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sylvesterelle · 3 days ago

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Meditations in an Emergency Part 2

Reader/Simon "Ghost" Riley/John "Soap" MacTavish

“Like it feels so good to get and give a compliment and we should normalize doing it more often. Strangers reaching out across the great abyss for a moment of connection,” you say, leaning back and gesturing broadly. “Ships passing in the night with naught but a toot-toot of mutual appreciation.”

“I don’t think that’s how the shipping industry works.” Or: How to live well and get railed through the power of compliments.

Part 2 of 3, 14.2k words, explicit

Read part one I Read on AO3

Author's note: Hi hello somehow the supposed-to-be-5k part 2 of this accidentally turned into a 15k-and-going-strong porn extravaganza, so I've split it up and will post the last bit in a few days. Please enjoy!!

Also if you've left a sweet comment here or on AO3 please know I have shrines to you in my heart (even if I don't often respond) (because I am very easily overwhelmed by the kindness of strangers) (but I am kissing you all on the mouth)

Your blood’s running so hot you’re surprised you’re not steaming as you hurry through the freezing streets. It’s a proper blizzard now, flurries glittering in scattered streetlamps and the air shining with that strange, magical half-light of winter nights (a result, you cheerily inform Soap and Ghost, of snow being the number one most reflective surface on earth). The streets are quiet and still and it feels like you’re the only people left in the whole world; a small pocket of time and space for you to get utterly lost within.

Ghost spends most of the short journey craned over so he can press his nose into your neck, nipping at your throat as he drinks in the scent of you, while Soap’s got his big hands glued to your ass, groping away like he’s gagging for a public indecency charge. You’re all near panting by the time you make it to your building, the pair of them urging you on as you fumble with the main door and drag them up too many flights of stairs—a cosmic insult to your sheer levels of desperation.

“Could just fuck on the staircase,” Ghost mumbles on the second-to-last landing, gnawing at your jaw, cheek, throat. “Just a little. To vent the pressure, like.”

“Just one more floor,” you promise breathlessly, pausing just a moment to lean into the delicious, blunt edge of his teeth. Soap growls his impatience on your other side, hands greedy at your waist, teasing at the button of your trousers.

“Catch me if you can,” you say with a grin, breaking away and darting up the stairs as the men sputter and charge after you. Your laugh bursts out of you as you run, high and free like a kid and that’s exactly how you feel, fucking giddy with joy as you tear down the hallways, uncaring that you’re probably waking your neighbors. You’ll be moving on soon anyway, and tonight you don’t feel like stifling a single, blessed sound.

Their footsteps are swift behind you, but you weren’t lying about how very fast you could move when you want. Enough to pause and blow them a taunting kiss before rounding the last corner, grinning like anything at their outraged expressions. Every part of you is alight as you crash against the front door, sending the doormat skittering as you shove your key in the lock and the men swear colorfully behind you, promising all sorts of delicious retribution.

You make it through the entry and halfway to the bedroom before a body crashes into you, lifting you clear off the ground and pinning you with enough force that the wall art rattles and threatens to fall. Ghost, you realize as your fingers scrabble clumsily at his masked face.

“Off, off, off, fucking kiss me,” you demand, and he holds you aloft with a single hand under your ass as he yanks up the mask, exposing his scarred jaw for you to mouth over. You’d marvel at how very much you’re turned on by that show of strength, but you can’t seem to think of much at all when he puts those plush lips against yours, licking into you like he’s memorizing the taste.

You don’t even realize you’ve closed your eyes until you feel a touch on your chin, fingertips still cold from the outside. You whine a little as you’re tugged from Ghost’s kiss, and Soap shushes you with a laugh. “Oh, none of that, bonnie,” he says, “Just wanted t’get a taste of ya.”

He leans down to pick up Ghost’s good work, licking against your lower lip, nipping at the corner of your mouth, sucking a little at the tip of your tongue—all playful provocation to Ghost’s possessive devouring. The combination is making you weak in the fucking knees as they pass you between them, and you find you’re unutterably grateful those muscles aren’t just for show, taking all your weight like it’s nothing.

Well, maybe not nothing, given the way Ghost is rutting against your hip and Soap is making feral little noises as they kiss you into oblivion and you’re suddenly not quite sure you’re going to survive this. Vaguely wonder about the possibility of spontaneously combustion, given how hot you’re burning for them.

"Bed—bedroom?” you break away long enough to ask, cocking your head in that direction and giving Soap the opportunity to trail kisses down your neck.

“I dunno, I seem to remember something about promising you a screw against the wall, bonnie,” Soap says cheekily. You feel his smile when he brushes against the ticklish spot where your throat curves into your collarbone and you don’t stifle your giggle fast enough. He presses his advantage, rubbing his scruff against the spot until you’re wheezing with laughter, stomach literally aching with it as you smack your head against the wall, trying to wriggle away in a desperate frenzy.

“Fucking ow, you bastard,” you laugh-wheeze as Soap finally breaks off from your neck, cupping your head gently and murmuring an apology.

“Don’t break the bird before we even get a chance to play with her, Johnny,” Ghost admonishes as he squeezes your ass, rolls his hips against you filthy-sweet. You shoot him a dirty look and he captures your lips, kisses the thoughts right out of your head until you’re scrabbling at their shoulders, needing them both infinitely closer to you.

“Fuck, how should we, how do we—fucking wall logistics I don’t know. Too horny to think,” you say, letting your legs fall open with an impatient groan. You jolt, swearing roughly when you feel Ghost shift just right, his trapped cock moving to kiss directly against your core. He grinds languidly and you shiver at the feel of him, thick and throbbing even through his jeans, enough to make your cunt clench in anticipation.

“Why don’t you go ahead and give us your first one here. Just like this,” Ghost says, mouthing at your throat. “You can do that for us, can’t you, bird?”

“’Course she can,” Soap coos, “lookit her—nearly there already. Look so lovely like this, bonnie, rubbing up against Ghost all desperate and sweet,” he praises, tucking a messy strand of hair back behind your ear and leaning in to kiss you soundly.

You can’t help but gasp against Soap’s mouth at the pleasure that crashes through you; their kisses, their hands, the delicious grind of Ghost’s cock and the feel of their bodies cradling you in their arms. You can barely breathe with it, all this sensation, and you squeeze your eyes shut briefly to stem the wetness you feel gathering at the corners.

You feel Soap’s thumb run gently under your eye and open to see him bring it to his lips, flicking out his tongue to taste the salt of your tears. “Why are you crying, sweet?” he asks, voice gentle despite the hungry edge to his gaze. “Is it too much? You want us to stop?”

You don’t even think as you grab at his arm, dig your nails in just shy of painful. “Don’t you fucking dare,” you gasp as Ghost thrusts sloppily against you, the sound of his low, animal grunts driving you up the wall literally and figuratively. “Just too horny,” you sob, unable to stop the fat tears as they spill over your cheeks.

While you crying during sex is not an unheard of occurrence, it usually only happens when you're fucked out and sex-stupid, at the tail-end of being railed six-ways-to-Sunday. If you’re this wrecked from a few kisses and a little heavy petting, you shudder to think what you’ll be by the time they’re finished with you.

The thought is enough to have you grabbing them a bit desperately, requesting their full attention even as your body trembles with want—so close to the edge a stray breeze could blow you over. “Aftercare,” you impress upon them, gripping tightly so they know you’re not fucking around. You’d been left shaking and alone in a cooling bed before and you refused to do it ever again, even if this was a just a one-time thing. “You can fuck me nice or fuck me mean, I like it both, but if you don’t stick around long enough to make sure I’m okay after I will end you,” you threaten. “Kat will totally lend me the shotgun behind the bar.” Honestly, she probably wouldn’t–but she’d shoot them for you, which is tantamount to the same thing.

“Aw bonnie, you don’t gotta beg for a thing like that,” Soap cups his broad palm around the back of your neck, thumb rubbing slow circles and calming the thread of anxiety that threatened to unspool your pleasure. “I promised we’d give you what you need, didn’t I? All you gotta do is feel good and let us take care of the rest, yeah?” he asks, nipping at the curve of your ear like he just can’t help himself.

“Though I do like it when you threaten, little rabbit,” Ghost adds, chuckling as he leans in to gnaw a little at your cheek, greedy for the taste of your tears.

“Previous experience would tell me otherwise,” you mutter darkly even as you press up into their starving mouths; feel their hands tighten gratifyingly on you in response.

“Just point me in their direction. I’ll let ‘em breathe long enough to apologize,” Ghost rumbles before a particularly wicked thrust like he’s aiming for your clit, hang the clothes in-between. “Maybe let ‘em watch us fuck you right before putting ‘em out of their misery.” And oh, you like the violent promise in those words; the dark and unfamiliar thrill of someone so casually offering their anger on your behalf. Their retribution.

It makes you ache with a wanting so vast it takes you the rest of the way there and you sob as Ghost rocks up into you and Soap paws at your tits, groping over your shirt as you fall apart entirely in their arms. You feel their foreheads come against yours, grounding you even as you give yourself over to the delicious waves of sensation. Don’t even mind the hot breath that fans against your cheek, feeling too fucking good, too fucking grateful to think about anything else.

“Beautiful, birdie,” Ghost praises, sucking love bites into your throat and grinding more languidly now, easing you through it. “Came so pretty, so easy for us.”

“Didn’t even hafta get a hand on your pussy,” Soap crows.

“Yeah, m’fucking easy. Have you seen yourselves?” you huff out a laugh, gripping a bit desperately at the back of Soap’s neck and threading your fingers through his mohawk just to give yourself something to hold on to.

Your first orgasm is usually enough to take the edge off; sometimes a good fucking while before you could even get going again. But this time it feels like a watering can on a wildfire, like you’ve been burning for days. You wonder, a little deliriously, if somehow they rewired your body while you weren’t looking, reoriented you to them like true fucking north.

At least the haze has cleared enough now that you can take a second; maybe turn on a damn light.

“Down, boy,” you instruct Ghost, snorting at the displeased growl that follows—though you’re not sure if it’s at the command, the wording of it, or both. You sweeten the deal with a kiss that he quickly takes over, leaving you breathless and dizzy when your feet touch ground. Maybe it’s a strange word for such a man, but Ghost looks adorable in that moment; wide mouth all pink and lush, mask rucked up messily against his nose, dark eyes blown with want.

Soap clearly agrees because he makes a soft, fond noise at the sight, reaching out to cup Ghost’s cheek with a tenderness that near breaks your heart. He trails his thumb across Ghost’s jaw and full bottom lip before tugging him close, taking his mouth with his own. And oh, you were right to stop yourself from imagining this before—brain shorting out at the sight of them falling together with something more than want, knuckles gripping white with how fiercely they’re holding on to each other.

You prop your chin on Ghost’s chest to better observe, greedy for the chance to just watch; bask in the sights and sounds. The delicious noises Soap makes as he presses against Ghost like he wants to crawl inside his skin. You know the feeling, surrounded entirely in the circle of their arms and still desperate for more.

“Bird’s drooling on my sweatshirt,” Ghost mumbles against Soap’s mouth, and Soap breaks the kiss with a laugh.

“Aww, fucked out already, bonnie?” he teases, thumbing at your chin. “Haven’t even gotten to bounce you on my cock yet; let you come cryin’ on it.”

You stick your tongue out at him and step back, determined to make use of the natural lull while you’ve a brief moment of clarity.

“Not tapping out, but I am calling a strategic timeout. For optimum enjoyment, you understand. I’ll get the lights. Ghost, you’re on sex playlist. Alexa’s over there,” you point to the bookshelf near the balcony door. “Soap you can…wait, did you leave the fucking door open?” They did indeed leave the fucking door open, which means you’re not going to be able to look your neighbors in the eye ever again. On the bright side, Ghost stopped long enough to hang your bag on the hook before he tackled you into the wall, so, small mercies. “Soap, you’re on door, Christ. Alright, break.” You clap your hands together in the universal signal for let’s move so you can fuck me into oblivion, please and thank you.

Though bemused, they comply.

You avoid the big light like the plague it is, though you’re not interested in a fumble in the dark. No, you want to see everything; spoil yourself with looking. Already dizzy as a Victorian at the mere exposed wrist and neck you’ve been allowed thus far, half-tripping over your feet as you flick on the lamps and fairy lights dotting your apartment, the space filling with a warm, soft glow.

You pause for a moment to push your hair out of your face and catch your breath, revel a little in the anticipatory tingle in your belly. Can’t help but grin at the sheer unexpectedness of it all. The sweetness of it.

Something melodic and soft starts up through the speaker, snagging your attention. You know those chimes, that opening, you swear and—

“Is that The fucking Cure?” you yell, utterly delighted. “You’re so fucking weird, please come and kiss me.”

Ghost snorts but ambles over obediently with his hands in his pockets, lets you take his face in your hands with only the tiniest, indulgent eye roll. “It is extremely attractive to me that your first thought when you hear ‘sex playlist’ is Robert fucking Smith,” you tell him very seriously.

“Shoulda warned ya he’s got shit taste in music,” Soap snarks from the open kitchen, pulling the Brita from the fridge and just making himself right at home.

“You shut your whore mouth,” you call back, not taking your eyes from Ghost. You go on your tiptoes and press a kiss to his mouth, short and chaste and meaning it. “You are absurd. A pastiche. I think I’m a little in love with you.”

“I’ll only break your heart, birdie,” Ghost says, his little satisfied smirk doing little to help your predicament. That fucking dimple.

“S’what hearts are for though, isn’t it?” you thumb at the divot before letting him go with a grin. “Seems a little silly to complain about a feature.”

He lets you tug him to the kitchen and that’s a high in itself, isn’t it? Him letting you be in charge. Just a little, just for now.

Soap passes you a mug of water with a mischievous smile, one of the novelty ones the apartment came stocked with and the only bit of personality in the place. Providentially, it’s one of your favorites: a little silver spaceship mid-abduction over a farm, a cow floating in the air with a bored expression, as if to say “What, this again?” Not for nothing was Fox Mulder your first crush.

“You’ll need to stay hydrated, bonnie,” Soap tells you altogether too smugly. “You’re in for a long night.”

“Oh, and you think you lads will get off easy, do you?” you say as you slurp indignantly—because water’s actually not the worst idea right now. Little touched that he’s thought of it, if you’re being honest.

Ghost leans against the island, tugging you against him as Soap snorts. “I seem to remember you saying exactly those words a moment ago, yes,” he says, raising an eyebrow. You can’t help but reach up, trace your thumb curiously over the small, pale scar that bisects it, Soap’s eyes softening as you do. You make a mental note to ask later, but first–

“Objection, I said that I’m easy. Not that I was going to go easy on you.” you say, dropping your hand. “Crucial semantic difference, and if you play the tapes back you’ll see I did not perjure myself.”

“Tapes?” Soap asks, clearly amused.

“Metaphorical,” you say, waving a dismissive hand. “The cassettes of memory, if you will.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“You’re an odd bird,” Ghost remarks, not displeased.

“Glad you’ve noticed. Now I think there should be something snackish around here,” you say, digging around the drawers you can reach from Ghost’s hold, the man seeming unwilling to let you go at present.

“Et voila!” you say triumphantly, holding aloft a packet of mixed nuts. “Protein. Very important for marathon orgies.”

“Thought you needed more than three to qualify as an orgy,” Soap points out, like a damn pedant.

“Do we not each contain multitudes?” you say with faux solemnity, bestowing a handful of nuts upon him.

Ghost shorts, the sound muffled where his face is buried in your hair. You lift the mug up over your head in offering and he raises his head long enough to take a sip, nipping playfully at your fingers when you offer up a few nuts. The last of your buzz from the bar had mostly dissipated between the cold walk and the excellent orgasm, but you feel better knowing you’ve all had at least a bit to eat and drink, for now. For later, Luigi’s around the corner stayed open 24/7, and there was nothing quite like an after-sex calzone, in your experience.

But that was getting ahead of yourself.

“Ok, rapid fire. Likes, dislikes, hard lines, what’s the play?” you ask, emptying the last of packet into your mouth before tossing it over your shoulder. To their credit, neither hesitate.

“Mask and gloves stay on unless I decide otherwise,” Ghost says immediately, and you nod your understanding. “Other than that, just wanna fuck you, bird. Don’t much care how.” He comes up to thumb consideringly at your mouth. “Though if you want to put those pretty lips around my cock I wouldn’t complain.”

“Done,” you agree easily, leaning back to nip a little at his jaw, his large hands tightening pleasantly on you.

Soap’s eyes rake over your body like he’s planning the fastest way to take you apart, lingering hungrily where Ghost’s skeleton-gloved hands splay across your waist. “Wanna get my mouth on you first. Your tits, your pussy, both if you’ll let me. Make sure you’re all good and messy before we take you,” he says with a shark-like smile that promises the best kind of trouble. “Liked seeing you ride Ghost like that, too. All mad for a bit of friction. Could you give us another like that, ya reckon?” he asks.

“On board. Very much on board,” you say, his words sending a little flutter of heat through your belly. “Bites, hickeys, bruises, et cetera?”

“There you go threatening us with a good time again,” Ghost chuckles low. You feel his smile as he nips at your ear, just a touch too sharp. “Go on then, rabbit; we can take it a little rough.”

“Excellent, let the record show we’re all agreed on some light mauling,” you adopt a businesslike tone.

“Condoms?” Soap asks very responsibly. And you know what your answer should be, know what you would counsel literally anyone else in your situation. And yet…

“I have an IUD,” you blurt. “And I’m clean—I mean, I get tested regularly. I have the results on my phone if you want. I mean, assuming you’re also clean and even want to come in me. Or on me. Which. I mean. Do you? Because I want you to. So much. So, so much.” you say, mouth doing that thing where it just goes off on its own again.

“Fuck yes, bonnie,” Soap sounds wrecked, eyes intense as he crowds you against Ghost. Shoving your legs apart and making himself right at home between your thighs. “Wanna see it on your pussy, your tits, that pretty little face. Want you fucking dripping with us. Yeah, L.T.?”

You actually feel Ghost’s cock twitch at your back. “Gonna fill you up good, birdie. Get you all sweet and sloppy for us,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your temple before whispering wicked in your ear, “maybe I’ll even let Soap lick you a little after, as a treat. Clean you up nice, like.”

“Hnngh,” you say coherently. Nod a little frantically, just in case. “Mhm yes that, that’s. Good. Two thumbs up from me.”

“Glad you’re on board, sweetheart,” Ghost’s voice is low and satisfied and you have the (not entirely unpleasant) sense that the gravity of the room is shifting suddenly and inexplicably in their favor. “Anything you wanna tell us before go back to lookin’ after this pretty pussy?” Ghost asks, and you quake when he fits his hand over your clothed cunt. Just rests it there, all casual possession in a way that makes you feel a bit faint. To so sweetly be claimed by somebody. To be kept.

“Talk,” you blurt, quickly squashing that dangerous line of thought. “To me, about me, I don’t care. Just keep talking. Christ,” you swear as Soap presses forward, trapping Ghost’s hand and adding just the tiniest bit of pressure—not enough to actually do anything, just tease you with the delicious weight of him.

“Anything else, bonnie?” Soap encourages. “Want t’ make it good for you.” He noses against the sweat that’s already beginning to bead at your hairline and it occurs to you, a little deliriously, that you’re still wearing your winter coat.

“The rest you can work out for yourself. I’ll let you know if you do something I don’t like, but I already told you—I’ve no interest in going easy on you,” you tease, leaning up to bite a little at Soap’s jaw. You run your fingers across his waistband and dip just a hair below the edge to brush against bare skin, delighting in the way his muscles jump beneath your touch. You can’t help but hook a finger through his beltloop and tug him closer, wanting more of that delicious pressure. Hum happily when he gets with the program and leans down to kiss you silly.

You’re endlessly pleased you’re all on the same page on the importance of foreplay as the two of them make a meal out of kissing you, passing you back and forth until your lips are swollen and flushed and you’re whining high in your throat, desperate for more touch. Only then does Soap push your coat off your shoulders, run his hands greedily down your arms and circle them around your wrists. He lifts your arms in the air so Ghost can tug your shirt off over your head, tossing it away as Soap reaches around to unclasp your bra in one single, smooth movement–an impressive display of silent coordination that has no business being as hot as it is.

“Jesus, Mary, and fuckface Joseph,” Soap swears when he gets an eyeful of your tits, bra dropping forgotten to the floor.

“Whassit, Johnny?” Ghost asks, occupied with marking up all that newly exposed skin, biting sharp before licking over the hurt, soothing the sting in a way that makes you melt. You grab Ghost’s hands, guide them to the piercings that made Soap’s jaw go all cute and slack, silver barbells angled in a pretty vee.

“You like ‘em?” you ask Soap a bit breathlessly.

“Oh bonnie, like isn’t the half of it.” Soap’s drinking you in like he can’t decide if he wants to get his mouth or his hands on you first, an excited glint in his eye like a child with a new toy.

“Got ‘em with my best friend the night before graduation,” you tell them as Ghost hooks his chin over your shoulder to stare at your tits appreciatively. “Don’t tell my mo—om,” your voice hitches as he starts rubbing dizzying circles over your nipples, tugging occasionally in a way that makes you pant.

“Christ, that’s a pretty picture,” Soap says fervently, thumbing your chin and pressing a desperate kiss to your lips. “Lemme get my mouth on your tits, bonnie. Make you feel so good, I swear; just wanna suck on ‘em a little,” he begs. He kisses your cheek when you nod, then fucking face plants into your chest.

It’s sloppy and uncoordinated and perfect as he mashes his face between your tits, licking and sucking and biting around Ghost’s groping hands until you’re a babbling mess between them. After a while Ghost spins you around, letting Soap have a go at your throat while he pets appreciatively over your spit-slick breasts, weighing them in his gloved hands, kneading just shy of too hard. “Don’t go quiet on us now, sweetheart,” he chuckles when your eyes slip closed, losing yourself in the sensation. They fly open when he slaps at your tits a little, gasping as you cant your hips in a desperate movement that precedes thought.

“Need something to press your pussy against, doll?” Ghost says with pretend sympathy, the ass. You forgive him utterly when he shifts a moment later, slotting a massive thigh between your legs and pressing right up against your aching cunt. Your hands scrabble for purchase at his arms, the big bastard so tall that you’re off-balance when he tugs you forward, feet almost coming off the damn ground.

Soap’s hands come around your waist, steadying you. Petting over the sensitive skin there, reaching up to play with your tits just a little, like he can’t quite help himself. “Go on, then, darlin’, give us a show,” he murmurs, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

It’s not like you to forgo a comeback, but you’re too fucking grateful that that there’s finally something for you to grind against to care. You sink down with a sweet shudder of relief, bracing against Ghost for leverage as you roll your hips experimentally. You gasp when you find a good angle and just get lost in it for a few minutes, barely aware of the desperate little noises spilling from your throat.

“Look fucking gorgeous like this,” Ghost praises as he thumbs wickedly at your nipples, tugging sharp as you hump sweetly against him, chasing your pleasure. “You gonna give us another so soon?”

“More, need more please,” you shake your head. You hook your fingers in the collar of his hoodie and tug him down, mouth a little desperately at his jaw. “Wanna feel you bare.”

“Johnny?” Ghost commands over your shoulder.

“On it, L.T.” Then Soap’s making swift work of your zipper, chuckling at the displeased noise you make when Ghost lifts you off his leg long enough for Soap to tug off your trousers and discard them along with your shoes and socks.

“Oh darlin’, is all that for us?” Soap says adoringly, looking at the wetness between your thighs, all sticky and slick where you’ve soaked through your underwear.

“Given that I’ve had to do all the work myself,” you pant, rolling your hips pointedly, “I would say it’s for me, actually.”

“Oh, well we can’t have that now, can we,” Ghost tuts, turning you to face Soap as he trails his fingers maddeningly down along your sides. Hooks them in the band of your underwear and drags down in a long, smooth glide. He crouches to slide them off, tapping at your ankle until you obediently lift one, then the other, bracing yourself on Soap’s broad shoulders and shivering as the cool air hits your overheated core.

Ghost smirks as he tucks your soaked panties into his back pocket, running his hands up your thighs as he stands and leaving goosebumps in his wake. “You hungry, Johnny?” he asks, voice casual as anything as he fits his hands to your ass, squeezing appreciatively.

“Aye, L.T,” Soap answers, eyes glued to the thatch of soft curls between your legs. “Fucking starving.”

“Oh, get fuck–ed,” you yelp as Ghost suddenly lifts you into the air, fitting his forearms under your thighs and spreading you open for Soap’s hungry gaze. Soap drops to his knees with a punched out noise, running his hands reverently along your knees, thighs, the crease of your hip; nipping and caressing and stubbornly refusing to touch you where you need it most.

“Didn’t anyone tell you not to play with your food?” you grouse, the effect somewhat lessened by the way your cunt clenches. What can you say–the realization they’ve got you naked and dripping while they’ve not removed so much as their coats is really, really doing something for you.

Ghost chuckles at your words, mischievous and low. “Hey Johnny, how’s a bird like a Happy Meal?”

Soap groans, knocking his head against your thigh in exasperation. “Spare us, L.T. I’m begging you.”

“Tasty meal and a toy to play with, too,” Ghost chuffs, much too pleased with himself as he shifts you in his hold, ripping one glove off with his teeth and finally, finally getting a hand on your pussy. It’s too fast and too rough and you don’t fucking care because it’s good, Ghost rubbing tight circles over your clit as you grind against his palm and Soap bites maddeningly at the soft skin your thighs, marks that will flower pretty and purple in the morning.

You can’t work up a lick of embarrassment over the desperate, wanton noises that spill from your mouth, head thrown back against Ghost’s chest as you come right up to the edge–as much from the stimulation as the unexpected gift of his bare skin. You keen when he suddenly moves his hand away, hips chasing forward futilely as you try to follow.

“Why,” you whine, utterly betrayed.

“Aw hush yerself,” Soap soothes, petting at your thigh, “We’re not as mean as all that.” Then Ghost’s got both hands on your thighs, spreading you impossibly wider as Soap gets his mouth on your pussy, licking into you like he’s been waiting an eternity for a taste. It’s sloppy and eager and when he grazes your clit with his teeth that’s it, you’re coming, you’re coming, pressing desperately against his wet mouth as he swirls his tongue around that sensitive bundle of nerves, stretching your orgasm into a dizzying eternity. Soap pulls back to watch your pussy drip and twitch as you ride it out, the barest ring of blue visible around blown pupils, pretty mouth slack and glistening. Unwilling to even blink lest he miss a moment of it. “Fucking beautiful,” he whispers fervently, diving back in as you wail.

“Shoulda warned ya, Johnny’s a messy eater,” Ghost says, indulgent and fond as Soap eats you out with his entire fucking face, stubble rubbing sensitive and raw as he slobbers over your clit and slips his tongue into your hole. Before you know it you’re tumbling headfirst into another peak, writhing in Ghost’s arms as every part of you trembles with the force of it. You’re panting and weak-limbed as a kitten when the aftershocks finally peter out, hands scrabbling anywhere you can find purchase.

“Can you—kiss, kiss me, please, I need—”

You can’t get the words out but Ghost’s there, cupping your face, kissing you soundly and narrowing your world to just the feel of his mouth against yours. Grounding you with deep, languid kisses until your rabbit heart slows and you get your feet back under you—figurative and literal, Soap making soothing noises as he eases you down from Ghost’s arms.

“That was a big one, huh, bonnie?” he says, running his hands over your shoulders and back, gentling you.

“Get fucked,” you mutter, rubbing your cheek against Ghost’s chest, the surprisingly soft fabric of his hoodie.

“That’s rather the idea, love,” Soap chuckles, draping himself across your back like a large, Scottish sloth.

“They will never find your body,” you hiss even as you soften beneath his warmth. You’re close enough to feel both their cocks jump at your words and can’t help but laugh. “Violence doing it for you again?”

“Oh sweetheart, you have no idea,” Ghost chuckles, looking wryly at Soap.

“S’it a military thing, then?” You feel them stiffen at that, pull back a little and no, no thank you, none of that please. “I’m sorry, was that supposed to be some kind of big secret? You mentioned a captain earlier,” you point out to Ghost. “And you keep calling him L.T., which I can only imagine is short for lieutenant,” you say to Soap, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not the riddle of the fucking sphinx. Though what British soldiers are doing in America is another question; seem to remember we settled that fight a couple centuries back,” you say dryly, more than a little irritated they’re wasting valuable time on this. Is there no respect for a person’s afterglow?

“And even if ‘Soap’ and ‘Ghost’ weren’t obviously fake names,” you carry on, “Ghost keeps calling you Johnny. Which, by the by, is an adorable name and suits you very well,” you tell Soap, his eyes softening on you. “So with all of that in mind, it’s not a leap to think the names you gave me are military nicknames or—fucking, what do they call ‘em in Top Gun? Call signs. Also, I repeat: have you seen you? Normal people don’t look like that. Kat assumed gym rats, bodybuilders or some shit but I had a feeling…”

“Gym rats?” Soap recoils, sounding wildly offended. “The cheek of it. I’ll have ye know I worked for these muscles, lassie. Could a gym rat clear a compound in sub-3 minutes? I think the fuck not.”

Ghost lets out an amused huff at Soap’s little rant, but you’re not quite able to read his eyes when they land on yours. He’s quiet as he considers you, and you let him look; take the time he needs. Although you can’t help but feel just a little like you want to point out you’re as open and vulnerable as you can possibly be here, given you’re conducting this conversation in the nude.

“Simon,” he says finally and oh, that’s—yeah. That fits.

“Simon,” you try it out, rolling it around your mouth, considering the taste of it. “I like it,” you tell him, and mean it.

He smiles a little at that, just the slightest, crooked thing that makes something in your heart sing. “I’ll even tell you what we’re doing here, at least a bit of it anyway. We’re on leave as of—oh, what’d you reckon, Johnny?”

“Eh, six hours, give or take,” Soap says, fitting his hands delightedly to your waist, coming back around you like he never left.

“…leave as of six hours ago,” Ghost finishes, tugging you both against his broad chest as he relaxes back against the counter.

“Well-deserved leave, if you ask me. After the shitshow of a mission we had,” Soap groans, cracking his neck and shaking his head a bit like he’s clearing the memory. Ghost reaches out to press at Soap’s shoulder, digging his thumbs into the tightness there.

“No fun?” you ask. You’re pleased to have them properly back around you now, let yourself bask in it a little, burrow into the warmth of their bodies. Maybe you should make them grovel a bit more for thinking you wouldn’t pick up on basic fucking context clues, but in your defense you’re still buck ass naked and the kitchen is cold.

“Oh, plenty of fun. ‘Specially near the end, there,” Ghost smiles wickedly, his dimple on full show. You reach out to touch because you simply cannot help yourself and he nips at your finger playfully, chasing it with his teeth as you smile.

“The lass don’t want to hear about things like that, it’s not polite,” Soap says, smacking Ghost in the arm.

“D’ya think she cares about polite, you muppet? Or haven’t you been listening?” Ghost says with a snort and oh, you’re touched by that; the swiftness of his understanding of you.

“Strictly speaking, I like the idea of it. I’m just not very good at knowing what constitutes polite most of the time,” you offer generously.

“Because it’s fucking bullshit,” Ghost says evenly.

“Because it’s fucking bullshit!” you smack him in the chest, unreasonably pleased that he got the unspoken part.

“Aye, that’s true enough,” Soap admits. “Still, there’s better bedroom talk.”

“For you maybe,” you tell him skeptically, raising your eyebrows as you jut your chin toward Ghost. “I think this one’s got his wires all crossed.”

“Oh, aye,” Soap chuckles, squeezing you soundly. “More than a little.”

“Glass houses, MacTavish,” Ghost drawls.

“Oh, we doing last names then Riley?” Soap challenges, leaning over you so he can nip sharp at Ghost’s mouth. You’ve a sense this is some odd bit of foreplay for them—part of some larger dance you’re glimpsing just a small part of.

Still, it’s a good fucking view, and you snuggle happily between them to watch as Ghost takes Soap’s mouth, kissing him into an oblivion you’ve now had first-hand experience of on both sides.

Soap looks appropriately wrecked when Ghost finally pulls away, petting a little at Soap’s mouth before he checks in with you, tucked up all warm and safe and momentarily sated. “How you feelin’, birdie? Want to play or keep watching?” he asks without judgement.

It’s not even a question; as much as you like watching them, you like touching more. Plus, you’re sick of being the only one with skin in the game. Literally. “Want to touch you. Properly, this time. Clothes off,” you specify, tugging at the pocket of Ghost’s hoodie. You tilt your head as you look up at them, mind running away with all sorts of delicious possibilities. They’ve been patient about their own pleasure, and you’re feeling generous coming off three stellar orgasms of your own—more than ready to give some pleasure of your own. “Ghost, would you want to fuck my mouth, maybe? Gimmie something to suck on while Soap gets me ready, puts me on his cock?” you offer, pressing your hips back against Soap and smiling when he predictably drops a hand down for a squeeze. Ghost hums his own approval into your throat, hands tightening almost painfully on your waist. You’re pleased to find that, once again, you’re all on the same page.

“Should we—couch?” Soap says a little desperately, pawing at your ass.

Or maybe not.

“I have a perfectly good bed, you know,” you point out. “Throw pillows and everything.”

“I dunno, birdie,” Ghost says, “I rather like the idea of defiling every room of your very beige apartment.”

You snort at the unfortunate accuracy. "It came furnished," you explain with a shrug. "Hideous, but does mean you can take me as hard as you want against the furniture and I won’t care if it breaks,” you offer.

“Brilliant. We’ll start with your fuck-ugly couch,” Soap declares and, well, who are you to argue with that?

...

Disintegration is still going strong over the speaker, Robert Smith crooning his little goth heart out as they pull you into the living room, discarding coats and shoes and pulling their shirts over their heads as they go. Ghost falls onto the couch, pulling you on top of him as Soap crowds behind, short-circuiting your thoughts a little with how good it feels, all that skin-to-skin contact.

“Go on then, bird,” Ghost says indulgently. “Said you wanted to touch us.”

You take the invitation for what it is, getting your hot little hands all over their skin. Eager to map out the shape of them, trace your fingers over the constellations of freckles and moles on Soap’s back, the swirling lines of Ghost’s tattooed sleeve. Can’t help but frown a little when you register the sheer number of scars on each of them, brutal topographies of jagged, raised lines and rough patches from injuries both healed and fresh. It’s not unexpected, given the conversation you just had, but there’s the abstract knowledge of what it means to be a soldier and then there’s seeing it live and up-close, and you don’t like the thought of their pain.

What you do like is the way they press up eagerly into your hands, pleased little noises and murmured praise spilling from their lips as they let you take your fill—as if such a thing could exist. You can’t imagine an end to this hunger for their skin against yours; think you could spend hours just getting used to the size of them, marveling as you splay a hand over Ghost’s thick waist or Soap’s broad shoulders. Reveling in all the plushness of relaxed muscle, healthy layers of fat you want to bite. The thought’s intoxicating enough for you to take a cue from Soap, face plant right into Ghost’s chest with a contented sigh.

Soap barks out a laugh. “Simon’s got fantastic tits, aye?” he says, bringing up a hand to tweak one of Ghost’s nipples affectionately. “Always tellin’ him so, but he disnae believe me.”

“They’re perfect,” you moan, muffled as you rub your cheek against Ghost’s pecs, loving the plumpness, the way he hisses when you sink your teeth into them. You’re determined to pull out more of those intoxicating noises as you leave a trail of bruised hickeys and little bites down his belly, nosing against the thatch of blonde hair that leads in a promising line beyond his waistband.

You shoot up when you hear the sound of Soap undoing his buckle behind you, unwilling to miss even a second. Ghost has to steady you as you twist around too fast and off-balance, but you’re immediately rewarded with an eyeful of black boxer briefs and luscious thighs covered in whorls of dark hair. Your mouth fair fucking waters when you notice the growing wet patch on his underwear, damp fabric clinging Soap’s leaking tip.

“Pretty,” you breathe out, hands twitching with the urge to reach out, to touch, to lean forward and get your mouth all over the delicious length of him.

Soap laughs a little at your dazed expression, kissing you sweetly before turning your head back to face Ghost. “You’ll get plenty of me later, sweetheart,” he promises. “Right now, you focus on gettin’ Simon feeling good for me, yeah?” he asks, running warm hands over your arms and tucking his chin against your neck to watch.

You’re more than happy to comply, reaching down to pet over the line of Ghost’s cock, squeeze where he’s thick and straining in his jeans. You roll your hips slow, smirking when you see the muscles in his arms jumping, feel his hands tighten around your waist. Loving the way his eyes shut briefly at the feel of you, hips jerking up with a punched-out noise.

“You feel good too,” you whisper against his mouth, licking into him as you undo his belt and ease down the zipper, enjoying the tease. He helpfully raises his hips so you can tug his trousers off, leaving his underwear for now—black boxer briefs, just like Soap, and you feel something tender and silly at the thought of them doing their shopping together. Their laundry. Domestic.

You slip to the carpet in front of the couch, smiling your thanks when Soap slips you a throw pillow for your knees. He tucks your hair behind your ear—what you’re realizing is a thing for him—and kisses the tip of your nose with aching sweetness before molding himself to your back to watch, greedy for the sight of you worshipping Ghost’s cock.

Ghost’s already got his eyes on you when you turn back, eyes wicked and dark as he watches you curve your hands covetously around his knees. You wink at him before shoving his thighs apart, making yourself at home in the spread of them. “Turnabout’s fair play,” you sing-song, Soap laughing delightedly.

Ghost shoots Soap a dirty look over your shoulder and Soap leans over to kiss the frown from his face. “Aw, haud yer wheesht,” Soap says, tugging at Ghost’s mask playfully. “The lass is right and you know it.”

“You’d best remember that, too,” you mutter, running your hands over the fat spread of Ghost’s thighs, shivering at how good it feels to be tucked between them. You tease along the cuff of his boxer briefs, lingering over the illustrations inked into his skin—larger and more lush than those he bears on his arms, old school sailor designs lined thick with black.

“You’ve been around Cape Horn?” you ask, tracing the tall sails of a fully-rigged ship on one thigh. One of your earliest writing jobs had been a historical piece about the founding of the Merchant Marine and you’d been very taken with all those hidden meanings, delighted with the maps and personal histories encoded into each sailor's tattoos. If you’re reading Ghost’s right, he’s crisscrossed the globe more than a few times over.

Soap makes a little surprised sound at your words. “Is that what that one’s for, then?” he asks Ghost, leaning in to take a closer look. He runs his fingers over the shape of it, brushing his fingers over the pale blonde hair of Ghost’s thigh, lingering on the delicate blackwork of the mast and the billowing negative space of the sails.

“Antarctica mission,” Soap whispers in your ear, tapping the ship. “Very cold, very classified. But the penguins, lass.” Ghost growls a warning, apparently knowing what’s next. "Little black-and-white fellas thought Ghost was one of their own,” Soap crows. “Followed him around the whole damn time like he was the little ones’ mommy. Cutest damn thing I ever saw.”

“Please tell me you got pictures,” you beg, eyes wide with anticipation.

“Just one, but it’s a doozy. I’ll show you later if you’re good,” Soap promises. “So go on then, bonnie," he says, chucking your chin because he is, you are beginning to understand, a bastard. "Show Simon how good you can be.”

You stick your tongue out at him but obediently tug Ghost’s underwear down, his cock slapping wetly against his stomach. It leaves a little train of precum you chase with your mouth, his abs tensing under your tongue and his hips jerking up on instinct. “Fucking hell, bird.”

You smile at him, pulling back so you can get a good look at what you’re working with and doesn’t your jaw just ache at the sight. He’s as long as you expected but eye-wateringly thick, too—red and swollen and leaking at the tip, all pent up for ages.

“Christ. I’m gonna fucking cry on that thing,” you blurt, feeling a wild burst of heat when his cock twitches at your words.

“Promises, promises,” Ghost chuckles, trailing down your neck and cupping around your nape. He looks at you with a question in his eyes and you nod, then he’s tugging you forward till you’re mouthing at the tip, dipping your tongue into the slit to taste him as he groans beautifully.

God, you love this. The weight of him in your mouth and the closeness of his thighs around you. Getting to focus all your attention on someone; get lost in the desperate noises they make, the unconscious reactions that will tell you exactly how they like it, if you take the time to notice. And you do notice; watching and listening to Ghost carefully as you snuggle between his legs. Lick at the underside of his cock and nose at his heavy balls, find all those sensitive little spots that make his breath catch and his grip tighten on the back of your neck.

“Jesus, birdie,” he swears when you return to the head, drag the flat of your tongue over the purpling tip. He’s so hard it must be painful, the vein that runs up his length swollen and throbbing when you soothe over it with your tongue. “You like suckin' my cock?” he asks, and you’re not ashamed to nod eagerly. Because you do, you really do. Like that he’s wet, leaking like a tap, and you hum happily as you take him into your mouth.

You hear Soap laugh as Ghost jackknifes at the wet heat of it, swearing low as his hand moves to cup your cheek. “Look so fucking pretty like this,” he croons, thumbing a little desperately at the corner of your mouth, all stretched open wide for him. “Stuffed full of cock, starin’ up at me with those gorgeous eyes.”

He thrusts shallowly a few times, letting you get used to his size, teasing your gag reflex. When the tears begin to gather, he pulls back and traces over your lips with the tip of his cock, wetting them before leaning down and kissing you messy. Soap groans brokenly at the sight, reaching around to play your tits as Ghost sucks the taste of himself from your tongue, his spit-slick cock bobbing obscenely as it drips neglected onto the floor.

You whine high in your throat, displeased at the sight of it all cold and alone. You push Ghost back against the couch, sucking him back down and zeroing in on the sensitive frenulum, laving over it. His moan is a rumbling thing in his chest, petting at your cheek and pressing a thumb in until he can feel himself thick inside you. “Alright then, sweetheart,” he says rolling his hips like a hussy. “Give you what you want.”

He watches your eyes closely as he pushes in deeper; an inexorable slide until your nose meets the thick, blonde curls at the base of him and the back of his cock pushes at your throat. Your eyes flutter shut as you’re surrounded by his warmth, his scent—masculine and intoxicating and yours, if only for this one, perfect moment. You can only take a few seconds before you gag, have to pull off for air, but god you want more. Dive back in immediately and do your best to breathe through your nose as he fills your mouth, fucks a little at your throat.

“Good fucking girl,” Soap swears behind you, hands everywhere—over Ghost’s thighs, your shoulders–your tits, frequently. “Taking Ghost’s cock so well, bonnie, making him feel so good. So proud of you,” he murmurs, and your blood sings with the praise, redoubling your efforts.

The next time you come up for air Soap grabs your face and takes your mouth, all spit-slick and swollen. He moans when he tastes Ghost on your tongue, trailing greedy fingers down your back until he’s brushing against your cunt. “Can I start openin’ you up, sweet, get you ready for me? I’ll go mad if I don’t get my cock in you soon, bonnie, I swear it,” Soap begs, pressing in just the tiniest bit, just enough to have you wriggling back against him.

“Please,” you whine against his mouth, liquid with want.

“So polite, sweetheart,” he says, kissing you thoroughly in reward. “All fours for me then, pup,” he commands with a light smack to your ass, Ghost chuckling when you shoot Soap a dirty look. You shift forward, deliberately arching your back and wiggling your hips a little in retaliation. You hear Soap choke on his spit and grin, winking at Ghost when he gives you a knowing look.

Soap takes his sweet time groping your ass, pulling apart the globes and tilting up your hips so he can get a look at where you’re dripping for him. You clench at the thought of what he must be seeing, thighs all shiny with the slick of three orgasms and pussy rubbed swollen and red from his scruff.

“Aw, look at ‘er saying hello,” Soap crows at the sight. “You miss me, love? I know it’s only been a little while but I missed you too, sweet,” he coos against your pussy, an adoring finger tracing over your folds. “Can’t wait to taste ya again, feed you my cock if you’re good.”

“Wonderful, we’re anthropomorphizing my vagina. You gonna name her then, too?” you ask dryly, raising a brow as you look over your shoulder.

Soap lightly slaps your cunt and you keen, rocking forward and shivering in pleasure as goosebumps erupt on your skin. That’s definitely new for you, but you’re into it. So, so into it.

“I’m fine with just callin’ her ours,” Soap says pleasantly, rubbing gentle over your pussy as if he didn’t just short-circuit your entire cerebellum. “Now as much as I like hearing you talk—and I’m not just staying that, bonnie, really, I do—I believe there are better things you could be doing with that mouth.”And look, when he gives you an opening like that—

“Yeah, like calling in a hit,” you can’t help but snark. He smacks your pussy again and you make an embarrassing, wanton noise, any other smart remarks lost to the pulse of blinding heat that goes through you. He does it again, then once more as you cry out in desperate pleasure. God that’s good, like lightning in your fucking veins; speedrunning you to the kind of full-body shaking, wailing, libidinous mess you haven’t enjoyed in far too long.

Pussy slapping, who knew?

Soap laughs only a little meanly when you whine and press back against his hand for more. “Brat,” he says fondly, petting over your swollen cunt.

“What was I just sayin’ about glass houses, Johnny?” Ghost chides, pumping his big cock in his hand while he watches the two of you play, an indulgent smirk twisting his scarred lips.

“Awa’ an bile yer heid,” Soap says smartly before ducking down, lapping at your cunt.

“Christ,” you yelp, pressing your forehead against Ghost’s thigh as Soap fucks into you with his tongue, takes you apart through sheer force of will. As worked up as you’ve been, his first two fingers slide in easy as breathing, and Soap wastes no time seeking out all the spots that make you squirm. He works at you with an intensity that borders on rabid, a fucking artist with it—doing things with his tongue that you’re reasonably sure are illegal in several states, licking around his fingers and swirling around your clit before pressing open mouthed kisses to the crease of your hip, laving at the skin there. The hand not stretching you open is anchored to your hip, five points of contact to ground you within the onslaught of sensation.

It’s not enough, and you mouth at Ghost’s thigh until he gets the message, taps his cock on the side of your cheek until you open for him with a happy sigh.

“Wish you could see her from here, Johnny,” Ghost says, eyes not leaving your face as he fucks back into your mouth. He reaches down, thumbing again at your spit-shiny bottom lip with an expression you can’t quite read but looks shockingly close to wonder. “Fucking beautiful.”

By the time Soap gets a third, then a fourth finger into play, you’re near drooling on Ghost’s cock, eyes hazy and half-lidded, pussy so wet that the sounds Soap elicits are bordering on the obscene. “Gonna tease her all night, Johnny?” Ghost hums after an eternity of Soap dangling you over the edge. “Or do you plan on actually fucking her anytime soon?” And oh, you could kiss him for asking—so you do, pulling off and whining high in your throat till Ghost’s bending that big body in half, kissing you so, so sweetly, tugging your lip between his teeth when he pulls away.

Soap’s grumbling as he pulls reluctantly away from your pussy, and you take the opportunity to arch a little more, spread your legs wide as you look over your shoulder. “C’mon, wanna feel you,” you cajole, waggling your hips at him. “Faster you fuck me the faster you can get your mouth on me again.”

That seems to do the trick because you catch Soap shoving down his briefs with a growl before Ghost’s turning you back to him, kissing you so thoroughly that you jerk in surprise when you feel the hard length of Soap’s cock press against your cunt.

“Get me all nice and wet, that’s a girl,” Soap says as he grinds lewdly against your core, just barely teasing your hole with the tip. “Gotta make sure I don’t hurt you, bonnie,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss on your back with a sweetness that makes you ache. You do consider pointing out he’s prepped you so well you could probably take a fucking Titan missile at this point, but then he’s bumping the head right up against your clit as he humps into you and suddenly find you can’t think of anything at all.

A gentle tap at your cheek has you opening your eyes, turning to Ghost in question. “You’re alright, bird,” he assures, hooking his fingers under your chin as he thumbs over your wet mouth. “Just wanted to see that pretty face.” You smile at him, soft and sweet, and he slips a thumb between your lips; presses down, just a bit. You obediently open, tilt your face up like a plant to the sun. He pets at your tongue a little as he stares, eyes endless with hunger in a way that should frighten any creature with half a brain. Luckily, you’re working with a cell or two at most right now.

“Wanna take my spit, birdie?” Ghost asks devastatingly. “Keep it nice and safe in that little mouth?”

You nod as much as you can with the grip he’s got on you, eyes crossing a little at the thought. Soap’s no better, moaning brokenly and hips giving a violent jerk at Ghost’s words. Soap gets a hand on his cock, slapping it against your wet pussy and rucking the head in desperate, messy circles against your clit until you’re whining as you rock back against him, too lost in the feeling of it to do more than pant and twitch and beg Ghost with your eyes to give you what you need.

“Go on then, Johnny,” Ghost says like a fucking saint, leaning down to spit messy in your mouth at the same time Soap notches the head of his cock in your hole. “Give it to her good,” he smirks.

And oh, there’s nothing, nothing in your head but the heat of Soap’s cock as he presses inside you and the feel of Ghost’s saliva cupped protectively on your tongue. You’ve given yourself over to them entirely and are reaping the rewards in wildfire burning through your lungs, a desperate pleasure so intense and all-consuming you’re already crying by the time Soap bottoms out, breath hitching as his balls come to rest against your ass.

“Mary mother of god,” Soap gasps, dropping his forehead on your sweat-slicked back, panting against your skin. “The fucking cunt on her, Simon.” Then he’s laying into you, long, deep strokes that let you feel the entire, dizzying length of him from root to tip, just barely kissing your cervix as he fucks back in, grinding his hips maddeningly at the deepest part of you.

Ghost greedily drinks the gasps and whines from your mouth, holding you steady as Soap’s hips pound into you and you can’t do more than take it, let it ferry you over into some realm of pleasure you hadn’t even known to dream of. You’d naively thought he wouldn’t last too long, as long as he’d had to wait, but you’re proven wrong as Soap just keeps going; a fucking machine as he pistons into you, praise spilling from his lips and bubbling sweet in your veins.

“So fucking sweet f’me, bonnie,” he babbles in your ear, “so warm, so fucking wet. Just taking me so beautifully, sweet girl. Best pussy I ever fucking had,” he moans and oh, doesn’t that go right to your head, so stupid and pleased as you pant on his cock. Soap reaches around to get a hand on your clit, rubbing furiously as he increases his pace and you cry out as you tumble into another perfect, beautiful, fucking sublime spiral of pleasure.

“Jesus, bonnie, can feel you milking my cock. Fuck that’s good,” Soap grunts, hand not leaving your clit for one single second. He fucks you through your orgasm with a force that has you scrabbling up, wrapping your arms around Ghost’s waist—not tapping out, but needing something strong to fucking hold on to.

Soap follows with an almost feral noise, jackhammering into you as he chases his own pleasure. Ghost leans down and pets over your hair, presses his lips against the crown of your head and murmurs praise as you sob, waves of aftershocks tumbling together until you might just be fucking coming again, who the hell knows.

All you do know is you have to, have to reach back one hand back, feel where Soap’s splitting you open as you moan and shake for him, fingers tangling together as he paws at your messy clit and your brain whites the fuck out. When you come to you’re shaking, cunt gushing obscenely all over Soap’s cock and onto the carpet when he pulls out to watch.

“Gorgeous, bonnie, oh so fucking beautiful, so fucking beautiful, Jesus,” he babbles, sounding as fuck-drunk as you feel, the slick noises of his hand as he works his cock sending you into orbit. “God, didn’t know you could squirt like that, baby. Gimmie another, please, sweetheart, you gotta, I need—,” he cuts himself off as he fucks back in you, groaning at the feel of your walls clenching around him, kissing his cock.

“Can you?” Ghost’s touch is gentle against your face, voice low as he checks in.

“I don’t—I don’t know,” you stutter blindly, “s’never happened before.” Soap moans at that, thrusting directly into your g-spot and oh, no, yeah—maybe you can do this again.

“Should’na said that, birdie,” Ghost sighs, shaking his head. “he’s going to be insufferable now.”

“That’s because no one’s ever treated you right, huh, poor thing?” Soap coos to your pussy, giving your overstimulated clit time to breathe even as keeps fucking into your hole.

“Can we take a moment to think about the—fuck—the fucking carpet,” you manage as Soap picks up the pace. “My security deposit. I said we could break the furniture, not the floor,” you point out very reasonably.

“I’ll pay your fucking security deposit, darlin',” Soap says like you’re the one being difficult here. “Now will you please, please be quiet and come on my cock?” He drops a sweet kiss on your back and then he’s rabbit-fucking into you like there’s a score to settle, aiming unerringly at your g-spot and refusing to let up until you’re wailing, face bumping against Ghost’s stomach with the force of his thrusts.

You can barely cry a warning before you feel it, you feel it, muscles tensing up almost painfully as pleasure rockets through you, white-hot and unbearably intense as you soak Soap’s cock. Fat tears are falling down your cheeks as your orgasm is wrung from you, body trembling from the force of it and ears fucking ringing,muffled and strange like you’ve gone underwater. Ghost’s warm hands are all over your face, pressing kisses and making comforting noises as you come back to earth, feeling a little bit like you’d been taken apart and remade like some licentious jigsaw puzzle.

Soap’s got one big hand splayed over your ass, grunting as he strips his cock wildly until he finally, finally coming in hot, thick spurts over your puffy pussy. He half-collapses on your back, fucking through his mess with little, half-conscious jerks of his hips as you mumble inanely against Ghost’s thigh and his broad hand just keeps petting over your hair. There’s nothing, nothing in your head. Just…good. Quiet and safe and good.

“C’mere pup.”

You’re already looking up when you feel Soap lift his head, and Ghost’s joy is legion. He chuckles, a low and deadly-pleased sound that has you blinking slow with a sudden, feverish wave of want. How you’re even fucking capable of that at the moment, you’re not even sure. Is there an Olympics for the insatiably horny?

“Just Soap for now, sweet. Don’t pout, we’ll play in a moment,” he chides as he pets over your cheek, soft. He extends his other hand to Soap, twitching his fingers. “C’mere, wanna feel my lad,” he says with a soft, crooked smile. Soap moves a little drunkenly onto the couch, grinning dopily as he melts against Ghost’s side, pressing happily against him.

Ghost scruffs fondly over Soap’s messy mohawk before cradling his head, taking his mouth long and lush and sweet. Like they’ve got all the time in the world to just kiss, right there on your shitty couch. In front of your naked heart, yearning so desperately you’re sure they can see it shining through your chest.

But oh, then Ghost’s reaching down like he needs you, too; like you can do something for him and you would, would do anything he asked right now. “Johnny fucked you good, didn’t he, baby? Why don’t you go on and clean him up, gentle like. Say thank you, yeah?” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek, petting your hair, being so nice. And of course you can do it, are happy to, can’t think of very much else in the world you’d rather be doing, really.

Ghost maneuvers a warm and pliant Soap onto his lap, pulling him firmly against his chest and spreading Soap’s thighs wide over his own. He presses open-mouthed kisses down Soap’s neck, licking at the sweat-slicked skin there. Holding him open for you in an almost perfect mirror of earlier in the night and you feel something soft and fond kick up in your chest at the realization. Such a thing for reciprocity, these two. They take, yes. But oh, how they give.

You take your time about it, let yourself look properly before you ever get to touching. It's the first time you’ve gotten to see Soap’s cock up close and you’re tickled to find it’s as pretty as he is. Flushed pink and glistening, perfect mushroom head and an adorable little curve that explains the way it felt like he was hammering into your g-spot. Ah, well. One of nature’s little favorites.

You smile when you realize he has a few freckles even down here; fond at the thought of him wandering around buck naked in the sun. Probably torments his teammates with his bare ass in unexpected places, you’re suddenly sure of it.

Maybe it’s a bit early to be making assumptions, given you know very little about these men apart from their real names, fake names, and tremendous cocks. But you feel you can take some liberties, especially in the realm of asses—of which Soap’s is utterly champion. Beautiful. So fucking firm and bouncy and holy fucking shit—“Is that an ass tattoo?” you yelp delightedly, bypassing Soap’s cock entirely as you grope at his cheeks, lifting up and tilting your head, squinting a little until…

“No, no, absolutely get fucked. There’s no way. Oh my god, you fucking sap. Oh, that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Inked on his left butt cheek is a Pacman-style ghost, all pixelated blackwork with a white patch on its face in the shape of a skull. You melt at the sight, full Grinch grew-three-sizes action happening in your heart as you feel a rush of affection for these fucking weirdos on your couch.

“Lost a bet to Gaz,” Soap groans, passing a hand over his face. “One of our team,” he clarifies at your questioning look. “Ghost got to pick.”

Ghost is looking appropriately smug, big hands splayed possessively over Soap’s thighs.

“Excellent choice, I approve entirely,” you say, pressing a kiss to the tattoo with an exaggerated smooch and cackling as Soap swats at you.

He pivots to petting over your hair when you duck and take him in your mouth, a slow, savoring slide of your lips–not about teasing, not even about getting off, just about making him feel as warm and safe and sweet as you have in his arms tonight. Grounding you both with the action, gentling your comedown from the dizzying heights you’d climbed.

You press a soft kiss to the tip when you’re done, squeezing at his knees, and they pull you up for a proper cuddle. Ghost’s cock is still hard and leaking against your ass, but he doesn’t seem in any hurry to do anything about it; patient as he holds you both in the circle of his arms and you feel a swell of some unnamable emotion for the pair of them, raw and strong and sincere.

Because the universe has perfect timing and an mean sense of humor, the familiar guitar lick that opens “Friday I’m in Love” suddenly fills the room and you glance at the speaker in disbelief. It’s well past midnight, technically Saturday but—"Alright, I hear you,” you call out with a helpless laugh, not sure if you’re addressing god or the universe or just whoever might be listening. You shake your head, smiling. “Cheeky fuckers.”

“Don’t tell me your apartment is haunted as well as ugly?” Ghost asks with a put-upon sigh.

You purse your lips, consider that for a second. “You know, I have often felt the sensation of eyes on me. But I’m pretty sure that’s just the perv across the street. Gotta get better about closing my windows.” They frown at that, shifting a little like they might want to do something with that information, and you roll your eyes fondly, change the subject.

“Hey, did you know John Hughes once wrote a screenplay based on a song by The Cure? Swear to god. It was ‘The Lovecats.’ I know nothing about it but based on title alone, I’m thinking an unauthorized Cats sequel. Anthropomorphic trad goth cats, can you see it?”

“I’m trying very hard not to,” Soap says, and you smack him in the stomach.

Ghost does not bother to entertain the question, so you settle into a comfortable silence, close your eyes as you listen to the familiar songs and just rest.

You shiver after a short while, cooling skin sticky where you’re pressed against them. Ghost takes it as his cue to stand up, dumping you both on the couch. He eyes the pair of you, not bothering to shift from where you’d fallen into each other, then looks up like he’s calculating the distance to your bed.

He suddenly crouches, slinging each of you over a shoulder, and fuck if that doesn’t near set you off again, Ghost’s back muscles flexing in the obscene display of strength. Soap’s got to be at least 200 pounds of muscle and you’re no small thing yourself, yet Ghost easily carries you through the hall and to the bedroom like it’s not the scariest, hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

The throw pillows scatter as he tosses you both onto the bed and you bounce with the rebound, eyes wide and quite possibly more turned on than you’ve been in your entire life—though, to be fair, that record’s been broken about half-a-dozen times tonight.

Soap’s laughing at the slack look on your face, pulling you toward him for a messy kiss, more just a happy press of faces together than any real coordination. When you come up for air, Ghost’s passing you both mugs of water and watching to make sure you drink it all as if his cock isn’t right there, angry and throbbing and sticking right the fuck out. But, well, if it’s not a problem for him then it’s not a problem for you—clearly those military men were trained for endurance.

“C’mere,” you call with a small yawn, opening up your arms. Not tapping out by any means, but more than willing to have a little cuddle before he no doubt destroys you on his monster of a cock. Ghost bullies his way between you and Soap, lying on his back as you curve around him like parentheses. Soap’s eyes sparkle at you when he sinks his teeth into one gorgeous, plump pec, a pleased hiss escaping Ghost’s mouth. His sweet sounds only increase when you drag your nails over his stomach, scratching at the blonde hair of his treasure trail and tracing over the delicious vee of his hips.

You prop your chin on Ghost’s stomach, bright with sudden remembrance. “Hey, I was good, right?” you ask Soap. “Gimmie my treat. Penguin photo, please and thank you.”

His initial confusion transforms into cheeky delight and he nudges Ghost, widening those baby blues in an obvious ploy. “Be a sweet and grab my phone for me? Think it’s in my trouser pocket. Left cheek.”

“What, you broken? Can’t get it yourself?” Ghost gruffs without heat.

“C’mon Si,” Soap whines, “Please? Those floors were hard, m’knee’s all fucked.”

That has both you and Ghost sitting up to frown at him, and you follow Ghost’s hand to caress over Soap’s left knee, the jagged line of a scar curving wickedly around the joint.

“You should have said,” you chide, squeezing gently and working in tandem with Ghost to knead out a little of the tension.

“I’d do it a thousand times more to see you come apart on my cock like that, bonnie,” Soap says without remorse, grinning as he lets his head fall back and moaninga little when Ghost digs his thumb into a particularly sore spot. “We really will have to take care of that security deposit—you gushed like a fucking storm, darlin’.”

You narrow your eyes at him, lean down to blow a raspberry on his bare stomach in retaliation. Soap jerks as he bursts into a helpless laugh and oh, oh turnabout is fair play as you near tackle him, tickling mercilessly along his sides as peals of laughter fall from his mouth. Soap rolls right off the goddamn bed to get away from you, splayed out on the floor as the last of the desperate gasps shake through him. “Alright, alright, Jesus,” he says, rolling over to his back. “You are a sexual terrorist,” he tells you sternly as you lean back against Ghost, make yourself comfortable.

“Pot, kettle,” you point out, and Soap just winks, stretching that long, beautiful body up and smirking when your eyes go wide, feasting on all that tan skin and thick muscle. He ambles out of the room, swinging his hips a little with the knowledge of your eyes glued to his (perfect, beautiful, biteable) ass.

“Hate to see him leave…” you begin with a sigh.

“…love to watch him go,” Ghost finishes for you and you grin, pressing your smile against his skin.

Soap returns with his phone and a few ice pops he must have scavenged from your freezer, launching himself at the bed and landing half on top of you and Ghost. You let out an audible oof as Soap’s elbow digs into your stomach but quickly forgive him when he holds up the treats, letting you have first pick. “Purple, please,” you say, and he passes it over, Ghost picking blue and Soap seeming quite pleased with pink. There’s a quiet, comfortable silence as you rip open the plastic with your teeth, crunching happily into the flavored ice.

“Half thought I shoulda brought another for your pussy,” Soap tells you, looking down significantly. You follow his gaze to where you’re puffy and red and swollen as all hell, looking as thoroughly fucked as you feel.

He’s…not wrong.

“Later,” you agree, rolling back over to prop up on elbow, lean your head against Ghost’s side as you finish your treat. “Think I’ve got a bag of peas that’ll do the trick nicely. Now, picture please,” you say as sweetly as possible, possibly missing the mark because Ghost snorts and Soap grumbles about impatient lasses, flicking his thumb over the screen.

He passes it over and it’s so much better than you even thought, grinning as you zoom in to examine it closely. Ghost is mostly in profile, white camouflage blending in against miles of snow and ice. He’s got what looks like a black mask and armored skull plate in place of his balaclava, a tactical pair of binoculars in one hand and his arm raised to point at something outside of the frame. And there, just a little bit behind and to the left, out of his line of sight, a handful of small chinstrap penguins are mimicking his movement, each holding one single, tiny flapper aloft.

You cackle at the sight, muffling your laughter against Ghost’s side and setting yourself off again when you see the blush that’s adorably coloring his neck and chest. “This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” you tell him as seriously as you can, grinning like anything. “I want it on my wall. My phone background. In a fucking locket around my neck.” He seems intrigued by that last one, reaching out to brush at the little hollow of your collarbone, eyes considering.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Soap snorts, giving Ghost an amused, knowing look, like he can read the direction of his thoughts.

You’re not sure how seriously to take it; you’d initially gone into this with no more expectation than a pleasant romp in the sheets and maybe an extra round after breakfast, if you were lucky. But that was many hours and five—six?—orgasms ago, and now you feel something within you quietly ache at Soap’s words; a strange, unfamiliar part of you that wants to hold on. Not sure if you're allowed.

You look back at the photo to distract yourself from the thought, zoom out to see the whole thing—including the two men standing closer to the camera, caught in mid-laughter. One is bent fully in half, hand pressed to his stomach like he’s laughing so hard it hurts, face obscured by his camouflaged helmet. The other is—Jesus, he’s gorgeous, eyes crinkled up in well-worn smile lines as he tilts his head back in laughter, hands tucked in the straps of his armored vest.

You zoom in a little, trace over the incredibly odd facial hair. You’re utterly charmed by it, suddenly sure that this is the captain they spoke of. Half-wishing he’d come with them to the bar tonight—you and Kat would have had a field day with a Franz Joseph.

“Who’s the DILF and is he adopting?” you joke and Soap snorts as you pass the phone back.

“Not you too,” Ghost groans, covering his eyes.

“Ghost likes to pretend he’s above such plebeian things as daddy issues,” Soap tells you, tweaking Ghost’s nipple until he smacks his hand away. “But I’m right there with ya, bonnie.” He leans closer, eyes sparkling with mischief. “And so is Price,” he says, voice weighted with significance.

You hum, narrowing your eyes in thought as you take the bait. “And where might your captain be right now?”

Soap gives you that dangerous, shark-like grin again—the one that promises only the best kind of trouble. “Our transport home doesn’t leave until Monday and Gaz already left for North Carolina—wanted to see some old SEAL buddies of his at Camp Lejeune—so Price all cold and alone at the crash pad, probably tucked up in bed. Old man,” he says fondly, and you smack him in the chest, outraged on his captain’s behalf.

“He’s what, mid-to-late 30’s? That is a man in his prime,” you counter. “Probably fucks like he’s in his prime, too,” you mutter and Soap laughs warmly.

“He does,” he whispers in your ear, and your brain is suddenly very occupied with the images he just put in your head. “Whatcha think, Ghost? You gonna be a good little lieutenant, share your toys?” Soap teases, and Ghost rolls right over on top of him, squishing him under his weight until he can’t speak anymore. You helpfully snag their empty ice pop tubes and toss them on the bedside table before joining the fray, wriggling until Ghost’s stretched out over the both of you, delightful warm and much nicer than a weighted blanket.

“Haven’t even gotten to fuck her yet myself,” he grumbles into your neck, readjusting a little when Soap smacks him in the side, gasping for air. Ghost’s stomach grumbles audibly as he moves, presenting you all with yet another problem.

You crane to look at the clock, the storm that’s still raging outside with no sign of stopping, then finally at Ghost’s poor, neglected cock, all angry red at the tip and throbbing from hours, literal hours of teasing. Do some quick mental math.

“Proposal,” you say, and their eyes are on you with gratifying speed, giving you their full attention. “Two, actually. One short term, one slightly longer term. Maybe a third one longest term, but I’m still undecided on that one.”

“Get to it, bird,” Ghost says impatiently and you stick your tongue out at him.

“Keep talking to me like that, see if I let you fuck me,” you threaten, grin when he takes the bait and presses down against you with a possessive growl. “Only joking,” you pat him on the chest, “very much looking forward to it. Now, short term, there’s a very good all-night Italian joint that does delivery, and, with the snow I’d estimate we’ve got—oh, 30, 40 minutes if we call it in now? If we time it right, you can fuck me silly and still have time for a quick shower before the food gets here. Sound fair?”

Soap shifts around under Ghost’s weight until he can get his hands on your face and look at you head on, blue eyes sparkling with joy. “You are a bloody genius,” he says, plopping an exaggerated kiss to your forehead. You laugh as you press forward, nuzzling obnoxiously against him as Ghost looks on fondly.

“What’s the longer-term plan?” he asks, drawing your attention back.

“Oh, that’s easy. You said your transport leaves Monday, yeah?” They nod. “Well, by the look of this storm it’ll be coming down gangbusters for a while, maybe even the whole weekend. Whole city’s gonna shut down. Might be hard to get back to your crash pad,” you wrinkle your nose at the images the term conjures though, to be fair, you’re not sure you’re working with much better. “Which means,” you say, pushing the thought aside, “the only sensible course of action is for you to tell your captain to get his fine ass over here and spend the rest of the weekend with me—eating takeout, watching movies, and having many, many orgasms.”

Soap and Ghost exchange a brief, silent look, before turning to you, nodding in tandem. You smile, pleased as punch and a little high off their easy acquiescence. You may have been called bossy a time or two before, but you just had so many ideas; could so easily imagine the different ways a scenario might play out. It’s the reason you became a writer, really, and probably also why you’ve enjoyed tonight so very, very much: it’s been the perfect balance of exerting and surrendering control, a playful give-and-take that’s worked so seamlessly it feels like it was always supposed to be this way.

You shove a hand under Soap’s bulk, groping around the sheets until you grab his phone and wiggle it out. A few taps, a brief debate about the merits of calzones versus pizza, and a short phone call later you’re tossing the phone over your shoulder and looking up at Ghost.

“Alright big boy,” you say, grinning up at him. “Show me what you’ve got.”

#ghoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghoap x reader #call of duty #ghostsoap #task force 141

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hopefulidiocy · 3 days ago

Text

Sunset

Modern!Aemond x Modern!Y/N

Warnings: soft smut, smoking, drinking

MINORS DNI 🔞

🌅🌅🌅🌅🌅🌅🌅🌅🌅🌅🌅🌅🌅🌅🌅🌅🌅🌅🌅

The Uber driver chatted brightly to you as he drove you through the snowy forest of the countryside, you rested your forehead against the cold window as you ummed and ahhed over his words. You weren’t listening as well as you should’ve been considering he was really kind, but you wanted him to cease talking immediately. Everything in silence was better for you, in your job you were always talking and trying to bribe people to take what you were pitching, to agree to your ideas but recently it hadn’t been successful and you deserved a sabbatical. So it was time for your winter holiday, spending Christmas alone could be considered sad or lonely but you truly couldn’t give less of a shit about it. Your family wasn’t exactly welcoming and there was nothing fun about a holiday where everyone is going at each other’s throats. The car pulled up to a selection of dark wood log cabins, desolate and dark, with the snow pattering upon the roofs in such a delicate way you had never seen before: this type of view wouldn’t be seen in the city. You thanked the driver, pulled out your heavy suitcase and logged it towards Cabin Nine, the only cabin set far away from the others and it was the most beautiful spot you had ever witnessed.

The door was light when you unlocked it, opening into a warmth that enveloped your entire being as you shook the snow off your wellies and propped your suitcase against the fragile wall to the side of the door. The space opened up into a wide living room with a flat screen and under the screen was an oak table with four strong chairs that were tucked tightly underneath; you looked towards the open plan kitchen where there was enough surfaces for you to cook and, most importantly, you looked for the wine glasses, score there was three of them, two more than you actually needed; there was two bedrooms, one significantly smaller than the master room with a king sized bed and towels, rolled upon the end, where your feet would be and a small bathroom off to the side which matched the rest of the cabin with its swollen wood panels and a white tiled floor. The first port of call was to fetch your red wine bottle you received from Secret Santa at work, you uncorked it and watched as the beautiful liquid filled the glass halfway. The taste coming to your lips was the real moment your perfect holiday began, alone and isolated in the middle of nowhere.

The sun began to set and behind your log cabin there was a clear view of the horizon and you, cotton headed, walked out with your cardigan wrapped around your shoulders and a glass of fresh red wine in your hand. You sipped at the liquid, chewing your nails as the sun began to deepen to a beautiful, calming orange that struck pink and purple lights throughout the sky. For a moment you were transfixed at the sight, until you weren’t alone anymore. No one spoke about it, but there was a man beside you, sucking on his cigarette, pulling in toxic chemicals and pushing them out with pursed lips. He wasn’t standing close to you, probably about a couple of steps away and he leaned on the wooden fence that separated the log cabins and the field ahead. He was deep in thought, his eyebrows furrowed as his elbows held his strong body up. You stepped to the side, trying to get away from the smoke that was bellowing from his lungs.

“Sorry,” he said, he didn’t look at you but you knew he had noticed you step away from him, you smiled tightly, not wanting to respond to him because he was a stranger and simply because you were a bit too drunk to say anything coherent. You watched as the sky darkened and the stars began appearing, twinkling and almost saying hello to the two people in awe of them.

“Have a good night,” he flicked his cigarette over the fence was crunched as he walked away, you took a glance of him, his long white hair wrapped up in a ponytail with strides that were bigger than any step you had ever made,

“Night.” You whispered.

The morning sun broke through the bedroom, coming in through the small gap between your curtains, your mouth dry as a dog in the desert and your head slightly whirling once you planted your feet on the cold carpet. The shiver ran through your spine as you splashed freezing water on your face and decided it was time to shower because being hungover and smelly was not something you wished to tackle today. The water jets cleared your skin, reopening pores and steaming them as you exfoliated with your coffee scrub you bought randomly on Amazon one night when you felt bad about yourself. Wrapping your hair in a towel, toothbrush in, you sauntered towards the kitchen cabinet to see what kind of breakfast items they had in. Bacon, eggs and some bread was everything they had that could constitute towards a fulfilling breakfast so you spat out your toothpaste, dressing from head to toe in a baby pink tracksuit and fluffy socks. The smell of bacon filled the air, your hungry stomach growling at you and demanding food NOW! So you munched down on your sandwich, ready for a day slaving in front of the TV.

A new glass of wine, despite how cotton mouthed you were this morning, was in your hand when you crunched over the slushy snow towards the fence at the back of your cabin. You leaned over, sipping on your wine watching as the sky deepened into an orange and, just like yesterday, that man appeared with his stinking cigarette so you moved away just a few steps.

“Do you not like the smell?” He asked, not turning to you, keeping his face towards the sky,

“No it’s not that. It makes me want one,” you admitted, itching for the cigarette pack that was poking out of his coat pocket,

“Ah.” He said, not seeming the least bit interested in your admission.

Slowly, he walked away, back to his own cabin with this mystical aura surrounding him like he hadn’t been there in the first place. You scoffed.

The next sunset was taking place alone, you drank warmly at your wine as the sun disappeared below the horizon. You sank into a dreamy state, watching the stars welcome you to the night when the mysterious man made an entrance. You looked over at him, he was shrouded by a large oak tree, only a flicker of orange light when he cupped the lighter, lighting his cigarette. With his lit cigarette, he approached the fence, you took him in, noticing the eyepatch over his right eye, intrigued you asked.

“Why do you have an eye patch?” He seemed very slightly amused by your question, looking directly at you, his icy blue eye struck you through the body so much you had to look away,

“You’re not interested in my name, my age or my height. Instead you’re interested in my eye patch,” he replied, sucking on his cigarette,

“I was only asking,” you pouted, turning away from him,

“I got into a fight when I was younger, my eye was sliced out,” he said, a bit disinterested in his own voice,

“Oh.” Was all you could reply with, slightly amused by his stoic face,

“Why do you have two eyes?” He turned to you fully then, one elbow leaning against the fence, his cigarette hanging out of his mouth,

“Because I was born with it,” you shrugged, taking another sip of wine,

“So was I but now I have one, things happen,” he was strangely defensive about it,

“They do,” you said, becoming a bit heated at this whole interaction,

“Do you want a cigarette?” He asked, holding out a pack and your senses peaked up, you instinctively went out to pick one but you stopped yourself,

“I shouldn’t,” you waved your hand,

“Why?” He questioned, still holding out the packet,

“New Years Resolution, I shouldn’t smoke anymore,” you said, drinking,

“But you’ll continue drinking alcohol?” He smirked, “you’ll get rid of one wicked habit for another, I don’t believe it works that way,” the packet was still out for the taking, you gave him an annoyed look but just believed he was right and pulled out a cigarette,

“Lighter, please,” you held out your hand, the cigarette hanging out the side of your mouth, he smirked and gave you it. It was bright pink. You cupped your hand over the lighter as the breeze picked up, you clicked it and lighted the cigarette, dragging the toxins back into your lungs and it was like your veins peaked up, screaming happily at the cigarette, “thank you.” You nodded towards him, handing him the lighter.

“Where are you from?” He asked, pocketing the lighter,

“*where you are from*” you sucked in the cigarette,

“Ah, that makes sense, your accent is different,” he said,

“Not that different to yours,” you rolled your eyes,

“True,” silence hung over the both of you, only owls filling it in, “anyway, good night.” He strode off, disappearing behind the oak tree.

🌅

After days of staying in, enjoying the silence of nature, it became clear that you needed some time to walk amongst the forest, feeling the crisp air poke at your skin so you shoved on your wellies and made away into the forest. The trees around you were whispering as the breeze struck through them, the grass now completely white and crunching as you landed each of your feet. Ahead of you was the tall man you’ve been seeing every night, a cigarette almost burnt out in his hand as his free hand stuck his phone against his ear. From what you could hear, slightly far away from him, he seemed annoyed. You managed to squeeze past him just as he ended his call.

“Hello again,” he said, catching up to you, “I don’t think I’ve seen you outside during the day,”

“Probably not, I’ve taken into my own company, it’s been needed but now I’m starting to feel some cabin fever,” you admitted, hugging your arms around your middle to combat the cold,

“I feel that, I’ve been trying to have a small daily walk every day since I’ve been here,” he flicked the cigarette away, landing it in the snow,

“When did you come here?” You asked, looking at him. He was taller than you thought, his skin almost as white as the snow only making his blue eye more striking, he was about two heads taller than you; his hair was a beautiful shade of blonde, something you hadn’t seen before and it was pulled back into a small ponytail but the rest of his hair was strung over his shoulder, his body lean and a slightly curved spine.

“About a month ago,” he said, reaching for another cigarette and offering you one, you took it,

“A month ago?” You exclaimed after you shared a lighter, he hummed in agreement,

“Why are you here?” He asked, puffing the smoke above him,

“I just wanted to be by myself, my family is complicated and my work life is even worse these days so I needed to spend this holiday by myself,” you admitted, swallowing the fresh air,

“Gods, tell me about it,” he chuckled very slightly, “families are all complicated,”

“Is yours?” You asked,

“More than you can imagine, my mother is the second wife of my dead father and my father’s first born child hates us and we hate her. It was her son who took my eye,” he huffed through his nose,

“Your own nephew?” You exclaimed, turning towards him seeing a smirk play on his lips,

“Yeah, my own nephew, it’s crazy isn’t it?” You hummed in agreement and a silence fell over you. It was comfortable walking beside each other, throwing the cigarettes in front of you and continuing this nice walk with a stranger. Just yards away from your own cabin you didn’t notice that huge tree trunk that was sticking out from the ground and you went absolutely flying over it, landing on all fours and a searing pain shocking through your leg. The man was quick to come onto his knees beside you, hooking his arms around your middle and pulling you up to stand but your ankle gave in and you went tumbling again.

“You can’t stand?” He asked, some form of expression in his face, you shook your head, sighing out the pain as his arms hugged around you, picking you up bridal style. You strung your arms around his neck, your face screwing in pain, your legs hanging over his elbow, “don’t panic, I’m first aid trained,” he said, making a slight joke that gave him a twinkle in his eye, sending a smile travelling over your lips. He basically kicked down his cabin door, setting you carefully on his sofa, striding towards the fridge. You held tightly onto your ankle, praying it wasn’t broken when it returned with a bag of frozen peas.

“Might hurt a bit,” he said, gently placing the freezing bag that sent your entire body into an almost shock, he placed a strong hand on your shoulder trying to calm you down as tears leaked from your eyes, “wine?”

“Yes.” You squeaked, blubbering over a twisted ankle. You were never great with pain and in front of a handsome man, you were incredibly embarrassed and that was the reason for the tears. He came to you with a clean glass of white wine, not your favourite, but you had to have something in you so you sipped on it delicately as the pain started to slip away. He looked at you, intriguingly as you sipped on your wine.

“I don’t even know your name,” he said, “and you’re in my cabin, drinking my wine and using my peas,”

“You gave them to me,” you furrowed your eyebrows as a smile danced on his lips,

“What’s your name?” He asked,

“Y/N,” you admitted, “what’s yours?”

“Aemond,” he took in a mouthful of wine and smiled knowing you were about to ask what the fuck that name is, “my parents chose it, and no it’s no Edmund,”

“That’s such an interesting name, I’ve never met anyone with such a unique name before,” you smiled, finishing off your wine and setting it on the coffee table beside you. He opened his arms as if to say yep that’s me!

“How’s your ankle?” He asked, nodding towards it,

“It feels fine now, thank you,” you removed the frozen bag, giving them back to him and getting onto your feet, you felt slightly weak.

“Let me walk you to the door,” he held your elbow softly as he led you towards the door, but there was something… a kind of connection that you couldn’t put your finger on started buzzing within you, igniting your blood vessels as his large hand found itself on the small of your back as you walked out the door, “see you later, y/n.” He said, smiling. You waved to him and walked back to your cabin.

🌅

The next night, your ankle healed apart from the little twinge that carried through your leg every time you walked but it was bearable. You stood at the fence, no wine this time, leaning over the fence watching as the sun fled from the sky. Aemond’s delicate footsteps sounded behind you, he leaned right next to you so your elbows were touching and came again that buzzing.

“Hello,” he said, “how’s your ankle?”

“Fine, thank you,” you smiled, turning to him surprised to find that he had been looking at you, a smirk dancing on his lips but his eye deep within your core that it sent a shudder down your spine. His eye caught something just to the side of you, and his hand came forward, batting a fly away as it was softly landing on your fringe. You smiled shyly, turning away from him but he pulled your cheek, making you turn to him softly with his fingers. Both of you gazed at each other, a slight murmur of wildlife whispering around you, he tucked your hair behind your ear and gently moved his lips to yours. For a moment, you are taken aback, slightly pulling away from his lips but you calm into him, placing your hands on his chest as he squeezed you further in his body, your kisses light and almost loving as you count the beats of his heart through your hand. His hands journeyed towards the small of your back as the kiss deepened, the buzzing sensation piling up from your core until slowly he began turning towards you neck, slight and butterfly kisses down the length of your neck, opening up your shirt to kitten lick your collarbones before your jellied core began to drop. With no one else around, you agonisingly unbuttoned his black shirt, pulling it off and holding onto his goose-pimpled skin as your own shirt was shifted over the top of your head. He kissed you, lovingly, until he reached your nipples, nipping at them sweetly before he reached the zipper of your jeans, your own hand rubbing over the tent in his own slacks, playing with the zipper before getting the confidence to pull it down and feel his length in your hand. He groaned into your mouth as you pulled gently up his shaft, smiling in the kiss. Whilst this was not on your radar to happen, this moment became so magical and fluid that even when he softly bent you over the fence, his hand stroking up and down your spine with such softness it had you shivering. The sun before you had disappeared, leaving a dark purple hue in its shadow as he lined himself up against your folds, slowly entering you and hissing as the warmth enveloped his most sensitive area. He was big, you knew that by the handjob you gave him earlier, but his length stretching your walls ignited the fireworks in your veins. Gripping the fence harshly with weak fingers, he thrusted into you hard enough to have you whine out into the desolate field. Despite his stoic and almost cruel face, his touches were enlightening and soft that your heat began clenching around him, he moaned under his breath, pulling on your shoulder to give himself more leverage to thrust into you. You whined into the cold night, not caring who heard you but also finding it riveting having sex in a lonely world. He grunted as his thrusts began slowing knowing that he was near his end and his last thrust before he pulled out had you rolling your eyes back, shuddering under his hot touch before he spilled all over your back and chuckling.

“I never expected that to happen,” he whispered, out of breath, before he cradled you against the fence, your back against his naked body, his elbow hung loosely around your neck as he pressed his cheek into your temple,

“Neither did I.” He placed a soft kiss on your cheek, continuing his loving attitudes towards you,

“But I’m glad it did,” he whispered, “I’ve grown fond of you.” You laughed, leaning into him as the stars winked at the sordid moment they saw, knowing that whatever was around was only the two of you and the stars who were cheering you on.

🌅

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