had figured out their motives for taking you out to dinner- for wasting a perfectly fine Friday night on you.

Thankfully, Ivy Springfields isn't as fancy as you dreaded it being. It's intimate, sure, but it still felt casual. Seeing couples in jeans made you feel a little overdressed and suddenly a lot stupid- maybe dressing fancy would send the wrong message to Simon and Johnny? Maybe they'd think you were expecting better of them? You're panicking internally while a server takes you to the table Simon and Johnny reserved, wishing you could shapeshift to suddenly be more comfortable or better yet, more confident. Right now you felt like a bag of open nerves.

And-

Simon and Johnny don't look more casual than you. It eases you slightly. At least you were in the same boat together, you think to yourself, trying to maintain some degree of optimism. Johnny brightens and smiles as he sees you round the corner, and you wave awkwardly. It's a booth on the rooftop, and you're canopied by an arch of vines with a candle-lit lantern hanging over the rounded table. There's a quiet hum of other people talking at the tables around, but it's not obnoxious, just comforting.

"Hi," you say shyly as you sit down, a menu in front of you. You're prepared, mentally bracing yourself for the blow you know is coming within the next 30-45 minutes.

"Hey, love," Simon murmurs from your left.

"Hi, bon," Johnny says from your right.

They keep the conversation light, on purpose, you think, until the food comes. Johnny catches you off guard mid-bite.

"Bon, about the other day. The statue... We're not mad abo' it," he says gently. "Ye were a lil' tipsy an' all. Worse could'a happen." You look up at him, blinking.

"...Oh. Um, thank you. I really am sorry. I tried to throw it at the guy, but... Well."

"'S alright." Johnny soothes. He squeezes your shoulder before biting into his pasta.

"I feel really bad about it," you admit softly.

"Don't. Stuff happened and it wasn't the worst thing that happened then, wasn't it?" Simon says as he cuts a bite-sized piece of his ribeye.

"No, I guess not," Simon grunts in approval, and you let dinner go on almost silently. You feel like you're awkwardly existing with their peaceful dinner date, there only to spectate.

It's not a bad dinner. Just not-

-optimal. Maybe if the lighting was brighter and there wasn't a couple next to your table canoodling you'd feel better about it. Maybe if you weren't overly self-conscious about how you acted around the boys, desperate to make sure they didn't think you a freak, desperate to stay in their good graces, you'd be able to enjoy being at such a posh place. It's just fine. And that unnerves you. You were expecting fire and brimstone from them, all hell reigning on your back, expecting admonishment and social banishment from your apartment building. Not tagging along like a lost puppy to their date, but that was just how the cards fell, it seems.

At the end of the very awkward dinner, some couple dozen half-laughs and small, nearly-there smiles later, they offer to drive you home. You had Uber'ed there with the intention to Uber back, but if they were offering you a free ride home, well, who were you to say no?

You take the backseat which makes Simon look slightly miffed. He doesn't talk about it so neither do you, though. You're silent the whole way back to the flat complex, letting their soft conversations wash over you and lull you to sleep as Johnny drives. The food was good, your stomach was full, you were warm and the car's gentle rocking was soothing. Somewhere during the drive you fell asleep, and it wasn't until the car pulled into the apartment's parking lot did you wake up. Your cheek was smushed against the window, crust in your eyes and a bitter taste in your throat. You take a moment, picking through your memory before you remember where-

...and you panic a little bit because you had just passed out in the backseat of two grown men who probably had a little vendetta against you. And you're still panicking when you hear Simon get up from the passenger's side and go around to your end, and you're not thinking clearly when you pretend to still be asleep as he opens the door you were leaning on ever so hesitantly before scooping you up. You have enough sense to not go rigid in his arms, but it's a narrow thing.

Johnny fishes in your bag for your keys while Simon keeps you safely cradled within his grasp. They open the door to your apartment and Simon sets you down in your bed, leaving you there before taking off your shoes and coat. Then you hear a pen against parchment, and then Johnny's quiet "g'night, bon," and the warm feeling of his lips against your forehead.

You bolt up the second you hear them leave, mortified, your hand tracing over where Johnny had kissed you in a daze. It was-

It was confusing. You thought they hated you. You thought they thought you were a creep. Instead, Johnny's kiss- even if he hadn't meant for you to have known that it happened- seemed like a reciprocation. Right? It's hard to platonically kiss someone's forehead, after all.

It gives you the jitters because now you're even more confused than you were before. There was comfort in knowing that Johnny and Simon for sure hated you and were internally condemning you. The possibility that maybe they didn't hate you- on the contrary, rather liked you- was terrifying and you considered yourself terrified. You nursed yourself a cup of tea before relenting to bed.

The next morning, you read Johnny's note:

Hi bon,

you keep on faling asleep when you hang out with us! no hard feelings, tho, it's ok. we put your keys back in your bag. hope you slept okay!!!!!

Simon and Johnny xxxxxxxx

You silently stash it next to the other note Johnny had left for you.

Now, Simon and Johnny were plotting again, because their first try at goading you into realizing that they liked you back wasn't successful.

"A museum?" Johnny suggests as he scratches Riley behind the ears.

"No, we'll be whispering the entire time," Simon grumbles. "It needs to be more intimate. A cafe?" Johnny shakes his head.

"Canne hug from across a table. Maybe a wine tastin', then? New winery opened on Mosley last week, Ah think." You leave your apartment when the words leave his lips, right as Simon nods in approval.

"Right on."

This time, it's Johnny who reaches out to you first.

Today 11:43 AM

- Hi bonn!!!

- Simon and I were thinkinbg of going to a wine tasting on saterday.

- Salut Wines

- Youre invited :)

You stare at the text in suspicion while on your lunch break. The workweek had just started and you were just out with them. But still, the offer sounded nice and well-meaning enough.

Today 12:01 PM

- okay, will be there!

- what time?

- 1pm ok?

- okay! it's a date.

(On the other side of the screen, Johnny giggles, showing Simon his phone, shoving the piece of metal in front of the book Simon had been peacefully reading.

"'S a date," he echos happily. "Oooh, it's gon' be good, Si, I j's know it.)

You're savouring this week. Sure, it's a full week of work right at the start of November, but it's comforting. The calm before the holidays storm, you suppose. You deal with tots with runny noses, showing new moms how to use baby powder, taking temperatures and running diagnostics. Clean the arm, inject the arm and soothe the baby- you've got your work down to a formula, at this point, and the security of it soothes you. But time flies when you're having fun, and before you know it, it's Saturday and you're getting ready to go next door so the boys could drive you.

"Hey," you say as Simon knocks on your door, moving back to let you step out and lock it behind you.

"Hey. Johnny's in the car already." You walk in a comforting silence with him, not feeling pressured to talk like how you usually are when at work. When you reach the parking garage, Johnny looks up from his phone and grins at you from the backseat.

"Hi, bonnie," he chirps.

"Oh- hi, Johnny, I can sit in the back," you say nearly immediately, but he shakes his head, a mischievous look on his face.

"Nae, it's okay, Ah can sit back here tonight."

"Are you sure?" You ask nervously. "I would hate to impose, it's okay, I don't mind."

"It's just a bloody seat, love," Simon grunts as he gets into the car, having to bend forward to fit. Too anxious to do much else, you take the front seat, awkwardly avoiding Simon's eye as he gets onto the road.

"Put the radio on," Johnny whines from the backseat, not satisfied until Simon complies. You're unsure if it's on purpose but Johnny immediately begins to sing along poorly to the first pop song that comes on, and you watch Simon sigh.

"Does he do this often?" You ask curiously.

"Every damn time we're in the car, love. You were asleep for the last one."

"Oh." You both wince in tandem as his voice cracks. "Is it okay if-"

"Just say it."

"Is he bad... on purpose?" You ask, dropping your voice to a whisper, grateful for the space between shotgun and the backseat. You're rewarded with Simon laughing, a full-on belly laugh that sets butterflies ablaze in your stomach.

"Ha, no, I don't reckon he is."

The wine tasting is lovely and you thoroughly enjoy your company for real this time; no longer feeling like a third wheel the way you had at the beginning of the week. Maybe it's the alcohol emboldening you, but you find the courage to apologise for your whole outburst on Halloween, making Johnny's expression soften.

"Nae, it's okay, bonnie, we ken you go' a hard job, with all the wee ones. 'S only fair that ye get to scream ev'ry now an' again." He says like he had figured it out a long time before your apology. Simon just shrugs.

"'S really alright. And, y'know, you brought up some good points." He says calmly, casually, staring at you. You go rigid, immediately terrified.

"Um... really?" You ask weakly.

"Yeah," Johnny says, reaching across the table for your hand. You're immediately grateful that you had chosen a table closest to the back of the winery, the most secluded area, because you would hate for a stranger to watch you get put down gently. "C'mon." He nudges you up to your feet, taking your hand and leading you outside to the vineyard, Simon following silently behind you, eventually showing up again to your left.

"When ye said ye loved us," Johnny starts gently. "Did ye mean that?"

"U-um, well, I don't think I was in the right state of mind when I said that," you stutter out, immediately defensive. "I- uh, had a hard day of work. I think- Um, no, I didn't mean it, I was just angry and looking into stuff too much."

"Oh." Johnny seems to deflate, "well-" but he's cut off by Simon.

"That's shite and you know it," Simon says, staring daggers into you, making you stop in your tracks and subsequentially Johnny, too.

"Huh?"

"Tell me honestly right now that you don't love us."

"Well... Ah. Um, I don't?"

"Bonnie," Johnny pleads from behind you. "Say ye want this. Please." You swallow thickly, an uncomfortable mixture of nerves and nausea rising up your throat. "It's OK if ye don't, o' course, but don't lie. Please." Johnny's eyes are akin to a puppy's, big and pathetic and you feel a bit mean for lying earlier.

"Well..." You mumble, not realizing that Simon had stepped closer to you as your back was turned on him. "Well. I want this," you say, and no sooner than the words are out your mouth does Johnny pounce on you, your lips firmly against his own. Simon's arms wrap around your waist and rest on Johnny's hip, creating a comfortable sandwich.

Johnny's all smiles when he pulls away from you, and you can't help but smile a little back, tentatively, heart running a mile a minute. Simon presses a kiss to the top of your head, making you peer your head up at him.

"Thank you," he rumbles, content.

A feeling rises in your chest, one so powerful and all-encompassing that you can't feel your nausea anymore. It's still as scary as it had been in the Uber how many nights ago, but now it feels weaker. Conquerable.

And maybe you wouldn't hate yourself if you let it slip, just a tiny whisper, lost in the mass of their forms bracketing your own, but still there nonetheless:

"I love you."

<- back

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rewind-redux · 3 days ago

Text

Failed missions - SoapGhost

tw - blood and gore

The dust settling from the collapsed building clung to the air, stinging Ghost's lungs. The mask blocked most of it, but the dirt and small drifting debris could get through the thin mask.

"Ghost to Mactavish. What's your position?" His voice had gotten more damaged from the dust. "Mactavish, do you copy?"

The silence from the radio was painful, but Ghost continued walking through the rubble, pushing away the thoughts of another soldier— no— friend, gone.

"...Simon.." Ghost's attention snapped towards the weak voice, to the small movement in the rubble. He began digging it up carelessly, his overwhelming thoughts ridding him of the cautious approach he typically had.

"Johnny, don't talk. You've already spent enough of your energy." He moved the last piece of debris with a struggle, revealing Johnny's damaged legs. The skin was torn and ripped like soggy paper, his muscles underneath cut open and oozing dark red blood.

'Good. His arteries aren't bleeding.' Ghost pulled a tourniquet out of his bag, tightening the device above the damage, cutting off Johnny's circulation.

The dust around the air settled into Johnny's gashes, sticking to the blood pooled inside. Johnny groaned at the feeling of the air hitting his wound, his hand instinctively going to try and cover it. Ghost grabbed his hand and pushed it away, then pulled out bandages to cover the deep wounds.

"Gonna cover it, Johnny. Count of three. One, Two-" At two, he covered the wound, Johnny's eyes going wide as he held back a yelp. His hand was gripping his own shirt, trying to distract himself from the pain.

"Just like the dog, aye?" Johnny chuckled, the pain in his voice obvious as his face was still contorted in a grimace, but a small smile managed to peek through.

"Mn, just like the dog." Ghost hated the joke, but tried to entertain Johnny to keep him distracted from the potentially fatal wound.

"I lost a lot of blood." Johnny looked down as he said that, his eyes focused on the gash, and how the blood slowly stained the dusty bandages, turning the white cloth red.

"Yes, you did Johnny." He almost couldn't contain the harsh words he wanted to say. He wanted to yell, scream, and shout at something, anything, on why this would happen to Johnny, why couldn't he be safe, why couldn't it have been himself who got injured.

He shook his head and looked down at the pool of blood surrounding Johnny's legs, how it soaked into the tan dirt, staining it a deep red. He looked at the stones with the same blood stains, then looked back at Johnny, realizing that his own frantic mind had missed a major part of the injury.

"Johnny, your legs…"

"Aye, they're broken, sir-"

"No. Don't call me 'sir' right now." Ghost certainly didn't feel worthy of the title 'lieutenant' right now, the weight of Johnny's injury tearing his mind apart. He failed Johnny. He didn't protect his soldier, his friend, and now, he was laying on the dirty ground, his leg mangled, tears and gashes running deep, the skin surrounding stained pink and red from the wound and the blood. Ghost could still picture the open wound in his head, how the muscles were torn, the thick tissues stringy and strained where they were still attached, the ripped ones bloody and puffy. He could picture the broken bone he had originally overlooked; the shattered pieces embedded in the strained and puffy muscles, the porous marrow visible from the breakage, the textured bone splintered at the edges, unable to be pieced back together like a horrifying puzzle. He thought of the skin, torn like a wet piece of paper, hanging down from the gashes, splattered inside the gashes and out on the ground.

"..Simon?" Simon's eyes snapped up to Johnny's, his blue eyes already staring back. "Simon, it wasn't your fault, it-"

"I wasn't there, Johnny. I should've been there." He was close to breaking down, but held it together "for Johnny's sake" as he kept telling himself, but he knew deep down, he didn't want to show that part of himself. That weak and broken part of himself he thought that he left buried in that coffin years ago.

But as they say, shallow coffins never stay buried for long.

#modern warefare ii #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soap cod #ghost cod #soapghost #john mactavish #simon riley #johnny mactavish #soap x ghost #ghost x soap #RewindWrites #fanfic #fanfiction

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