#ghostsoap reader

[uknowmesblog]

Waking up was a bit rough for you, scuffed by a masked man and hauled out of the car making you shriek like a banshee. You pleaded, yelled that you're kidnapped and hold against your will. But who will bat an eye at the man that emanate danger and got a palm wrapped around the back of your neck? Not the soldiers around the base that's clear. 

He manhandled you with no effort on the hallway and pushed you in an office making you sit on a chair in front of a desk. 

“She’s annoying.” He grunted, taking a few steps back. 

“You brute”  

“Thank you, Ghost.” A voice made you sit straight, shivers dancing along your back and demanding attention. You looked at him, old and rough around the edges with blue eyes that could melt ice. A rugged beard neatly trimmed enveloping his warm smile, but your eyes continue to travel down. Muscles covered by a dark shirt, making him look as deadly as Ghost. 

Ghost.. 

Your fantasy now has a nickname, isn't that cute? 

“I don't want to be here” You snapped, even if the definition of “Daddy please” was making you squirm under his intense gaze. 

“Hmm, but you enrolled yourself.” He smirked, making you huff “Name’s Price, the Captain.” 

You pursed your lips, mumbling your name under your breath and he nodded writing something. He got a speech about you honoring your father’s legacy, being a brave soul and so on. 

“Sorry, did you hear her wailing on the hallway?” Ghost interrupted him, saving you. 

“I did, good lungs what can I say” He chuckled low.  

“Look, I have an agreement for you.” You rushed, ready to try and plead your case.  

“Go on” 

“Let me leave with no repercussions.” You smiled sweetly, doe eyes watching from under long lashes that fluttered a little faster. 

“And what’s in for me?’ He leaned over the desk, watching you closely. 

“Saving you a headache.” Shrugging a shoulder, you leaned back against the chair. 

“You underestimate my patience.” He laughed, Ghost sighing behind you. 

“I can be very annoying, a nightmare.” 

“We are soldiers, nothing is too nightmare material at this point.” Oh, he is challenging you with that smirk, isn't he? 

“I am spoiled rotten”  

“Nothin’ that military can’t shape.” He looked behind you and nodded. “or Ghost” 

“I have tummy aches often” 

“We got an infirmary and a good nurse”  

“I’m weak” 

“We will train you”  

“I don’t have stamina” 

“Oh, we can build that up pretty easily.” He winked, causing a blush to make its way up your neck and your cheeks. That’s a double meaning meant to disarm you. 

“I will-” Hand raised, halting you. 

“Enough. I have your father word that’s there some faith in you. We wasted time with your application, we are already past the whining.” He pushed a formular in front of you and a pen, one finger pointing the signing line. “Be an adult and own your responsibility, you brought this upon yourself.” 

“Or you can beg and we can find a solution love.” You whipped your head so fast, bone cracking while your gaze burned a hole in his head. 

“Why, you like it?” You asked sarcastic. 

“Verry” Mouth open, you couldn't believe how such a stoic facade can spew so much bullshit. You looked at the paper like it’s personally offending you, grabbing the pen and getting mentally ready to sign away your whole life.  

“I will be the worse person you ever meet, sir” You bite, signing furiously over the line. 

“Looking forward grumpy, now go and unpack. Later you'll meet the other two muppets” He took the paper, Ghost already waiting in the doorway with a bored expression. 

You got up, dragging your feet and mumbling profanities loud enough. You stopped next to Ghost, looking at him with intensity. 

“Your mask is stupid.” He quietly laughed and wrapped his palm around your neck again, dragging you. 

“Stupid will be if we need to discipline that dirty mouth, now shut up.”  

“I can walk!” 

“And also, you are sulking and slowing me down.”   

You didn't say anything, letting him drag you and kind of enjoying the heat of his hand. Once both of you stopped in front of a door, your troller already waiting with your backpack next to it, you looked left and right. 

“This is our space, only 5 rooms and a common room with a tv and kitchen for us. Make yourself comfortable.” He mocked you, opening the door to your room.  

Tears burning behind your eyes, watching the dull room. Or prison room? White walls, one dressing, one bed, one desk and one chair. The bed didn't even look comfortable, thin mattress, a harsh looking comforter and one plain pillow. One! 

“This is a prison or a joke” You gasped, entering the small space, seeing another door.  

“At least you have a bathroom, make the most of it. Home sweet home and shits like that.” Ghost said disappearing behind another door next to yours.  

Your mind already working to ask Daniele, your childhood best friend, to have some kind of faith and send you a lot of necessities for this dungeon.  

The bathroom of course it wasn't much, the basic with a shower and all that. Everything is so white, harsh and bland. 

“Fucking bastards” You grumbled, starting to unpack your things, putting mr. Bubbles on the bed, making the room look less hostile.  

You are stuck here for a while, so you better make the most of it. You have a few weeks in front of you to convince everyone that your presence here is a mistake, a big one. 

Good luck Soldier! 

Yippie

I love that people enjoyed my lil word vomit, I'm an anxious girlie and everyone is so sweet omg!

@nes-kopi this is for you <3

@brxghtlxghtz hope you don't mind the tag, I like hearing your opinion! <3

[omgitstatertot]

@bitterrfruit art gave me this idea

Simon Riley with a "Do Not Resuscitate" tattoo across his chest, big and in bold, who put it there in hopes that it would be followed, though the tattoo holds no legal binding and unless you have a written DNR your doctors are required to ignore it

Simon Riley, who spent those years with the tattoo, thinking that no one would truly miss him, were the occasion to arise

Simon Riley, who gets a partner, becomes quite comfortable and content with said partner, to the point he's taking off his clothes.

Simon Riley, who doesn't even get to reach for his belt to finish changing when his partner gasps, and begins anxiously fretting over the tattoo, fingers tracing the bold letters, doe-like eyes staring into his damn soul and a lip worried between their teeth.

Simon Riley, who can't seem to close his eyes as his partner insists on clinging to him that night, their hand resting over his heart as it finally sinks in that he would be, in fact, missed were the occasion to arise.

Simon Riley anxiously googling how expensive and how much time a tattoo removal takes.

[druap]

happy valentines day :]

[sir-heichou-smith]

Johnny thinks you and Ghost only want him for the sex.

He won't tell either of you he's ass over elbows for both his lieutenant and his girlfriend because he doesn't want to make a fool of himself.

No, he can't tell you because he's the idiot who fell in love with the two people he couldn't even dream of having.

No one else has ever made him feel so cared for or special before you two though, and it confuses the hell out of him to the point where he can't help but think he has to leave after every session.

He doesn't want to overstay his welcome, meanwhile you and ghost think he doesn't want to be with you and only wants the sex, which is fine (you'd really prefer that he stayed for aftercare since it is real important to you, you know how Simon could get and it's not easy coming back up on your own from how far he puts you under) but you know something is wrong when he stumbles out of bed and limps to the door after throwing his pants on, mumbling something about having to get going for some thing or another.

One night Simon and Johnny stumble through the door after a few drinks, their hands wandering and teeth clinking out of desperation while you trail after with a hand on each of them.

Clothes are thrown and kisses are traded all the way to the bedroom. You hear Simon utter praises in the Scot's ear, "such a good boy f'me Johnny. Gonna show the mrs how well you can take it for me? Let's give 'er a show."

He shudders in the larger man's embrace, and you think you see something flicker in those baby blues as he kneels to undo Simon's zipper with his teeth.

But you're tipsy like they are and you can only focus on it so much until Simon pulls you in and groans into your mouth, one of his big hands on the back of your head and the other tangled in the mowhawk bobbing up and down on his cock.

That morning you wake up quietly, before either men, and you take the moment to enjoy having both of them in your bed.

Johnny wakes up quiet too, thinking himself a goddamn idiot for giving in to staying the night when he tried so hard not to.

He does his best to untangle his limbs from Simon's meaty arms and your thick, supple thighs. It's so warm and comfortable and everything he's ever wanted and he doesn't ever want to go, but he has to. It doesn't belong to him, you're not his and neither is Simon and he's just in the way.

God he's so fucking stupid for this, all he's doing is making himself hurt more than what he has to. He just can't take what he's given and accept that he'll never have what his heart truly, unrightfully wants.

While you think nothing of it as he slithers down the bed, (assuming he needs the bathroom and he'll come right back into your embrace) Johnny is pulling on his clothes from the night before as quickly and quietly as he can, tears building up under his lash line and threatening to spill over his cheeks. His breaths come in short staccato so he holds it until he can't, breathing out slowly through his nose and in through his mouth.

He needs to leave, can't be here any longer because he's already overstayed his welcome.

Hes not supposed to feel this way, he's just a toy for you and Simon to enhance your guys' relationship. Your beautiful, loving relationship that he's stupid for wanting to get in the middle of because he'd never expect either of you to return his feelings.

He thinks he's in the clear when he looks back and notices Simon's heavy chest still breathing evenly, taking one last glance at his magnificence before turning around for good because he can't put himself through this anymore, he's not enough and he just needs to accept that now before he can never recover from the heartbreak.

"Johnny?" He's hears your low voice come from the cocoon of warmth he craves with ever fiber of his being. Your precious face looks confused and, dare he say it, a little hurt. "Where are you going?"

His heart shatters. "I-I... I'm heading out now. I didnae mean to stay so long. Sorry 'bout that, bon. Nothin' to wake the big guy over."

Before he gets his shirt on he hears you shift. "Johnny wait-"

"No. No, I cannae do this anymore okay?" His chest heaves with what feels like the weight of the world, and the tears start to fall.

"I know my place, and I keep forgetting it when you hold me so close and tell me I'm your good boy. When you kiss me and it feels like nothin else matters anymore. I never wanted to come between you and Si but I overstayed my welcome now and I need to leave so that I can-"

"What are you on about?" Simon blinks his eyes and rolls onto his back, a thick arm behind his head and the other stretched out across the empty space where Johnny just was.

Blue eyes shut and his pretty face scrunches up in pain, but he turns around before he thinks either of you can see. His shirt is hastily pulled over his head and he trips over himself pulling on a shoe from the night before.

He doesn't get to leave after throwing on the second one. A big paw of a hand circles his bicep almost completely.

"Don't think you're goin anywhere now, mate. What's this about?" Tired honey eyes look up in confusion and concern, their owner now sitting up and the thick comforter slides down to meet his naked hips. Baby blues can't help but trace the movement.

Your feet touch the cold floor as you get out of bed and circle around to the Scot. "Johnny when did we ever say we don't want you too?"

His head whips up in confusion and he looks between the two of you. "But.. But you-"

"Baby, take those clothes off and get back in bed." Simon pulls lightly on the arm in his grasp and Johnny can't help but follow.

"From now on it's non-negotiable, you stay here with us and get your aftercare in before you even think of leaving. Not that we ever wanted you to."

Big hands pull at the hem of his shirt and it goes without thinking. You stand behind him and wrap your arms around his naked torso to unfasten his jeans.

"Such a pretty boy, Johnny. You're our pretty boy and we want you just as much. Please dont leave us again." Your words bring tears to his eyes again, these ones accompanied by a bright perfect smile and a small huff of disbelief.

The three of you fall back into bed, smothering Johnny in all the kisses and words of love he never even fathomed could be true.

Limbs and tongues tangled alike, and the morning was spent mostly in bed, the Scot wedged tightly between you and Simon. As if he'd still possibly think of leaving now.

[phantasm-ae]

melting over the new ghost skin in cod mobile ft. Good boii Rileyy😭

Likeee…

HELLOOO

[gloomwitchwrites]

Biker!Ghoap x Female Reader: MDNI

Biker!Simon goes on a cold, rainy ride in the middle of the night to clear his head. He doesn’t expect to find you stranded on the side of the road, shivering and soaking wet next to your broken-down car. When he pulls over and approaches you, you’re like a frightened deer, looking around like you’re waiting for someone to jump out of the dark. Simon offers you a ride to wherever you’re going. You admit that you have nowhere to go—that you packed a bag and fled home to escape your abusive partner.

Biker!Simon who refuses to leave you here. He calls Johnny, waking the wanker up to come tow your car to their shop. Simon doesn’t wait for Johnny to arrive. You’re cold and shivering and you need to get somewhere warm. Offering you a helmet, Simon takes you back to his place. While you shower, Simon leaves fresh clothes in front of your door. You don’t take them, walking out of the bathroom in just an oversized shirt.

Biker!Simon offers up his bed, intending to sleep on the sofa. He’ll have a stiff neck in the morning but you deserve to be comfortable. To feel safe. But you tell him you don’t want to be alone. Simon reluctantly agrees, joining you under the sheets. When you reach for him, Simon accepts because you’re such a sweet thing, and you deserve to be desired. As you sink down on him, he suddenly realizes that he’s not letting you go. That you belong with him and Johnny, the three of you in the same bed, having a life together.

Biker!Johnny who arrives home, expecting to fall into bed with Simon, only to find you riding him. It’s Simon that whispers sweetly to you, that tells you that he comes in a packaged deal. Johnny peels off his wet clothes, crawling across the bed to kiss the man he loves as you moan your acceptance. Simon wraps his hand around him, bringing him to attention as Simon finishes inside you. It’s easy to bend you over, to watch as Simon slips out of you. Johnny takes his place, and it’s fucking heaven.

You’re stuck with them now. They’re never letting you go.

main masterlist

[eowynstwin]

clawing at the door

ghoap x reader. jealousy. bisexual soap. bisexual ghost. emotionally constipated ghost. manipulative soap. ghost likes em thick. lightly explicit. MDNI. ao3

When Ghost first sees you and Soap together, his jealousy is hard to parse. He doesn't quite understand what he's feeling.

On the one hand, Occam's Razor. Simple explanations usually prove the truest. Soap is his boy, has been since Las Almas, and you are an interloper in their hard-won dynamic. Ghost does not absorb others into his life lightly, even less so then he allows them to strongarm themselves beneath the mask. He doesn't particularly like people, isn't really fond of their tendency toward abject mortality.

Soap's strong arms are a rare exception. And Ghost has nearly died too many times not to admire a nice round ass when he sees one—the kind that glistens and quivers beneath the weak spray of a communal shower. Some part of him has always kind of supposed the sergeant had been showing off specifically for him, too, when he dropped trousers and moaned like a whore when the hot water started flowing.

The boy certainly dogs his steps like that's the case.

Then, you: showing up on base one day, Soap's hand spread wide and possessive on the small of your back. Jewel-bright eyes following your every move. Blush high and feverish on his boy's cheekbones every time you throw half a smile his way.

So it's envy. So it's a crush, unrequited.

Simple problem, simple solution. Getting over by getting under and all that. There are apps for every heartache, and plenty of hard-bodied gym rats out there tripping over themselves to bottom for a brute like him, who can actually throw them around.

Not two minutes after making his profile (military, six-five, top), likely candidates start filing themselves into his inbox. Some part of his ego is gratified, at least. The influx of taint pics certainly confirms for him that his vanity, in fact, is justified, even if the last thing he wants to see is some random stranger's asshole.

He messages a jacked brunette with brown eyes and dimples, who led instead with a comparatively tame "hey big guy," and lets him pick the bar where they'll meet up.

And it's...fine.

The guy is fine. Equally as attractive in person as on camera, with curly hair and short stubble. He's there before Ghost, and directs an easygoing smile at him when he drops onto a stool at the bar beside him.

He doesn't even question the mask, though his eyes linger on it, half-lidded, the kind of way that suggests he's figuring something out about himself that he hadn't considered before. Not the first time it's happened for Ghost.

The problem with fine is that Ghost can't work up even much of a chub talking to him. The guy has a nasally voice and a friendly attitude that makes Ghost's teeth go numb from the sweetness. When they sequester in the dingy pub bathroom, the guy goes to his knees like an angel, and Ghost's cock actually softens more, thoroughly bored already with the notion of this random guy’s mouth on it.

The problem is, Soap would bust Ghost's balls for this.

Sure, Ghost could get him on his knees. Soap is a good boy, he'll take an order if he's given one. But he's also a fucking brat, and the moment Ghost pulled his cock out Soap would immediately start complaining about it.

Too big, too ugly, not hard enough, and when was the last time Ghost washed that fucking thing? How romantic, LT, making him suck Ghost off in a pub bathroom, hasn't he ever heard of good old-fashioned wooing?

He'd complain, Ghost knows, because he'd want, more than anything, for Ghost to just cut through the bullshit and shove straight down his throat. He'd run his mouth because the only thing he wants Ghost to do is shut him the fuck up, for once, and make him actually work for the praise they both know he's so desperate for.

And Ghost would give it. If Soap earned it. The fight isn't about winning.

This guy isn't putting up a fight. He tries nicely, licks all over the limp-hanging head and pale glans, but Ghost ends up making some excuse—Dad has cancer, Mom died, the usual—and leaving him there still on his knees.

He deletes the apps. He can invest in a fleshlight, and find some porn star another with enough of a resemblance to be functional.

Less of a hassle for everyone involved.

Problem solved.

And then he encounters you again.

You're walking out of the supermarket one night, with two huge bags over your shoulders, digging through your purse out in front of you. He has to stop you with one hand on your shoulder to keep you from running into him.

The evening is warm; your shirt is a thin camisole with little elastic straps. His palm meets your bare skin, and finds it soft and dewy with a little sweat.

You look up, startled, blinking as if caught in a bright light.

"Oh," you say, "Ghost, hello!"

"Bird," he grunts, wondering why he's surprised that you recognize him.

He pulls his hand away, and still feels the imprint of your body heat in its grooves.

"Sorry, I should have been looking," you say, smiling. It's a friendly expression, open and innocent—a daisy's petals spread on a clear day. "Johnny's making beef wellington tonight when he's off duty, so I went and got everything."

Ghost frowns. What kind of boyfriend lets his girl do so much heavy lifting?

He helps you carry the bags to your car. He's jealous, not an asshole. You thank him with a breezy laugh when he closes the hatchback—

"I'm sure Johnny wouldn't mind if you stopped by for dinner," you say, folding your arms across your ribcage. It presses your tits together as you cup your elbows in your hands, pronouncing the line of your cleavage with an uncomfortable eloquence.

"Busy," Ghost says immediately, staring very hard into your eyes. "Thanks."

You shrug, unperturbed. "Anytime. Good night!"

He stands in the carpark for a full five minutes after you drive away. He thinks he can feel his own heartbeat throbbing through the palm he touched you with.

Well, then.

Bereft of any opportunity to get to know you—as if it would even be appropriate—Ghost stalks social media until he finds you through Soap's Instagram. Your account is private, so he sends a follow request, expectations very low that you'd allow someone with a blank sky for a profile picture and only one post on their feed to follow you, "sghostriley" notwithstanding.

But—you do. And suddenly he has a decade of material to peruse, beginning with your last year of secondary school and leading all the way up to present, the most recent photo one of you and Soap at the top of some mountain, grinning at the camera in your hiking gear.

You don't post very many pictures of yourself, he finds. Instead you document interesting food you eat or make, crafts you're working on, nice scenery you caption with variations of "saw this on my walk today :)". It's all very domestic, sweet in a way without being saccharine.

Soft, really. Totally separated from the hard edges of the world he and Soap routinely throw themselves along.

And yet, honest in a way that makes your version of the world feel more like the real one, and his and Soap’s the nightmare.

Ghost hasn't been with a girl—let alone been interested in one—in years. It isn't that the attraction had ever died, exactly. Rather, it simply became so complex, so twisted in on itself and trapped beneath years of grown-over scar tissue, that he'd made an unconscious decision never to confront it. He ignored Price’s stories about his wife’s antics at home, Gaz’s perennial heartbreak after strings of failed dates—

Soap’s lurid bragging about the women he’s taken home from various pubs.

(Were you one of those pub girls?)

So, here it is now, confronting him instead. Reminding him, in a pretty camisole, just how very much it exists.

In the carpark, there’d been a bead of sweat slipping down your neck as you’d waved him goodbye. He finds himself wondering how long it would’ve taken to slide all the way down to the slope of your breast, if he didn’t catch it with his tongue first.

He continues through your Instagram. The majority of your selfies show up, he guesses, after the beginning of your relationship with Soap.

Earlier pictures of you make your discomfort obvious. You don't like the way you look, and it shows in the tension on your face when confronted with a camera lens. But later on, you gain confidence. Your expressions are softer as you show off a new haircut or glasses.

And when the first picture of you with Soap shows up, it's like seeing someone glowing from the inside.

Your head is tucked into the juncture of his shoulder and neck. The smile on your face is soft, small and lovely in how little you're clearly thinking about it.

You're happy.

It floors him. A happy girl, settled into the embrace of a man who’s made her feel that way.

Piece of work, he is. Could ogle another man's ass without shame, but present him with that man’s girl and suddenly it upends his entire sense of self.

Some old cunt psychiatrist would have a field day analyzing him.

Ghost skips the apps and, following in Soap’s footsteps, heads back to the pubs.

It’s worse.

Not that he doesn’t have options sidling up to him, that is. It seems like all he has to do is sit at the bar and wait, and women circle their way into his orbit, not really talking to him but letting him know, simply by hovering, that they’d love for him to talk to them. Batting their lashes, laughing near him seemingly at nothing.

Up to him to make the first move then. It seems to him like the rules haven't changed over his long absence from the dating pool.

Therein lay the snag—Ghost doesn't know how to talk to women. Not that way, the way one says without saying it that he'd like to take her home and bend her over the back of his couch. Say that to a man at the right bar and that was his evening sorted, but Ghost has a feeling that won't play as well among people with cat-shaped brass knuckles on their keychains.

He's not much of a talker, period. Soap yaps enough to fill in his side of the conversation whenever they're in the field. And you...well, he doesn't know about you. Ghost has the uncomfortable feeling that he'd try for you, and fail miserably.

The bartender slides a drink in front of him, distracting him from his agonizing. When Ghost gives him a questioning look, he nods in the direction of a table behind him.

One of the barflies has made the first move.

She winks at him when he raises the glass at her. She’s pretty—her dark makeup makes her eyes look angular and mysterious, and her red dress is tight, thin, and low-cut. Her exposed chest shimmers, as if she dusted some sort of powder across her collarbones before making her way here.

Sparkly and colorful, like a lure on a line. Ready to hook something and pull it in.

(Your camisole had been threadbare and lined with cheap, fraying lace. A favorite of yours, probably, something you wore when you wanted to be comfortable, and didn’t care who thought what about it.)

Ghost notices other men are eyeing the woman, and a couple of them send nasty glares his way. That is, they do before promptly averting their gazes once they see what he looks like.

He can have this, then, if he wants it. He just has to reach out and take it.

He feels your warmth in the palm of his hand again. The breeze of your laugh brushes his cheek with a soft touch.

He sends the woman one of her own drink, drops forty quid on the bar, and leaves without looking back.

Another dinner invite comes his way, this time courtesy of Soap himself.

“She told me she met you at the store,” Soap says, one afternoon when they’re in the changing room. “Really nice of you to help her out, LT.”

“You weren’t there to do it,” Ghost grumbles. Soap has been prancing around shirtless for fifteen minutes, faffing about while Ghost waits for him to leave so he can adjust his erection.

“I didn’t tell her to get everything!” the sergeant protests. “She just went and did it herself.” Then Soap’s eyes go all dreamy and stupid. “She’s grand, isn’t she.”

Ghost grumbles again, something noncommittal.

“Anyway, dinner’s at seven, and I’ll send you the address,” says Soap, pulling a thin t-shirt over his head. Ghosts watches him yank the hem down over his pecs, covering the toned plane of his abs.

Soap winks at him. “See you there, Ghost.”

Ghost grunts.

Soap does, in fact, see him there.

He goes out of resignation. Or maybe with some notion that seeing Soap and you together again will finally vanquish whatever sits on his chest so heavily whenever he thinks of the two of you.

Soap’s the one to answer the door. “There he is, the braw wee bastard!”

“Soap.”

From the looks of it, it’s your flat. It’s nicely decorated without being too over-designed, something warm and comfortable and welcoming. When Ghost steps inside, he’s hit immediately with the smell of seared pancetta and garlic.

The sergeant leads him through the flat. Ghost has a bottle of wine under one arm, having remembered at the last minute he should probably bring something along. You’re in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove.

“Hi, Ghost!” you chirp when you look over your shoulder. “Ooh, good, that’s drinks settled. Hope you like bolognese. It’s all I know how to make.”

“S’fine,” Ghost says, which he would say even if bolognese made him violently ill.

“Ach, you can make more than that,” Soap says, retrieving three long-stemmed glasses from a cabinet. “Pour a nice glass of water.”

You snatch the dish towel hanging from the oven handle and give it a snap in the general direction of Soap’s ass. He laughs and dances out of the way.

“There’s a bottle opener in the island drawer, Ghost,” you say cheerfully. You're pretty tonight, in a loose t-shirt and soft-looking joggers. Casual, like you don't have a guest over at all.

Like it's just a night in with your boyfriend.

Ghost pops the cork as Soap sets the glasses down. After he pours, the sergeant delivers a glass to his girlfriend, and there’s a brief moment of quiet as everyone sips and the sauce on the stove bubbles.

It’s all so nice and normal as to make Ghost’s hackles raise just in anticipation, although he knows there’s no reason for it. Truthfully, he almost hadn’t come. The thought of you and Soap, and Soap and you, in the same room, together, a unit, had made his stomach clench up so tight that he though he might not be able to get any food down.

But some part of him needed to come, and see this. Test out Pavlov’s theory, to see if enough negative reinforcement could break him of this borderline manic fixation. If he could associate Soap and you with romantic nausea, and nothing more, maybe he could finally stop jerking off every night to no satisfaction.

Because he had, in fact, found a porn star who looked like Soap. More tattoos, and a buzz cut rather than a mohawk, but Ghost couldn’t be picky.

The real shock had been to find that this proxy often partnered with a girl who looked enough like you to be uncanny. Too skinny, definitely, but in the one video Ghost had watched of them together, he could have sworn, as the lookalike reamed her from behind—

That it was you looking at him over your shoulder.

Looking at Soap. Or, looking at Ghost, behind him.

At that moment in the playback Ghost had come so hard, cock blazing red and raw in his hand, that the notion had liquified a little. So he couldn’t be sure what the thought had originally meant.

He hadn’t been brave enough to watch another.

“This isn’t bad,” Soap says after tasting the wine. “Nothin’ on a good whisky, mind.”

“Don’t neg your lieutenant, Johnny,” you say. “This is good, Ghost, thank you.”

Hearing Johnny fall from your lips so casually threads something uncomfortable between Ghost’s intestines. Uncomfortable, because he likes it.

Had Soap told you to call him that? Or had you decided on it all on your own? Did Soap think of Ghost whenever you said his name? Did he think of you whenever Ghost did?

“Simon’s fine,” he replies.

It escapes him before he even thinks about it. The same way he’d taken his mask off in Las Almas and looked directly at Soap, wondering in some hidden part of himself if the sergeant was impressed.

“That’s a nice name,” you say, swirling the wine in your glass. You take another sip, closing your eyes to savor it, and then, tilting your head like a little bird in thought, you pour a stream of it from the glass into your pasta sauce.

“Suits him, aye?” Soap says, side-eyeing Ghost with amusement. “Right posh name he’s got for a big scary bugger. Hidden depths, him.”

“Yeah, unlike you,” you snark, stirring.

Soap slaps a big hand over his heart. “Ach, lass, you wound me always.”

“Someone has to keep you humble,” you say, grinning. There’s a charming twinkle in your eyes.

“You gonna let ‘er get away with that, sergeant?”

He surprises himself by saying it. But something in the way you and Soap bicker—absent of the usual sugary drivel, as if the two of you have skipped over the honeymoon phase and stuck the landing right into stable commitment—invites him in.

It's magnetic, almost. It seizes the spinning needle in his brain, draws it to a standstill. Evens out the landscape, so he knows where he can go.

“You’re absolutely right, LT,” says Soap, who smacks his lips, sets his wineglass aside, and bum-rushes you.

You shriek as he captures you in both arms, lifting you off the floor and whirling you around—both the spoon in one hand and the glass in the other fling drops of red and white absolutely everywhere. And then you’re giggling as Soap wedges his face between your neck and shoulder and shakes his head like a dog, probably biting down.

Soap growls; a big smile takes over your face, eyes squeezed shut as you laugh breathlessly. The sergeant’s broad, brown forearms have yours pinned up against your chest, pressing your breasts together.

“Not fair, Ghost!” you exclaim as Soap’s growling noises turn into obnoxiously loud kisses. “No pulling rank in my house!”

“Two against one, hen, you’re outnumbered,” Soap counters. “What should we do with this one, eh, LT?”

“See if I ever cook for you two again, is what!” you protest, still grinning with delight. You kick your legs to no effect.

Soap, also grinning, slots his face back into your neck. You giggle again, complaining that it tickles.

Some incomplete circuit finally connects.

Order given. Girlfriend “punished.”

Soap making you laugh because Ghost told him to.

Not one. Not the other. Both.

“Think we can let ‘er off the hook this time,” he says, feeling dazed.

The pictures on your Instagram, with you and Soap together. The both of you, smiling together, wrapped around each other, standing at the top of a mountain and grinning what the two of you get to share.

Soap's hand spread on your back.

“Aye, sir,” Soap says, setting you down. You’re still laughing a little as you go to check the sauce, and Soap finds a towel to clean up the mess he made. Ghost reels in the meanwhile.

There’s an imprint of Soap’s teeth on your neck.

They wouldn’t be there if Ghost hadn’t sicced Soap on you.

He’s still reeling as you begin plating dinner, and Soap sets out the silverware. When everyone sits down to eat, the sergeant tops up everyone’s drinks.

“I hope you like it,” you say to Ghost, setting his plate in front of him. There's a shyness to you, a verity to your concern for his opinion.

“Oh, he will,” Soap says, grinning.

He trails the tips of his fingers along the back of your arm as he directs that jewel-blue gaze at Ghost. It's sharper than Ghost has ever noticed before—

“The LT has good taste. Don’t you, Ghost?”

And with his other hand, he raises his glass to the knowing smirk on his lips.

a/n: I can't use arse, I know it would be more accurate but I just can't I'm sorry

[uknowmesblog]

Ah, ah, I am an awful person for taking so long to write again.

Guilty as charged, I had a hell of week and It's still going strong. Pray for my soul, I have flour in my nose.

!!TW!!

FOUL language, kind off groping/pawing. Soft punisment. Virgin Reader. (I m a sucker for this trope and I won't be sorry)

No minors pls, I can't deal with this.

Also, does anyone know how to do a materialist? I m not the smartest 🤓

Oh what a debriefing it was, hands on you all the time. Small whispers almost passed without a second thought, your pussy literally weeping every time Johnny threw one of his panty-melting smile. You left the space dizzy, barely remembering where is that damned room you we're assigned, your mind a battle ground between hating the situation you are in and enjoying all the attention you could get.

Male attention wasn't a thing in your life, your dad scarring them like he was a rabid dog. No one will touch the daughter of a high military rank man, risking to dissappear like dust in wind out of nowhere.

And when you grew up? Your mind was already made, you would grow old with lots of cats and maybe a parrot just for the effect. Lost was the idea of even a fuck, your virginity now collecting dust figuratively.

Now two men, three if you take in consideration Price who's smirking from time to time, gave you more attention and more touches than you could register in your slow mind. (If you'll have awareness, you would count four.)

"Jesus christ" You sighed, closing your door and resting your forehead against it, cool wood taking the edge off a bit. After diner you had plans, something soft for your first night ready. Nothing scandalous, just taking a break.

═════ ◈ ═════ 

Dinner passed fast, you had some kind chicken and mashed potatoes. Good enough to not starve, you almost had a tantrum over the fact there wasn't dessert but one glare from Ghost had you bite your tongue. His baklava rised over his nose, scarred full lips staying flat as you glared at your food.

You listened as everyone was moving around their rooms until silence enveloped the whole space and you gracefully tiptoed outside, finding a spot concealed in shadows under the full moon.

It's cold, your fingers tightened around the pack of smokes as you seated yourself on some sort of decorative rock. A military base with decorative rocks, making you snort as your lips wrapped around a cigarette. You didn't smoke in a while, deciding is way too expensive and your budget was tight as a nun's ass. But now you had enough to live off a while, maybe two months at best.

Your new salary sounds good on paper, but it is worthy to risk your whole life for extra money? You don't have an answer as you look at the sky, lips puffin a cigarette. Your eyes fall on your phone, distracted by the sound of it, not hearing the silent men with a skull baklava approaching you.

One palm wrapped around your mouth, the other gripping your wrist making you drop your phone on the floor.

"Shh, it's jus' me" He whispered, hot breath fanning against your neck. You tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but he only tightened his hold on you. You huffed annoyed, his low and raspy chuckle making you shiver.

"You are such an annoying little doll, aren't you?" His hand leave your mouth, wrapping around your throat. "So mouthy, so bratty" his hand travelled further down, making your breath hitch.

"Now keep it nice and quiet for me luv, your punishment will be easy tonight"

His fingers cupped your cunt over your pants, making you yelp and trash. He slapped it twice stopping you yelp, stopping all the movements.

"Stay still, you won't want Johnny to hear you, he will be between these pretty thighs s'fast you will cum before even thinking about it."

Your eyes rolled back, his fingers dropping under your waistband and finding your dripping pussy welcoming all hot and bothered.

One finger gingerly rubbing your clit, your breath coming out panting. This is so wrong, deep in your mind you know this is power imbalance and he shouldn't be doing this.

You should stop this, you should cry for help.

But a depraved part in you it's enjoying the way his fingers are working you higher and higher, so close to -

"No, not tonight ' He retreated himself so fast, like you are burning and he just got some of it.

"W-what?" You blinked, confused and worked up.

"Good girls receive pleasure, brats receive the punishment. " The audacity of this man, made you open your mouth instantly.

"Isn't like I can touch myself?"

"You could do that and receive a worde punishment " He looked at you with that impassive face, the only thing showing his sick pleasure it's the bulge that was showing off a lil too much.

"And trust me I will now" He grunted, tilting his head.

"You can't be serious, you can't just ban masturbating"

"Watch me, if you want me to finish what I started, you can beg tomorrow on your knees." He turned around, leaving you flustered and confused. Red cheeks, eyes ready to shed tears and a pussy leaking wetness ready to be stuffed.

Your plan just backfired, you need to find something new thats sure!

@brxghtlxghtz @niresenrab @nes-kopi @chickennn-soupp @clear-your-mind-and-dream

Its short ik ik, Don't kill me.

I had some time today at work and I said why not? I need a break from life.

[inkbybambi]

something something kiss cam at a hockey game where there’s an empty seat between you and soap but he’s cute, gives you a smirk and a why not? shrug, leans over to give you such a filthy kiss the camera has to cut away seconds later.

the next time the kiss cam comes on, the seat between you is filled, and ghost decides he deserves a kiss too.

[simonbrain]

ghoap being selfish bastards and stringing you along with their affection. it's hard letting someone into their lives; so many risks come with the job, and to add a civvie to that mess? it's not fair to you.

but they also can't seem to leave you alone. even when they push you away after you show the slightest sign of wanting to take things further than being fuck-buddies, they still keep an eye on you. even when you tell them you don't want anything to do with them anymore, they still show up at your front door. even with teary eyes while you're spitting venom at them, rightfully hurt by their confusing actions, they still think you're beautiful.

you just want to know why they rub it in your face. why they flaunt their unbreakable bond, knowing that there's no space for you except for when they want to sink deep into your holes, leaving their marks. why they can't just decide if they want you or not. it's a risk being with them, you know this, but you just want something for yourself for once in your life. it seems like they're not even giving you a damn chance to prove yourself worthy of their love.

(it hurts so badly to push you away, but they must.)

they're causing you so much distress, not to mention the stress from your job piled on top of that. who wouldn't become resentful towards them? you open your home to them, your legs, your heart—god. what fucking assholes. what did you expect from two military men? they really are just heartless machines.

(no one else has made you feel so whole in years, for the best and for the worst.)

you stop responding to their messages and calls; you curse them both out when they show up at your door separately and again when they show up together, and now you just want to heal from something that didn't even fucking happen. it's pathetic, but you really did love like them. it's hard falling asleep without johnny's obnoxious snoring in your ear or simon's big arms wrapped securely around you, but you'll manage. it's quiet on the drive to work without johnny cranking up some random scottish rapper before simon scolds him and hands the aux to you, giving you the best start to your day, but you'll be fine. it's disheartening when you return home to nothing but a dim lamp in the corner, no greasy takeout waiting for you on the table, or two pairs of ears eager to listen to the shit that went down at work today, but you'll get over it.

then months later they see you at a bar. johnny's trying his best to not just slide up to you and purr into your ear about how gorgeous you look, how blue's his favourite colour and this shade looks so good on you, and did ye wear this tight lil thing just for me, hen? simon's not doing any better; there's a you-shaped hole in his chest, and he wants nothing more than to go home with you and johnny under each arm, but they know they lost their chance with you.

they know this because when you finally catch the source of whoever the hell is staring holes into your head, there's no falter. there's nothing in your eyes that says you want them anymore—you look at them, then look away.

(they don't know your heart still aches for them.)

[girl-lostconnection]

Hear me out, on another hybrid AU:

The Big, the Bad and the Wolf

guard dog!Soap x cow!Simon x Wolf!Reader.

Stay with me, Soap who is supposed to protect Simon.

Soap whose whole job and existence revolves around keeping big beast of a man safe and sound in his bloody flower fields from the likes of you.

Johnny who retires early with Simon and swears to himself he will make the most of it.

That he will give Simon the life he always deserved.

The peace and the joy and the quiet.

Simon who’s taking to the leisurely life surprisingly well, enjoying quite a lot the ability to sleep in the grass for like 12 hours a day, flowers swaying over him, his tagged ear twitching when the gust of wind or a fly disturb his peace.

And you as a wolf absolutely enamoured with Simon but so wary of Soap, because he’s big and loud and he doesn’t take any shit from you. Not letting you come even close to his big charge.

Simon who’s not worried about you lurking on the outskirts in the slightest.

You are not big enough to pull him under, but you are hungry enough to get desperate.

He knows you don’t want to eat him.

You just want to eat something.

Anything that will sate the ache in your belly.

You, who bristles at the sight of Soap jogging Simon’s way — hound’s sensitive nose picking up the intruder, because that’s who you are.

A stranger in their warm bubble of a life.

You don’t belong there, but god knows something soft aches just below your thorax when you watch them have dinners through the windows of their kitchen.

You are careful — a predator in their prime, steps deceptively soft, shoulders rolling when you stretch out, globes of your joints popping softly.

You are beautiful — tail swaying with every step, eyes bright and sharp, fur hugging you up.

You are dangerous — sharp rows of teeth and deep-chested growls, fingers with claws flexing, muscles moving under your skin.

And you are alone.

Soap notes it after a few weeks of them watching you. He was tense about possible pack or other wolves coming with you to try and see if they can simply take what they want.

But no one comes.

It’s just you.

Johnny doesn’t want to feel bad for you because it’s none of his business, he doesn’t have to care, not when you are still very much of a threat even all on your own.

Simon watches you from the corner of his eye, when you circle him, but never come too close — sitting on the edge of his field. As close to the tree line as possible.

That’s smart.

Johnny is fast and Johnny can be really fucking mean if he thinks someone disturbs Ghost’s rest.

But you don’t do anything. You just watch him, your face tinted with something he can’t quite make out — you are too far away.

Simon sighs and flips on his stomach, his head getting propped on his palm, his eyes squinting when sun hits them.

He wonders what drew you out of the woods to their cabin.

He wonders how long have you been alone.

He wonders how hungry you must be to leave whatever safety your territory gave you to come out and watch him from distance.

He wonders why you never attack.

You should have at this point, you even look hungry — swaying a little from how lightheaded you probably are, eyes glued to him, tongue swiping over your lips.

Simon sits up on the grass and you step back, ready to retreat. Skittish thing.

Where is your pack, big bad wolf? What are you doing out here all on your own?

Soap sits in the shadows, not far away from Simon, ear twitching as his eyes narrow. But you just step back into the tree line before you finally turn your back to them.

Still hungry. Still dangerous.

They shouldn’t care, but Simon knows hunger and people being wary of appearances all too well and Soap is the ever bleeding heart.

Soap can respect that you came to show yourself and didn’t try to scavenge what you could. Didn’t slip in their pantry, didn’t steal one of the hens he takes care of. You didn’t take what wasn’t yours. That tells him a few things.

Ghost pretends he doesn’t notice when next time Johnny leaves out a plate with food.

Soap in return pretends he didn’t see Simon wash said plate afterwards, brown eyes burrowing on the food that’s got left on the plate.

You ate just a little bit of what they left.

Like you weren’t sure how much was allowed to take. Like you didn’t want to take too much.

Johnny sighs and doesn’t growl next time you come back to watch them in the field.

You are tenser this time, eyes sharp and wary on them — flickering from one to another. When Simon moves to flip on his belly you don’t wait for him to sit up — you leave.

Simon hums to himself and shakes his head when Soap gets up to follow you. No use.

You know these woods better than they do and you clearly aren’t in the mood to talk right now.

Even less than you usually are.

(Wolves are proud creatures. Polite but proud. Perhaps their pity was worse than your hunger. Only time will show)

That night Johnny leaves out another plate and you don’t touch it this time.

You disappear for two whole weeks before you finally come back — lip split, gashes on you already scabbing up, bruises blooming like dark violent watercolours.

Soap can’t help but growl, but immediately falls silent when you sneer in return, upper lip raising to bare sharp canines. Not a pushover, aren’t you?

You are hurt and wound up.

You don’t realise Johnny wasn’t growling at you, but for you.

Simon doesn’t move, watching how you limp to your usual fallen log where you sit and watch him.

At this point it’s a little ritual of yours. You come out more often than not, you sit on the other side of the field and you watch them.

So Simon stays put and tension slowly bleeds out of you. Like you needed this moment of peace and quiet. The routine that grounds you back, holds you together when you need it the most.

This flower field with the two of them living inside their warm bubble of a life.

Life you never had. Life you aren’t sure you will ever get.

Deep seated jealousy sticky and so sweet on your teeth it hurts.

Simon huffs air out softly and lies back on the grass, stretching out to his full height and well, showing off a little bit.

Afternoon sun is soft and warm on his skin, flowers’ scent cloying his head — his eyes half lidded and thoughtful when he watches you.

What happened to you, big bad wolf? Who hurt you? Why are you still alone?

But you don’t answer, tail awkwardly wrapped around your hip, arms curled around you, crossed over the chest with palms tucked in your armpits.

You are visibly tired.

Whatever the hell happened it took a lot of energy. Healing up even a little probably took even more out of you.

So it’s no surprise that you are slower to react when Simon sits up, it’s not surprise you are sluggish and exhausted. That you stay on the edge of their field when usually at this point you leave.

But the wayyour temple tilts on the trunk of the tree you lean on is a surprise. The way your lashes flutter down, even the way your breath evens out.

It’s the first time you fall asleep in their presence.

You sleep for a few hours, waking up when sun starts to set down — slowly uncurling from your position. Probably sore as hell, it couldn’t have been comfortable to sleep sitting on a log.

But you just shake it off like it’s nothing, small wince passing through your face when you move a little too quick. Yeah, definitely sore. Bruises now aching and tugging with every movement.

You watch them for a second too long, your mouth falling open as if you want to say something. But nothing comes out of it and you just stalk back into the woods.

Big bad wolf, all alone on your menacing forest kingdom. Nature’s aid, isn’t that how they call you? The species that weeds out overpopulation of those who aren’t supposed to survive.

Simon wonders how bad things are in the woods if you are this hungry. By the looks of it, so does Johnny.

Where is your pack, big bad wolf? Why are you all alone?

The next day Soap gets out on a mission to find out what has been happening in the damn forest. He makes it far enough for the tree crowns to start covering the sky, branches so thick it’s dark in here even in the middle of the day.

He makes decision to turn back only in the evening. When he realises you have been tailing him for a good hour now.

Eyes sharp and steps soft, your frame merging with the shadows in the corner of his eye.

Nature’s aid, biggest menace in these woods, bad wolf.

“Don’t leave him alone. It’s not safe.”, the words reach him so suddenly it doesn’t immediately register for him that you said something.

That’s the first time you spoke to him.

To be completely honest, up until now he wasn’t even sure if you even can.

“Talkin’ about Simon?”, Soap inhales air, scents merging into something he can’t quite make out. But he definitely knows the main note, one he smelled way too often during his service. The one that to this day makes the fine hairs on his neck rise. “He ‘s a big lad. He can take care of himself”

You huff out air — half amusement and half annoyance, still not stepping out in the light. So Johnny steps closer to you instead. The note in your scent hits him harder, cloying at the back of his throat.

Blood.

“Ye’r hurt”, he murmurs, eyes tracking you carefully. He knows that hurt predator is an easily agitated one and he’d prefer not to find out the strength of your bite today. “What happened tae ye?”

You huff air out again and retreat deeper, your eyes shining through the darkness, your shoulders rolling when you get lower and start walking.

So here’s that. Conversation over, he assumes.

Soap follows you, for some bloody reason. You know these woods better than they do. He doubts you are leading him to certain doom. If you wanted to kill him, you could have done it before.

No one would have found his body this deep in the forest.

But you silently lead him out to the their flower field. Exact spot where you usually sit watching him and Simon. So, definitely not doom. Just a different trail.

“Dae ye need hulp?”, he probes again, stepping out in the field.

Giving you space.

Woods are your territory, he knows better than to overstay however long you tolerate him there.

But whatever happened to you must have taken a significant toll on you. Because instead of snapping your jaws at him to urge him move his arse away and out, you pause contemplating.

Johnny takes the chance, gauging that your silence means you probably need it. You don’t want to ask for anything but you are in no position to refuse it.

“Ah will lea’ supplies oan the porch”, he just says and turns around not waiting for an answer.

You are not the most talkative person, aren’t you?

Jesus, he’s just surrounded by silent and resilient types.

First Simon, now you.

“I don’t need your pity.”, your words reach him, tone more tired than sharp like you say it just as a precaution.

Johnny can’t help but flash you a grin over his shoulder, iron of spiked collar a snug fit around his throat.

“Guid. Fur ye aren’t gonnae git any.”, his retort leaves you speechless, his grin only widening when you blink at him in astonishment.

Got you there, didn’t he?

“Bear traps.”, the notion is quiet, he’d probably miss it if he wasn’t this close to you.

But the request itself makes him cock his head to the side. Why would you need any?

But Johnny stays silent and you interpret his puzzled look your way.

“You asked if I need help. Bear traps. That would be a big help.”, you explain and he almost starts shaking his head at you.

No, he gets what you need the question is why do you need them.

But you are tired, he can smell your blood and he’d bet his left arm you are hungry as a (no pun intended) bloody dog.

So he just nods and turns away, starting to walk home — flowers grazing his thighs, light of their cabin flickering at him through the window, wind chimes dingling in the air.

They found out a long time ago that you aren’t going to attack them from the back.

He doubts you will change your mind in the current state of yours.

“Goodnight, wolf.”, Soap murmurs for some reason and swears he actually hears a breathy chuckle.

Sound sends shivers down his spine.

“Goodnight, John”, you muse back so soft he actually stops, head snapping right back, hoping to see your face in the moment.

But when he turns around — you are already gone. Only shadows twisting at the edge of the tree line.

Simon pulls him in a cuddle as soon as Johnny steps through the door, his big frame wrapping around Soap like a heavy blanket, lips demanding a wet hungry kiss.

Soap just pulls him closer, tail wagging so hard he almost smacks their coats off the hanger, grin widening.

Night is young and warm — sweet scent of flower field and Simon’s hide wrapping around Johnny.

The breath of air is soft on his skin, sheen of sweat covering it when he rolls his hips, strands of outgrown hair sticking to his forehead as he fucks his husband in their bed.

Big palms splayed over Simon’s back — forcing him to arch harder, pushing his face down in the pillows, wet greedy heat of him pulling Johnny deeper.

Needy fucking thing, Soap was gone for barely a day and here is what he comes home to.

“Shuid keep ye stuffed a' th' time, doll. Fuckin' meltin me down thare, aren’t ye? An' 'ere ah thought ye were goin’ tae tak' the wolf instead o' me.”, Johnny growls, driving his cock just deeper into Simon, smirk — a wicked sharp thing — widening when Ghost clenches around him.

Oh, someone is fucking excited at the mere thought of that.

If it was anyone else Soap would have been already reeling with jealousy, mild possessive streak of his baring teeth to sink them into Simon’s flushed nape, tongue gliding to collect the sweat and blood.

Renewing the bite that has already scarred.

They are each other’s forever and always and Johnny is not giving him away.

But Johnny doesn’t mind taking you in.

Johnny doesn’t mind getting both of you — he has two hands after all and bed big enough to fit all three of them. You’d slot in nicely, he can already picture it.

You — with your wild eyes and sharp teeth and this fluffy fucking tail driving him positively mad.

Fucking tease, he would have pressed you in the grass, closing his jaws down on your throat, marking you for all to see if he could.

His herd and his mate. His wolf and his pack.

Maybe he is a greedy man, but he made peace with that a long time ago when he got his eyes on the heavy beast of his lieutenant.

“Ye’d lik' that wouldn’t ye? Getting that wolf in oor kip, feeding thaim proper 'n' pumpin' thaim silly. Or letting thaim fuck you silly. Doesn’t that sound lovely, mo chridhe?”, Johnny breathes out in Simon's ear, his chest pressing down on Ghost's back, hips moving.

Takes a lot to mount a man like Simon Riley but Johnny has been doing a job of it so good, it is (to his absolute elation) Riley-MacTavish now.

“Talkin’ too much”, Simon breathes out, stubborn and beautiful and god, Johnny isn’t sure how it’s possible to fall in love with someone again and again, but he does.

Every day, every breathing moment of his life.

As long as he is alive — he will love this man.

Forever and always.

“Can’t hear ye, doll.”, Soap growls softly and circles the rim of Simon’s hole stretched thin around his cock, eyes darkening when Ghost clenches down on him like a vice. “Ye gotta speak up.”, but with the way Johnny moves inside of him it feels impossible to talk coherently.

Not when Simon’s eyes roll back, jaw going slack because this is good, hot molten honey of Soap’s words spreading throughout his body, burning tender nerve endings.

This is perfect, his husband a big mean guard dog always on alert, always hungry for more and more and more.

Sharp teeth and sharp taunts, bulk of him moulding Simon into pliant shivering mess, sweat and slick dripping down his thighs and he’s hot.

God, he’s so fucking hot.

Drunk on pleasure and heat of summer’s night, soaked in Johnny’s affection, littered with Johnny’s bites.

Simon turns his head on the side just to take a proper breath, cool air kissing his skin — his face red and sweaty, when his eyes zero in on your eyes in the window.

Fucking hell.

He should be fucking ashamed of how hard he clenches down on Soap when you cock your head — eyes heavy, glinting in the faint shimmer of their porch light.

You are bloody enjoying it, aren’t you?

You just stay there, watching him with the same quiet intensity that you show out on the edge of his field. Always so far, always out of reach.

Teasing him.

Soap’s hand finds its way between Simon’s legs and he is coming apart at the seams, drool dripping down his chin, eyes fixed on yours in the window because that’s fucking perverted.

He’s letting practically a stranger watch him getting fucked by his husband. He should be reeling, should be pulling out the hunting rifle and having a few words with you about privacy and boundaries.

But the way you watch him…he can’t stop looking right back at you.

He can’t stop himself from thinking whether or not you’d prefer to bend him over like Soap or be good and let Simon get a proper taste of ya.

He’d like both.

He wonders what would it take for him to pull you under.

Not much probably.

Just a little patience and a sliver of luck.

Just enough to catch you off guard.

Soap comes next day to you being pulled under Simon’s bulk, his thin tail with the brush on its end flicking from side to side, your legs twitching on both sides of Simon’s hips.

You are no small prey but Simon is massive and he pins you down hard enough to render you helpless.

His body slotted between your thighs, taking up more space than you would usually give him (if you would have given any at all).

He hums, ignoring Johnny’s amused huff and presses a kiss to your cheek, smiling when your body melts into his.

Someone’s fucking starved for affection, poor thing. Don’t worry, they can take real good care of you.

Simon tuts at your attempt to wiggle yourself from underneath him which is fruitless endeavour at best — even Johnny knows better that to try and pull him up when he lies down.

So you shouldn’t try either.

Especially when you should know better than anyone that he’s not moving anywhere until he sees some fucking honesty from you.

Can’t act all coy and prideful when he saw your pupils blowing wide yesterday, your eyes dark eclipses, shining through the fucking window.

Can’t pretend you don’t know where this all is coming from when he already have seen the hunger with which you watched them.

No need to be cold and hungry, when you are more than welcome to stay with them.

When they can keep you warm and stuffed and fed.

You growl at him again and earn yourself nothing but click of his tongue and a pull in a wet sloppy kiss that ends as soon as it started.

Almost costing you a needy whine.

Simon doesn’t care much for your growls and kicking, his nose nudging your jaw so he can properly nuzzle into your neck, breathing out in content.

Much better.

You smell like woods and wolf — wet soil and pinewood, fur and salty sweat. Simon hums to himself and presses his hips down on yours, rolling them in to grind into you.

The sound you make sends a shiver through both of you.

“Won’t hurt you, pet, I promise”, Simon rumbles out and you’d snap back at him but he grinds into you again, pressing more of his weight and the friction is so delicious you lose your mind a little bit.

“Jus’ like that, m? Feels good, doesn’t it?”, he murmurs, lips trailing down your neck, bulk of his body heavy and heavenly on you.

It’s more than good. It’s maddening.

His teeth nip your ear and you downright whimper, thighs clamping down around him, heels digging in his lower back.

Sensitive little thing. How cute.

Simon licks the sweat off your temple and presses a tight kiss to it as he keeps grinding down on you.

Heavy in the most delicious way, his dark eyes softer than you expected when your lips fall open.

Scratch beast’s belly and the gate will open right up.

Simon takes his sweet time with you, not in any hurry at all, drinking in every gasp and whimper of yours, murmuring in your ear praises.

“Doin’ so good for me, luv. Wanna see more. Can I, luv?”, his palms slide under your dark shirt and you whine, tugging him closer.

“Just a lick, sweet’eart, gonna get just a little taste”, Simon promises, when he pulls your sweater up. His tongue sliding over your nipple, lips closing around it as he sucks it in.

His mouth hot sinful thing, his hands rubbing the inner sides of your thighs until you relax and allow your legs to fall right open for him.

Here we go.

“So pretty for me”, he rumbles, pleased glimmer in his eyes when you buckle your hips up to grind on him.

Needy little thing.

Sweet as honey and dark as a night.

He should have snatched you off your bloody spot on the edge of the field ages ago. “Gonna let me have a taste, will you, luv?”

His grin downright wicked when you nod, biting your lips to muffle the gasps and all these little sounds he coaxes out of your throat.

Ghost doesn’t waste much time, pulling the rest of your clothes off and tossing them aside — grass soft and tickling on your skin, his palms rough and heated as he settles between your legs.

Tongue slowly sliding up to the sensitive top of you, lips wrapping around it, teeth grazing when the bastard smiles at your pupils blowing wider.

Your eyes — dark hungry abyss.

Your eyes — an endless fucking well and Simon wants to jump right in.

His grin only widens when another set of hands pulls you a little higher, palms settling just under your chest, stubble scratching your jaw.

“Huvin all the fun wi'oot me, aye?”, the man breathes out and you shiver, his fingers kneading the soft parts of you, his thumbs playing with your nipples almost lazily.

He’s beyond relaxed in his advances, charming lilt of his voice making your head spin.

“Someone’s sensitive”, Soap chuckles when your eyes glaze over, his teeth grazing your throat, tasting the blush spreading across you like wildfire.

Deliciously pretty. He might just have to eat you up.

“Don’t get shy wi' us noo, pup”, he is heat and he is want, his hands groping and massaging, his hands piecing your back together after Simon takes you apart.

Soap feels like salvation, his hunger familiar to you, his needs feeling so similar to yours it’s almost like looking in a distorted mirror.

But he chuckles, thumbing your nipples and you whimper, skin tingling with heat, wet mess between your legs.

Simon’s head is bobbing when he steals glances up at you two — eyes heavy and dark you feel your vision crumpling around the edges.

Afternoon sun soft on your skin, smell of flowers cloying your head, scent of Soap’s sweat making your mouth water and you need-need-need, please, just this once, please you can’t—

There is a raw desperate sound rumbling through your throat and Johnny smiles.

Johnny breathes our “bonnie”, Johnny holds you in place and plays your body like you are the instrument he has been tinkering with for ages and now he finally knows how to make you sing.

Smug asshole.

He clicks his tongue and his palm smacks the softer part of your chest, sting spreading to hard nipple, white-hot pleasure rewiring you to hell and back.

Simon holds you wide open and drags his tongue up, fingers groping the fat of your inner thighs, pleasure echoing through your body just so he can pour in more.

You are full and overflowing, you are needy and hungry.

You want everything and at once and it never felt this good or this right.

“Be good, pet”, Ghost sucks a hickey in your inner thigh and grins when Soap’s hand wraps around your throat and you slick sensitive part of you throbs. “Nice and pliant for us, aren’t you?”

Pretty fucking wolf, too bad you don’t have any pack, no one is coming to get you.

Too bad they won’t be letting you go anyway.

[hyperprosexia]

cw: 18+ | omegaverse; pregnancy; bonded mates; jealousy; alpha!ghoap x fem!omega!reader

your alpha mates, simon and johnny, who go through a strange kind of behaviour once you do end up carrying their pups.

suddenly, there seems to be an imbalance between your beloved mates the sweet affection and mutual respect they shared now withered like rose petals, despite your efforts to keep the stem watered.

perhaps your love isn't enough, though?

perhaps you're not loving on them equally?

or perhaps it's the fact the other can sense who has managed to knock you up during your last heat just as well as you can already tell?

you do feel especially drawn to simon since that night. even more so since you figured out what's been causing your hormones to go haywire along with that morning sickness and fatigue.

while simon keeps claiming that he knew he's finally done it the moment his knot had lodged itself inside your eager cunt, johnny keeps challenging him every chance he gets taunting and snapping and growling at him from his side next to you.

and johnny is especially clingy now that your bump starts showing at five months pregnant, carrying not one, but two pups at that.

he's ushered you into the bedroom again, helped you arrange the large nest to your liking before pulling you right into his loving arms as you rest with your back against his bare, furry chest.

it's nice, peaceful. you feel loved and cared for in a way that has you purring, though it's not the lack of attention or affection that's been stressing you out, it's

"my turn," simon grumbles lowly as he enters the shared bedroom. he's been looking for you for a minute too long for his liking, and finding you curled up against johnny again leaves his wolf snarling and his stomach churning with the acidic need to protect and possess his pregnant omega.

"move, mactavish."

behind you, johnny stiffens. "negative. ah need this."

the tension rises at once as they snarl at each other; air thickening as their usually calm and soothing scents turn bitter, nearly causing you to gag.

"stop," you trill, squirming in johnny's embrace as the puppies move inside your bulging belly, sensing your distress. "no more fighting. i need you two to start getting along again."

johnny's growling almost stops completely when he senses your shifting mood; it lowers to a soft warning that vibrates against your back while simon approaches the nest, towering with his broad shoulders squared in a display of alpha dominance.

and even though he's not meaning to intimidate you, you duck your head naturally.

"he's been hogging you for days, love! i miss you," simon huffs, pinning johnny with a sharp glare; tawny eyes glinting with fury as he watches the other alpha's hands caress over your bump. "these pups are mine and so are you."

you wince when johnny's growl rises again.

"she's mine, too! the fuck are ye on about? ye can rest with her later."

"i want to rest with her now."

"johnny." craning your head back to gaze at him, you let out a soothing chirp. "make some space for simon, please."

johnny tuts and huffs, melts underneath your stare when you blink your eyes up at him so prettily, and he relents with an annoyed chuff.

and simon looks all too smugly about it, when johnny obeys your request.

you're shifted and moved carefully, manhandled with the utmost care by the roughest pairs of hands on this planet, until you're laying on your back, staring at the ceiling in the dimly lit bedroom while both of your massive mates sandwich you between them.

yet they're still acting like a pair of petulant toddlers, fighting over who gets to have their favourite toy as they keep growling at each other, holding eye-contact over the ample swells of your breasts.

as you let out a deep sigh, johnny nuzzles your shoulder apologetically.

"ah cannae have one moment with ye without tha' big geezer bloody growlin' at me."

"one moment? tch," simon countered, rubbing his mammoth palm over your baby bump self-soothingly. "you've been spending way more time with her than me."

while they continue to growl at each other so quietly, anyone else wouldn't be able to hear it, you keen softly: "i just want you two to get along again."

eventually, you reach up to cover their eyes with your hands respectively; blinding them like one would a predator to calm them down and cutting off the view of each other.

"enough," you hiss warningly, their sour stench agitating your omega and maternal instincts. "no more fighting, you're upsetting me and our pups, and i cannot deal with it anymore."

both men go silent immediately once they can hear and smell how much their behaviour is affecting you. they take deep breath, nuzzle against your warm palms, and start to relax into the mattress of the nest at last. for now.

as you lower your hands again, johnny scoots even closer to you.

"ah jus' wan' tae be with ye, bunny."

on your other side, simon wraps one heavy arm around you, careful as he rests his hand on your pregnant belly. "and i need to be with you, pet."

"and i need you both equally," you remark emphatically. "this pregnancy is already taking a toll on me and i need you both to take care of us."

whining softly, you squirm between them on the mattress, trying to get more comfortable.

"i'm scared as much as i'm excited."

finally, realization seems to dawn and click inside their thick skulls, and then your alphas share a long look full of understanding and raw determination something you haven't witnessed in months.

suddenly, a concoction of wet oakwood, warm brandy, and featherlight soot mixes with that of sugarplums, clean cotton, and dried cloves, and you inhale it deeply as you feel a new wave of fatigue seep into your limbs; turning them heavy and full of lead until you're practically pinned to the mattress.

and while johnny gently nuzzles your sensitive scent gland, simon continues to rub and feel up your swollen belly, cherishing every single tiny kick and flutter of his growing pups as you arch into their gentle ministrations with a happy, content purr.

"can we turn off the light? i'm tired already," you keen and yawn throughly, snuggling even closer to both alphas to steal their warmth while scent marking them as well.

they can't help themselves but coo at the sound of your yawning, finding it both endearing and adorable; all too aware that you're growing tired more easily as pregnant and ripe as you are now, and needing more attention and tender, loving touch all things only they can provide.

neither of them can quite handle how precious you are, especially now. it fills them with a strange, possessive pride to know that they're the cause of it though one of them in particular.

johnny pulls the duvet over you, making sure to keep you warm and comfortable next to him, before flicking off the bedside lamp.

"lemme hold ye, hen," he mumbles under his breath. "cannae sleep if ah don't."

he curls himself around you like a needy mutt, and buries his nose into the crook of your neck, nosing along your skin, determined to leave no space between you two while simon nuzzles the crown of your head, inhaling and huffing your scent like an addict, his muscular legs all entangled with yours.

"rest now, pet," he rumbles with his hand still splayed over the curve of your bump possessively below the duvet.

[sir-heichou-smith]

Hear me out...

141 getting back from deployment and you pick them up in Price's old pickup.

You pull up to personnel quarters, barely putting her in park before leaping out of the vehicle. The boys are waiting outside with a small ruck each, covered in bruises and bandages from their latest op.

Johnny gets to you first. Picking you up and spinning you around, smiling and laughing and full of grateful kisses. "Missed you so much bonnie," he says with a cheese grin.

You turn your head to look at Gaz and Price, pulling out of the Scot's squeeze to embrace the other two men. You feel a pair of eyes on you as your shirt rides up while in their arms.

Simon had taken the bags and stuffed them into the bed before waiting patiently (as a lethal sniper does) for his turn to get his hands on you.

Except, he takes one look at Price and the older man already knows what's about to take place in the back of his truck. He sneaks the keys from your grip, too distracted by your other boys to notice.

Except you very much notice when you're hauled into the small rear seats. Simon and Johnny crawling in after you. Price takes up the driver seat and Kyle sits to his right in the passenger.

It's a tight squeeze with the two massive men on either side of you. Simon remedies that by having you straddling his lap, speared on his thick cock; Johnny already has his fatigues loose around his hips, palming himself through his briefs.

"S'alright birdie, we're here now. Gonna take such good care a ya." Scarred hands grip your bare ass and squeeze hard enough to leave red marks and nail indents.

Johnny takes your right hand and places it on his crotch, rutting up into your touch like a desperate horn dog. "Cannae wait to get ya home, lass. Gonna make ye feel so good."

He takes you by the back of the neck, a bit of hair in his grip, and gently leans you back so your shoulders rest on their legs pressed together beneath you, and your head sits perched on the console in the middle of the two men up front. Price throws his arm around your face, elbow securing your head so it doesn't move. The smell of sweat and deodorant and something that's just Price fills your nose, and makes you clench your cunt harder around Ghost's cock.

As your back is forced into a deep arch, you do your best to bounce on the veiny cock stuffing your tight little cunt, but between Johnny's fingers rubbing light circles on your clit, the smell of Price and his sweat, and Simon jamming into that gooey spot inside do you in quick.

You swear you throw your back out with how hard you come, seeing stars and biting into the meaty arm caging your head in.

Johnny's the first to follow after you, groaning desperately with a skeleton clad hand wrapped around his throbbing length, and then it's Simon, not bothering to pull out so you get flooded with his hot, creamy seed.

Price lets up on his arm wrapped around you, and instantly you're pulled forward into strong arms. You couldn't really tell whose hands belonged to who, deep voices cooing into your ears and lips kissing all over your neck and face and shoulders.

"Don't think we're finished with you yet, dove. Once we get home, you're not leaving that bed til we say so." Price's voice comes from up front, strained and a bit breathless if Kyle's hand reaching over into his pants says anything at all.

Oh yeah. You're in for a long, strenuous, very much so worth it reunion. The massages and kisses and warm tea after will make up for it, you're sure.

[lay-z]

The unmated omega Sergeant of 141, who gets deployed to Mexico along with their team- and packmates, Ghost and Soap, to fight a new cartel boss along Los Vaqueros.

You meet the confident Colonel, Alejandro, and his charming right hand man, Rodolfo, and instantly feel drawn to both alphas, and when they can clearly smell you, despite your despicable scent blockers, they know you're the one they've been looking for.

However, once business is finished and the op ends successfully, neither Alejandro nor Rudy can seem to let you go, because 'tú nos perteneces, cariño.'

And while you're already smitten with the strangers who've been courting you since you stepped foot in Las Almas, you don't even notice the panicked stare shared between Ghost and Soap, who've been planning to finally make you theirs as soon as you're all safely back home.

HERE'S THE (SORTA) FINISHED PIECE AYOO 🩶

[goatgoesmbe]

Johnny has a whole gallery of himself posing half naked for drawing reference.

Simon found out about it, and sent it all to his own phone for wank material.

[cutiecusp]

Three's a crowd.

My first Ghoap drabble! Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x reader.

tw. talks of fantasy, sharing, threesome. HEA. MDNI!

"You want me to do what?" You exclaim, your voice high enough to startle the person in front of you. Standing in the queue for your morning coffee on the phone to your husband, Simon.

"Its just a fantasy i had, love. It's not important." You hear him reply, his deep voice smooth down the line.

"No- No i mean I'm open to it, but dropping it on me while I'm in the queue, Simon?" You ask, eyes flicking up to the board, as if you didn't already know what you wanted.

"I've just been thinking about it, and i know we talked about expanding things in the bedroom, didn't we?"

Your gaze landed on the cake pops as you nod, forgetting he cant see you.

"You there, love?" He chuckles, his voice light, as if he hadn't just dropped a bombshell on you in public.

"I'm here, just processing." You reply, your face pink at the thought of the suggestion.

Drink and cake pop in hand, you find a quiet corner of the café.

"Is it a one time thing, or do you want more?" You ask softly, your thoughts running wild.

"Up to you, whatever is comfortable for you." Simon replies.

"And you want him to watch, or-?" Your face aflame, you hope no one is close enough to hear your conversation, your gaze flittering around the room.

Seemingly safe, you take a sip from your drink, cherishing the insane amount of sugar and cream in it.

"I want a night with you both, i see the way you look at him too, dove."

You almost choke on your drink, although you were happily married to Simon, and had been for years, there was something charming about the cheeky Scot who ate all your cookies and pressed a friendly kiss into your hair in thanks.

"Si- i don't-" You stutter, your voice cracking.

"Don't need to hide it, i understand." He says softly, his voice almost wistful.

"What if he says no, I'd be so embarrassed." You admit, gripping your phone a little tighter to your ear.

"Who do you think suggested it, love?" He replies.

You feel your pulse race in your throat as you clear it, your mouth unable to form words.

Johnny wanted this too?

"Uh, yeah, okay babe. If its what you want?" Your throat dry, you take another sip from your cup.

"Can't think of a better way to spend the night with my two favourite people." Simon chuckles down the phone.

A cough from behind you interrupts your phone call, turning round, you look into a familiar set of eyes.

"Why are you blushing so hard, Bon?" a deep, Scottish brogue asks.

"Ah, he's there." You hear your husband say through the phone.

"Meet you both at home." He says before hanging up.

Your eyes connect with Johnny's, and you were shocked to see the dark lust behind his eyes.

Holding out a hand, he looks down at you, taking in your flushed face, and the way your thighs are squeezed tightly together, a flicker of a satisfied grin on his face as his eyes travel from your face to your shoes and back again.

"Ready to go home?" he smiles again, the innocence of the question perfect for public, with the promise of more underneath.

You are unable to speak, so give a shaky nod before placing your hand in his, unable to ignore the electricity between you.

He urges you forward, collecting your cup and bag, before settling his hand on your lower back, the heat of his hand branding you forever.

He leans past you to get the door, his body brushing past you as you blush harder.

"Can't wait to see where else you blush, Bonnie." He whispers into the shell of your ear.

"I have a feeling you are going to be a very good girl for us."

.....................................................................

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