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ceilidho · 1 year ago

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prompt: reader is hired as a live in house cleaner because ghost is always away and he only comes back on leave and he insists she stay in the guest room. Over time he increasingly acts like she’s his live in girlfriend or something. Very confusing for reader lmao.

The job comes at the exact right time.

The way you stumble onto your new job is a bit dicey, if you’re being honest. You’ve been meaning to get out of the waitressing life for a while—the tips are shit and the number of times that you’ve had your backside pinched has slowly but steadily climbed into the double digits. You just haven’t had direction; somewhere to go.

Your savior comes in the form of a six foot plus soldier. Oh, he doesn’t tell you that, but his body language speaks for itself.

At first, even the sight of him makes your belly clench and palms sweat like when you watch rock climbing documentaries or parkour videos online (all moist and clammy and you have to wipe them on your jeans before shaking his hand). He’s a one-time customer at your little roadside diner that gradually becomes a repeat offender.

He comes at odd times, sometimes disappearing for a month or two before he’s back to sitting in the booth at the back of the diner with his back against the wall. You smile shakily when you pour him coffee after coffee. He never eats. Always sits in the same booth, dressed in the same black hoodie that does nothing to hide the sheer size of him and a black surgical mask that he never removes. He has a sixth sense for when you’re watching him from behind the counter, waiting for him to take a sip.

You never do catch a glimpse of his face. Not completely anyway. You know him only by the faint smell of gunpowder and metal that clings to him like a second skin, and the feeling of his calloused hand against yours.

Like ice slowly chipping off a glacier that one day cracks, a huge chunk splintering off and crashing into the sea, you know nothing about him until you’re suddenly in his house. Simon, he tells you, and the sound of his name awakens something in you. He needs a housekeeper and you need a reason to leave.

You quit the diner; barely even put in a week’s notice.

The day you drive up the long beaten road up to his property, a cabin deep in the English countryside, clear blue skies follow you. Clouds crisp, delicate even. Simon takes you through the house, showing you to the guest room where you’ll be staying while he’s away. He never directly confirms your suspicions, but the faint tightness around his eyes when he mentions his job tells you all you need to know. No wonder he needs someone to keep the house in order. Never around to do it himself.

Then he’s gone, swift as a ghost. You wake up in the guest room to a hastily scrawled note on your bedside table and a faint feeling of loss.

You scrub tiles and dust the top bit of the fan that everyone always misses; you mow the lawn, clean the gutters, and sit under the shade of a poplar tree with a glass of lemonade in the early evenings. If you look up into the tree, you’ll see spiders and squirrel nests. It’s almost therapeutic.

Weeks pass at a time. Simon reemerges like clear skies between periods of rain. Sometimes even before you wake up, you can feel the change like lighting sizzling in the air, crackling hot under your fingertips and then stumbling into the kitchen to find him leaning against the counter, coffee already brewing. You blush into an apology that he waves off.

Good soldier. Better boss.

You fall into a routine, something of a cadence that is only interrupted by Simon’s hands on your hips when he moves you out of the way to grab a mug from the top shelf. His finger brushing over the curve of your cheekbone to wipe away flour smudged on your cheek. Then he’s gone again, passing through like a ghost.

Perhaps he’s a more tactile man than you originally assumed. Something about the way he held himself in those first few weeks in the diner suggested otherwise, the way he seemed to radiate a latent hostility. Do not get close. You read this in the general slope of his eyebrows and the scars across his muscled forearms up until he reaches out to touch you, growing more and more comfortable with you around.

“You alright, love?” said into your ear on a warm night when Simon materializes onto the couch beside you, practically out of thin air. Your heart almost bursts in your chest.

When you turn, he’s as beautiful as ever, honey burnt eyes staring out from behind a balaclava this time. Still dresses in his standard issue tactical pants, the faint smear of grime and gore around the ankles. There’s a lump in your throat when you smile.

He smells richer now. Deeper, like the forest floor. Like crawling through mud and spider webs and a thick, cloying miasma of desperation.

“Sorry—I didn’t know you’d be back,” you apologize, going to rise up to your feet. It feels wrong to commandeer his house when he’s on leave, even though you live here too.

A heavy hand on your shoulder pulls you down, settling you to his side. “Off your feet now—there you go, atta girl. No sense getting up; show’s not even done.”

He angles you back to face the TV and tugs you into his lap almost effortlessly. You do not look back, even when you feel him slip the balaclava off, hot breath fanning over your neck. Not even when fingers play over the thin line of skin where your shirt rides up. You blink like your eyes are gummy and try not to shudder when his thumb dips underneath your shirt.

#cod mw2 #ghost cod #cod x reader #cod simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost/reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #ceil writing #house cleaner au

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opalopium · 5 months ago

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Little Miss- Simon Riley

And when you come home, you're gonna watch her sleeping Hold her close and stroke her face In the morning, you're gonna stare at her And wonder why you feel the way you do, now But she will hold you, and reach out to touch you And never ever hurt your heart - Bôa

Simon was as silent as snowfall as he entered his apartment, he could tell you were there without necessarily seeing proof of your presence. He can feel it, smell it, even if it's not acknowledged that he can. His feeling is confirmed as he finds the familiar outline of your figure in his bed. Simon hated it- he should hate it. He hated people in his space and yet he doesn't feel anger, why doesn't he feel anger? He drops his things on the bedside and you don't stir, not a hair. He hated obliviousness; pitied helplessness, but he doesn't hate this either.

He eases himself onto the bed, unlacing his boots with jerky, mechanical tugs, placing them neatly at the foot of the bed before stripping down; now you choose to wake and stare at his bulk as he undresses. Simon hates when people stare, and yet the weight of your eyes on him isn't suffocating or scrutinizing. You look at him like a woman would the stars; with reverence and adoration that he had not earned. Simon did hate that.

"Hi," you say groggily,

"Sorry I'm 'ome late, doll. Didn't see yer' message." He says, turning to discard his clothes. "Makin' good use of that key, huh?" His voice is mocking, but his expression kind as he climbs in next to you.

"Yeah, sorry.... I had the worst day." You mumble, inching closer to him. He scooped a thick arm around your waist, dragging you over the sheets into his side firmly.

"Don't you apologise, woman. Gave it to ya' for a reason dinnae?" Simon couldn't hate you, for some reason beyond him. He took your face into his rough hand, one arm wrapped around your shoulder, resting on your chest, inching between your top as his palm found your heartbeat, the subtle sensation was a visceral comfort that eased his own body. He saw the exhaustion etched into your features yet you strained your neck for a kiss, for which he indulged.

"You're mine aren't ya?" his voice was warm with a fondness he reserved for the dim dark moments he shared with you. You were asleep moments ago, and you would return to sleep in minutes, perhaps his affection would be hazy and you could accredit this to your dreams so when you woke you would know not to expect it.

"Yeah, yours." You say softly, voice slurred by sleep and the pressure on your cheeks as he stroked your face with a gentle thumb, memorising the curve of your nose, the bow of your lips, the smoothness of your cheeks.

"Pretty thing you are," he appreciates absently, thumb resting on your bottom lip. "Come round' any time ya' like... I can't promise you I'll be in a mood to entertain ya though." He admits.

"Yeah?" you murmur softly, blinking up at him slowly.

"Ya don't ever mind do ya? Quite an easy girl, you." his head dips, pressing his lips to your temple. "Don't change a thing, ya' ere?" He murmurs against the skin there, staring off in thought.

"Love you" You murmur, drifting off back to sleep, none the wiser to the storm in his mind.

"There's my girl."

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #ghost cod #cod x reader #song lyrics #tf 141

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starboye · 2 months ago

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starring: simon "ghost" riley x male reader

request: ghost with a femboy reader <33 can be both nsfw or sfw which ever one you r comfortable with!!! :33

warnings: some smut, mentions of male pregnancy + breeding, sexual mentions, femboy!reader, mentions of drinking

SFW-

simon was shocked to say the least when he first layed eyes on you at a farmers market, seeing you dressed in a cute pink skirt as a full face of makeup as you shopped for fruits and veggies.

approaching you slowly to really get a good look at you and confirm if he was seeing things or not (this is the first ever time he's seen a guy dressed like you) and with further investigating following you around the store he realized you were in fact a guy.

he waited patiently till you dropped something to swoop in and helping you pick up your dropped items, using the situation as an opportunity to spike up a conversation on the kinds of apples you were getting and somehow leading to you giving him your number.

he was nervous to actually call you but with some help from the team after showing the a picture of you (that of which you still don't know how he snapped the picture) they were urging him to not let the "fine gentleman go to waste" in the words of captain price and ghost nervously called you.

he was definitely surprised when you answered his call, he had asked you on a date and you somewhat eagerly accepted the mans request, simon silently cheering when he hung up the phone.

and oh. my. god. when he saw you enter the restaurant in the most beautiful suit and all dazzled with your little accessories with the most fine make up he's ever seen he was adjusting his pants the whole night and always excusing himself to the bathroom.

once the date was over he was itching to see you again, not being able to get you off his mind during mission debriefs or even the mission itself, only thinking of your handsome face the whole time.

once you guys finally scheduled your second date he was happy as a clam at high water, smiling the whole way to the park where you planned to meet just for him to get there to see you in a pretty slutty skirt and a crop top, it's like you wanted the man to keel over and die right there.

but he managed to hold himself together the whole date (although he can't deny that he didn't sneak a few peaks at your ass when you'd bend over to smell the flowers and feed the ducks at the lake and also during that date you both finally agreed to now be dating one another.

NSFW-

when he finally got you in his bed it was one night when you were a little drunk after a night out with the team and you were all but throwing yourself at the man, basically begging the man to fuck you with how you caressed his thigh under the table and hiked up your skirt when you 'drop' something on accident.

but simon wasn't complaining when he had been imagining fucking you forever now but the only thing that held his dick at night when he was hard was his own fist and the though of your mouth.

he had made you a moaning, babbling, and incoherent mess by the end of the night after fucking load after load out of you and plowing load after load into your tight hole.

with how good you looked and the way you dressed he had been imagining putting you in all sorts of positions to take his cock and when he finally got the chance he didn't disappoint, putting you in sorts of positions like mating press, missionary, and full nelson, thoroughly impressed by how well you took him in every position.

during it all simon had to keep reminding himself that you can't get pregnant and walk around base all swell with his kids in your tummy but he'd be damned if he didn't try to at least give you a stomach full of his cum.

next day you woke up sore, aching, and barely remembering where you were but with the sight of simon tightly holding you in his arms with that cute but smug smile on his face you nuzzled back into him, maybe even rolling your leaking ass on his crotch just to start a little something.

taglist:@mailmango@spermeboy@ghostking4m@gayaristocrat@addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09 @kadenvatsune @fuckshft

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schrodingerscougar · 9 months ago

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To Simon, you had always been Johnny’s girl. The two of you quickly became inseparable after you joined the team, spending long hours and nights talking about various things, joking on the comms while on the field, visiting each other in the infirmary, and even staying at each other’s places between missions.

You had never really shown interest in him. He was your superior, so you were always respectful, but you kept your distance. Maybe it was better this way. There was that one time a few months ago when he could’ve sworn he saw you sitting next to his bed in the infirmary after an injury, but when he asked the nurse, she confirmed that no one came to visit that night.

He knew he was catching feelings and he knew that was bad news. Every now and then he tried to get some answers out of Johnny about his relationship with you. What were you like in your civilian life? How did you dress? Did you wear makeup? Did you cook for him? Were you a perfect little housewife material out there?

“She’s the sweetest gal I’ve ever met,” Johnny told him with a dreamy look in his blue eyes. And then he would go on and on about your skirts and skin tight tops, your light, barely noticeable makeup, and the delicious meals you made just for him.

And then one day Simon was shot on the field and spent three days knocked out. When he woke up, he noticed you sitting by his bed, a scene that was eerily familiar to him. You were scrolling on your phone, eyes fixed on the screen so you didn’t even notice he was awake. He didn’t tell you, instead he used this opportunity to study your features as if he hadn’t done this a million times before.

He couldn’t stay awake for too long, and by the time he woke up, you were already gone. A doctor came to see him, looking surprised when he found out there was no one else in there. “She left? Huh, it’s quite early for that,” he noted.

Simon didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, your sergeant spent every night here with you since you were brought in. I don’t even know when was the last time she slept.”

This was the moment he realized maybe you had your reasons to keep your distance. But if—and that was a big if—you had feelings for him, why were you spending so much time in Johnny’s company? Well, that was the million dollar question he wouldn’t get an answer to anytime soon knowing the pair of you.

(Part 2)

#fem!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost #ghost x reader #john mactavish #modern warfare #john soap mactavish #soap #mw2 #mw3

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peachesofteal · 11 months ago

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Simple Math / Part 5

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.5k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Stalking. Brief mention of domestic violence. Feelings of fear, self loathing, and anxiety. Vomiting. Panic attack/comfort. Medical inaccuracies, hospital setting. A little bit of praise. Johnny is a flirt and a menace.

“Ye’re off yer head.”

“I’m not.” Johnny expects Simon to relent, to give it up, but when he doesn’t budge, something hot sizzles alive in the pit of Johnny’s stomach, desire roaring to life in his veins.

“Jus’ like that? Ye’re goin’ let me see yer bonnie face finally?” He slurs, lifting the bottle to his lips, and Simon nods.

“Only if you win."

“And if ye win?” Simon moves closer, his chest brushing against Johnny’s, balaclava covered face dipping down, noses nudging against one another’s in a tentative, teasing way.

“If I win, you’ll remove something of my choosing instead.”

Your phone is ringing.

In your sleep, you hardly recognize it, but your subconscious is well trained, and your hand seeks the source of the noise effortlessly, dragging it from the nightstand and next to your face, to squint blearily at it, awareness coming quickly when you recognize the charge nurse’s work line.

“Hello?” You clear the cobwebs of sleep from your throat.

“Hey, sorry to wake you.”

“No, ‘s alright. What’s going on?”

“I know it’s your day off, but-“

“You’re short.” You fill in the blanks, and she huffs.

“We’ve got two out with flu like symptoms, and I’m floating another to-“

“It’s okay.” You swing your feet over the edge of the bed, rubbing your eyes. “I got you. Just give me like, an hour? I have to get ready and stuff.”

“Of course. Thanks so much, you’re a lifesaver.” You zone out for a moment, plotting out the rest of your day, and mumble something like ‘don’t worry about it’, ending the call with your thumb.

The hotel carpet is plush. It’s cushioned and soft, and it gives a little when you stand and stretch, pulling your arms over your head, twisting and turning with tired bones, shaking loose the stupor that holds your neck too straight, too tightly.

OT isn’t the worst thing in the world right now, considering you’re paying for a long term stay in a hotel, you tell yourself more than a few times as you shower and dress. You should be grateful for it. Understaffing has it’s benefits, financially.

The only wrench about coming in on your day off this week is you’re supposed to be collecting more things from your flat. Particularly, clothing. You’ve only got a short rotation of outfits, scrubs, both in short supply, and… no clean underwear. You had planned to move large chunks of your wardrobe over today, probably at least two trips worth, but will now have to settle for stopping by fairly quick to grab what you can.

It will be fine, you think, casually checking your surroundings as you step off the platform. In and out and on with your day.

You were wrong.

You see it immediately, stepping through the door. The locks are in place, handle, deadbolt, extra one at the top, but you can tell, you can feel, that someone has been in here. Your blood thickens in your veins, freezing to a stop, sluggishly propelled by your frenzied heart. You can hear it in your ears, the thunder of your panic, can feel the fear twisting itself into a sailor’s knot and holding you hostage.

Your feeling is confirmed, rationalized, when you push your bedroom door ajar and see the carnage of what’s been left behind on top of your bed.

Shredded panties.

The entire underwear drawer has been spilled out across your sheets, lace and cotton and silk all ripped to pieces, torn edges clearly made by hands, not knives, not scissors, but the personal touch of fingers, of fists.

Your breath catches in your chest, oxygen in the room falling away, leaving you panting, gasping for your next inhale as you cautiously pick up a pair close to you. They’re grey cotton boy shorts, and your stomach flips up into your throat when they stand as stiff as a board, some sort of dried substance splattered across them, rendering the fabric firm and inflexible.

Not… not just some dried substance… you realize in horror, scanning the pile of panties, noticing the stains on most of them, a milky white color shining against black silk.

You can’t breathe. You stumble away, back slamming into your dresser, sinking down onto the floor, hands covering your ears.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.

This is sick, even for him. An escalation of disturbing behavior that sends a chill down your spine, frightening you even more than you already were. You knew he’d get in, hoped he would buy your carefully crafted lie: the appearance of you still living there… but to act so brazenly, to do something like… this.

Does he know, does he realize, you’re not actually living in the flat now?

He’s really going to kill you this time.

You race to the toilet, heaving yourself over the seat as your breakfast rushes past your lips, a cup of coffee and half eaten muffin accentuated by the sting of bile, and you gag, spitting and hacking until you’re finished, flushing it all away.

You don’t look at the girl in the mirror. You don’t want to see her. Don’t want to tell her all the ways you’re letting her down. She thinks you’re smarter than this, stronger. Braver. She believes you’ve done it once before, you’ve escaped, you’ve hid, and you can do it again.

She doesn’t know you’re not sure you have the heart for it now. She doesn’t realize you’re tired, you’re afraid. She doesn’t understand that you like the life you’ve made, that running is exhausting, that sometimes, in the very darkest corners of your mind, you think that letting him win might be easiest.

So, you don’t look at her. You mourn your pile of panties for a too long second and lock the apartment up tight.

Get it together. Get yourself together.

You coach yourself the entire way to work, trying to ignore the rubbing and bunching of your scrub pants, an unfortunate consequence of being forced to go commando.

Deep breath. You can do this.

You still have your sanctuary.

You had hoped, for a miniscule moment, that your day might improve once you step foot in the hospital, and you pushed away the inkling that suggested that optimism may be linked the fact that you’ll get to see Simon and Johnny, opting not to even acknowledge the strange sensations swirling about inside your heart whenever you think about the other day. The day when the world stood still and Johnny touched your hand so gently, stroking his fingers over your skin, or when the elevator doors parted to reveal Simon and their baby, a sweet baby girl safe in his arms, his eyes alight and adoring, your knees almost giving out at the sight.

Needless to say, you’re eager to badge in.

The day is quickly derailed, when within a half an hour of getting settled into your routine, an alarm goes off for two sixty-eight: thirty-nine degrees.

Your mind immediately somersaults to the pain in his upper right quadrant from your last shift, logical thought leaping all around as you jog down the hall.

You notated it. You passed it on in shift report. It’s only thirty-nine. You did everything right. No one here would just disregard something like that. Deep breath.

Still…

Bile leak. Abscess. Infection. Or worse… hepatic artery pseudoaneurysm, hemorrhaging. Big things that could lead to worse things, worse outcomes, worse-

The door comes up quicker than you realize, and without hesitating, you slip inside.

“Hi.” You’re a little breathless, and Simon’s eyes snap to yours, taking you in, studying from head to toe, brow knitted together. Johnny’s asleep, and you’re not sure if that makes you feel better, or worse.

“Everything alright?” Of course. He’s too perceptive. Get control of yourself, it could be nothing.

“Yeah, I ah… have to draw some blood.” You really do not want to wake your patient, or alarm Simon, but you refuse to lie. You fire off a text to the attending on call, advising him of Johnny’s temperature and reminding him of the upper right quadrant pain, letting him know he can expect labs as soon as you get them downstairs. You give Simon a nod, turning to slide the draw open quietly, pulling out everything you’ll need. His gaze burns a hole in your scrubs, the ever-present scrutiny impossible to escape, and sometimes you wonder if he’s reading your mind.

“What’s wrong? He just fell asleep, Pen was here all morning, tired him out.” His protest is husky, and you think he’s frowning behind the mask. You imagine a strong mouth pulled downwards in consternation; wide jaw gnashed tight with worry.

“He’s running just a bit of a fever.” He jolts, and you shake your head, hoping to soothe his fear. “It’s not too high. I’m not super worried, but we’ll need to check his white cell count, just in case, okay? And then we’ll go from there.” He nods.

“You said this could happen.” You smile. It feels unsteady, but you hope he can’t tell.

“I did. I promised, that if there was something to panic about, I would tell you. We’re not there yet.” It’s not a lie. Your wild spiral from a few minutes ago was an extreme, not reality, and you need to keep your head on.

“Okay.”

“Right. So, just going to do a quick blood draw and get it downstairs so we can find out what’s going on.” Simon shifts uncomfortably, and you carefully squeeze Johnny's arm, wrapping him with the tie and swabbing the inside of his elbow as fast as possible.

He blinks, eyes opening slowly, confused brow smoothing when he realizes you’re leaning over him, and his gaze darts to Simon before landing back on you. “There’s our bunny.” He mumbles softly, and your face heats, eyes widening in surprise before you regulate your reaction, and Simon coughs. Loudly. Bunny?

“Such a flirt, MacTavish.” You playfully chastise him, relieved he’s feeling like himself. “I just need to get some blood and then I’ll leave you in peace to sleep.” He shrugs, but Simon rubs a thumb against his thigh in tiny little circles, too fast to be considered comfort, and Johnny clucks. “Ah, come on Si.”

“You’re runnin’ a fever, Johnny.”

“Ach. ‘s nothing.” He brushes it off, but his eyes are slow to track Simon’s movements, and you casually sneak a peek at the monitor, noting his blood pressure.

“Could be.” You assure him, smoothing a hand over his shoulder and taping a small patch of gauze over the puncture. “But better safe than sorry, right?”

The labs are inconclusive. The attending hems and haws before finally asking you to schedule a stat ultrasound of his abdomen, and you manage to bump him to the front of the queue, pulling a few strings here and there by rattling off some bullshit about being higher priority.

In the time it takes for the tech to get to two sixty-eight with the machine, you get a new admission. Intubated, but awake, and getting them and their family squared away takes longer than you would have liked, the patient’s middle-aged husband a wreck of nerves and worry, the kind of anxiety that makes you sit with him in the room for a little while, patting his hand and promising that you’ll be there for them, every step of the way.

By the time you step out of that room, it’s been nearly an hour. You catch a glimpse of Simon in the chairs outside two sixty-eight, and you throw him one of your best work smiles, hoping to reassure him, soothe his nerves. You want to go to him, want to sit beside him and talk him through everything, the outcomes, the possibilities, but you still need to add the notes for your new admit, and-

Someone catches your eye from the end of the hall. It’s a man, white, with brown hair, in regular clothes, and he stands taller than the others around him, shoulders rolled back just- just like-

No. You force yourself to look, to truly see him, taking in his facial features, the slope of his nose, and it’s hardly a second before you’re realizing it’s not who you thought it was. It’s not him.

The second doesn’t matter to your heart. It’s already racing, tripling it’s steady pace inside your chest. You’re shaking, trembling in the middle of the hall, frantically looking for the nearest closet, or empty room, or…

Stairwell. There’s a stairwell just beyond where Simon is anxiously waiting, and you beeline to it, nearly tripping over your own feet past him. You think you hear your name being called, but the blood rushing in your ears is too loud, and you can’t be sure. Either way, it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters right now is getting away. Hiding. Not letting yourself be noticed.

You take the first flight down, stopping on the landing to rest your face against the polished, cold wall, desperately trying to fill your lungs with air, encouraging yourself to breathe.

It wasn’t him. You’re safe.

Deep breath. You can do this.

Your fingers dig into your hips, squeezing through the numbness, through the overwhelming feeling of your impending doom, and your head swims, lightheadedness nearly knocking you off balance.

“It wasn’t him.” You whisper aloud. “It’s not him. You’re safe. Get it together.” You chant, eyes clenched tight. Your heart is still pounding, no sign of relenting, and your lungs burn, screaming inside you, desperate for air. The feeling of suffocating, of dying, grows stronger, gaining momentum, and your eyes slam shut, your mind and body locked in a tomb of panic and fear.

You hear your name again. It’s sharper, authoritative, but you can’t open your eyes, too overwhelmed to even make sense of it. Deep breath, just breathe.

Something touches your shoulder. It’s unexpected, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you register it as gentle, but you’re too far gone, too far buried beneath your fear and your panic and your shame. It triggers you into a defensive posture, and you flinch so hard you jostle yourself into the wall, turning into the corner, hands out in front of your face.

“Hey, hey.” It’s Simon. Simon is standing in the stairwell with you, palms open, concern heavy in his eyes, and you vaguely realize he’s talking, soft, deep words washing over you. “-to breathe?” He comes closer, only half a step, but it’s enough to startle you back into the corner, and he stops short. “It’s alright. I’m not going to touch you.” He soothes, and you recognize the pitch, the calm, affectionate tone from Johnny’s bedside. Sour nausea surges in your stomach, and your lungs fight the invisible hand that tightens around them. “Can you take a deep breath?” You shake your head, and he huffs a soft chuckle. “You can do it, just try. Through your nose, like this.” His chest expands, eye contact never breaking, and you try to follow suit, getting halfway before your head spins, vision tunneling. “You’re alright.”

You’re not alright. None of this is alright. You’re having a panic attack, in the stairwell at your job, in front of a patient’s partner.

You can’t speak, so you shake your head instead. No.

“Yes, you are.” He assures. “Everything’s okay. Focus on your breathing. Try another one for me.” His hand covers his heart, and you focus on the way it ebbs and flows with the movement of his diaphragm, the pace of his breaths.

You manage to get one full inhale and exhale. And then you get another. Then a third, a fourth, until it’s coming easier, and your head doesn’t feel as fuzzy.

“Good job, that’s it.” Your fingers twist together, the grating noise of your jagged breathing smoothing out even more, and Simon nods encouragingly. “You’re doing great, sweetheart. Nice and slow.” Sweetheart. The word is bright, boundless and sweet as honey, the sentiment settling in your belly and growing warm. The two of you stand there, just breathing, staring at one another, for what feels like an eternity, until you find the strength to summon words.

“I-I’m sorry.” You finally choke once you’ve got a better handle on yourself, hands going lax at your thighs.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about.” You’re about to brush it off, thorny lies starting to form in your mind, excuses and carefully crafted explanations fusing together when your work phone beeps, the low frequency different from the ones related to patient care. Shit. Already? Simon’s glances at it in your pocket and cocks his head.

“End of my shift.” You explain, moving towards the stairs, your hand trembling on the button to silence the alarm. The muscles in his neck flex, molars grinding together.

“Still feeling a little shaky?” He observes, and you look down to your feet, mortification crawling up your spine, blooming across your cheeks through heated blood vessels.

“Um…”

“Would you mind, maybe sitting with Johnny for a bit?” You do still have notes to do. “If his test is done? I have to run home, help the Prices' put Penny down. She’s been a bit fickle, lately. Missin’ her Da.” He rubs the back of his neck, chest flexing inside the charcoal grey hoodie, and for a weird, too long second, you wonder what it might be like to fall asleep there, or just close your eyes for a minute, even though it's something sweet and far away, unobtainable in every facet. Simon says your name, jogging your attention, and then takes the first step, partially turning like he wants to reach for you, but thinks better of it.

“Uh. Yeah, I… I can.”

You badge out and grab your stuff, keeping your tablet so you can complete your notes while you sit with Johnny. You’ve already checked his results, and when you slip inside the room, the attending is updating them, explaining how he has a very small bile leak, and will need an endoscopic procedure tomorrow morning.

The attending excuses himself, giving you a quick nod, and then Simon leans down, knocking their foreheads together tenderly.

“Keep an eye on him, I hear he likes to make trouble.” Johnny smiles, pink-red color creeping up his neck into his cheeks, and Simon seems like he’s smiling, before he turns serious. “Behave. I won’t be too long.”

“I always behave.” He pats the side of the bed, beckoning you, and you shake your head, plopping down in the recliner to his right.

“I hear ye’re keepin’ me company, pretty girl?”

“I am. Got some notes to finish, heard this chair was pretty comfortable.” You quip back easily, and it feels natural, to be joking and laughing, to be hiding again.

“Well, I’ll try not to distract ye then.”

Your tablet clicks dark with a satisfying shutter, and when you place it face down, Johnny gives you one of his stupidly handsome smiles. “All finished?”

“Yeah, not too bad.” His phone vibrates against the tabletop, and with his good hand, he opens the message, turning it to show you the screen. It’s a picture of Penny, half asleep against Simon, clad in a pink onesie covered in little ducks. Her cheek is squished against him, long baby lashes fluttering on her skin. “She’s so cute.” You say, and he nods, flushed with pride. You glance at the contact name, Lou, and before you can stop yourself, a question bursts out: “Who’s Lou?”

“Our captain’s wife. She’s been helpin’ a lot, with Pen. Which is great, they’re getting a lot of girl time.”

“Your captain?”

“Aye.”

“Is that…” you want to ask but trail off. You don’t want to admit that you’ve heard gossip about them.

“Military. Simon an’ I work together, in a task force.” A task force. A task force sounds eerily close to special ops, and your nausea comes back with a vengeance.

“What… what kind of task force?”

“Global ops. Anti-terrorism, domestic threats, the lot. How I ended up here, with ye.” The image of your ex looms, his body tense in his gear, or the memory of his boots, sitting shiny by the door, one of them pulling back, swinging towards your stomach. “Bun?” Bun?

“Huh?” you blink. “Oh, sorry. Spaced out there for a second.”

“That’s alright. Simon said ye had a bit of a scare earlier?”

“No I uh, just couldn’t catch my breath, but I was fine. It was fine.” You deflect, moving on as quick as you can manage. “Did you call me bun? And… didn’t you call me bunny, earlier?” He gives you a sheepish look.

“Aye. Is our nickname for ye.”

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Well… ye look a bit like a bunny, and ye had that sticker the other day that Penny noticed.” Your face heats. “I know ye’re probably real soft like a bun, too.” Real soft? Is he… does he mean- your eyes widen, and he smirks.

“Johnny.” You flounder, helplessly, confused by his attention, this flirtation that seems to have grown into real affection, and he shifts slightly, leaning forward, reaching for your hand.

“Ye dinnae need to be afraid.” He coos. The words are a moon above a tide, pulling and reaching, dragging the swell of the waves higher and higher, until they threaten to pull you under, overwhelm you and drown you.

“I…” I don’t understand? I thought you were gay? I don’t know what is happening here? Johnny grimaces, and you immediately forget about the conversation and leap into action, jumping to your feet. “What is it? Where’s your pain?” Your hands hover over his belly, and he points to where his liver currently sits, slowly leaking inside his body, spilling bile that could eventually kill him if it hadn’t been caught. You pull down the blanket, unsnapping his gown to push it aside, checking for anything physically observable, site swelling, a rash, anything. “Does this hurt?” You cautiously press down, tapping slightly, watching his face for a reaction.

“No.” he says, and when you reach over to his other side, turning to watch his facial expressions, he moves with you, barely leaning, chin pointed in your direction.

His face is suddenly incredibly close to your face. And he looks… so handsome. So pretty, with his bright blue eyes and perfect bones, soft lips that part with an inhale. He dazzles you. Distracts you.

This is your patient, get it together. You’re a professional, act like it.

“Does that hurt?” You croak, and his lips quirk into a half smile, a warm palm gliding over the small of your back.

“It doesnae hurt, bun.” He winks.

“Oh my god, were you faking?” You try to stand up, but the pressure on your spine is firm, and he chuckles.

“Can I tell ye a secret?” He’s fully serious now, question whispered just above your ear, and you nod.

“Of course.”

“Ye’v been drivin’ me mad today, pretty girl. Walkin’ around here wit’ no panties on.” Oh. Oh… my god. You shoot upwards, hand covering your mouth in shock, and he laughs, raising an eyebrow before his gaze drifts over the curve of your hip.

“Johnny!” you hiss, scandalized, and then guilt hits you like a train, like two tons of rocks have been dropped on top of you. Simon. “Johnny, you… you and Simon, you’re-“

“We’re lucky ye’ve come into our lives.” He finishes, and you frown, confused. “We think ye’re really special.” We. We?

“What did I miss?” Simon says from the doorway, and you jerk, stepping back like Johnny’s bed is on fire and you’ve just been burnt, eyes wide and wild. You feel like a child, caught with a hand in the cookie jar, but Simon doesn’t look angry. Just curious.

“Jus’ talking.” Johnny replies, and he starts to lower his bed, watching you with heavy eyes.

“Well. I should get going. I’ve got a few trains to make.” You glance at the clock, and then give them both a polite smile. Simon crosses his arms.

“Looks like you tired him out.” He comments, and they glance at one another, some sort of communication happening silently before he shrugs. “Let me drive you.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t. It’s not… you just got back, and I’m fine, really. It’s not that far, I-“

“If it’s not that far, let him drive ye.” Johnny pipes up, and Simon piles on easily.

"He's not going to let this go, and neither am I. Let me get you home safely, please." You shouldn't. You really, really shouldn't. "It's the least we can do." Your shoulders slump in defeat. It’s just a ride. It’s not crossing a line.

“Okay, then.” Johnny smiles, and Simon moves to his side, brushing his mask covered mouth against his forehead.

“She go down okay?” Johnny murmurs, tenderly cupping his cheek.

“Like a champ. Promised I’d bring her tomorrow morning. Think she understood me.”

“Aye. She’s smarter than ye, so probably.” He teases, and they share a lighthearted laugh before Johnny’s bidding you a goodbye, and Simon directs you out the door.

“Uh, right here is fine.” You point to the curb, and Simon slows the car to a stop, turning to face you with that ever-present scrutiny, brows shoved down above his eyes.

“A hotel?” You swallow.

“My um, my flat is being renovated. It’s a whole thing so I just figured I wo-would stay somewhere else.” You want to flee, run out of this car and away from him, but he holds you in place so easily with just his eyes, so you sit there, frozen, one hand on the door handle, the other splayed against your thigh.

“Is everything alright? Earlier-“

“I’m fine.” You rush out, cutting him off. It’s well practiced, the denial, the avoidance, these things that you normally excel out.

But nothing is normal with them.

He cocks his head, and then nods, and you breathe a little easier, turning to push the door open.

“Wait.” A hand tugs at you, thick, warm fingers lightly touching your wrist, and you whip back around to face him, eyes wide. “If you ever need anything, Johnny and I… we’re here.” Why is your heart beating so fast?

“Oh, I uh… I’m fine, I don’t need-“

“That doesn’t work on me. Johnny either, pretty girl.” He tells you, and it’s so firm, so strong backed, that your mouth goes dry, and you gape at him. What? What doesn’t work? Is he… is he saying he doesn’t buy it? Doesn’t believe you? He’s reading your mind, subtly raising an eyebrow, and then nodding. “Put my number in your phone.” He instructs, and like a robot, like a vampire’s Thrall, you pull it from your bag, swiping open the contact list and pressing each number in the order he gives it. “We’ll see you tomorrow?” He asks once you’re finished, and you mumble a shaky yes, finally pushing the door open, and climbing out.

“Alright, well. Good night.” You bend at the waist, giving him a wave through the window, and his jaw moves beneath the mask, shifting to the side, eyes squinting at the corners. He's smiling.

“Good night, bunny.”

#peaches writes #simple math #ghost x reader x soap #ghost x soap x reader #john soap mactavish #simon riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #ghoap x reader #soap x ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #soap x reader #soap x ghost

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frudoo · 4 months ago

Note

Slasher 141 again, how would they meet their wife? Victim turned pet? Or did she meet them 'normally', or heat me out! An online forum about killers, turned meeting to 'discuss favorites', turned demonstration? Of course, either way, she's theirs now.

I enjoy this au very much sorry 😅

A trivia date night with Johnny turns into something more ;)

Warnings: Dark stuff, obviously (murder, cold cases, etc). Food + alcohol consumption. Fem!Reader.

Sudsnblood: Here. WBU?

You: I see a mohawk, that you?

Sudsnblood: Aye.

Excitedly, you smooth out your dress and make your way over to the man in the corner who’s giving you a little wave. Is it stupid, agreeing to meet with an odd stranger you’ve been bonding with on the internet over fictional killers and real, gruesome murders? Absolutely. Do you care? Absolutely not. After all, he is local, and the pub is having a trivia night with a category both of you are experts in: cold cases. Not to mention how much more handsome he is in person.

“Hey,” you grin, reaching over the table to place your hand in his and shake it politely.

Johnny returns your greeting with a charming smile and a confirmation of your name. He only lets go once you’ve nodded, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Ah havenae ordered anythin’ yet,” he informs you, pushing a menu your way. “Figured ah’ll get wha’ ye do.”

“Mm, got a copycat on my hands, huh?” You tease, catching his eye contact momentarily before moving your gaze back to the list of appetizers.

“Ah’m no’ a copycat, ah assure ye,” he grabs the top of your menu and pushes it down to the table so you’ll look at him again.

His expression is so serious, leaving no room for confusion or doubt in your mind. You raise an eyebrow and nod slowly.

“Got it. What do you think about potato skins for an app?”

Trivia takes about two hours, and of course, the two of you won against six other tables who did not have quite the extensive knowledge you and Johnny share. You’re two beers deep and he’s got one more on you, tipsy and flirty.

“Ah’m gonna call one o’me partners tae come get us,” Johnny explains, wrapping an arm around your waist and guiding you outside the front of the building to wait with him.

You nod and he pulls a cigarette out of the carton in his pocket, lighting it up and handing it to you. You take a drag while he talks on the phone—to a Simon, you observe—exhaling slowly and watching as the smoke crystallizes in the cold winter air. He’s only on the phone for a few moments before he’s asking for his cig back, blowing the smoke away from you.

“D’ye trust me?” He asks after a while of silence.

You nod once again, eyebrows slightly furrowed. Johnny drops the butt of the cigarette on the ground and snuffs it out with the toe of his boot, leaning in until the warmth of his breath ghosts the shell of your ear. It sends goosebumps rising up all over your body, and you shiver, grabbing a hold of his firm biceps through his leather jacket.

“Wha’ if ah told ye ah’m one o’the killers they were askin ‘bout?” He murmurs into your ear.

You pull back with an amused grin, expecting him to have a matching expression, laugh and tell you he’s joking. But when you meet his eyes, he’s deadly serious. There’s no hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, just a deadpan gaze that scans along your face, watching for a reaction. Your smile drops and you swallow hard, your breathing rapidly speeding up.

“I’d say that I believe you, and it doesn’t change my feelings towards you.”

“Ye’re gonna get along jus’ fine,” Johnny finally smiles, wide enough for an average person to feel a sense of unease, but to you, it just adds to his charm.

By the time Simon arrives, Johnny’s got you pinned against the wall with his hands full of your soft tits and his tongue down your throat. Simon chuckles and honks the horn of his truck to alert you both of his presence, giving you a nod of acknowledgement as Johnny hustles you into the backseat with him.

“She know?”

“Aye, she does.”

Simon nods, adjusting the rear-view mirror so that he can see the two of you better.

“Good.”

#mmmmm johnny #ask me!#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #slasher!141 #slasher!141 x fem!reader #johnny mactavish #simon riley #soap x reader #johnny mactavish x reader

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thegnomelord · 9 months ago

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i took 357191027r6392936446322736432947372 psychic damage from the Makarov fic so you gotta write reader being rescued, healed, rehabilitated and loved by the task force. imagine them teaching reader to be their own person or letting him top without any commands or punishments. reader would be whining like a puppy who doesn't know what it's doing and would be so cute and fearful looking for reasurance when fucking into a task force member it would be so cute

lol idk dude. I was intending to do the fic as a one off to satisfy my puplay kink but it's now started to rot my brain even more lol. If I did continue it, I don't know if I'd want a happy ending or an angsty one (omfg imagine going through all the healing and rehab and experiencing love only for one word from Makarov to have you going back to him without question)

So tell me ya'll if you want me to turn the one shot into a longer fic lol, but for now here's some headcannons, ideas/ whatever and some porn

CW:NSFW, rough anal, Simon x reader with Price watching, dom/sub.

I can't imagine Hound would be happy about the 'rescue' considering everything and definitely would be resistant to rehab (Hound biting ppl and getting muzzled lol) that dogheaded asinine stubbornness coming to bite him in the ass. I headcannon Hound to have already been violent when he was under Price's command but Price kept Hound in check(if anyone's seen that young ghost and price comic with him being compared to a fighting dog it's kinda like that).

Makarov didn't need to do much and just played into the aggressive tendency to make Hound as they are now. The more violent the reaction hound would make, the more attention and praise he'd get. Also I'm just a sucker for dog like characters that are unhinged. That have no moral compass except for the one they're loyal to and will do whatever they ask.

So the task force members would have their hands full with Hound that's basically an aggressive fighting dog taken straight out of the pit. Also I'm still thinking whether the 141 would try to steer Hound away from the pup/dog like mentality Makarov conditioned them into, or if they would try to redirect it by calling Hound 'pup, boy' etc, instead of 'dog' like Makarov did.

Also the grief Price would feel to see the man he thought was dead turned into that would break his heart. I don't know if I'd want him to crack down on trying to rehab hound, or let a lot of things slide because he's scared of fucking you up more.

But also like rehabed fighting dogs turn out to be the sweetest animals and Hound just going from this 'I will bite your throat out' to just a gentle giant that's just happy to be able to touch or hug someone without needed permission. . . but he can still bite a throat out.

Also I 1000% swear that Makarov's a whore and would have trained reader to have enough stamina to fuck him all night long so the task force would get pounded into next year lol.

This is questionable cannon and non-confirmed lol you just got me brain rotting with the cute pup part and this came out. Rough and quick.

CW:NSFW

You feel like you will die; heat burns through your veins, sweat crawls down your skin and makes your hair stick to your forehead. Your hands grip Simon's bruised hips, holding them up for him as you pound into him. "Please-" You barely manage a small whimper, hiding your face in Simon's shoulder.

Simon's body quivers beneath you, limp and boneless, a wet hole for you to use. He's as sweaty as you, rough grunts and half-formed swears leaping from his lips every time your hips meet his ass in a bruising thrust. He's the closest to you in size, albeit still smaller, which makes it easier for him to take your size than the others. His insides are a sweltering heat around your cock, fucked into a loose sloppy hole that would gape if you pulled out, muscles still doing their best to squeeze you every time you nail his prostate.

It makes you feel ashamed how long it took you to find it. Mounting anyone but Makarov feels wrong, you're not sure how fast or how deep to go, this current rough pace making Simon the most vocal since you began. You feel him cum again, walls clenching tightly for the first time in a while as you force him into spurting what's left in his empty balls.

"Pl- sir, I- please, please," You can't help but hiccup, your nails leaving crescent bruises in his skin as you just pound him through his orgasm. It's his fourth one.

"What's wrong son?" Price's words barely get through the fog of need in your skull, more little whimpers splitting from your lips. "Don't you want to let go?" Tears blurry your vision, you can barely see his face from where he's resting Simon's head in his lap.

You can't cum. Your balls are so full they feel like they'll explode any second, cock throbbing to finally shoot your load but no matter how harshly you thrust into the willing hole beneath you. It feels like those times Makarov would put a cock ring on you, but worse, now it's your own body refusing to give you release. You haven't earned it.

"Please-" You repeat, because that's the best your mind can come up with, your hips stuttering as overstimulation stabs your nervous system like a knife. "I-please, fuck- I can't." You force out, forcing yourself to return to the punishing pace, your pelvis starting to go numb like it would a few hours into Makarov using you as a living dildo.

Price's fingers are disgustingly gentle as they curl into your sweaty hair, making you look up at him with soft pressure on your scalp. There's no bite to his touch, no pain, it's too good for a thing like you.

You'll thank what god exists that Price seemingly understands your problem, "Oh, son." You hate the hint of sorrow in his tone, you hate yourself more for how it makes your heart pound in your ears. "Here, let me" He whispers, his other hand sliding down to your naked neck.

The lack of any collars around your neck still disgusts you every waking moment, still makes you feel wrong, bad dog. His fingers wrap around your throat. They're too loose to be a proper collar, but it lets you breathe easier, his palm warm and big enough to completely cover the 'V.M' tattooed on your skin.

"Go on, that's a good boy." He whispers, "Cum for us." Price orders, kissing you so softly it disgusts you, like heaven wrapped in thorns.

You feel fresh tears spill down your tears as the dam not letting you cum is finally torn down. You hiccup your 'thank you sir's against his lips as you spill inside Simon. You can just distantly hear Simon groan as you dump your cum into his sloppy hole, muscles weakly fluttering around your cock as you roll your hips, fucking your cum deeper into him, just the act of cumming hurting almost as much as being denied, your balls aching with every spurt of cum.

You collapse on Simon, pushing the breath out of his lungs, as boneless as him. You don't struggle when Price rolls you to your side, your cock slipping out. Cum and lube gushes out from his hole like a firehose, flooding the small space between you two, his rim red and irritated, muscles weakly fluttering around nothing as they try to close.

You try to thank him but you slur your words into his skin, feeling the muscles in his abdomen quiver as you huddle closer and wrap your arms around him, your chest pressed flush to his back. You expect him to pull away, Makarov hated being vulnerable like this longer than he needed, but all Simon does is grunt and tip his head back so you can hide your face in the space between his shoulder and neck.

"You olright Simon?" Price asks, brushing a hand through your sweaty hair for a few seconds before you feel him softly wiping away your spend from you two.

"Fuck," Simon breathes out, voice scratchy and rough. "Are we sure Makarov's human?" His hand reaches up to scratch your scalp as you kiss one of the numerous bite marks you left on him. His skin is a canvass of black and blue bruises, your bite marks starting to clot across his body. "Shit, I can't feel my legs."

His words feel like a slap in the face, and you don't notice how you let out a small whimper, your hold tightening. This is it, you'll have to let him go soon, he'll order you to leave like Makarov always did.

"None of that son." Price's voice is calm in your ear, rubbing soothing circles between your shoulder blades. "You did good."

Simon hums, his fingers running lower to scruff you, "Mhm, yeah," His words are slurred, exhaustion weighing on both of you. "Best snog I've ever had." He grumbles, and you don't doubt he won't admit it in the morning, but for the moment, as you feel yourself slowly drift off to sleep, you let yourself enjoy the praise, the warmth of human touch, the care you can feel in both of them.

This is starting to feel nice.

#gnome's tea break #gnome correspondence #cod mw2 #x reader #male reader #top male reader #trinkets from the hoard #captain john price #simon ghost riley x reader #cod simon riley #simon ghost riley x male reader #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #Hound-reader #Good Dog fic

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bmtillerbabe · 1 month ago

Text

~ Body Heat ~

A Reader x Ghoap fic!

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

Written for the amazing @onlyareyyyy ! Sorry it took forever, thank you for being so patient! :):)

Originally one of her posts, I decided to take it and run with it and turn it into a mini fic :D

"sharing a bed with Simon ghost riley and johnny soap mactavish. having a crush on ghost. being unable to sleep because all you can think of is your proximity to ghost and feeling his massive erection against your back. some sort of conversation or confession which results in ghost fucking you on your side which cause the reader to squirt and which wakes up johnny"

Hopefully, I did it justice! Please, enjoy! (and go follow @onlyareyyyy , she got the goods yo ;) )

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

MDNI

18 + ONLY

MDNI

NSFW, and the smut be smuttin' - you've been warned!

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

A sharp crack of thunder made you jolt back awake, lifting your hands to cover your ears.

It was raining.

Again.

With an aggravated sigh, you gripped the scratchy duvet and threw it over your shoulders, twisting it with a huff and flinging your body over to face the opposite direction.

Fucking safe-houses. They were never comfortable.

You tried your damndest to get back to sleep …. Closing your eyes, counting imaginary animals, hell, even trying to meditate. But it was no use.

Your comfy spot was long gone; the mattress was now cold; the patter of the raindrops against the cracked windowpanes of the old safehouse was anything but calming right now; and the fear of another loud boom of thunder was enough to keep you wide awake.

Growling to yourself, you tossed and turned again, blinking in the dark.

Another lightning flash.

More rain.

More thunder.

And somewhere amidst the constant torrential downpour – on top of being uncomfortable as shit – the power decided to go out.

A flicker-flicker-flicker, and then …. Nothing.

Great.

The distant buzz and hum of the lights just outside your room was abruptly cut off, as was the little golden glow from underneath the door.

You grumbled to yourself and sat upright, wiping your eyes and slumping your shoulders, staring into the darkness.

Any other time, it would have made you eerily uncomfortable, and you’d have had half a mind to trudge through the blackness and find your two so-called “guardians” who were supposed to be keeping you safe from some so-called “threat”, and see if you could maybe pester them a little into keeping you company. But you never got the chance.

As if the gods heard your silent plea, the heavy thudding of steel-toed boots was headed your way before your thought had even finished forming.

Hmm. Maybe they really were taking this “guardian” thing seriously.

With a flashlight in his hand, Ghost opened your door (without even knocking, the bastard), Soap following close behind.

“You a’ight, luv?” The Brit asked, shining the sharp white light directly into your face.

You scrunched your eyes shut, nodding as you held your hand up to ward away the sudden brightness. “Mmm-hmm.”

“Aye, Ghost, yer gonna blind the poor lass.” Soap scoffed, batting Simon’s hand down.

“I’m fine.” You answer verbally this time looking at them both, illuminated only by the stray flash of lightning and the flashlight that was now reflecting off the scratched wooden floor. “I was awake, anyway. I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

Another burst of thunder rolled through the room and made you jump again, covering your ears.

Jesus Christ, every one was like opening a can of biscuits …

You watched as Soap walked over to the light switch on the wall, flipping it on and off a few times.

“Aye.” He confirmed, “Wasn’t just our room, then. Looks like the whole house is without power.”

Ghost sighed heavily, shaking his head. “In this cold? Great. Tha’s jus’ wonderful.”

He wasn’t wrong. It was the dead of November, and even if the safe-house wasn’t full of leaky windows and cracked walls, it would have been hard to stay warm all night without any electricity. As it stood now, you were set to freeze.

As if on cue, your whole body decided to shiver, and you clamped your jaw shut to keep your teeth from chattering.

You weren’t sure if the men had heard you, but either way you pretended they didn’t when you heard Soap pat Ghost’s shoulder. He nodded for the larger man to follow him out into the hall, turning to you before he did.

“Stay here, lass. We’ll be right back.”

And the two left the room.

You wrapped the blanket around yourself tighter, suddenly aware of the intense chill in the room biting at your nose, any heat that had been blowing through the vents quickly being dispersed through the battered house.

Well.

This was just great.

Now what?

You’d already been at this safe-house for days, and who knew how much longer you three had to wait for exfil. And now you had to go without power – and heat – on top of it?

You tried to remain positive, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

Boots thumping back towards your room caught your attention before you could sink any deeper into your head.

“A’right, luv.” Ghost clears his throat as he enters the room with Soap in tow once more. You notice their hands are much, much fuller than they had been when they’d left.

Were those …. Blankets?

“S’been a change of plans.”

Your throat went dry.

He couldn’t possibly mean ….

“We’re gonna be sharing the bunk wit’ya tonight.”

Alright. Maybe he could.

But perhaps it wasn’t really sinking in just yet, the situation not quite made clear, or maybe your brain was just sleep-deprived thanks to the last hectic week; but it wasn’t until Soap just casually sauntered over to your side of the bed and tossed down the armful of quilts and began promptly taking off his overshirt that it finally seemed to hit you in the head like a ton of bricks.

Sharing the bunk … as in, sharing the bed?

Your cheeks flush and you sputter out an incoherent strand of mumbles once your brain peels itself away from the shred of toned muscle of Soap’s chest revealed in the lightning flashes.

“Wh-wh---h-huh?”

“Good.” Ghost grunted as he, too, began to shed himself of the gear and over-layers of clothing. You heard the clinking of his belt buckle and felt your cheeks flush deeper – suddenly warm all over despite the cold, your mind bombarding you with delicious images of the muscled man undressing just in front of you.

If only the darkness hadn’t kept you from seeing ...

“Cuz, er …. ‘Ere’s been a change of plans.” Ghost spoke again in the dark, somewhere to your left now, a sudden weight making you jerk your head to see his shadow crawling into bed with you. You opened your mouth to try and speak again, but another weight on your opposite side made you shift your sights back when you felt Johnny crawling into bed as well.

Was this seriously gonna happen ….?

Ghost tossed his boots off somewhere in the room and grunted softly as he removed the rest of his gear. “Since the power wen’ out and we can’t guard ya proper … we’re gonna hafta sleep in ‘ere with you.” He said as trivial as if he were merely telling you about the weather, and not something as monumental as sharing a bed with two, fully grown, fully muscled, toned, beefy military men, sandwiched between them all night.

If there had been any light in the room, they would have seen your jaw hit the floor.

Of all the things you’d expected Ghost to suggest for tonight – this situation hadn’t been one of them.

“W-what?” You finally stammer out again, a little clearer this time, finding your voice.

“Aye, we won’ try any funny business with ye, lass, but ye are the precious cargo in this mission. We cannae afford to let anyone get to ye.” Johnny said softly, his voice somehow even darker and sexier than normal in the shadows. “And since the power’s out, and we cannae hear ye over the monitors an’ such, there’s not much of a choice. If anythin’ happened to ye on our watch, Price’d have our heads.”

“B-but---wait, we---I---” You stutter out, but Ghost abruptly cuts you off with a scoff.

“Oh, come on, luv. Ain’t no sense in gettin’ all fussy about it. The power’s out and we’re jus’ doin’ our jobs. Ain’t neither of us takin’ no fer an answer. Now, scoot over.”

Dumbfounded, all you could do was obey orders, and scootch closer to Johnny, accidentally bumping him as you did so. The King-sized bed suddenly felt way too small with these two buff-cakes taking up all the space. Ghost settled into the mattress next to you, his weight making it sink in just slightly, threatening to pull you into his orbit.

If the situation hadn’t been so absurd, you might have found it in you to laugh; at the reality that you were currently sitting between two of the biggest, hottest, most handsome men of the 141; and that you were now not only supposed to get sleep, but were supposed to remember how to breathe, too?

Life was truly unfair.

“You gonna lay down sometime tonight?” Ghost huffs, but before you can respond, his big, still-gloved hand is on your shoulder, pulling you backwards. You let out a gasp as you fall back onto the bed and hear another snort from the Lieutenant.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re a right ice-block, luv. Get your arse back here.” He says, gripping your arm and pulling your back flush against his chest as Johnny straightened out the layers of blankets, throwing them over the three of you in a small pile.

Suddenly very, very aware of the wall of Ghost behind you, pressing up against the entirety of your body, you stiffen and squirm; trying to get comfortable – maybe even put a shred of distance between your bodies – but the man’s grip is iron-tight.

“Oi, quit squirmin.’ Get snug and hold the fuck still.” He barks at you, and you immediately calm. Johnny finishes covering you all up and lays back down to face you.

“Haven’ya ever had ta use body heat before, lass?” The Scotsman asks quietly, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “Might not be the most comfortable of situations, but be better than freezin’ ta death, aye?”

At his words, you feel Ghost’s grip around your waist tighten, and you manage to barely suppress a squeak when his huge palm is suddenly against your side, the intense head radiating off of him in waves.

Jesus, was this man a walking heater?

“I’ll take firs’ watch, Johnny.” Ghost grunts leaving no room for argument, and Soap nods, settling in and getting himself comfortable.

“And you,” Ghost growls in your ear softly, leaning in so that you can feel the warmth of his breath through his balaclava, and pick up the faintest smell of Earl Gray – “Hold still, and get to sleep. Got it?”

You nod quickly, trying to keep your breathing steady and calm your mind as much as you could. Trying and keep your mind off his huge, hulking form laying comfortably behind you; off his steady breathing and heartbeat that was soothing like a lullaby.

Fuck.

It was going to be a long night.

~ * ~

Maybe hours had passed, maybe minutes. It was impossible to tell with the rain still pouring and the power still out.

In the shadows, everything looked the same.

You weren’t even sure if you had even really fallen asleep or not, but you knew at least some time had passed since Johnny had not only rolled over to face away from you but had begun to snore softly.

Even Ghost, still situated easily behind you with his hand across your midsection seemed to be breathing at a slower rate – deep in his sleep.

You sighed to yourself quietly, shifting your head on the pillow and blinking in the dark.

Try as you may to chalk it up to the stress of the situation you were in, or even the unfamiliarity of your surroundings, you knew deep down the warmth settling in your core wasn’t from any of the excuses you tried to convince yourself of.

You closed your eyes and listened to the rhythmic breathing of Ghost and Soap, humming quietly to yourself.

Gods, since you’d first seen this man, you’d been smitten with him. I mean, how could you not? Those dark, piercing eyes, framed by the longest, prettiest, most blonde lashes you’d seen in your life; that gruff, British voice; the command and authority he exuded to everyone around him, leaving no room for doubt who’s in charge.

And that body.

Ugh.

Don’t get me wrong, you’d caught yourself more than once eyeing up the Sargeant that currently slept across from you; fresh out of the showers, water still dripping down his scruffy beard; running his hands through his short, tawny-brown mohawk while he laughed at something; catching a stray smile. Fuck, he was just a treat to look at as Ghost was.

Both of them had biceps that the gods themselves would be jealous of, broad toned chests, firm pecs poking through every shirt they wore as if their bodies were trying to shred the fabric to pieces in order to breathe.

Both of them were hands down the most attractive men you’d seen in your entire life.

But it was hard not to pick a favorite when one of them was literally wrapped around you, his scent invading your senses and stealing away your rest.

His scent.

Ghost’s scent.

Cigarettes and Bourbon.

You swallowed a soft moan as you inhaled deeply, your mind swimming with images of just licking the very smell off his skin, of tasting the salty tang of his body’s natural musk and sweat, wanting to drown yourself in it and never come back up for air.

Fuck, he smelled amazing.

And with an internal sigh, you realized your nose wasn’t the only thing enjoying the fragrance of the Lieutenant.

Shifting your thighs, you realized your entire body was reacting to it …. Your pussy was reacting to it.

Warm, wet, and nearly dripping already, you could feel your arousal pooling at your centre; your poor cunt aching and empty and eager for something to touch her, please her, fill her, and make her feel good.

Ghost shifted behind you, grunting softly before breathing steadily once more.

You held your breath until his movements stilled, suddenly afraid that he’d heard your inner thoughts, or that – fuck – he may have smelled you somehow. But when his breathing evened out once more, you breathed a sigh of relief and let your mind wander back to the dangerous territory you’d been pulled out of.

And maybe it was wrong. No, not maybe – you knew it was wrong. You knew it was immoral, or bad, or whatever …. But damn, the temptation was there ….

And what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him … right?

After all, with the rate you were climbing this ladder, it wouldn’t take you long to get there …

Heart aflutter with the naughty secrecy of your act and the thrill of being caught, you bit your bottom lip and ever so slightly shifted your arm out from under Ghost’s; snaking it down and around into your waistband. Into your panties.

You kept your lip between your teeth, biting it softly to keep yourself quiet, moving slow as you could stand it, the heat from your core already reaching your fingertips as you slowly reached down.

You hoped the torrential rain would help cover any sounds you might make.

With a small sigh, you pressed a finger to the slit of your entrance, pleased to find that the arousal was indeed seeping out of you, and you grinned to yourself, braving a finger inside.

Your hips bucked softly, involuntarily, and you closed your eyes; your breathing quickening under your touch.

This wouldn’t even take two –

You gasped in shock when a large, thick wrist clamped down around your own, stilling your movements, and another hand flew to your mouth, nearly covering your entire face with its size.

Your entire world froze and your heart stopped, eyes going wide.

“Now … what do you think you’re doin’, luvie?” Ghost growls into your ear, his voice like gravel and sandpaper.

The tone alone had you clamping your thighs shut and letting out a muffled moan of pleasure before you could stop yourself.

Caught.

Shit.

You tried to muffle something to him as a response, possibly even as an excuse, but Ghost merely chuckled darkly in your ear; sending a wave of gooseflesh down your body.

“Now, now – quiet down, there, luv. Wouldn’t wanna wake up ol’ Johnny boy, now, would ya?”

With a shift of his hips, you nearly groaned when you felt the thick warmth of his erection pressed into your backside through his trousers.

You closed your eyes, your mind and body sending mixed signals, unsure of what to do or how to proceed.

Ghost didn’t have a shred of hesitation.

“Now, if I was a bettin’ man,” he said, letting his hand go from your mouth to your neck, holding your chin high as he buried his face in your skin and inhaled.

“I’d say you was turned on by this …. By me.”

You gulped, trying not to grind against him, your heart hammering in your chest and his hand sliding down the wrist that was currently still in your panties, dancing dangerously close to your core.

You felt him smirk against your jaw, giving you a nip.

“Ain’t that right, luvie?”

You released a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding through your nose, closing your eyes and squirming under his touch. You shake your head, trying to deny it, but he’s having none of that.

His hand around your throat tightens and his voice drops to a grating growl.

“Oh, come on, don’t play me for a fool. I’ve seen the way you look at me, at Johnny, at us. Seen the way you bite your lip when you think none of us are looking …” His hand delves deeper into your panties, and suddenly, without warning, his long, thick fingers are rubbing through your folds and causing you to gasp.

“Heard those sweet little moans of yours as you pleasure yourself at night thinking no one can hear you ….” He continues, moving is hand in time with his seductive voice and dangerous words, palming your clit and spreading your slick through and around your entrance.

Johnny snores loudly, and your breath hitches.

“Heh. Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Ghost clicks his tongue in mock disapproval. “Now, now little birdie ….” he growled, one of his fingers circling your opening. You clenched, eager and desperate for him to just shove it in already …

Fucking jack-off was taking his good ol’ easy time, and it was driving you up the wall.

“If you want me to keep going, you’re gonna have to be very …. Very quiet.”

You nod desperately against him, willing to agree to just about anything at this point.

“Say it, luvie … I need to hear you say it …”

“Yes.” You croak out on a broken whisper. “Please, Simon, please, just—”

You don’t get the chance to finish, letting out a sharp squeak of pleasure when one of his fingers is suddenly shoved so far into you that you see stars.

The hand on your neck moves quickly back to cover your mouth and he bites at your earlobe threateningly.

“I said be fucking quiet.”

You nod, breathing through your nose in quick short bursts; your pussy clenching needily around his greedy digit. You close your eyes in bliss when he slowly begins to pump it in and out of you, making a delicious slick, squelching noise; and you damn near come apart in his arms when he utters a soft, “Good girl.” Into your ear.

His finger feels like heaven, and you weren’t sure it could have gotten any better until he slid a second one in and you thought you’d pass out from how good the stretch felt.

He made quiet grunting noises behind you, brushing his stubbled, scarred jaw over yours, around the shell of your ear, the skin at the base of your neck. Your mouth fell open in a silent sob, tears springing to your eyes at just how good this felt. How good his fingers were splitting you open, brushing every little part of you that drove you crazy with lust.

He added a third finger, the burn damn near addicting as he grunted into your ear and thrusted them in and out at a brutalizing pace.

“Fuck, dovey … fuckin’ hell, you’re so fuckin’ tight … Bet this lil’ cunny’s never felt so good, ‘as she?”

You swallowed a noise in the back of your throat, thrusting your hips in time with his hands to meet his fingers.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head in pleasure and you felt the familiar coil of heat build in the pit of your stomach, the tell-tale sign of an impending orgasm approaching.

Fuck, it felt so good, and you fucking chased it.

Bucking your hips back and onto his fingers, you whimpered softly as you ground your pussy into Simon’s hand; desperately chasing your high.

His noises and grunts and growls in your ear were driving you higher and higher up the wall, and you were already so fucking close – but then his fingers are withdrawn and you’re left achingly empty, whining softly.

“Simon …” You beg on a breathy whisper, but you pause when you feel the hand that was just inside you moments before reaching down to yank his trousers down; and feel his massive, thick cock spring free and smack against the curve of your ass.

Your throat went completely dry.

You tried to keep quiet, your eyes locked on the back of Johnny’s sleeping head as you felt Ghost fuck into his fist from behind you; the tip of his cock brushing against the small of your back with each thrust.

“Tell me, luvie,” he growls against your ear, shifting on the bed so he can rub the tip through your weeping folds.

The breath left your lungs.

“You ever had a man this size? Eh?”

You shake your head, trying to remember how to even speak, but he grips your neck again. Tight. Hard.

“Answer me.”

“No,” You gulp thickly, letting your mouth hang open on a pant.

He chuckles darkly, and you feel him notch himself at the slit of your entrance.

“Good. I always like to be a first.”

And he shoves his cock into you without any further warning.

You let out a soft cry, unable to help yourself as your walls clamp down around him; and then he’s thrusting into you, brushing against your g-spot with painful accuracy; his balls slapping against your flesh with each needy jerk of his hips, pushing his hard, thick length deeper and deeper into you.

His hand continues to grip your neck, panting into your ear while his other hand slides down to palm at your lower stomach; pressing down where he feels himself stretching you from the inside out. He smiles against your skin, hungry and predatory.

“Fuck, you’re taking my cock so well, doll … fuck, you’re so tight. So wet. So needy …. Look at you, all desperate for me and my cock. My cum. You want me to fill you up, doll? Fill this tight, little cunny up? Breed you so good and deep, you’ll be walking around leaking me for days? Eh?”

You groaned at his filthy mouth, trying to stay quiet but failing miserably, nodding.

He laughed under his breath at you.

“Such a filthy fucking slut you are. Lettin’ me fuck you nice and hard while Johnny’s just layin’ there in front of you, unawares.”

You felt your insides clench at his every word, your orgasm building like a tidal wave inside you.

At this rate, you were going to cum faster than you’d ever remembered before.

“Wonder if he’d like to join in on the fun?” Ghost grunted as he angled his hips to somehow thrust even deeper into you; the slick, wet, squelching sounds echoing up through the blanket and into the empty room.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you little whore? Have bo’f of us men, filling your holes at once, breeding you from both ends? I bet you would. I bet you’d be such a good fucking girl and swallow every last drop Johnny’d give ya, and then turn around and take another load right up this tight, fucking pussy---agh, fuck!” You feel his entire body clench and his thrusts grow choppy and quicker.

You moaned, closing your eyes, reaching up to grip the back of his head and hold it down against you.

Almost, you were almost fucking –

“Oh, fuck, fuck babygirl, I’m---I’m so close---I’m---Fuck!” Simon grunted and with a final thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, cumming deep within your warm, gummy walls; sliding his hand down to pinch your clit as he did so.

That little action was more than enough, and your orgasm ripped through you like a tornado – leaving a mess of a trail in its wake.

Clenching tightly around Simon’s cock, you pulsed and twitched around his length – and also managed to squirt; something you’d never ever remembered being able to do before.

“Fuuuuck….” Simon grunted in your ear, giving you a few more sloppy thrusts as he slowed down; his cock pulsing the last bit of seed deep into your compliant pussy.

Moaning softly and panting into Simon’s hand, you slowly came down from your high; the world coming back into focus around you.

But it isn’t the room that comes back into focus, nor is it the lightning flashes that dance across the walls.

It’s Johnny’s bright blue crystal eyes; dark with lust and need, his hand on his cock and the front of his shirt drenched in … your squirt.

You felt your soul leave your body and a bright blush rise to your cheeks in shame, but Johnny just chuckled.

“Aye, I see you’re havin’ all the fun without me, eh?” He groans when he gives his cock a long, languid stroke; arching his back to meet his fist, his eyes locked on yours as Simon slowly began to thrust back into you again.

“Think you’ve got another round left in ya, princess?”

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