#do we want this ghoap?

[forestshadow-wolf]

Soap who hates his anger issues so he tries to tamp them down, but that just causes them to explode out at a later time. Which in turn makes him angrier because why can't he just be more docile. Why does he have to be so violent ALL THE DAMN TIME.

[s0fter-sin]

mermay idea

mers keep their faces covered as a way to indicate social status and familiarity. warriors have intricate masks, handcrafted when they win their first battle and the more detailed a mask is, the more accomplished the wearer is. they're rarely shed and are only taken off for their closest kin and mates

warrior bull shark mer!soap seeing human!ghost, seeing his skull mask and immediately knowing he's a high ranking warrior; one to be feared going off the numerous scars covering his body

an ideal and worthy mate, so long as he can prove his prowess

so he follows him as he's deployed on a mission near the ocean and is smitten when he sees how ruthless and capable he is; bathing himself in his enemies blood. he keeps his distance, not wanting to tempt fate but ghost spies the tip of his fin cutting through the water

and he's nothing if not an opportunist; kicking the bodies off the pier to the waiting jaws below

but soap? all he sees is the first step in a courting ritual

and he has to come up with something truly brilliant to match such a glorious offering

on ghost's part, it's been difficult getting people to understand the depths of his dependence on his mask. price thinks it's something to overcome, gaz and other soldiers just think it's an accessory to help with intimidation

the few partners he's tried to have thought he was someone to "fix"; nothing more than an object, a notch on their belt to prove how "good" of a partner they were to put in so much work to make him better. it always leaves him feeling violated, more so than if they'd just taken his mask off outright. one night stands were hardly worth it either; scratching a physical itch but falling so short of the intimacy and connection he craves that he feels worse off than he'd started

when he finally meets the mer that's been hunting him across the country, sees the bright red mask so artfully hewn and attached to his face?

it's like looking at a reflection of himself

he might have finally found the understanding he's been searching for

[shotmrmiller]

re: rugby team ghoap

it'd been a one-off, seize-the-moment kind of thing. casual hookups aren't really for you, plus you distinctly remember your ex prating on about how the team would only be here for the weekend hence the absolute burning need to go, and you've got work monday.

goodbye, great knowing them. you'd traipsed out of the hotel room with your sneakers in hand, soap's used jersey in the other- a memento of sorts, a trophy. mild serial killer behavior but you reckon since you just became another pearl in their long string of conquests, the least you could do is take something with you that won't be gone with a warm epsom salt bath and a couple of days rest.

("would ye believe yer the prettiest we've ever brought back with us?" right. you know where you stand on that scale, and people like you don't typically pull men like them. another cringe-worthy comment like that and you'd mistake their interest with pity.)

you'd put both jerseys in the wash later that day, and the rattling of your washing machine marked the end of your exciting weekend.

or so you'd thought. from your side of things, you'd wiped your hands clean of their sweat, spit and come and went home, once again falling back into semi-familiarity, expecting to go to work feeling completely relaxed and loose, in more ways than one, while ignoring the photos taken of you and the "star players" at the stadium on social media.

(no one caught your face, what bloody luck.)

when you see them again, it's by pure chance. you'd been ordering a sandwich at a deli down the street, hand already reaching for your wallet when an arm curls around your shoulders, dark, coarse hair of a forearm brushing against your cheek.

cedarwood and citrus. it clings to your senses— a sharp, tangy reminder of that time you'd only look back on when the familiar pang of want pooled searing hot between your legs. small world, you suppose.

"didnae leave a note. stole my jersey. 'm surprised ye didnae leave us money on the table, bonnie." warmth flared beneath your cheeks but you didn't cow to his crude joke.

"i suppose i could've left a tip. what do you want?"

the playful lines around his eyes smoothed as his lips straightened into a firm line, his eyes frostbitten. you ignore the way his touch makes you feel trapped, tethered, a cage made of velvet.

"took my shirt and then didn't show up to a single game after tha'. jus' gettin' wha' i'm owed. unless he's yer favorite."

how can he be your favorite when you know nothing about the sport they play and have no interest in knowing?

"too bad. we come as a package. get yer food, we've a place nearby."

(simon had been nowhere near as good-natured as johnny had about you leaving without a word. made you spit out apologies with swollen lips, only accepted the ones that came with a fluttering of your raw pussy around the splitting thickness of him while soap condescendingly cooed in your ear about lessons having to be learned the hard way.)

[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.

[moongreenlight]

“Realistic Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley headcanons” and then it’s just the fun police.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

- It makes me want to scoop my fucking brain out with a spoon when people say that Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley is some shy, anxious soft boy. I really do not believe he’d need to be coddled after a nightmare or babied when he’s feeling angsty. He is fine, y’all. Please don’t call paw patrol.

He is a soldier. He’s a war criminal. He is traumatized to the point of numbness. He is fucked up and weird and insane and honestly I think that we should all let everybody have their thing.

I cannot fix him. I do not want to fix him. I can only make him worse.

- Sorry but I just cannot write him having any kind of romantic feelings toward Soap. I like writing their dynamic more brotherly.

Furthest they’ve gone is ‘locker room gay.’

Like Johnny sends him dick pics on occasion because he thinks it’s funny and it pisses Ghost off.

That being said, I do read the occasional Ghoap fic. I’m not a perfect person. Sometimes it’s just yummy delicious.

- Feel like he’s the kind of freak to intentionally go to the gym without headphones. Something about discipline. Opting to just stare at the wall in front of him while he’s doing cardio or counting repetitions of exercises.

But on the rare occasion that he does indulge himself, he has a playlist of like 5-6 songs he likes and when it ends he just goes back to silence. Divorced dad rock. Chorded headphones only.

- Doesn’t have the debilitating commitment issues as people paint him out to have. Just commitment-phobic. Obviously stems from his past. He’s got that sexy deep rooted fear of abandonment or something horrible happening to people he actually lets close to him. But he’s not completely turned off by the idea of romantic attachments or close friends, just a little hesitant to open himself up to that kind of opportunity.

Probably very cagey about romantic partners. Doesn’t want the guys to know about you. Doesn’t keep pictures of you around his bunk or anything like that. He’s worried it’ll somehow compromise your safety. Worried about you getting swept up in his work.

- Women’s rights? Or Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley? I really do think he’d love to have a partner who lets him provide *everything* for them. He just wants to serve and protect. Wants his bird to be in a gilded cage all nice and safe and reliant on him for survival.

Doesn’t even really like the idea of you going to the grocery store by yourself. Would prefer if you just stayed put and tended his home and cooked him meals and let him dote on you and provide everything you could ever need.

- Has a really strange understanding of technology. He’s fine with the newer military stuff. That’s his element. He can do electrical wiring, set up a TV, install security cameras. That’s all whatever. But a cell phone? He doesn’t give a shit enough to keep up with the new updates and all the new things you have to learn when you get a smartphone. Wishes he would have kept a flip phone.

Texts like this: [OK. See youtonight.]

MAYBE has a private Facebook with no profile picture where the only things on his wall are Price wishing him a happy birthday every year.

His camera roll is like; 97 accidental screenshots of his Lock Screen, a few pictures of him and the task force boys, the inside of his pocket (another accident), a sunrise, a few cool things he found on missions, 34 pictures of Soap and Gaz when they took his phone.

- Insufferable in the early stages of trying to date him. Little to no communication other than basically demanding you meet him somewhere. Texting or talking on the phone? Like pulling fucking teeth. You think he’d rather be dead.

It was a headache getting him to go out in the first place. Maybe you worked at a bar where the guys would come to have a drink after a long day. He’s a little stand-offish but he’s handsome and he knows how to banter well enough for you to be persuaded by a coworker to slip him your number after you complained one too many times about a shit hookup or yet another terrible first date. It takes him nearly two weeks to phone you.

“Didn’t think you’d call.”

“Didn’t think I would either.”

He takes you out once, you think he seems sort-of interested, then he doesn’t phone or text you back for three days. You get over it. A few more dates in. You can tell he’s a bit more relaxed. A bit more open. You’re less worried that you’re a terrible conversationalist. Then he goes on a month long deployment without saying anything in advance. Radio fucking silent yet again. You want to tear your hair out. When he finally gets back, he’ll text you something like [Atthat pub you like. Drinks ?] completely out of the blue. You think you may actually go insane.

- Once he’s gotten used to you, it’s like the sole purpose of his life is to be your protector even if you’ve only recently convinced yourself he may want something casual. You’re small and grab-able. He knows how nasty people can be and what think when they see you. He needs to know that you’re taken care of, kept safe from such a scary world.

So he’ll just linger around you. All the time. Standing behind you when you’re at the till at the store, staring down the cashier who was only trying to be friendly when they asked if you had any fun plans for the rest of the day. Big arms folded over his chest. Looming so largely he threatens to eclipse you without taking a single step forward. Eyes burning a hole into the poor person who hastily finishes the transaction without another word.

Walking silently next to you in the evenings after you’re both off work; close enough to brush shoulders, but that’s about it. Listening to you chirp on about your day. Occasionally offering a small grunt of acknowledgement or a few words of interjection. Always walks on the side of the path that he thinks could pose you the most immediate danger. Shielding you from what may lurk in a darkened alley or a hedge or a small thicket of trees.

Scary dog privilege, but like… for when you go to fill your car up with gas in broad daylight in a good part of town and he insists on standing out there with you. ‘Just in case’ If he even lets you out of the car in the first place.

- AND OFF THAT POINT. I think once he’s decided that he’s actually fond of you, it goes from zero to a hundred so fast it makes your head spin.

Like the last time you spoke, it was still unclear on if you were keeping things casual or not and now you’re at dinner and the waiter just asked him if the two of you wanted dessert and Simon just grunts “dunno. Ask the missus.” ??? He sucks so bad I NEED him.

- As much as I love an overly possessive and jealous Simon, I saw this tweet that said “My girlfriend can wear what she wants because she’s a hoe and I knew that before we started dating” and it changed my life.

He’s secure enough not to need to cause a scene if someone makes a pass on you in public. He understands that you’re attractive and that other people are bound to find you attractive too. (Not that he doesn’t still want to pull their fingernails out one by one, threatening them and everything they love for daring to exist near you. He’s just got better control over himself than that. King.)

He knows he’s better than any of your other options. Nobody else could keep you as safe as he could. They don’t know the world like he does. They don’t know how breakable you are. How sweet and naive you can be.

Not to say he isn’t overly jealous and possessive, he just won’t pitch a fit in public.

LIKE dragging him to the bar with your friends and he sits at the table with all of your drinks. Him watching you dancing out of the corner of his eye, seeing some prat come up and grab your ass in passing. Or a group of guys dancing with your friends getting a little *too* close to you for his liking. He doesn’t do anything while the two of you are out- not wanting to ruin your fun. But that night after you’ve gotten back to his flat (He insisted. Closer to the bar. Uber was cheaper.) and he’s tearing your miniskirt off like it’s personally offended him. He’ll be a little rougher. A little more liberal with the marks his mouth leaves on your collarbones and inner thighs. His strong hands will grab at the fat of your hips a little harder than he should- leaving bruises where his fingers dug in. He’ll lean over you while you’re split open with his length, snarling down at you. “Had everyone’s attention tonight, didn’t you, pet?“ “You like havin’ eyes on you?” “Greedy fuckin’ slag.” “Can’t appreciate what you have.” “Need a reminder of who you’ve got to impress.” Maybe he’ll take you in front of a mirror, massive hand fixed on your jaw. Jerking your face up so you have to look at yourself being ruined by him. How pretty and slutty you look when your makeup is ruined by the tears he’s fucking out of you.

- He calls you ‘bird’ or ‘pet’ more often than anything else. A little on the nose for how he treats you. Like you’re some small, frail thing that can’t go a day without him. Stripped of your natural survival instincts and instead leaning on him for support and comfort and food and shelter. Just how he likes it.

GOD he’s a fucking freak. Gross and mean and fucked in the head. Makes my stomach hurt. I hate him. I wish I was schizophrenic so I could vividly hallucinate him.

[syoddeye]

kinktober - day 14 - make-up sex

ghoap x f!reader | 1k words cw: established throuple, blowjob, masturbation, brief mention of piv a/n: can you write makeup sex without mentioning what the argument was about? yes. very lightly edited, written on mobile. went off list for this. summary: making ‘em kiss. aka, playing the mediator. banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list

The heat always puts them in shitty moods.

Since you separated them after dinner, after their yelling match, they’ve sat on opposite ends of the living room, partly absorbed in their phones. But their frustrations are palpable things, simmering in the way they move and the way they avoid looking at each other. Every slight sound or movement—Johnny setting a glass down too hard, Simon sighing a little too loud—seems to deepen the divide.

It’s alien, seeing them like this when they’re usually so in sync, each functioning as an extension of the other. Wrong.

Eventually, the sun dips below the horizon, the air cools, and everything starts to feel lighter. If the temperature can break, you think, so can the tension. They just need a little guidance.

It takes some coaxing, more Simon than Johnny, but you corral them to the bedroom. Make them face each other as you undress the few layers they wore in the day. Let them talk it out in stunted, strained sentences as you help them along, knelt between them, each fist curled partway around a cock. Rogue droplets of sweat trickle down their chests to their abs and over the planes of their stomachs. Evidence that the heat is not entirely gone.

It’s Johnny who tries to puppet you toward his leaking head first, breaking the conversation to urge your mouth onto his dick with a few sweet words. You don’t fall for it.

“You want your cock sucked, MacTavish?” You bat away his hands, then give him a little scritch through his happy trail with a small smile. “Ask Simon nicely. Apologize.”

Johnny whines when you pull away and perch on the edge of the bed.

Simon stares down his nose at your other boyfriend, uncrossing his arms and rolling his wrists. He huffs like a bull through his nose, looking undecided and unimpressed when Johnny turns back with a sheepish look.

He rubs the back of his neck and grumbles. “Sorry for how I spoke to ye. Didnae mean it.”

A beat of silence passes before Simon reaches and pushes a hand over Johnny’s mohawk, his palm coming away slightly damp before he wipes it along the stubble on his cheek. It’s tender until—

“Yeah? Sure you don’t just want to get off? Use me like you always do?”

“Hey.” You correct, eyes narrowing. “Do we need to step back to talk more?”

Both men return their attention to the other, and an entire second discussion transpires without words. Neither of them seem keen to use much of them anymore, especially as Johnny grips the base of his cock, and shudders.

“Simon…”

The big man rolls his eyes skyward, raking a hand over his own face, smothering some muttered version of can’t say no to that face. When his knees hinge, and his weight starts to drop, you and Johnny both hold your breaths and do so until Simon is on his knees in front of Johnny.

“C’mere,” he grunts, grabbing Johnny by the ass cheek and hauling him closer. His mitt wraps around the cock in front of him, fingers closing without issue in a firm grip. “You’re gonna give me another apology, aren’t you?”

“Mm, f-fuck, yes,” Johnny groans, hips bucking further into Simon’s hand. “Use your mouth? Please?”

Simon doesn’t answer or comply immediately. He meets your eye first, lip tugging up when he spies you snaking a hand into your shorts. He chuckles. It’s a filthy sound. “Always gets what ‘e wants…” 

Your fingers slip inside as Simon’s mouth closes around Johnny’s cock. The latter lets out a prolonged, deep moan, cursing up a storm as his hands slide over Simon’s buzzed scalp.

It’s a sight that’ll never get old. Your boys making up in their favorite way. 

You come once around your fingers when Simon pops off Johnny’s cock to nuzzle, then suck the sensitive skin of his sac into his mouth, stretching it just enough to get the Scot to squeal. He kisses the tested skin, pumping his fist lazily along Johnny’s cock once more. 

Johnny’s a moaning, blubbering mess. The vein at his temple throbs, probably from restraint. You know he’d love to just fuck Simon’s face like this. He chokes up when he speaks. “I…I dinnae want to use ye. I’m just–what do ye want me to say–”

Simon laughs again, nuzzling the base of Johnny’s dick. “Fuckin’ rare to find you at a loss for words. Got a suggestion for our boy?” He eyes you over the length in his hand, mouthing it idly.

You pause from licking your fingertips. Looking between the men, you swallow. “Say ‘thank you’ first,  Johnny. Then apologize again.”

He nods, complying at once with a stuttering whine when one of Simon’s fingers wedges between his cheeks. 

“That’s a good boy,” Simon rumbles. “You can come any time. Use me, Johnny.”

You tense up and find yourself rubbing your sensitive clit yet again. Lip caught between your teeth, you shudder as Johnny slides home into Simon’s mouth again.

This time, he fucks him. You don’t let him do it to you, afraid he’d break your nose with his speed and force—but Simon’s made of tougher stuff. Made to take Johnny in all meanings of the words. He doesn’t gag, doesn’t push. He absorbs the rough thrusts into his face with a few grunts and swallows around Johnny when he comes howling.

The room goes quiet after, save for all three of you breathing heavily.

Except, you’re still going—still chasing your own orgasm. Greedy and unashamed.

Simon pops his neck when he stands and herds Johnny closer to you. The men loom. You watch their glassy eyes sharpen in real time as they watch you touch yourself, and it’s a team effort when they join you on the bed. Simon nudges your knees open, and Johnny settles beside your head.

Johnny strokes your cheek and coos at your pinched brow before snatching your hand away from your swollen clit. He kisses your fingertips, tongue flicking out to taste.

“Yer owed an apology too, aren’t ye, hen.”

Your breath hitches as Simon’s cockhead presses in. A blissful delirium slips over your face. You beam up at him.

“We made you worry, yeah? Therrre’s a girl—We’ll make it up to ya. Give you a few big sorrys.”

Later, sandwiched between them, your sweat and other fluids cooling in the long stretch of night, you belatedly count their apologies. Dizzying.

[rememberwren]

A Girl (Not Mine) || 1

Ghost is a little obsessed with Soap and a lot obsessed with Soap's girlfriend--you.

About this: ghoap/fem!reader, suspension of disbelief regarding anything military related is actually necessary for enjoyment, canon-typical trauma for Simon, intrusive thoughts, slut shaming, voyeurism, fingering, accidentally seeing nudes not meant for you, poor writing unless you squint, try squinting. 4k

-

“I’m so glad I got a girl to think of, 

Even though she isn’t mine.”

-

The first time Johnny mentions you, the 141 is fresh from a month-long leave.

Ghost has a love-hate relationship with time spent off duty. He’d like to enjoy it—to do fuck all, to hike through Clayton Vale twice in a day if it suits him, to drink tea for every meal. But all leave does is remind him of the glaring emptiness in his life, the one he usually fills with violence. So he spent the month climbing up the walls and crawling out of his skin, waiting to be called back like a dog brought to heel. 

Here was his comeuppance for craving something to fucking do instead of relaxing the way Price had told him to do. Now they were on their way to San Lorenzo in Ecuador dealing with Ghost’s least favorite flavor of criminal: drug cartels. 

It’s too close to Mexico. Too close to that which he would forget gladly if it didn’t come with the loss of so many valuable skill sets. He’s crawling out of his skin for a whole new reason, watching the water fly by beneath them, deep in memories. 

Ghost takes all those feelings, fears, remembrances and swallows them whole. Lets them sink to a sour, dark place in his belly. He sits tense on the helo, still except for the rise and fall of his chest, his rifle a familiar weight across his knees. Sometimes he has to shut his eyes, swallowing against the rising nausea. 

He only has half an ear on Garrick and Johnny’s conversation beside him, but it is all he needs to follow along. 

“—lass of my own now,” Johnny is saying around a laugh, his accent thick enough to chafe at Ghost’s skin in a way he doesn’t want to examine, one that leaves him feeling raw but not necessarily hurt. “So no more picking up the barflies back in Hereford.”

“She making an honest man out of you, Tav?” 

“Aye, you could say that.” Johnny sounds proud of the fact. It all is so far from anything Simon has experienced in his life that he feels no distant stirring of empathy, not even a muted sense of familiarity in the words. Honest men do not exist. 

Not to mention, Simon’s never had a woman (willingly) and he never will. 

“You love her?” Garrick asks, earnestly interested to hear the answer. Ghost couldn’t care less.

“Aye. There’s something special about her.” 

“What, she’s cool with anal?”

Johnny crows with laughter, and now Ghost does feel something: annoyance, cloying, creeping up his spine like a spider in a web headed for the wiggling maggot of his brain. 

“Will you two ever shut up?” he snaps. “Not a moment’s fucking peace since we boarded.”

“Sorry LT,” Johnny says, sounding genuinely apologetic. Ghost cuts his eyes toward the other man, assessing for honesty. Johnny’s face is too expressive: brows lifted, eyes wide and earnest, mouth tipped into a tiny grimace, like the thought of irritating Ghost gives him real pain. Between the two of them, Ghost can’t help but think that it’s Johnny who needs a mask if he wants to survive in the world. 

Ghost doesn’t have the energy for this. He goes back to watching the scenery pass by. They are over trees now: thick lush jungle, the scent of which he associates with pain—plenty of which was his own. Plenty of which he caused to others. 

“What about you, LT?” Johnny asks, calling out over the sound of the helicopter blades. “Do you have a woman back home?”

Ghost lets his head turn, slow and dangerous. Johnny’s audacity never fails to surprise him. “What do you think, Johnny?”

“Honestly?” 

“Go on, then.”

“You look like if yeh’ve got a woman, she’s probably locked in yer basement.” 

(right where she’d belong.)

Garrick slaps Johnny’s thigh, his face mottled with panic. He hisses under his breath, something like, There are faster ways to die, Tav! Less painful ways, too, Ghost thinks. He fixes Johnny with a dead stare. The silence stretches, growing long and thin and dangerous, like the blade of a knife, until Johnny looks away. 

“Think less about my private life, Sergeant,” he warns him. 

“Not often you tell me to think less, LT.” 

Ghost just grunts, finished with the conversation, returning his unseeing eyes to the trees and slipping back into his own memories. 

-

That should be—well, not the end of it. He expects Johnny to become insufferable about it; that’s just the other man’s way. Still, Ghost had never expected to see you. 

He’s doing paperwork in the rec room, too stifled by the tiny, enclosed space of his office to remain there. Paperwork and debriefing are always his least favorite parts of an op. Give him a gun with which to kill and he will gladly kill; give him a pen with which to write and he spends half the time thinking about burying it in his own eye. Garrick and Johnny are there nearby fucking around on their phones having finished with their easy portion of the work ages ago. 

A phone is what Johnny thrusts beneath Ghost’s nose. It takes all of his mental fortitude not to flinch away from the unexpected action (or, more likely, not to rip Johnny’s arm off and beat him half to death with it). His eyes flicker down to the screen on instinct and—there you are. 

You have one eye squinted shut, your hand up to create a visor against the overbearing sun. The picture shows you from the bust upwards, and Simon sees it for approximately one full second before he grips Johnny’s wrist in a brutal hold and forces the hand and the phone away. 

It’s already too late. He’s committed you to memory. The way your hair sits, its color in the blistering sun. The curve of your lips (fuckable, he thinks against his will) as you give Johnny behind the camera an exasperated smile. The arch of your nose (images now—fingers pinching noses shut, forcing mouths further down his cock just to watch them choke and struggle)—

“Get that out of my face,” he grits out through his teeth. His thoughts won’t stop, not now that the floodgates have been opened, and it makes him feel like a dog backed into a corner, frightened-violence rising up in the back of his throat like bile. 

—the smooth line of your throat (and his hands around it, choking the light from your eyes just to fuck you when you’re soft and pliable and he doesn’t have to listen to you crying and begging)—shut UP!—

“It’s just my girl, sir,” Johnny laughs, his own eyes flickering back down to your image on the phone, like they are drawn to you. Like it is hard to look away. Ghost doesn’t have that problem—he has some  discipline left. “And it’s not as if she’s naked.” 

Ghost grips the pen in his hand so tightly that the plastic shell cracks. He’s barely keeping it together, sick and afraid and horrified and angry that Johnny has done this to him—has done this to his own girl—

His voice is rough when he croaks out: “What makes you think I care to see her, Sergeant?” 

“‘S it wrong to share the most important person in my life with the other most important people in my life?” Johnny says, eyes too guileless to be taken seriously. 

“Share less,” he snaps. 

“Been saying that to me an awful lot lately, sir.” 

“A good Sergeant would take my words to heart.” 

“A good lieutenant would know a futile lesson when it’s biting him in the arse.”

Ghost’s eyes narrow. “Careful, Johnny. As much as I hate paperwork, I’d write you up—gladly.” 

Johnny gapes. “What for?”

Ghost grins without mirth, mask stretching around his features. Even grinning cruelly like this, his face feels unused to any expression that is adjacent to happiness. He swears darkly: “I’ll find a reason.”

It would send anyone else running. Even Garrick looks fearful, though fascinated: the same look a man wears when he’s watching a car crash in progress. But if sense were dynamite, Johnny wouldn’t have enough to blow his nose. Instead, he just flops down on the couch close enough to flutter the pages in Ghost’s lap. Close enough for their knees to brush. 

“Jesus, you’re a tadger today,” Johnny says quietly, boot knocking against Ghost’s, a touch he feels all the way up his leg. “Shove off some of that paperwork on us. What’s the use of being a lieutenant if you can’t lord it over your sergeants?”

“I’m sorry, us?” Garrick asks. 

“I don’t shirk my responsibilities, Johnny,” Ghost says coldly, gathering his papers. His elbow brushes against Johnny’s ribs, the firm, burning warmth of the other man’s body. He jerks away. He’ll take the stifling seclusion of his office, that makeshift coffin, before he subjects himself to any more of this. “You’d do well to follow my example.”

-

Ghost resolutely does not think of you. Not during quiet lazy moments on base, not during the frustration of training recruits, especially not during the eerie calm of missions. You do not cross his mind. 

His dreams are another thing altogether. 

There are the dreams where he hurts and the dreams where he is hurting, and he doesn’t know which are worse. He only knows that they are made worse by your strange presence: your body bent and being broken in by others; you, bent and being broken in by him. He wakes in cold sweats, jaw aching from gritting his teeth in his sleep. 

He hates himself for this last place where he cannot execute control: his subconscious. 

-

“Mail?” Johnny asks cheerfully at the sight of Garrick seated on the bench outside the DFAC, a stack of papers and letters laying on his lap. 

Johnny is sweaty, gray t-shirt clinging to his toned body as he (for once) keeps a companionable silence at Ghost’s side. They have been training recruits all day—work which Ghost considers far beneath his pay grade, but which he can’t refuse when ops are so slow to arrive and when he is so eager (desperate) to keep busy. Ghost lets himself sit heavily on the bench a safe distance away from Garrick, sweat cooling on his own body. 

He’s not ready to be alone yet. 

He’s allowed to do that. To want company. Of all the people on base, Garrick and Johnny (and Price) might be the most tolerable of the lot of them. During the rare moments when the pitiful piece of humanity left inside him craves companionship, this is the least painful method to mainline it. 

He ignores the lack of letters for him. There is no mail for Ghost—there never is. 

Garrick passes Johnny no less than four envelopes. Johnny’s soft smile as he flips through them speaks volumes. Ghost can guess who they’re from: his mother likely, who writes as often as she can. One of his various sisters, surely. Take your pick.  Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Johnny flip through the letters and settle on one in particular, thicker than the others, tearing it open and tugging the letter out. 

The pictures slip from the folded piece of paper and fall to the ground. 

Johnny dives to grab them, but all it does is bring Garrick’s attention to them more. Even Ghost’s interest is piqued, his dark eyes giving up pretending to watch the recruits limp back to their barracks to shower before dinner and following Johnny’s hasty movements instead, watching the hot flush that crawls up the back of his Sergeant’s neck. 

“What are those?” Garrick asks. 

“No’ a thing.” 

Garrick lights up. He practically tosses his letter to the side. “She sent you pictures?” 

“Possibly,” Johnny says smuggly, the images—old fashioned Polaroids, a nice touch—pressed to his chest. His eyes narrow at the expression on Garrick’s face. “Don’t even think about it, Gaz—!”

Garrick pounces. The two begin grappling, both of their faces split into wide grins. Johnny can only defend himself with one arm, his other protectively clutching the photographs to his bosom. They take each other to the ground and Ghost watches, half interested and half irritated, wondering who will win. 

The pictures go flying—and fate’s invisible bitch of a hand causes them to land at Ghost’s feet. Garrick and Johnny freeze.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, the same way he knows that he’s going to. Ignoring their renewed struggles on the ground as they fight to untangle themselves and stand, he leans down and reaches for the photographs.

The white of the Polaroid’s edges contrast nicely with his dark gloves as he gathers the pictures together like a deck of scattered cards. 

“LT—“

They’re relatively tame. Perhaps you knew the high risk of sending them. In one you are kneeling on a bed amongst a sea of mussed, white sheets, wearing nothing but a t-shirt that you have tugged down between your parted thighs to offer yourself some modesty. It is painful to flip to the next one, but pain calls to Ghost, lures him in. In another you’re wearing some strappy lingerie but still covered artfully by the sheets, both hands covering your eyes, a grin on your face like you are mid laugh. Did Johnny take these photos of you himself? Did a stranger? A friend? Another shows your side profile, back arched, topless, every inch of you curved and poised. 

You’re (a filthy little slut) so fucking pretty. 

“Give ‘em back, LT, please,” Johnny asks gently, like he expects Ghost to tear them to shreds. Or confiscate them. 

Ghost drops the photographs to the bench, wishing he could scrub the images of you from his mind. He shouldn’t have picked them up in the first place. It’s adding fuel to the fire of his broken brain, and he knows that he will pay for it dearly. 

Johnny is talking. “—shy, she’d just die to know you saw.”

“She’ll only know if you tell her, Johnny,” Ghost reminds him. His mouth feels numb, his brain the quiet granted by white noise, a conglomerate of screams. 

Johnny frowns. “Suppose so. You alright?” 

“Since Ghost saw—“ 

“No, Gaz.” 

Ghost watches the two of them enter the building. 

His hand burns, where he has palmed the picture of you topless. He stands and slips the Polaroid into his back pocket. It’s on the tip of his tongue to call out for Johnny and give him the picture back—he could find some excuse, and Johnny would believe him, he knows it—but he doesn’t. He makes for his room, feeling sick with himself. He isn’t hungry. Not for food. 

-

Ghost is compromised. 

The thought replays in his mind over and over again as he drives to Price’s house in Solihull. You and Johnny have crawled beneath his skin and infected him, dug your way into his DNA and are affecting everything from his decision making capabilities to his dreams. He knows that going anywhere where you both will be is a mistake, but it’s one he can’t seem to help hurdling himself toward at high speed. 

Nothing will happen, he tells himself, knuckles white against the steering wheel. He only does what he allows himself to do—no more. The others will be there at least, Garrick and Price and Johnny himself. Physical barriers between him and you. Human meat shields, if necessary. Ghost wouldn’t dare to lay a finger on you. (But who would stop him if he tried? Who could?) You are safe, he tells himself. 

He is the last to arrive, dragging his feet up the concrete steps to the two story brick historical home that Price owns. He lets himself in the way that Price told him to and can tell by the eerie silence of the house that everyone is already outside enjoying the well-landscaped yard. Already he sees the evidence of you: a purse (go through it) laid neatly on the dining room table. He sets his keys beside it but does not touch it. 

Ghost doesn’t bother trying to delay the inevitable. Every part of him wants to run, but that’s all he’s ever wanted his whole life. He’s used to it by now, used to being forced to walk toward the thing which terrified him. He squares his shoulders and slides open the patio door, slipping back out into the muggy heat of the afternoon, face mask in place, hood up.  

The landscaping is one of the best features of Price’s house. The privacy fence is tall and appealing to Ghost’s seclusive nature, the lawn neatly clipped. There is a hedgerow running along the southern edge of the fence that is meticulously maintained. Flower beds lined with bricks rest along the house full of geraniums and phlox. The patio is smooth stone with an inlaid fire pit that would be crackling if the weather were any milder. An iron-wrought table sits nearby surrounded by chairs, and seated there are Garrick, Johnny, and Price. 

You are over by the flowers, kneeling in the soft grass, picking phlox just a few shades darker than the sundress you’re wearing, the one that skims your soft thighs. Ghost’s eyes roam over you and away all before your head even turns at the sound of the door opening. 

“LT,” Johnny calls, lighting up. “You made it!” 

“Didn’t think you’d show, Lieutenant,” Garrick says with a smile. 

“As if he’s got something better to be doing than spending time with us,” Johnny crows. 

“Jesus, will you two leave the man alone? Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already regretting coming,” Price says. Ghost inclines his head, grateful for the backup. 

He hears your approach, the soft sound of your flats against the patio stone. You are small (weak) compared to him, craning your head up to look in his eyes. He hates the dark part of his brain that calls you easy prey as he watches you twist the phlox stems between anxious fingers. 

“You must be Simon—” Johnny shakes his head a little, subtle, visible only out of the corner of Ghost’s eye. “—ah—Ghost? I mean—” 

“I don’t care what you call me,” he admits.

“Ghost,” you settle where it is nice and safe. “It’s nice to meet you. John talks about you all the time.”

“Likewise,” Ghost says flatly, hoping you will not mistake it for a compliment. 

Garrick snorts. “Never shuts up about you is more likely.”

There aren’t enough chairs for everyone, so you sit on Johnny’s lap, legs crossed demurely, skirt riding up around your upper thighs. He wonders about the softness of your skin, wonders if his calloused touch would hurt you or if you’re used to Johnny’s by now. He could make it hurt. The thought doesn’t come with any zing of pleasure, just the cold apathy of fact. Has Johnny ever tried that? Has he ever—

Ghost’s gloved hand clenches into a fist, curling around the iron armrest of the chair. He takes a measured breath and holds it until his lungs ache. Those thoughts aren’t his own. They come from the dark part that Roba seeded inside him, that part with creeping vines too deep to root out. That part with thorns. 

He could hurt you, the same way he could hurt anyone, he tells himself. But he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to. 

He does only what he allows himself to do. No more. No less. 

You and Johnny stand, heading into the house to retrieve a round of drinks for everyone. Ghost watches Johnny’s hand dip low on your back to the curve of your ass as he guides you through the open door, shutting it behind you. 

“Are you alright, Simon?” Price asks around a cigar. “I know meeting new people isn’t exactly in your repertoire.”

“Don’t mother me.”

“Don’t have to be your mother to care about you.”

“Garrick—get lost,” Ghost barks. 

The iron chair legs screech against the stone of the patio as Garrick stands hastily. “Had the same thought, sir. Hedges look lovely this time of year.”

When Garrick is properly out of earshot, pretending to find amusement in the neat hedgerows along the fence line, Ghost says: “I shouldn’t have come. I’m… I— can’t be left alone with her.” 

“With—? Soap’s gal?”

Ghost grits his teeth in shame and nods. 

“Do you know her?” 

Ghost shakes his head in the negative, but it’s not necessarily true. He knows a thousand women just like her, soft and unexpecting. The betrayal always cuts deeper than his cock could reach (estoy preso, somos lo mismo, por favor).

He stands, chair legs dragging against the stone. “This was a mistake. I need to leave.” 

“If you say so,” says Price, knowing better than to argue. “Go around the side. You won’t even have to see them.” 

“My keys are inside. I’ll be quick.” 

“Take care of yourself, Simon,” says Price, his eyes dark and lips downturned as he watches Ghost stalk to the patio door and slip inside. 

-

He braces himself to see you and Johnny in the kitchen, but when the door slides open near-silent, neither of you are anywhere to be seen. Like a fool, he considers himself lucky. Quiet as his namesake, Ghost goes to the table and picks up his keys, palming them. 

That’s when he hears it. The unmistakable muted slap of flesh on flesh. 

(Go look.)

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, but that is his modus operandi these days: failing himself, doing what he isn’t meant to, seeing what is not for his eyes. His feet carry him silently to the door, which is cracked open just wide enough for him to see through into the room. It is a guest bedroom judging by the bland decor, the queen sized bed. Johnny has you sprawled on it, your sundress hitched up around your waist, his fingers buried to the final knuckle inside your cunt. Ghost can hear the way it squelches from all the way outside the door, knows that you must be dripping down Johnny’s wrist. 

“Keep quiet, love,” Johnny pants, one hand over your mouth (he’s not doing it right) to muffle the whines and groans trying to slip past your lips. “Needy little thing, aren’t yeh? Squirming in my lap, making my cock hard right there in front of my Captain, in front of my Lieutenant—“

You whine something back, but it is lost into his palm. 

“Don’t have time to get my cock in you,” Johnny sighs, twisting his fingers inside you, hooking them to press against that tender spot past your pubic bone that has your knees knocking together. He shifts his palm down to grip your neck, your panting breaths filling the room. “But you can bet this dress is coming off as soon as we’re home, do y’hear me?”

“Yessir,” you whisper, and it has Ghost’s cock throbbing. 

This is not for him. He thinks about Johnny’s words from months ago: that you are shy. There’s no chance you would ever want to be seen like this by him. Reaching out, he grips the doorknob and quietly tugs the door closed, til the sound of Johnny’s palm slapping against your clit is muffled behind the wood. 

He takes his keys and is gone before you ever know he was there. 

-

Johnny texts him later that night: 

Why’d you leave early, you numpty? We wanted more time with you. 

Ghost doesn’t respond. He’s too busy spiraling in his own flat, losing control every few minutes and slipping back into that place of pain and blood and dirt. 

An hour later, Johnny ends up adding, My girl wants me to say she was glad she got to meet you. Only Jesus knows why! Ghost definitely doesn’t respond to that. But he doesn’t delete the messages either.

[bi-writes]

simon "ghost" riley ⏤ b's masterlist

(18+) — nsfw/sexual content included red — includes dark themes + content, detailed warnings (usually) provided strikethrough — active work in progress ⭐️ — personal favorite

if you would like to know when i post something new, please turn on notifications for @bi-has-written.

one-shots

the lamb experiment — 18+ the 141 are not known for their pliancy. in an effort to take back control, they send a lamb to slaughter.

mercenary!reader x ex-husband!simon — 18+ because there's nothing hotter than being covered in blood and debating whether or not to kill him or fuck him.

the arrangement — arranged-husband!ghost — 18+ ⭐️ what you want you cannot find. so you let someone else find it for you. the prequel why do you want forever? happily ever after you knew your other half would anything for you. anything.

johnny's a package deal — ghoap x reader — 18+ thinking about crushing on johnny and not realizing you needed permission to approach him. are we friends? you don't think ghost likes you very much.

slasher!ghost — 18+ being the final girl in ghost's slasher movie

a hand for a hand — knight!arranged-husband!ghost — 18+ in the year of our lord 1657, your king wields a weapon that cannot be reproduced. as your queen's lady-in-waiting, you steer clear of it, lest it cut you when it passes by. but duty and desire are rarely met in a man's world.

attached — zombie apocalypse au — 18+ as long as you are not dead, neither am i.

WIPs

the horror of the inevitable — soulmate!ghost — 18+

the anatomy of us — alpha!ghost x omega!reader — 18+

collections

bestfriend!roommate!simon — 18+ (hiatus) a collection of stories about lieutenant simon "ghost" riley and his childhood best friend who he is really, totally not even a little in love with.

mercenary!ghost — 18+ ⭐️ a collection of stories about ex-lieutenant simon "ghost" riley and the pretty little thing he traps in his cage.

the time rot collection — 18+ (hiatus) a collection of stories that asks what happens when your worst nightmare manifests in every timeline that you exist.

simon's mail-order bride — 18+

simon thoughts collection (18+ tag, one-shots and drabbles, a lot of my content lives here)

please do not copy and paste any of my work on another site. reblogs are appreciated and definitely desired.

i do not support a taglist.

i do take requests but can't always promise answering. they are always welcome in my inbox.

please assume all dividers are by @saradika-graphics

back to complete masterlist

[codfishing]

Pairings: ghoap x single mom!reader

TW: just a fluffy meet-cute on Halloween

You were starting to lose hope as you tried to find a neighborhood that actually participated in Halloween; it was your favorite holiday and you wanted to make sure your kiddo’s first trick-or-treating experience was a good one.

But you found a bustling neighborhood and your spirits lifted as you parked your car along the edge, happily unbuckling your daughter and making your way into the neighborhood.

Your daughter was fascinated by everything, and was surprisingly unfazed by the decorations, including the scarier ones, and she was especially interested in the costumes of the people milling about the neighborhood.

She was especially interested in the man dressed as a skeleton sitting at the end of his driveway with another man whom you assumed was his husband dressed in a kilt.

You waited at the edge of the driveway and told your daughter what to say, and she immediately went up to the man in the skeleton costume, staring up at him silently as they both cooed over her Belle dress.

After a few moments you nervously called out, “Baby, it’s rude to stare. What do we say?”

“Thank you!” She said loudly, prompting another laugh from the two men and you take a couple steps forward, smiling.

“No no, sweetie, say ‘trick or treat’,” You corrected gently, smiling more as she held out her kitty cat bucket and repeated the words.

“It’s alright,” The man in the kilt said with a Scottish accent (you honestly were less surprised by the accent than you were the mohawk) as he grinned up at you.

He eyed you up and down as your daughter was preoccupied with running her fingers over his partner’s skeleton gloves, and the Scot asked, “No costume?”

You laughed nervously. “Didn’t have time to put one together. It’s not for lack of want, I promise.”

He hummed and smiled again, reaching out a hand. “I’m Soap, and this is my husband, Ghost.”

You took his hand and shook it as you introduced yourself too, raising an eyebrow after pulling away. “Interesting names.”

Ghost looked up then, shooting a playful glare at his husband before looking up at you. “He means Johnny and Simon.”

You laughed at that and you could see Simon’s cheeks lift under his balaclava adorned with a half-skull before he went back to having a small conversation with your daughter, making your heart flutter slightly.

“Want a treat too?” Johnny asked then with a grin. “We’ve got jell-o shots for the parents.”

“Ooh,” You sounded before hesitating. “Sure, one won’t hurt.”

Johnny stood up then and disappeared into the dark entryway of their house, reappearing moments later with two of the small containers. He handed one to you and you were about to tuck it away into your sweatshirt pocket when he scoffed playfully.

“Come on, bonnie,” He said, nodding towards you with a grin. “You don’t wanna be walking around with that all night, do you? Take it with me.”

With a sigh, you smiled and opened the shot, tapping the plastic container against his when he reached out and downing the jell-o shot while trying to ignore his tongue releasing the lime green jell-o from the plastic, though it was hard to as he kept his eyes on you while he did it.

You could feel your cheeks flushing slightly and were grateful for the darkness shrouding your pink face, handing the empty cup back to him when he offered.

“That’s a girl,” He praised, leaving you more flustered.

Another group of costumed kids came up and you immediately remembered where you were, crouching down next to your daughter.

“Come on, sweetie; there’s other kids who want a turn,” You said gently, reluctantly pulling her away from Simon with an apologetic smile.

Their eyes lingered on you as you bade them goodbye with a wave that they both returned, their smiles widening as your daughter waved as well and loudly said goodbye.

The short interaction lingered in the back of your mind as you walked through the neighborhood, making the rounds and ending up on the other side of the street after a while.

As you walked along towards the next house, you heard, “Oi, bonnie!”

Looking up, you realized you were across the street from Simon and Johnny’s house again, and Johnny was waving at you.

“Want another one?” He called out, his wide grin nearly glowing in the dark.

Your decision was made for you as your daughter pulled you towards the street, pointing towards them.

“‘S Simon!” She exclaimed excitedly and your heart melted, causing you to lead her across the street towards them. Though admittedly you weren’t complaining in the slightest by being around the two men again.

The large man crouched down, his smile obvious despite the mask hiding it. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Johnny moved to stand next to you after you paused, nudging another jell-o shot into your hand.

“Thanks,” You smiled before adding, “This is the last one though; I have to drive us back home.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You don’t live ‘round here?”

Shaking your head, you sighed and looked down at your daughter who was happily showing Simon the treats she had gotten so far.

“We don’t get trick-or-treaters at our apartment,” You explained, looking back up at Johnny. “And since it’s her first year, I wanted to make sure she had fun.”

Johnny blinked before grinning. “Well, let’s make it fun, eh?”

He moved to set down the large bucket of candy he had been holding and you stared in shock. “What?”

Straightening up, Johnny nudged Simon’s shoulder before looking back at you.

“Come on, there’s a street two blocks over that’s got more people,” Johnny explained as Simon stood up as well. “We’ll show you.”

Your brain put two and two together and you started stumbling over your words. “Oh, you don’t need to do that! I’m sure we can find it and I don’t want to be a burden—“

“Nonsense,” Simon said then, leaning down to pick up your daughter when she reached out her arms to him, surprising you since you were usually the only one she let pick her up. “If it’s the little one’s first time, we want it to be as fun as possible for her.”

You looked between the two men, but again your daughter decided for you as she started babbling to Simon, who turned his attention to her and started walking off holding her tiny hand in his.

Johnny grinned down at you and nudged you again, leading you after Simon who was happily carrying her as if he hadn’t just met her twenty minutes before.

As you walked through the neighborhood, you learned that both Simon and Johnny were in the military, and that they had actually returned from a mission earlier that day (“Just in time for Halloween but not enough time to really do costumes,” Johnny explained somewhat sheepishly).

You ended up telling them about your divorce (Simon showed he was still listening to the conversation by adding comments here and there despite your daughter monopolizing his attention as she led him up to houses with her as you and Johnny waited at the end of the driveways), and how it was just the two of you now since your ex-husband decided he wanted nothing to do with your daughter. Neither of the men said anything on that but you saw the look they shared of anger and something else that you couldn’t quite discern in the darkness.

Halfway down the new street, your daughter decided it was Johnny’s turn to help her and she reached out for him instead, and you had to suppress a giggle at Simon’s jealous huff as he handed your little girl over to the beaming Scotsman.

As Johnny and your daughter started walking, Simon fell in step with you. You found that he was much quieter than Johnny but was still a great conversationalist, slipping in puns and horribly funny dad jokes when he could. He told you about how he and Johnny met in their unit, and told you about their teammates while you listened intently. He listened just as intently as you talked about your own job, asking questions here and there that showed he was actually interested in your writing career, which made your heart flutter again.

“You know,” You started after a not-uncomfortable lull in conversation as you both watched Johnny chase your daughter through a yard. “For a man who likes dad jokes, you missed the perfect opportunity for your costume with your callsign being ‘Ghost’.”

Simon blinked before his mask lifted as he smiled again. “I figured that would be too obvious.”

“Well next year I expect the right costume,” You teased, nudging him playfully.

“Oh yeah? Next year I expect any costume from you,” Simon teased back, giving you an obvious look up and down.

“Yeah yeah,” You laughed, waving him off as he chuckled next to you.

Johnny had managed to wrangle your giggling daughter and carried her back towards you two, breathing hard from having to chase her.

“Bloody hell, I thought I was in shape until I had to chase a toddler,” He huffed, causing you to laugh hard.

You noticed your daughter starting to whine and after checking your phone, you realized it was definitely past her bedtime and you felt guilty for getting lost in conversation with them.

“Alright, I think it’s time to call it a night,” You announced reluctantly, turning back slightly in the direction of your car. “I need to get her home before she falls asleep on your shoulder.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Johnny waved you off with a grin. “I don’t mind one bit.”

You smiled at that as they both followed you and you looked back at them, smiling fondly.

“I really do appreciate you two helping her out tonight,” I said gratefully. “I feel a little bad though about intruding on your night.”

“It’s fine, lovie,” Simon spoke up in a warm voice. “Couldn’t have asked for two better intruders.”

You couldn’t help but laugh slightly, still feeling a little guilty for highjacking their night. Your daughter was passed out on Johnny’s shoulder by the time you reached the car and he handed her off to you before stepping back with Simon.

As you buckled her into her carseat, you could hear Simon and Johnny conversing quietly behind you but you couldn’t catch any of what they were saying.

By the time you straightened up and closed the door, it was just Simon standing there and he chuckled at your questioning look.

“Johnny ran up to the house real quick,” He explained. “He’ll be back shortly.”

“Got it,” You said before smiling. “Thanks again, Simon. It was really wonderful meeting the two of you.”

He smiled under his mask and pulled you into a tight hug much to your surprise, but you returned it with a contented noise and briefly wondered if it would be weird to say you wanted to hang out with them again.

As he finally released the hug, Johnny jogged back up to you two and shoved something into your hand.

“Another treat for when you get home,” Johnny said with a wink before pulling you into a tight hug as well. “Drive safe, lass.”

You nodded and the three of you said your goodbyes before you got into your car, trying to not wake your daughter as you turned it on and started driving away.

It wasn’t until you were at the first stoplight that you looked at the ‘treat’ Johnny had given you, pausing when you realized there was a piece of paper taped to the top of the jell-o shot, and you opened it curiously.

The car behind you had to honk to get you out of your frozen state as you stared down at the note.

We hope to see you and the little one again soon, bonnie; call us when you want to be taken out for dinner—the new stepdads

[stoutguts]

Ghoap 💀🧼 relationship dynamic HC (shall we?)

Simon "Ghost" Riley is no scaredy-cat.

The man has been through hell on Earth, survived torture, abuse,—and being buried alive for fuck’s sake. They managed,—even after everyone he loved was taken from him. Has been through countless tense and anxiety inducing situations throughout their military career.

But Ghost has nerves of steel, excellent control over his emotions, and naturally that’s why it’s so damn good at its job.

Though…there is one thing that scares the shit out of them. Soap.

Simon thought he was all big and bad,—intimidating,—until he met John “Soap” MacTavish.

Johnny is only around half its size, yet he manages to be even scarier than Ghost somehow. Which is wild, considering one of them looks like the damn grim reaper with that skull mask of theirs.

Simon may have a reputation for “the guy you don’t wanna mess with”, to the point where people won’t even bother with them.—But Soap’s got more than a few screws loose himself.

New recruits and others will at least approach him,—but with serious caution, and are careful to watch their mouths around him.

His anger is explosive, fitting, for a demolitions expert. A total loose cannon when he wants to to be. Some recruits even refer to him as “the psycho Scot” or "Ghost's guard dog". Titles he takes to with pride.

Johnny’s known for putting people in their place, and with every fight he’s ever gotten into,—he’s always won. Often sending his opponents to medical.

Most of the time though, he just has to look at someone and it scares them shitless. He’s mastered his death glare, and it even sends shivers up Ghost’s spine.

The man’s a total gym rat and health nut, nothing but muscle, and he trains the most of anyone Simon has ever seen. Works out constantly, and loves to get his body moving. He can never simply sit still, and being active actually helps him to clear his head and blow off steam. Always keeping track of his calories, weighing out his portions, and whatnot,—with a pescatarian and vegetarian lifestyle. He’s also a nature lover and tree hugger,—loves to go on hikes or go camping in his spare time. He’s naturally a reigning champ when it comes to hand to hand combat, and is a highly skilled fighter, in fact, he specializes in it. He’s capable of taking out tangos with nothing but his fists alone. He even beats Simon to a pulp on the sparring mats most of the time. (Ghost may like him beating the snot out of him more than they than would like to admit…)

Soap is used for interrogations, (as he also just so happens to be an interrogation expert). He’s morally bankrupt just enough,—to where he’ll do just about anything to get answers out of someone. Whether it involves violence or not.

Simon has seen the sheer extent of the injuries sustained by the poor bastards that were stupid enough to challenge him, that pissed him off, or that he’s extracted information out of—and that was enough for Ghost.

He recalls that one time he directly witnessed Johnny, feigning calmness, take a recruit’s hand in his, then proceed to snap the guy’s thumb clean in half in one fluid motion. (The recruit had decided to wolf whistle at him when he was walking over to Ghost,—after their duties had wrapped up regarding training the newbies).

Simon is a smart man, and knows when to pick his battles. Soap being the battle he most certainly knows NOT to pick.

Although Johnny is more lenient with Ghost than other people, and lets them get away more,—Simon’ll be damned if it ends up on the receiving end of Soap’s wrath.

I really like the idea of Soap being the dominating one in the relationship, but Ghost not being entirely submissive either.

Like Simon can and will be the one to put him in HIS place, and snap him back to reality. Though still allows him his fun.

While Johnny relies on Ghost to let him know when he’s “too much” or taking things too far,—allows himself to be muzzled. Making a point to let Simon have the control, at least every now and then. Of course, while challenging Ghost’s authority a healthy amount and protesting the whole time.

Both try to be as respectful as possible of the other’s needs and desires, while also "maintaining their roles". But both are effectively switches, whether it's in the bedroom or not, and mainly put up this dom and sub act for other people and for their own amusement. They have no fixed roles, truly.

SOAP BEING JUST AS MENTALLY FUCKED AS GHOST MY BELOVED

thanks for coming to my Ted talk

(Also, the tidbit about Soap snapping a recruit’s thumb in half is actually based on a family member of mine’s story. Basically, my older sister had this guy pour water down the back of her shirt in high school, and in response, she straight up broke his thumb/snapped it in half lmao).

[s0fter-sin]

punk!soap metalhead!ghost brain blast!!!

ghost trying so hard to get soap out of the bad parts of the scene bc he's starting to get pulled in by the shadows, a group of wannabe anarchists that stand for nothing except themselves, but soap loses his shit; laying into ghost for daring to try and "save" him

no one's ever been there for him when he needed them; no one ever offered him support or a soft place to land, why the hell would he want ghost's help when he's perfectly fine on his own? (when he’s always had to be?)

"you think i can't make my own decisions? well fuck you, ghost, who needs a washed up piece o’ shite like you!"

he doesn’t talk to ghost for days, doesn’t let himself acknowledge the hole he’s left behind until he's getting pissed with the shadows one night in an abandoned house and graves starts waving around the gun he snuck through customs and it accidentally goes off, grazing soap's temple

he's never heard anything so loud, even at all the shows he’s attended and there’s so much blood; it's getting in his eyes, running down his neck and soaking into his clothes and he’s frozen. graves and all his shadows bolt after hearing the gunshot, worried about cops finding them and they leave him there; staring at the growing puddle at his feet

soap's panicking; half-blind, blistering pain lighting up his head and he can't think about anything beyond how much he wants ghost

ghost's been sulking at his flat since soap blew him off; pissed at soap for going off on him when he just wants to help but still worried about the punk. he doesn’t want him going down the same road as him; doesn’t want him to repeat his mistakes when he could save himself so much suffering and he almost doesn't answer his phone when it buzzes on the couch

he lets out a ragged sigh as he picks it up; raking a hand over his shaved head when he sees the bubble emoji and contemplates letting it ring out. contemplates answering with a growl; something a younger, crueler version of him would spit. in the end, he decides on silence and puts the phone to his ear just before it can stop ringing

he almost breaks it when he hears soap choke out, "i've been shot."

he's out the door in a heartbeat, running down the stairs because the lift is too slow; trying to get more information out of him but he can't get anything out beyond a repeated, "i've been shot."

he breaks every law there is as he speeds to soap's location; visions of his cold, bloodless corpse staining his mind's eye. the only thing keeping him calm are the strangled breaths from the other end of the line; he's not dead, he can work with not dead, this isn't tommy, soap won't end up like tommy-

ghost screeches to a halt outside a random alley and throws himself from the car when he sees soap collapsed against a garbage bin. he's covered in blood, soaked, just like that night, it's everywhere and he's not moving, he's not moving-

“johnny!”

he skids to his knees and fits his hand under his chin to check his pulse… but his heart beats strong under his fingertips and soap's eyes flutter open; flooded with blood but conscious and alive

the second he registers ghost in front of him, he’s reaching out for him; babbling apologies over and over, "you were right, i'm sorry ghost, i should've listened; i'm sorry, i'm so sorry."

ghost just gently hushes him, cupping his face heedless of the blood. "that doesn't matter now, johnny. we're gonna get you all fixed up, yeah?"

soap’s hands fist in his shirt, clinging to him. "i got shot, ghost," he says again; lost and smaller than he's ever heard from his punk and it's been years since he's felt this kind of rage but he doesn't let a drop of it touch his voice

“i know, lad. i know. gonna let me take a look at it? make it right?"

soap finally nods, his stuttering apologies coming to a halt and ghost runs back to his car to get a towel. he presses it to soap's skin, trying to soak up as much as he can so he can get a proper look; cooing assurances as soap absently hisses in pain the closer he gets to it

it's only a graze and something in his chest unravels; old fears and grief settling as the shallow wound continues to gush into the towel

ghost slumps, pressing his forehead into the top of soap's head and takes a second to just breathe. “‘s’alright, johnny; it’s not even that bad, not even that bad,” he promises, low; spoken more to himself than soap

his hand starts to grow damp and he forces himself to his feet, gathering up soap and getting him into his car. he puts the towel in his hand and presses it against the wound, trying to coax him through his shock to put pressure on it so he can drive

soap curls up in the passenger seat; eyes distant, seeing nothing and ghost has to tighten his grip on the steering wheel so he doesn't turn around

soap is the priority

he has to get him home; has to get him cleaned up and safe

then he can go hunting for the gutless shadow that hurt his punk

[shotmrmiller]

kinktober: gunplay (ghoap x reader) cw: the tiniest of dub-con if you squint 1.8k of this foolishness and im pretty sure i lost the plot somewhere but in my defense, guns don't interest me

When you wake, you notice that Ghost isn’t in the tent. His bedroll neatly rolled up and put away in its usual spot and by the looks of things, he's been gone for quite some time. You sit up, the morning light filtering through the tent's fabric— the soft, diffused glow creating gentle shadows on the ground.

Outside, the air is crisp and sweet, dew still fresh on the grass, damp beneath your bare feet. Soap's lone mare is tied to the hitching post, tail flicking lazily as she eats off the hay net.

The campsite is quiet except for the chirping of birds and Soap's deep, growling snores coming from behind you. Ghost isn't here. Ghost isn't here. The thought bounces around in your skull, heart loud in your ears as the realization begins to sink in.

You could get away, slip away unnoticed from these two who've kept you as their reluctant companion since they wrangled you up in a rowdy saloon a couple of towns back with your hand deep in someone else's pocket. "Behave and we won't give ya up for the meager bounty yer worth." Or worse. The three of you knew no one would miss you, no family or friends to claim the body if you ended up face down on a riverbank.

It’s now or never. Freedom stands in front of you in a glossy, white coat and a braided mane, but being Soap’s horse, even approaching her will be a gamble. You'll just have to risk getting bucked off and trampled on.

When you go back inside to gather the few belongings you've got, you spot Soap's gun belt in all its worn leather glory lying in a tangled heap in the corner, revolvers still snug in their holsters. He must've gotten in late from town, the reward for the bounty he turned in last night traded in for hooch.

A mistake. His costly mistake. And a chance to ride his mare relatively unharmed. Your fingers tremble as they wrap around the handle, the ingrained symbol digging into your palm as you tighten your grip. You may not be a gunslinger with the fastest draw in the West, but you do know what end to point at someone.

But Soap's a bounty hunter and a damn good one. His reflexes are fast— faster than they should be with his dense, muscular build.  You've seen him close gaps with an unnatural speed that’s left even the toughest men reeling. He's a relentless force of pursuit when he wants to be and keeping him at a distance is a losing game, especially when you've no prior experience using a gun. Your only option is to corner him, limit his options. Every man bends the knee to power, and right now, you've got it in your clammy hand.

You straddle him, knees planted firmly on either side of his lower ribs, and press the barrel onto the left side of his jaw. Incredible, not even a hitch in his breathing, as if you're not sitting on him with your full weight. Fisting the front of his union shirt, you tug, the sharp, sudden sting of his chest hair being pulled taut waking him out of his deep sleep.

His bleary eyes snap open, blinking away any traces of sleep within moments, the new day's light catching the edges of his irises, making them gleam with an almost otherworldly brightness as they sweep the tent for any real danger.

Your breathing turns ragged once they land on you, satisfied, a wolfish grin tugging at the corner of his lips, revealing a hint of teeth. Dread claws at your gut, your nerves rattled, but you meet his gaze head-on. There is no room for hesitation, for doubt, not when the man you've got pinned with his own weapon is more touched in the head than Ghost is.

"I ken I'm handsome but all ye ‘ad t'do was ask, hen. I'm achin' fer the hair o' the hound if ye got any, though." His tone gives away nothing, his body completely lax. Even the rise and fall of his chest is steady, slow. You know better than to believe he isn't waiting on you to make the next move to retaliate, so you don't move. Neither of you do.

"You'll take me to town and you'll leave me there. Compared to the other folk you rope up and dump at the Sheriff's feet, I'm worth nothing." You'll make yourself scarce, move to a different state, maybe. A new life, a decent one. Honest work.

His smile widens, the puckered scar on his chin stretching. "Didnae think to take my girl? She's righ' there, saddle 'n all." Soap must think you daft.

"I want to disappear without drawing a target on my head large enough for you to see from across state lines." He would've hunted you down for sport, at that point. Soap blinks once, thrice, and then you have a solid weight pushing on your back, sudden and unexpected, forcing your upper body forward, your shoulders hunching in reflex.

The very familiar scent of earth and mildly ripe sweat sends a shiver licking up your spine, locking every notch firmly into place. Why you hadn't heard him arrive at camp or open the flaps to the tent is now irrelevant. Ghost is here now and you've nowhere to run, definitely not with Soap grabbing onto the soft of your waist, tethers made of human flesh and bone.

The weathered leather of his glove feels unexpectedly soft as his fingers curl around your trembling hand. "If you're gonna threaten ‘im, ya gotta do it proper," he mutters, breath warm against the shell of your ear. His voice is a low, rolling rumble, the kind he takes when calming his panicked horse.

"Easy now, settle down, loosen your arm a little." It does nothing to soothe you, Ghost looming larger than the gun in your grip, making it feel almost insignificant— a mere prop in the face of his overwhelming presence and the voice in your head screams at you to bare your neck, submit, and hope he goes for your jugular quickly, death seemingly a better choice than whatever game he’s making you play. "Open up, Johnny."

He does so readily, a transparent string of saliva stretching between his top and bottom teeth. Ghost's denim-clad thighs bracket yours as he settles comfortably behind you, his barrel chest engulfing the entirety of your back with space to spare.

Soap lies there with his tongue out like a dog on a hot, summer's day, mouth open wide enough for you to see the ridges and grooves of his molars. Ghost forcibly moves your hand, metal scraping against Soap's stubble with a coarse, gritty sound.

“Lie still Johnny, ya hear?” his pointer finger hovering over the trigger. The lump that’s risen to your throat makes breathing hard, each swallow a struggle. You never intended to fire a shot, just hoped the threat of life and death would be enough to make things go your way. 

“W-wait,” you gurgle out but Ghost’s hand only tightens around yours. 

“Can’t get cold feet now, sweet’eart, not when Soap’s southern blood is pumpin’ ‘cause a you.” His-? You take notice of it then, the rigid swelling between your legs, pushing up into your center. As if to drive the point home, Soap bucks his hips while pulling you down, making the inseam of your pants brush against your pearl. 

“Oh-,” he does it again, and again, the leaden lump of dread that had once anchored itself in your belly begins to melt away, becoming an insistent ache that quickens your heartbeat and warms your veins, a mellow heat radiating from your core outward.

And then two things happen at once. 

Soap takes the pistol’s barrel into his mouth, slightly pursing his lips as he creates a seal around it, and his cheeks gently hollow as he bobs his head forward and back, and Ghost slowly weaves his unoccupied hand south, under your jeans and underwear, the roughened tips of his fingers quickly finding what you’ve been forced to neglect for months. 

Soap grunts, a gravelly resonant sound— rich and full— when you dig your nails into the meat of his chest as Ghost jerks erratic little circles on your puffy clit, sending shockwaves through your stomach, each wave headier than the last. 

“Can’t let ‘im ‘ave all the fun, eh?” The pressure on your waist is enough to ache, your flesh already throbbing beneath Soap’s hands, and the closer you get to the precipice, the harder they squeeze. 

Metal clacks against tooth every time your body tenses, muscles constrict, unable to keep your arm steady even with Ghost’s iron grip over your own. Soap’s a slobbering mess, spit dribbling down his chin, pistol glossy with it as he sucks on it as if it were a man’s cock instead.

(Maybe he wants it to be.) 

A couple of hiccups claw up your throat as the sticky, wet sounds of Soap’s mouth get drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears as you teeter on the sharpened edge, Ghost’s pace on you turning frantic, almost violent, and—

“Keep those pretty eyes on Johnny, he’s been dreamin’ of lookin’ at ya in the face while you come.”

Ghost tossing the gun aside, metal skidding across the floor, and you’re coming apart with Soap’s tongue in your mouth, swallowing your every gasp and moan.

It tastes like the lubricant he uses to clean his gun. Metallic. Tangy. Slightly acrid.

You’re barely able to draw in a breath when Ghost is already tugging your pants off, waistband coming to settle snugly right below your arse, exposing only what he needs, a couple of fingers gliding along your folds, curling right at your entrance.

But he doesn’t do what you expect; for him to sink into cunt, fill it to the brim, distended until you’ve got tears clumping your eyelashes and blood on your tongue. 

(It’s been a very long time since you’ve last laid with a man, and not one has ever been as big as he in stature.)

Instead, he takes Soap’s bare length in one giant paw, using your creamy slick for better friction, and ruts his own heavy cock against it until they’re both spurting the warm spend Ghost crams into your needy hole with two fingers.

“‘M not fuckin’ you, not after your stupid little stunt,” he says as if he’s talking about the weather, and you’re not sure if laughing will stop the hysterical sob about to slither past your trembling lips. 

Soap stares up at you with a heavy-lidded gaze, content, satiated unlike you, and pinches your cheek with his fingers. “Next time ye want tae threaten a person—,” his voice peters off, and you can feel Ghost wiping his hand on the back of your shirt before reaching for Soap’s pistol and pressing a button, the cylinder dropping open.

Empty. Every single chamber is hollow, like the empty sockets of a honeycomb. “Make sure it’s loaded, sweet’eart.”

Un. fucking. Believable.

[peachesofteal]

ghoap x reader / 18+ mdni / dark themes / masterlist

It’s the sundress. 

The way it flows off your hips, your body moving beneath it, skin glowing just under the hem. You're lucent in it, radiant in a way he's never seen, brilliance so stunning it catches his breath. You’re a perfect peach, juicy and ripe, plump and sumptuous, skin so soft he’d only need a nip to tear into it, the barest bruise of pressure allowing him to drink his fill of precious honeyed nectar. 

There are dozens of people in the café, but he only sees you, can’t tear his gaze away, sick with the heavy tug in his heart, drawing him closer and closer, fingers tense around the flimsy paper cup. He stares, openly, even after Simon clears his throat, scuffs his foot against the sidewalk, says his name. 

Johnny has no patience for a kill, or a meal. He likes to rip into fresh things, soak his maw and stretch his jaw around them, swallow them whole if he can.

Swallow you whole, if he can.

A bead of sweat collects at the back of your neck, and he traces its path between your shoulder blades and below, mouth watering at the singular thought of a taste. 

His tongue licking down your spine to the cleft of your arse, soft, sweet skin parted for him, face crammed between your legs, panting, pushing, desperate for more, and more, and- 

“Johnny.”  

“Pretty thing.” He barely looks at his partner, the heat simmering in his stomach curling into a snare. “Little pocket a’ sunshine.” 

“Johnny.” 

“Ye see ‘er?” Simon’s eyes dig into him, and then you, following the seam of your dress from thigh to shoulder. There’s insatiable insanity in his face, and Johnny knows- 

He sees it too. 

“I do.” 

“Ye dinnae want a taste?” 

“Not enough time.” He nods next door, where the darkness looms, waits for them expectantly. A meeting, a negotiation, a riotous push and pull. The things he’s good at, the part of his job that doesn’t include intimidating or killing or orchestrating a disturbance. 

His hands sow choreographed chaos, but in this moment, he’d rather they do something else instead. 

Pin you down. Pry your thighs wide. Bury his face in your cunt. Would you struggle? Would you cry? Would you take it like a good girl, breathy and sweet, lips shocked into a perfect O for his thumb, pad of it pressed down on your tongue, taste- 

“Better think fast.” Simon warns, jolting him from the fantasy that has his cock swelling, and when he sees you heading for the door, dreamy smile on your face, iced latte precarious in your grip, a plan roars to life. 

It’s easy, to pretend it’s an accident. Easy to act shocked and embarrassed. Easy, to feel terrible about ruining your dress. 

Your gasp is music to his ears. 

“Oh my god-“ it’s almost too much, watching the crushing realization sink in across your features, the dismay at the sight of your newly acquired caffeine fix rushing down the front of your sunflower dotted dress. 

They’ll buy you a new one. They’ll buy you hundreds. 

“’m so sorry.” He croons, reaching to steady you, carefully gripping your elbow under the guise of balance. “Ah, bonnie. ‘m so sorry, I didnae see ye and I was rushin’.” 

“It’s… it’s okay.” You’re blinking too fast, trying to hold back tears, trying to keep yourself together. The patchwork, the glue and tape, parts and pieces easily crumble, even as you try to take a deep breath. “I’m… it’s fine.” 

“Yer dress is ruined.” Obviously. “Let me pay to get it cleaned, at least.” 

“No, no… that’s… it’s okay. I’ll… I’ll just run home, no big deal.” He beats back the burn, the wildfire scorching away the last of his sanity. 

“Please.” Simon chimes in over his shoulder. “It’s the least we can do.” You look between them, confused, eyes wide like a little doe, lost all alone in the deep, dark forest.

Flanked by wolves.

“Or let us give ye a ride to yer place, so ye can change.” He jerks his head to the sleek black sedan, idling at the corner, driver still behind the wheel. The meeting can wait, they've got more pressing issues to attend, now. 

“Oh… uh-“ He can smell the rot of your hesitance. That’s the thing about a doe, they’re naturally skittish, trembling legs uneasy from the day they were born, nervous about their own shadow. “It’s fine, I can walk. It’s not far.” 

“I feel terrible, let me pay for it.” He pours it thick, and as expected, the guilt about making him feel worse locks into place. “I dinnae what I’ll do if we cannae help. If ye give me yer number, we can arrange to cover the cleaners?” Simon looms closer, fingers folding over Johnny's shoulder in an affectionate gesture.

You almost look relieved at the sight.

Poor little doe. 

In the end, you agree. When you give them your name, he traces over each syllable tenderly, memorizing the way it sounds on your lips, as Simon taps a phone number into your contacts.

"Ye go straight home an' change." Johnny murmurs, holding onto your hand a shade too long after you pass him back his phone. "Dinnae want ye walkin' around in a dirty dress all afternoon." You fidget, waxing crescent on your lips, and nod.

"I'll uh... I'll let you know how much it is." There's a hint of a tremble in the back of your throat, off key and off kilter, and he smiles to reassure you, before the two of them turn to take their leave.

"We'll talk to ye soon."

[glittergoblinzz]

Ghoap (well, Cbf!Soap mainly) asking Afab!Reader to be their surrogate (pt 1)

CW: Talks of surrogacy/pregnancy

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

The last thing you expected when you came home after work one day was your friend Johnny sitting on your couch. You two have been friends since childhood and have been inseparable, even after he joined the military. You trusted the man with your life and would let him come over whenever he felt like it, going as far as giving him an extra key to your flat in Sunderland.

At first, you thought something bad must have happened since you could see he was clearly stressed about something. You drop your bag down and go over to the couch, sitting next to him

"Johnny, what are ya doing here? Is something wrong?"

He looks up at you with those crystal blue eyes, running a hand through his mohawk.

"Nah, there's nothing wrong per say, but...there is somethin' I need to ask ya, lass. Somethin' big...."

"What is it?"

Johnny pauses, unsure of how to ask this. After a moment, a voice from behind you two speaks up. A deep, gravely voice with a Mancunian accent. The unexpected voice causes you to jump slightly and turn around. It was Johnny's husband, Simon. Johnny had told you about him numerous times but you had never gotten to meet him in person before. His brown eyes bore down at you. It was hard to tell what exactly he was thinking but from the tone of his voice and how blunt he was, it was clear he wasn't exactly happy.

"He wants to know if you'd be our surrogate."

This makes you pause. They want you to be their surrogate? The MacTavishs? Really? You understand that you and Johnny are good friends and all, but you figured they would have gone through an agency or even adopted instead. You look back at Johnny, who was giving Simon a bit of a look himself.

"Johnny, is this true?"

Johnny turns back to you and his face softens quite a bit before he looks down at the ground.

"Aye...it's true, lass. I know this is a really, really big favour to ask, but...."

Johnny looks back up at you and gently grabs your hand.

"Could ya do this for us? We'll pay ya, take care of ya. Simon's done took a step back from the military for this next part of our lives so you'll always have at least one of us around at all times."

The look of desperation in Johnny's eyes makes your heart break for him a little bit. You knew he's always wanted to be a dad one day, have a family of his own. You fold your arms over your chest and lean back into the couch a bit, thinking it over....

"If I do this for you....how would we be doing this? Do you already have an egg from a donor? Are you just needing me to carry your child for you?"

Johnny sighs

"No. We'd be hoping ya wouldn't mind doing it....the ol' fashioned way...."

"The old fashioned way...? You mean... You'd sleep with me to knock me up?"

Before Johnny could say anything else, Simon interjects.

"No. Not him. I'd be doing it..."

You look up at Simon, clearly shocked. You barely knew this man and here he was saying that he'd be the one sleeping with you. You've only heard tidbits about him from Johnny. Sure, Johnny made him out to be a good man who liked to crack jokes and was a pretty laid back guy but from this first encounter, he doesn't seem like that at all. This made you extremely hesitant to help your friend out in starting his family....

Seeing the look of worry on your face, Johnny clears his throat causing you to look back at him again.

"Don't mind him, lass. He's just a bit....protective. Simon doesn't feel comfortable at the thought of me sleeping with someone else. I hope ya can understand that? And don't worry, like I said before...ya don't need to say yes now. Ya can give your answer later on, after you've spent a bit of time with Simon and have gotten to know him better. I wouldn't want ya sleeping with someone ya barely know."

You slowly nod. You could understand that. You and Johnny have known each other for much longer and it wasn't a secret he had a crush on you in the past....so Simon most likely felt the relationship would be threatened if Johnny was the one to sleep with you, worrying that would rekindle the old feelings he had for you from your younger years. Giving a slight sigh, you smile at Johnny and slightly give his hand a squeeze before letting it go.

"Yeah, okay. I'll give it a shot for you, Johnny. I'll try to get to know Simon better before I make my full decision..."

Johnny's face lights up and he immediately leans in to hug you tightly. He pulls away after a moment with a huge grin on his face.

"Thanks, lass. I promise Simon isn't normally like this. He just....has a hard time trusting people he doesn't know. He'll warm up to ya eventually."

This earns a scoff from Simon as he turns his head away from you two. Johnny laughs and gets up from the couch, moving behind it towards Simon.

"Lighten up, love. I know ya two pretty well....I think you'll get along in no time at all..."

He looks at Simon lovingly as he brushes his hand through Simon's short, black hair before giving him a kiss on his forehead. Simon frowns a bit, some of the scars on his face becoming more prominent; especially the ones on his upper lip and cheek.

"Really, Johnny? In front of her?"

Johnny only laughs in response, nodding.

"Aye, in front of her. Now come on, we should probably let her be now..."

He didn't need to tell Simon twice. The Brit immediately started heading towards the door without another word, only stopping in the doorway to wait for Johnny. Before leaving, Johnny turns to you again.

"Again, thank you. This really does mean a lot to me, and especially Simon....even if the brute doesn't want to admit it..."

Another groan is heard from Simon, who's barely...just barely....got a slight upward curl of his lips going on.

"...So I'll text ya soon with some dates and times so we can all get together and hang out a bit, so you can Simon can get to know each other better, yeah?"

You nod, smiling as you stand up and give Johnny another quick hug.

"Yeah. Sounds good. See you later, Johnny. Simon."

You give a slight nod to Simon, who hesitates before giving a slight nod back. Johnny turns and walks to Simon, taking Simon's hand in his before the couple leaves your house.

[rememberwren]

Ghoap x civilian!reader who comes home from work in a teary panic attack. Simon and Johnny obviously rush to her and try to calm her down. When asked what happened she explained how she was SA’d or harassed by a man on her way home. Simon and or Johnny are SEETHING with anger that someone would dare lay a hand on their girl, but they do their best to stay calm in front of her, silently agreeing to each other that they’ll find that son of a bitch later. Their main priority is to take care of her. One or two of them gets her in a bath, washes her hair and just overall being an amazing fluffy boyfriend/s while soothing her and kissing away her tears. If only one of the boys is doing that the other one could be pacing around the house seething with anger, trying to find out who that man was and where they can find him. Idk up to you, just a random thought :)

(This goes without saying but you obviously don’t have to write this if you are uncomfortable with the situation. I just love fics where the boys are lovingly (and reasonably) protective of reader. Love your fics btw thank you for being such an awesome writer💖💖)

CW: recent non-con.

“Tell me again how you’ll do it,” you mutter, half asleep with your arms on the ledge of the bathtub, chin resting on your folded hands. Goosebumps have bloomed along your shaking limbs. Johnny reaches out and lays the back of three fingers against your shoulder, feeling the chill of your skin. He reaches out and turns the faucet back on, letting the hot water run and run until you stop shivering. 

“Slow,” says Ghost from where he’s perched on the edge of the vanity. His arms are crossed, fists tucked out of your sight. “That’s what it comes down to. It’ll be slow. He’ll be alive for most of it, alive well past the moment when he wishes he weren’t.” 

You give a sleepy smile. It wavers, suspended for an endless moment on your pretty face, and then it falls, tears filling your eyes. You shift away from the ledge and dip beneath the water, hair floating up toward the surface as you stay under until your lungs burn. They wait. When you come back up, gasping for breath, you can pretend that the water on your face is from the tub. 

Johnny turns the hot water off. He hands you the washcloth again though you have scrubbed yourself raw already; a well worn routine. He goes to add a dollop of your favorite soap—the kind that smells like almonds—but you stop him and ask for the soap that they use. 

“I want to smell like you,” you say, eyelids drooping with exhaustion. Johnny reaches for the proper soap and squirts a health dose onto the washcloth. He winces when you shove the washcloth below the water and between your legs. 

“Don’t, love,” he says. “Yer going to hurt yourself.” 

“I’m already hurt,” you snap, the tenor of your voice fragile, friable. You take a deep, trembling breath and let it out. Then you say: “Tell me again.” 

“SlowIy,” Ghost says, patient. He has answered this question in various gory forms for the last two hours. “I want him aware, for as long as possible before I kill him.” 

“We,” says Johnny firmly. 

“We,” Ghost amends, nodding. 

“What’s stopping you?” you ask morosely. 

“Just a dog waiting to be let off the leash,” says Ghost. 

The washcloth between your thighs slows, then stops. You let it float to the surface of the tub and reach out a pruning hand towards Ghost who slips off the vanity and onto his knees on the wet tiles, slipping his hand into yours. He helps you stand, your legs shaking, unused to the cramped position the tub demanded of you. 

Johnny is there with a towel. He presses the water from your hair and wraps you up, gentle against your chafed skin. They help you into bed, pulling back the sheets and tucking you in like you haven’t been since you were a child. The tears come back, and this time you have nothing to blame them on. Nothing. They drip down the sides of your face towards your temples, but Johnny catches every single one.

“Ghost?” 

He turns, head cocked, ear towards you while he waits for your word. 

You say, sleepily: “Go get him.”

[moody-alcoholic]

Freaky Friday

+18 MDNI explicit content

Its Friday which means I try writing new things. This week ✨double penetration.✨ I really had a scene like this envisioned for the finale of missing piece but I couldn’t wrap my head round it. Anyway thought this week was the perfect opportunity to give it another go! I pulled what I had saved in my drafts folder and cleaned it up, it’s definitely something…

Summary: Ghoap x reader. 2.5k words. Johnny suggests some fun in the bedroom.

CW: +18 MDNI explicit content Smut, sex, threesome, double penetration (ass & vagina), oral (M&F receiving), overstimulation, PiV sex, anal, spanking (it’s like once), grinding/ dry humping, little bit of aftercare.

Masterlist - AO3

Enjoy ya filithy animals <3

“How ‘bout we try double penetration.” Johnny says over dinner one day. You almost choke on your carrot.

“Fitting conversation for the dinner table as ever Johnny.” Simon says shaking his head as he forks more food in his mouth. You chuckle as Johnny winks at you. 

“I’m serious though, if you want to of course?” He says tipping his head to the side looking at you. You look over at Simon who sips on his glass of wine.

“I don’t know maybe. It seems complicated.” You feel yourself blushing as reach for your wine glass.

“I’ve been doing some research and I think I've got it figured out.” Johnny say smiling and putting another fork of food in his mouth. 

“Watched an instructional video did you?” Simon asks raising an eyebrow.

“Many, and I think I've cracked it.” He says pointing his fork at Simon

“It would be easy, Si you can take the front I'll take the back. You wouldn't even have to do anything love, just sit there and take it.” Johnny explains bluntly. You think about it, it did sound interesting. Something you thought would come up eventually anyway given the situation of the relationship. You didn't expect it to be over Sunday dinner though. Maybe that’s why Johnny went to so much effort, to ease the blow of bringing it up.

“Okay, we could try. I have Tuesday off next week. How about then?” You look round the table. You feel like you could see a smile forming on Simon's lips. Maybe he was more up for it then he seemed to be.

“Its a date.” Johnny says raising his glass

—------------

When Tuesday rolls around you’re strangely nervous. You don’t want to be a disappointment, but if Johnny meant what he said that you would basically just have to hold onto Simon and they would do the rest. This is definitely the most adventurous thing you’d done with them so far. Also the thing that’s required the most ‘prep’ work.  

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Simon asks you quietly as you come out the bathroom.

“Yeah, are you?” You ask trying to hide the nervousness in your voice. 

“Yeah, just remember if you want to stop just say. You know how enthusiastic Johnny can get.” Simon says. You smile nodding and he wraps his arm round your shoulder as you walk with him into the bedroom. Johnny is stood in just his boxers patting down the sheets on the bed. This is the first time you’ve planned for sex. Most of the time its just spontaneous. 

“Okay Simon sit on the end of the bed.” Johnny says. 

“What no foreplay?” Simon asks pulling his shirt off. 

“Oh, they’ll be foreplay. I just need to see how this works.” Johnny says as Simon sits down on the end of the bed. You go over to him as Johnny instructs you to sit on his knees facing Simon. You follow the instructions Simon’s hands wrap round your back and he holds you in place. Its not the most comfortable position with Simon’s large thighs. He scoots back on the bed a bit and you straddle over his waist smiling at him as you feel his cock twitch between the layers of fabric.

Johnny comes up behind you standing between Simon’s legs his hands squeeze your ass. You hear Johnny hum as you look down at Simon laid back propped up on his elbows. You start grinding up against him, feeling his cock grow in his pants. You lean down to kiss him as Johnny runs his hands up your back under your shirt. You sit up letting Johnny take it off over your head and fling it to the side. Simon’s face lights up as your breasts fall free and you move off him so he can take his trousers off. You’re kneeling on the bed as Johnny strips his boxers off.  

“Why don’t you sit on his face?” Johnny asks. You look down at Simon who nods. Guess you’re trying two new things tonight. You pull your underwear off and straddling over Simon’s face. His hands reach up and grab your ass you look down as him smiling as you let him lower your body onto his mouth. His tongue licks from your entrance to your clit, you let out a moan reaching forward for something to grab. You don’t find anything instead digging your nails into your thighs. It feels weird, this new position. Simon’s strong his arms holding your legs securely in place. You move one of your hands to your breasts cupping one and squeezing the nipple, it sends waves of pleasure down to your already aching pussy.

You hear Johnny behind you, the guttural sounds coming from his throat as he pleasures Simon. It’s hot, the noises he’s making sending vibrations through your body, not helped by the fact Simon keeps moaning making your clit spasm with each suck. You wish you could turn and see, you stop trying to grind on Simon’s face as you moan feeling yourself getting closer to the edge. Your nails are dug deep in your legs as you tip your head back, thighs accidentally squeezing Simon’s head as you cum. You feel him groan under you as you loosen your legs hearing Johnny chuckle behind you. You’re still panting when you flop your body to the side hearing Simon suck in gasps of air. 

“Sorry.” You say between breaths. Simon smiles looking over at you laying next to him, the pulsating between your legs is fading but the ache is still there. You scoot yourself down the bed and roll over so you’re face to face with Simon, who’s propped himself back up on his elbows. You both look down at Johnny who has a smirk on his face, knelt between Simon’s legs watching you both with his hands still working Simon’s shaft. You give Simon a quick kiss then you sit up swinging your legs over his stomach.

You feel Johnny grip your waist pulling you down to meet Simon’s pelvis. You reach behind you feeling for his cock. Your thumb circles around the familiar tip, your hand thrusts down, already so wet with a mix of Johnny’s saliva and Simon’s precum. You kneel up and over him guiding the tip to your entrance. You look down at him he’s still up on his elbows as you ease yourself down on him. You watch his expression change as his eyes roll back and he lets his body flop down. You move up and down on him feeling Johnny come behind you, hands wrapping round to your breasts, squeezing your nipples. It makes you moan Johnny’s name and Simon’s hands find your thighs.

“Feel good?” Johnny asks breathing down your neck. You hum in response as he starts kissing your neck, tongue dancing over the sensitive spots. You don’t need anything else you don’t even need to play with your clit you could just ride Simon and let Johnny play with you until you cum. You said you would try this though and honestly how hard can it be.

Johnny gently angles your body forward a bit and Simon looks up feeling your change in pace. Your body now arched forward slightly means Simon’s cock is hitting a new spot that's making clench down on him, he can feel it too becoming more vocal his hands squeezing your thighs. Simon’s beautiful moans are making it harder to concentrate. You get distracted by the sound of a drawer opening behind you, and what sounds like a cap of something. 

“Lube,” Johnny says as he sees you trying to turn. You feel one of his hands on the bottom of your back as you hear the other rubbing lube over his cock. You stop bouncing when you feel Johnny’s hand run between your ass cheeks. You clench again you don’t mean to. Simon sits up one of his hands coming round your back. You don’t know how he can be comfortable but he presses his lips to yours as his tongue works in your mouth Johnny’s fingers press up against your hole. It feels strange but you're too distracted as you moan in Simon’s mouth. 

“So soft.” Johnny breaths his other hand running up your back. You pull away from Simon as you feel Johnny’s finger on your ass replaced with the tip of his cock. 

“You ready?” Johnny asks you look at Simon and feel him twitch inside you. You realise he's been doing all the work grinding his hips into you. 

“Yeah,” you reply. Your arms wrapping round Simon’s neck. Johnny presses his back up against you as he slowly pushes into you. You gasp, it feels like all the air is sucked out your lungs. Johnny pauses as you clench round them both. 

“Fuck love,” Simon says breathing into your neck. 

“Christ, you feel amazing.” Johnny says pushing in a little further. You let out a moan feeling shivers run up your body. Your hips start buck against Simon feeling his cock pulse against your dripping walls. You can feel yourself slipping round his hips. Johnny pushes up inside you with one last thrust. It feels good, you feel full like you’re almost too tight being able to feel each movement from them.

Johnny was right as soon as him and Simon got comfortable all you really has to do was sit there. It took a few seconds to get used to it but before you knew it you were a painting mess your head slumped in Simon’s neck. One of Johnny’s hands ran up your hair lightly gripping it as his fingers massaged your scalp. You feel each thrust they’re making as your bodies all become a hot sweaty mess.

Sometimes their thrusts are in sync and its like fucking fireworks as moan out. They’re getting faster and you’re being bounced around more. Hearing Simon and Johnny moaning while their both inside you is amazing, its almost too much you’re starting to feel overstimulated. You know Simon is close by his painting and tight grip on you. 

“Johnny..” you breath as you tip your head back. He turns his face to kiss your cheek. You try to move your head as you do his lips meet yours. Its hot and sloppy your lips trying to stay together while you’re bring moved around. You’re not going to last much longer. Johnny seems to be able to tell as he increases his speed as Simon struggles to match him. Now Johnny is almost picking you up in his arms and bouncing you on them both.  

“Christ, Johnny..” is the only warning you get from Simon before he cums, its a few thrusts later you feel yourself cuming too, the feeling of Simon’s cock throbbing inside you pushing you over the edge. You call Simon’s name as you cum feeling Johnny resting you down on him while he continues to fuck you from behind. Simon flops down on the bed. His hands still gripping your thighs, you watch his chest rising and falling as he takes deep breaths.  

“Did so fucking well taking us both.” Johnny says he's almost feral pushing down on your lower back bending you forward. You feel Simon’s spent cock slip out of you and he moans. Its a completely new feeling now having just Johnny inside you, you feel almost empty. You moan at the praise as your clit starts rocking against Simon’s half hard twitching member. He’s almost shaking from overstimulation maybe you should get off him. But it feels too good you’re still so sensitive if this keeps up you’re going to cum again.

You plant your hands on Simon’s chest, you can feel his heart racing as you try not to dig your nails into him. It just feels too good and you bend over completely your head resting on his chest. Simon’s arms rub round your back. You hear Johnny grunting behind you as you angle your hips to chase the pleasure building inside you. You’re incoherently moaning and calling names as Simon’s hands brush over you. You listen to Johnny’s moans, and praises telling you how good you’ve been.

The orgasm takes you by surprise you squeeze your eyes closed moaning into Simon’s chest. Johnny cums too as you’re clenched around him so tight he has to almost fight to keep inside you. You’re panting wet mess on Simon’s chest, Johnny bent over your back, you can feel his chest pressed up against you his heart racing. You both just lay there on top of Simon, Johnny feeling like a warm weighted blanket. 

“Move Johnny,” Simon says after a few seconds slapping Johnny’s thigh.

“In a second Si,” Johnny replies between breaths. You chuckle which makes him move you let out a yelp as he pulls out of you, your whole body tingling with overstimulation. Johnny slaps your ass which makes you jump and you go to sit up but Simon keeps his arms around you keeping you in place. 

“I’m going for a shower, there’s room for more.” Johnny says, you know he’s winking at Simon you can almost hear it. A shower does sound nice, you let out a long breath and Simon loosens his arms so you can sit up. You almost slip off him your thighs coated in your slick and cum.

You move to get off the bed Simon stands behind you. Your legs are wobbly as you both make your way to the bathroom. They have a big shower, maybe that was on purpose it means it’s perfectly comfortable for all three of you. You enjoy being pressed against their bodies as you wash each other. It’s a different kind of pleasure, feeling their hands run over you almost fighting each other for touch over your sensitive spots.

You let the steam make you sleepy your body always pressed against one of their chests, with the warm water splashing on your back you could nap right there. When you exit the shower your body feels heavy and you almost slip on the tiles. Someone grab's your arms pulling up up. It’s Simon he throws a towel over you and scoops you up in his arms. 

“Bedroom or sofa?” He asks.

“Bedroom.” You yawn. He puts you down and you dry yourself off as you pull on some underwear and a shirt. You crawl into bed as Simon grabs some clothes for him and Johnny.

“Don’t let me sleep too long, I have work tomorrow.” You say as your head hits the pillow. Simon chuckles.

“Okay, we’ll wake you up for dinner.” He says as he steps out the door. 

“I love you Simon.” You call. 

“I love you too.” He replies as he closes the door.  

——————————

I really don't know how I feel about this but I tried. XD