#soap x ghost x reader

[eowynstwin]

clawing at the door

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it's...fine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Less of a hassle for everyone involved.

Problem solved.

And then he encounters you again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Were you one of those pub girls?)

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're happy.

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

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

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

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

It’s worse.

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

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

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

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

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

One of the barflies has made the first move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ghost grumbles again, something noncommittal.

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

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

Ghost grunts.

Soap does, in fact, see him there.

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

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

“Soap.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That it was you looking at him over your shoulder.

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

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

He hadn’t been brave enough to watch another.

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

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

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

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

“Simon’s fine,” he replies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some incomplete circuit finally connects.

Order given. Girlfriend “punished.”

Soap making you laugh because Ghost told him to.

Not one. Not the other. Both.

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

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

Soap's hand spread on your back.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, he will,” Soap says, grinning.

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

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

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

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

[gloomwitchwrites]

Biker!Ghoap x Female Reader: MDNI

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

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

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

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

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

CoD Headcanons / AUs / Quick Writes Masterlist

[gothghostiie]

More piss kink bullying ghoap x reader pls 🙏

always up for that teehee

they're sparring with you in an almost empty gym when you tell them you gotta piss really quick - of course you shouldn't have told them. before you can even think of walking out ghost has you pinned to him, soap rubbing his hands along your thighs.

you think they're joking, squirming in ghosts grip and telling them how you really need to go, they just grin. it slowly dooms on you that they dont intend to let you go, making you struggle harder.

just when you're almost out ghost puts you in a full Nelson, giving johnny the perfect opportunity to violently rub your clit through your sweatpants while making out with ghost, whose hard on is pressing against your ass.

you moan and cry, holding back so desperately until Johnny slaps your pussy hard, making you let go and piss yourself, both men just grin with satisfaction while their bones strain against their pants <\3

[amethyst-m00n]

Roommate Simon and Johnny, that like you a little to much. ⚠︎︎MDNI ⚠︎︎ (request or taglist)

You were fresh out of college, had no money, no family, and had no one to help you, so you went online searching for a roommate near your job for a good price. Then you found Simon and Johnny, or better known as soap and ghost on the field. They’re in the military together and were looking for someone to watch the apartment when they were gone. So when they saw your offer and how cute you were they just had to say yes.

It’s been almost six months now. Your stuff is scattered around the apartment, like your hair ties, or lip gloss. You and the boys have gotten in a rhythm, you clean the house when they're gone and cook when they're home. They’re both respectful, and as clean as men can be. But one thing you’ve started to notice is the way they have started to act with you. Soap is also always trying to touch you. When you all are watching a movie together soap will slip his hand under your shared blanket and gently rub your thigh. You don’t mind, Not at all. You actually like it. You like to feel Johnny's rough hands on your body.

And Simon’s no different. But He’s more quiet, observant, and polite. You can see in his eyes the way he wants you, yearns for you. He’ll stand behind the counter as you cook, or sit with you as you read. Unlike Johnny he never touches you without your permission. So sometimes you like to tease him. You’ll sit all close into him in skimpy little outfits, or leave your door slightly open when you're changing. And you know it’s working. More and more do you see that look of lust in his eyes.

It was a Friday night, and the boys were in the living room drinking and watching football when you got home from work. You drop your bag by the door and slip off your shoes as well.

“Ahh there you are.” Simon says as you walk over to them.

“Hi” you replied as you sat between them. “Who’s winning?” You ask as you watch the football game on the tv.

“Manchester” Johnny retorts as he takes a swig of his beer.

“Is that good or bad?” You ask. Complete cluelessness about football, or any sport for that matter.

“It dinnae matter” soap replies in his thick Scottish accent. You can tell he’s getting a little drunk by the thicker his accent is. You lean back and stretch with a soft moan. The scott puts his arm around your shoulder. “Long day lass?”

You nod.

“Maybe yer need to blow off some steam” Simon says as he sips his whiskey.

“Yea,” you flatly agree. “I’ll go get something to drink.” So mumble as you walk to the kitchen and grab the whiskey. You plop back on the couch and start drinking straight from the bottle.

“Slow down there lassie, can’t have you passing out on us.” Johnny jokes as he pulls you closer to him.

“I don’t want to deal with your hangover tomorrow, you know what happened last time.” Simon grumbles. Last time was a mess. You were on the bathroom floor for 10 hours straight. But Simon was sweet. He cleaned you up, tried to feed you, and kept you hydrated.

“I’ll be fine!” You muse, poking his side playfully.

The clock is now coming close to 11, the three of you are beyond drunk. You’ve all been drinking for almost 4 hours. You're laughing about random old stories, and spilling things that are a little bit too private. Like your sex life.

It all started off with Soap commenting on how stressed you are. And you may have said something along the lines of not getting any good dick in a while. So Simon and soap both agree to help you distress, and to get some good dick.

You drunkenly stumble to your room with soap groping and kissing and licking your body. “Johnny, let the lass breathe.” He says in a low husky tone, as he follows behind. Johnny pushes you on your bed as your mouths lock together in an intricate dance. Spit runs down your chin and he licks it up with a moan. Simon is just standing there, leaning against the door frame watching as he two drunken roommates make out. Simon starts to rub his chubbing cock.

You and Johnny start stripping as Simon walks over to your bed, and looks over at Soap. “Wanna take turns or together?” He asks, his voice rough with lust.

Johnny looks up from your now naked body, he’s practically drooling at the sight of you. “I’ll take her mouth.” He says with a smile. Simon nods back at him and unbuckles his belt. Simon grabs your ankles and pulls you to the edge of your bed. As Simon drops to his knees to breathe in the musk of your sweet cunt, Johnny gets on the bed and flops his fat cock on your face. Your eyes immediately go to Soap’s cock. It’s long, maybe about 6 and a half inches. It’s not the thickest, but it���s still large, you know it will stretch your throat. You open your mouth wide to accommodate his size, swirling your tongue around the head of his tip.

As you do that Simon pulls off your wet panties and kisses your lips. He nips at your clit, playing with it like a little toy causing you to moan around his friend's cock. Soap slowly starts to thrust his length into your tight mouth. The sensation is almost overwhelming. The feeling of Simon’s mouth on your cunt, Johnny’s cock in your mouth, and the slowly fading high for the alcohol.

Johnny grabs your breast though your bra, needing the flesh. “Just take it off.” Simon grunts as he looks up from your leaking cunt, your juices all over his mouth. And he listens, he grabs your bra and pulls it off to show your mound of soft flesh. He pulls and twists your nipples causing you to moan around his cock, which makes him hiss. Simon’s tongue moves faster, going from your clit, to your lips, to the inside of you, and back to your clit. You feel the heat pooling in your lower belly and crawling up your spine. Your thighs clench around his head and your hands fall to his hair, grinding against his face.

“You gonna cum baby?” Simon says against your lips. Then Soap slaps your tits. “Say thank you to Simon for making you cum.” Soap moans as his hips move faster. Your toes curl, your body spasms, and your hips flex. A wave of pleasure slams through your body, so hard it almost hurts. Tears prickle in your eyes, and your scream around the scott’s dick. Johnny holds your nose as he cums in your mouth. The loss of air, even for a few seconds, has your writhing, trying to wiggle out of his grip.

He lets go after you swallow all of his seed. Simon pulls up, wiping his mouth and leaning up, hovering over your lips, “taste yourself on me.” He whispers as he kisses you, hard, aggressive. As your lips touch, and your tongues meet, you can taste yourself. The tangy, sweet, musky taste of yourself, all over Simon’s mouth and lips.

“Aye, leave some for me.” Soap jokes as he gets off your bed and moves to the end. “wanna take her at the same time?”

“Yea that sounds good,” Simon responds as he gets off the bed as well. He unzips his jeans, pulling his hard thick cock. He slowly strokes his cock as he looks at your worn out face. “I’ll take her cunt, so you want to be on top?”

“Ye, that will work.” Soap says as he moves your body so you're on your stomach, as your ass in the air, he pops his finger in his mouth wetting it and rubbing the tight rim for your ass. He’s testing the waters. He’s slowly pulling the tip of his thumb in and out of your ass. “Vary tight bonny.” He says with a low whistle.

“She’s probably also got a tight cunt. Who knows the last time she had a cock in her?”

They're just talking, acting like you're not even there. Like you're just a toy of theirs. Soap grabs your hair and pulls you up, so Simon can lay under you. He positions you on top of him, cock sitting between your folds. Soap lets go of your hair and your body falls into Simon’s, he spits on his hand and rubs his cock, using his spit as lube. “You ready Bonny?” Soap grunts.

“Y-yes. I’m ready” you whisper, and after those 3 words they both enter you at the same time. A horse scream rips from your throat as they fill up at the same time. Simon’s thick cock in your cunt, and Johnny’s long cock in your ass. They're both so big and long you can feel them in your lungs. They let you get a custom to the feeling of them both. And then at the same time they start to move. And you could tell that they’ve known each other for years. How the military has taught them to communicate without speaking. Their harsh thrust rocks you back and forth. Your tits bounce in Simon’s face, so he bites your nipple causing a squeal to come from you.

“Ahh aye, Simon, she tight for you too?” Soap questions, as Simon thrusts up into you. Your slick spreads around his cock and base. “Yea, tight as a virgin,” Simon jokes. “Ever had your ass fucked before?” Simon teases, as you shake your head no.

“You hear the soap, you're her first.”

“I can tell,” he grunts “She’s. So. Tight.” He moans between thrusts.

You're shaking, screaming, and covered in sweat. You're clenching around them, as your oncoming orgasm rises. “Please,” you beg “please it’s too much, please!”

“Ha, you hear that Johnny, she says it’s too much!” Simon’s hand comes to rub your head as he says “ you can take it darling.”

“Hmm, I’m about to cum, you want me to cum in your ass? Hmm baby?”

“Yes, yes please John-” and when you feel his warm seed fill you up you clench hard causing a hiss to fall from Simon’s lips. You shake as you cum all over their cocks, which has Simon coming shortly after.

You're all laying there, exhausted, with two drip cocks in you. Simon is the first one to pull first, feeling his cum dripping back out onto his pelvis. Then Johnny pulls out and falls back onto your bed. Simon lays you down next to him and walks to the bathroom. He comes back a few minutes later, with sweat pants on and holding two wet towels. He throws the first on at Soap, and walks over to you, and wipes you down gently. You're already half asleep when he’s done, and soap is passed next to you. He sits on the edge of the bed and with a groan mumbles to himself. “I have two hungover people to take care of tomorrow.”

[unadulteratedvoidtragedy]

Ghoap and surrogate reader part 1

cw: suicidal ideation from reader, depressed reader, Simon and Johnny kind of take advantage of reader's situation

It's official, you just used the last of your money to pay the rent this month. Your only salvation is the stash of ramen that will last until the end of the week and the hope that at least one out of the 45 places you send your CV will get you an interview. You spend the next days browsing craiglist for odd jobs, picking dog walking and not lasting more than a week after way too many incidents of being dragged through a puddle and dogs constantly fighting with each other.

Next you get a babysitting gig, but when on the third day the dad tries to corner you in the bathroom you break his nose and leave without a paycheck and a bad review that basically blacklisted you out of any babysitting or nanny jobs. You get a part time job as a cashier at a grocery store, but the moment a masked man puts what looks like a real gun in your face and asks to empty the cash register you start hoping he might actually pull the trigger.

You don't hear back from any other job, the stash of ramen is at an all time low and in two weeks you're supposed to give your landlord the rent. With some pleading you might get a week or so from him but what do you do after that? Should you just let it go? Fear was surging through your veins, you didn't even want to acknowledge the possibility of contacting your family, no, you promised to yourself to never go back there.

Sleep deprieved and with a rumbling stomach still trying to find something, anything to keep your head above the water you suddenly get something that most definetely is a scam: "Couple in need of a surrogate, willing to give a monthly allowance and 40000 pound after the birth, all medical expenses and health insurance paid." That's got to be a scam, a last cruel prank from the universe, but at this point not feeling like you're got anything left to lose you reply to the add and complete the general information required.

The next day you wake up with a notification on your phone, the couple reviewed your application and wanted to meet in person. Nervously you get 15 minutes early to the restaurant, making sure to send your location to a friend and asking her to call you back in an hour. It's a nice place, way out of your budget considering they reserved a private boot. Makes sense, they probably don't want people eavesdroping on such a delicate conversation.

Right on the dot there come in two men, a very tall and muscular one, blond hair and wearing a black surgical mask looking like he would have like to be anywhere else. The second one has quite an eye-catching hairstyle, a mohawk you believe, baby blue eyes and an easy smile managing to calm you down a little. After introducing themselves you learn their names are Simon and Johnny, they're been together for 5 years and are looking to have a family of their own which is where you come into the picture.

Although Simon is pretty closed off Johnny makes it up with easy jokes and a general positive attitude. They tell you how they want to start the process immediately and at that moment they mention a detail that wasn't in the ad: they would like their child to be concieved through natural ways. You look confused at both of them:

"Are you saying you want me to sleep with both of you?"

"It would be the safest way for the baby". This is the first time Simon said anything more than just grunts all evening.

"Can I think about it for a while? This is a little unexpected..."

"Do you have a jealous boyfriend at home?"

"No, I'm not in a relationship at the moment is just..."

While stammering for a response you missed the knowing look Simon and Johnny gave each other.

"Sleep on it for a while lass"

"We don't want you do anything you're not comfortable, but in this case we might have to look for someone else."

You say that you understand the situation, shortly after that you leave the restaurant being thankful that Johnny offered to cover the bill.

As if the universe is still against you there's no response from any of the places you send your CV. When you get back from the bathroom after a cold shower-there hasn't been any hot water since your rent was due- you find an eviction notice the landlord slipped under the door. At least he didn't make your humiliation public, feeling at the end of the rope you pull out your phone and dial Johnny's number praying for a miracle.

Before the voice at the other end could get a word in you ask if their offer is still available, after a moment of silence Johnny confirms what you hoped to be true. You ask when you can start and to your surprise he tells you they'll pick you up this weekend to go their home outside London. Against your better judgement you readily accept and when saying goodbye on the phone to Johnny you feel like you hear something diffrent in his tone, almost picturing a satisfied grin on his face before hanging up.

part 2

[milf-murdock]

Feels Like Home

Ghost x Soap x Reader // Established relationship

Summary: Your boys come home to you.

Warnings: none, just the fluffiest of fluff

“S’late,” Johnny murmured in the dark as he nudged off his boots beside the door. Simon offered up a small hum in agreement as he slid the locks into place, ensuring each and every one clicked firmly. “Try not to wake her this time, Johnny,” he warned as they made their way through the shared flat and towards the bedroom. “No promises,” Johnny whispered. “Just missed her so fucking much.” Simon rolled his eyes affectionately, but there was no denying that he felt the same way. The deep-seated ache they both felt when they were apart from you, it was damn near debilitating.

The bedroom door let out a quiet squeak as they carefully opened it, and Simon made a mental note to grease it in the morning.

The two men paused in the doorway, their breath momentarily taken away by the sight of your sleeping form. The soft glow of the lamp you’d accidentally left on washed your body in a warm hue. You were in one of Simon’s oversized sweatshirts, the well-worn material draping your frame as you cuddled close to Johnny’s pillow. The soft rise and fall of your chest let them know that you were still peacefully asleep, and for a brief panicked moment, Simon felt his chest constrict as he thought about how easily it would be for someone else, someone with more sinister intent, to sneak in here with you completely unaware. He pushed the thought out of his mind, reminding himself of all the security measures he and Johnny strategically put into place to assure your safety at all times.

The moment of quiet of short lived as Johnny all but bounded to the bed, unable to curb his enthusiasm for a moment longer. To be fair, he did try his hardest to be quiet and smooth, but he couldn’t stand the look of you curled around his pillow when you clearly needed to be resting against his own body. He lifted the covers back and slid into the warm sheets, carefully untangling you from the pillow and coaxing your head onto his chest, the soft patch of curls gracing his burly form have you instinctively curling inwards, burying your face in the soft warmth.

You let out a contented sigh and for the first time in nearly four weeks, Johnny feels like he can finally breathe, like he is finally whole once more. As he wrapped his strong arms around you, realization slowly pulls you from your slumber as you wiggle against his hard body, your body torn between falling back into sleep and knowing that something has changed.

Simon stepped closer to the bed, looking at you and Johnny with pure unadulterated affection. “Hey love,” his deep voice was soft in the darkness, not wanting to startle you. “We’re home.” A single finger traced the outline of your face, trailing from your temple to your chin, as your eyelashes fluttered open.

“You’re home?” Your voice cracked on the last word, the last dregs of sleep clearing from you as you took in the sight before you.

Johnny pressed a kiss to your temple, pulling you even closer. “Aye lass,” he murmured against your skin, pressing kiss after kiss. “We’re home. Missed ya.”

As much as Simon enjoyed watching the sweet moment between you and Johnny, his own exhaustion was slowly overtaking him. He does his best to juggle taking care of you and Johnny, especially looking after Johnny when they’re on missions together—not just as his lieutenant, but as his partner.

Simon slid into the bed from the other side, his large frame coming up behind you and his arm hooking under Johnny’s neck, enabling him to pull you both close to him, your pliant body wedged between the two men. Simon took a deep breath, breathing in the subtle mix of your shampoo and a faint whiff of musk that was distinctly Johnny. Nothing compared to the feeling of being home with his loves, both of you safe in his arms.

The three of you drifted off to sleep just like that, limbs thoroughly entangled, steady breathing soothing every last one of you.

[kissesbyliz]

getting caught

(feat. simon "ghost" riley, johnny "soap" mactavish)

cw: smut!! mdni, actually pretty fluffy, dom!simon x sub!johnny and reader

it was early in the morning, the sun barely present through your windows when you woke up. a soft smile stretched across your face as your drowsy eyes landed on a half awake johnny. you watched as his eyes slowly blinked themselves awake, before he leaned forward to plant a gentle kiss on your lips.

"mornin' bonnie." he greeted you, the tone of his voice low and raspy from having just woken up. on the other side of him, your other partner was still fast asleep, indicated by the slow rise and fall of his chest.

"good morning, johnny." you nuzzled into the warmth of his bare chest with a contented sigh. you basked in the comfort of the early morning, appreciating the feeling of having your boys around you that seemed to be so rare nowadays due to their careers.

...however, it seemed as though your body had other plans. warmth bloomed in your core as a tempting daydream played across your mind. fuck, the tone of his voice in the morning always managed to do things to you. your libido was always so high in the mornings, after all.

you glanced back up at johnny, something close to mischief shining in your eyes. you slowly trailed a hand underneath the plush blanket and down his body, barely grazing his length that was still covered by his boxers. you heard him gulp in response to your touch, a look of warning palpable in his blue eyes.

"would love to, princess. but si' is right there." he whispered to you, his bigger hand moving to circle around your wrist but not applying any pressure to actually stop you. you two weren't allowed to play with each other without simon's supervision, unless you two wanted to be in for a cruel punishment. you only giggled, fully groping his hardening length in your hands as he desperately tried to hold back a moan.

"better be quiet then, huh, johnny?" you teased. "technically, we're not breaking any rules if he's right there."

his mouth opened to counter your words, but any and all attempts at protest left him as your hand slid quicker against his cock. instead, his head fell back against the pillows in pleasure, and you could see the gears turning in his mind as he contemplated your words.

he swiftly peered over his side, checking to make sure that simon was still fast asleep, before letting out a defeated sigh and shifting to give you better access. his bigger hand came up to rest on the small of your back, cradling you to his body as you released him from the confines of his boxers. you slowly worked your hand up and down his length, the precum leaking from his cock aiding in your motions. his brow furrowed in pleasure, soft sighs escaping him in place of the low groans your touch would usually draw out of him.

you bit your lip at the sight of him coming so undone; the soft rays of sunshine always managed to make him look so ethereal in the mornings.

all of a sudden, a muscled arm unconsciously came up to lay across the expanse of johnny's chest. the two of you immediately froze, looking to your lover who fortunately seemed to still be fast asleep. you held back a snort at johnny's disgruntled grimace, unsatisfied from the pleasure you took in making him suffer.

you continued stroking his cock, biting your lip at the sounds of pleasure your fingers were drawing out of him. he was getting close, you noted by the increasingly quickening pants that were muffled under his hand. you twisted your hand just the way you know he likes, eager to bring him to his climax.

"you two having fun over there?" a deep voice rumbled from the other side of johnny. you squeaked in surprise, immediately retracting your hand from your lover's body. looking up, your attention was now directed at simon who was slowly getting up to prop his head on his hand, peering at the two of you. you weren't able to discern the expression he had on his face, but if you knew anything about him, you knew that it didn't mean anything good.

"well, don't stop on my account, love." he encouraged you, eyebrows raising. you gulped, not daring to move a muscle. it was a trap, you figured. he always loved to challenge you to dig yourself into a bigger hole.

"s-si' we weren't doin'--"

"wasn't askin' you," simon shot a harsh look at johnny, causing him to shut up immediately. the younger man sat up straighter as you did, anticipating simon's next words.

the blonde then heaved a heavy sigh, as though he was disappointed that he had to punish the both of you so early in the day.

"i'm gonna finish off johnny here, and you're gonna sit there and watch, princess. since you were so eager to break the rules, you're not getting anything." he declared. his words made you groan in frustration, but a sharp glare from him was all it took for you to quiet down. he sternly directed you to sit on the foot of your shared bed, and you obliged with a grimace, facing the two of them.

simon climbed behind johnny, the man obediently moving to make room for his partner's bulkier body. a big hand soon wrapped itself around johnny's cock, picking up where you left off. you held your breath as you watched simon's hand working up and down his length, every single inch of the sight only serving to further heighten your arousal.

simon muttered hushed words into johnny's ear as he stroked him. you couldn't tell exactly what he was uttering, but you knew it was nothing short of filthy, as whimpers soon spilled out of the younger man as a result. johnny's head fell back against simon's shoulder as he gratefully accepted every ounce of pleasure being drawn out of him.

the sight of your lovers being so intimate with each other made wetness pool in your underwear. your thighs clenched in attempt to sate the aching of your clit for any bit of stimulation, desperate to get in on the action.

"please, simon, wanna fuck him.." you finally whined, squirming from your place on the foot of your bed. simon barely spared you a glance, seemingly indifferent to your needy whines as he focused on jerking your partner off.

"you don't deserve it," he chuckled meanly as he nipped at johnny's neck, leaving marks.

"please si', need to cum," the man on top of him panted, his chest heaving. if the way you were getting him off before had him flustered, then now he was properly ruined, eyes screwing shut in pleasure as his hips bucked up desperately. you were definitely skilled in pleasuring your partners, but simon ultimately knew just how to make the two of you break.

"go right ahead, baby." simon encouraged into his ear, flicking his wrist faster. spurts of white painted johnny's stomach a moment later, as he came with a low groan. johnny panted heavily as he grew lax in simon's embrace, recovering from the aftermath of his orgasm.

you could only watch the exchange, feeling so, so neglected as you stared at the two of them. by now, the heat in your core was growing unbearable, and you needed something to help satiate it.

"wanna fuck her, si', please." johnny breathed as he finally eyed you blearily, head still resting on simon's shoulder. simon hummed, pondering his words as he stroked a thumb over johnny's forearm lovingly.

"that what you want?" johnny nodded eagerly, and you moved closer in anticipation. simon chuckled, nodding towards you. "go ahead then."

johnny didn't waste a second, nearly tackling you as his big arms pressed you to lay down on your plush mattress. you complied with just as much enthusiasm, ridding yourself of your clothes and spreading your thighs wide to invite him in. he fumbled a bit trying to slide inside of you, and the two of you let heavy moans as he finally pressed into you.

his motions were clumsy at first, obviously still a bit dazed from his previous orgasm. however, his pace soon resolved and sped up, hips pounding into you as he desperately worked to bring the both of you to your climax. the two of you were all moans and whimpers, hands stroking all over each other's bodies as you relished in the pleasure.

eventually, you felt that knot start to tighten in your stomach, and you looked up at him johnny with a silent look of desperation. it didn't take long for him to catch on, lowering a hand to work at your swollen clit. the added stimulation made you melt, and you cried out with a gasp as you finally came undone. johnny finished inside of you a second later. the two of you breathed heavily, staring at each other with nothing less than love in your eyes.

however, your eye soon caught back onto simon, who now had his cock in his hand, hard and ready from watching the scene unfold in front of him. the need to have both of your partners overtook your senses, and you cried out for him needily, "want you to fuck me too, simon, please.. i need it."

"never satisfied, are you, princess?" simon snorted, no real heat behind his words. his arms planted themselves on either side of your body as he hovered over you, replacing johnny who had moved away to take a much needed break.

he took a moment to admire your body, leaning down to kiss and lick at every inch of your exposed skin. his hard cock pressed up against your folds, and you couldn't help but whine at his teasing. he shushed you softly, leaning back up before finally, finally sliding in.

he was big, considerably bigger than johnny, and the sheer size of him filling you was delicious but overwhelming at the same time. your face involuntarily scrunched up in a grimace, tears threatening to well up in your eyes. at the sight, simon eased up on his motions without a second thought, bending at the waist to press loving kisses on your face.

"still good?" he murmured, and you nodded pathetically. even during your punishments, he always made sure to take the utmost care of the both of you.

you eventually adjusted to the stretch, and you were soon grinding up into him in need for more. he readily obliged you, his hips snapping into you. pleasure coursed itself through your veins as whimpers and whines spilled out of your mouth.

it didn't take long before you came with a loud cry. simon followed suit, finishing inside of you as well. a feeling of satisfaction settled in your chest as you panted, coming down from the intensity of your orgasm.

simon pulled you to his chest, laying back on the mattress. johnny took his usual place behind you, pulling the blanket to cover all of your bodies. you sighed, feeling complete with both your boys around you.

"love you two," simon hummed, a hand stroking through your hair. "though, let's not break the rules again, yeah?"

[bunnyreaper]

ghoap x pregnant!reader--they come back from deployment and you have some news

(18+/suggestive content, pregnancy, brief mention of pregnancy loss)

finally, your boys were home. you'd hated that they had to get the call, at such a crucial time in your pregnancy too.

you'd waved them off with a smile, trying not to let them know how much you were hoping for them to return to a version of you with no morning sickness.

you hadn't been that lucky, them coming home just after a morning spent in the bathroom. your men had of course rushed to your aid, barely out of their work clothes before they tended to you.

after simon has made you all tea and johnny has bundled you into his arms, palms resting on your growing bump, you realise you need to tell them the latest development in your pregnancy.

"we need to talk." you begin, squeezing your eyes shut at how severe your tone is. you're happy, beyond happy, but you have no idea how the men will react. 

every part of this process had taken hours and hours of open discussion and planning and communication. this wasn't a part of it. 

simon takes a seat next to both you and johnny, bringing both of you into his hold. you can feel his concern without even opening your eyes. "yeah?"

you take a deep breath, opening your eyes to see both men's eyes sparkling with worry. johnny's hand curls round your bump protectively, simon joining in too.

"bonnie, you're scaring us." johnny mumbles, words strained as his throat tightens. "are ye mad we missed yer scan?" 

simon rushes to guess what the problem is too. "is the baby okay?"

when you don't reply quickly, he pushes, voice just a touch firm. "lovie." 

no use keeping it inside any longer, you suppose, especially when the guys are getting so worried. you really hope they won't take the news poorly, that they'll be as excited as you were when you first found out.

it had taken everything within you to not call them then and there, risking their mission or interrupting their day just to get through to them.

now you finally get to share the news with them, and hopefully the joy too.

"we're having twins."

"twins." simon repeats back, eyes flickering between yours and johnny's--his expression is impossible to read.

"fuckin' hell." johnny grumbles, and when you look to him, his look is similarly impassable. 

it's hard to tell how either of them are taking it as they stare at each other, then to you, then back again. just watching them makes your throat tighten, not knowing what's coming next.

"ye don't think..." johnny starts, not able to finish as simon knows exactly what he's thinking.

"... one each?" the blonde wonders aloud too.

the two men share a smirk, one that clearly shows their satisfaction with your news. the look they share makes it seem like it's already a foregone conclusion--one baby fathered by simon, one by Johnny.

"it's not likely--" you stammer, but the two men are already making a move. 

johnny's lips fall to your neck, as simon's capture yours in a kiss.

"better make it more likely then, lass."

simon pulls you up to your feet, johnny joining you as they drag you toward the bedroom. their hands roam across your body, groping and teasing.

"better make it a fuckin' certainty." simon growls, pulling you across the threshold of the bedroom and slamming the door behind you.

both men work on lifting you into the air between them, pinning you and pulling at you. 

"that's not how it works!" you squeak, shivering as both men growl into your skin, the two of them going feral at the idea of breeding you--even if you're already pregnant.

"not how it works?" simon purrs, his fingers diving beneath your shorts. "don't fuckin' care how it works."

[naptimepng]

reader who’s getting her first tattoo done by tattoo artist!ghost, but she’s nervous and it won’t hurt too much will it? so ghost calls piercer!soap in to help get your mind off the pain. luckily for you, johnny has a very special way of distracting you, namely with his mouth between your legs. maybe this time you'll let them take you out to dinner.

banner by @/cafekitsune

[batbraincare]

ever since you started this band, johnny has never not brought his friend with him.

simon riley.

every practice ends with you being hot and bothered, and he doesn’t even do anything. he just sits there and stares. he stares and stares. stares as you play the bass. you can tell, he is completely unashamed every practice as she stares at the way your fingers fret along the strings, your feet and body tap and seat to the beat, watches as you sing into the broken taped up mic.

you want it to bother you, the incessant looking, staring, glaring, smoldering. it’s almost suffocating. it doesn’t even stop as johnny comes up to you and talk about the song, if anything it gets worse as you both interact with each other. when johnnys hand grazes your hip, or ur hand, his eyes follow.

you think one time you catch his hand move in his lap as johnnie’s hand moves down your hip, dangerously low. you almost wish it went lower.

but the suffocating feels so good. as you play, you feel him even if you don’t look at him. you want to feel his eyes travel ur body, from your mouth against the mic to your hands wondering the strings of the bass.

you can’t shake his stare from your mind. even as you pluck mindlessly on the couch, completely oblivious to Johnny discussing the lyrics to whatever abomination to poetry he’s created this time. it’s only you johnny and simon. gaz and farrah left to go home not long ago, so the two of them stay in your small apartment. you’re not even sure why they lingered. but you ignore them to think of the very eyes just across the room from you, to think of staring right back into those eyes. those amber brown pools of honey, so intense like wood burning in a flame. does his eyes undress you as you sit there? what he thinks as he stares? do your hands roam his body slowly over his clothing and slide under his shirt, playing him like he’s the bass in your hands, or think of feeling your mouth graze against his throat moaning his name, instead of the mic? does johnny’s hand unbutton your jeans as simon finally touches you—

“lass’” johnny’s voice cuts thickly through your thoughts, “what d’ya think?”

your head lifts from the back of the couch, fingers halting and you feel your cheeks flush with heat. you glance at the notebook at the table, it’s filled with words and doodles. you swallow thickly, “the lyrics?”

does your voice sound higher than usual? no. maybe? you didn’t even notice, but johnny had settled next to you on the couch, his leg warming your thigh with how close he is. he slings his arm over your shoulders, nestling you against him.

“what’d’ya ken about the song i’ve got written?”

it’s too much after thinking of his hands at your buttons. it’s more than enough when you catch simon’s eyes boring into yours, a glint in his eyes. your chest squeezes, the wetness between your legs does not go away despite the embarrassment.

“it’s, uh, it’s good,” you place the bass to the stand next to the couch and reach for the book, “really, great.”

you mange the rest of the conversation with little trouble once you readjust to fix grammar and talk about normal things and not how johnny’s leg might feel between your thighs and how they would grind just right against the seam of your jeans— no completely normal thoughts about his thighs and how he misspelled the word rebel to “reball”. you don’t even think about how simon would watch, maybe even give praise.

gosh, can they leave any sooner?

[eowynstwin]

anatidae - conception, i.

After several happy years together, Ghost and Soap finally convince you to have their child. - ghoap x reader. audhd reader. reader has a nickname. established relationship. polyamory. baby fever. manipulative Soap. smut. breeding kink. anal sex. top Soap. bottom Ghost. sex as manipulation. - Masterlist. Ao3

Eventually, they convince you.

It is impossible to tell who your daughter’s father is for two reasons:

One, when she opens her tiny eyes, one is blue, and one is brown. Complete heterochromia, unlikely to change.

And two—with every passing day, she looks more and more like you.

Four years old; roly-poly with baby fat, little legs and arms she doesn’t quite know what to do with yet. She fills the spaces in your plural household that you did not know were empty until she found them, with her curiosity, her laughter, her boundless appetite for each minute of every day.

She’s smart. Very smart, quick not only to learn but to apply her lessons to new contexts. She sleeps through the night almost every night since the three of you brought her home, turns her nose up at nothing you offer her to eat, never wanders far from you or her fathers at the park or the store.

She’s perfect—even though she has not yet uttered a single word.

Your baby. Your Lizzie.

And actually, it’s Soap’s idea.

His eldest sister’s middle child is turning six, so the three of you pile into his car on a warm Saturday morning to make the drive to the suburbs. The MacTavish-Donnelly household overflows with children in party hats and benevolently bored parents when Ghost pulls the old Jeep up to the curb, boxing some unfortunate van in the driveway, and your trepidation is visible the moment your shoes hit the pavement.

Being your partner has uncovered a new layer of perception for Soap and Ghost; they see and hear things they previously would have ignored, because with the way you move through the world you can ignore nothing.

You described it once having a live wire for every nerve ending; everything, everywhere, screams at you all the time.

So when you pause on the sidewalk when you see a trike in the front yard, and a few adults holding punch cups on the stoop chatting, Soap knows why he hears the wrapping paper around the present in your hands crinkle, your grip tightening.

He throws an arm around your shoulder and brings his lips to your ear. “You got your wee earplugs, aye, Ducky?”

“Yes,” you whisper nervously.

You sway into him at his touch—it’s grounding, you’ve explained. It keeps you from floating away, expanding outward to try to figure out everything happening around you. Nothing beyond the sphere he and Ghost make matters so much.

He kisses the soft spot of your jaw. Ghost comes up to your other side and pulls your hand up into the crook of his arm. “We can set the place on fire, if need be.”

“Don’t burn my sister’s house down, please, LT.”

“Sink fire. Set off the alarms, that’s all.”

You give a little sniff of laughter, and, thus fortified, the three of you advance.

There’s Twister in the living room next to a table piled high with a rainbow of gifts, children tumbling around each other on the mat and laughing while music plays on the telly. Pastel streamers and balloons festoon everything (the middle child being celebrated should grow up without any proverbial complexes, Soap thinks), and confetti is abundant on the carpeted floor like a piñata molted on its way through.

There are the usual stares as they walk through the house. Soap is used to it—likes to flaunt it even, sometimes—and Ghost has never given a shit what anyone thinks. But you seem to shrink even further between them as you feel watched, curious eyes wondering if the mousy little thing between them really arrived with two men.

Luckily, they find Mary in the kitchen, and even despite how obviously harried she is, wisps of hair flying around a lopsided ponytail, Soap’s sister brightens when she sees them.

“Johnny!” she exclaims, swooping him into a hug he’ll never get too big to fall into. “And Simon and Duck! Thank goodness, we’re about to cut the cake and we might need crowd control.”

“Mary,” grunts Ghost.

“Hello Mary,” you say.

Mary releases Soap and smiles very kindly at you. Out of all his siblings, she’s been the most fond of you from the start—probably, he thinks, because she sees something to nurture in you.

At that moment, two of Mary’s children and three of Soap’s nieces and nephews, including the birthday boy, rush in to glom around Soap’s legs, and after the choruses of “Uncle Johnny!” collide with him, they backwash toward Ghost, who always has candy in the many pockets of his utility pants for them to scavenge.

Soap’s family has accommodated you well, though—they flow around you like water, barely touching, and you take the opportunity to give Mary your own hug.

“We’re doing crafts in the backyard, Duck, I thought you might like that,” his sister says, patting your back.

You pull away and give her a smile. It’s one of Soap’s favorites; small and mysterious, and completely genuine. The one that means you’re very pleased, and you don’t feel pressured to show it.

“Yes,” you say, and you vanish outside to sit with the quiet ones.

Ghost allows himself to be dragged off by the rowdier kids, leaving Soap to lean against the kitchen counter and smile at his sister; when when she lifts a cup to sip at some punch, he taps her belly with two fingers.

He’d felt it when she hugged him. A little firmness, hidden by the weight she’s never managed to lose after three pregnancies, and the loose shirt she’s likely wearing to hide the growing bump.

“Number four,” he murmurs.

Jealousy, a thin, sharp garrote, tightens in a spool around his stomach, but it’s an old feeling—one he’s learned how to ignore, until it stops aching.

(Compromise—sacrifice. It’s how a relationship between three people sustains itself. Everyone in his plurality has given something up, or learned to live with something else, or adopted new practices they might otherwise have never picked up. It’s a solid, even foundation, and the last thing Soap wants to do is take a hammer to it.)

His sister’s face softens with warmth. The glow of it suffuses the stiff lines of her posture, gentling the anxiety that has fizzed in the way she stands.

“Our last one,” she says quietly. “We haven’t told anyone yet.”

“Planned?”

“No. God! Could you imagine? Mum and Dad are crazy enough.”

Soap smiles. “We turned out alright.”

Mary runs her hand over her stomach, quick but loving. “Yeah, we did. Remember me though? Swore I’d never become her, and look at me now.”

A house full of toys shoved into every corner; sippy cups in a wire drain basket by the sink. The long hem of her tunic shirt creased by tugging hands. The jamb of one door anointed with three different colors of sharpie, hatch marks measuring years of rapid growth.

Light, and warmth, and color.

“You’re happy, though,” he says.

“I am.” She aims a little grin into her cup—an expression he’s seen her make more often with every consecutive pregnancy.

A secretive curve of her lips. Tranquil, with the familiarity of some hidden insight, as if Mary can see facets of happiness that—to Johnny—remain a mystery.

“I always thought this would be you, you know,” she says. “If you married a girl, I mean. Then you and Simon got together, and I figured not, but…”

Soap settles his crossed arms lightly on his chest, sucking one cheek between his teeth. He sets his gaze on the rainbow of letter magnets on her fridge, spelling out the names of her children. “You know her. It wouldnae��wouldnae be a good idea.”

Mary nods. “And she doesn’t want any?”

“No. Neither of ‘em do.”

He feels his sister’s eyes on him. Probing, in only the way a mother of three’s can be—though even before having children, she’s always been able to see through him in a way no one else ever has.

“I dunno abou’ that,” she says eventually.

When he looks up at her, her gaze is angled elsewhere—toward the sliding glass of the back door, where a table piled high with cheap craft paints and canvas board and grubby jars of water are attended by the clan introverts. You’re the only adult sitting with them, happy not to be bothered—

But a little one comes shyly up to you, a messy painting clutched between two paint-smeared hands.

It’s Mary’s youngest, Angus—and her shyest. He comes to stand beside you with his shoulders hunched, eyes big and trepidatious as he waits for you to catch sight of him.

Soap watches you greet the lad when you notice him. The expression on your face doesn’t change; you always speak to the children the same way you speak to adults, no exaggeration, no upward pitch. Angus stretches his arms out to present his creation.

You look at the canvas when it’s offered to you, and then in a smooth motion you slide out of your chair to crouch down to the boy’s level. As Soap watches, you cross you legs and invite him to sit in your lap, and then, with as serious an expression as you might have at a gallery showing, you begin pointing at different places on the painting. One arm is wrapped loosely around little Angus’ belly, holding the child to you like a stuffed toy.

One side of the canvas is in Angus’ hand; the other is in yours.

He can’t hear what you’re saying, as he watches your mouth move, but Angus positively glows with the obvious praise you’re giving him. When he turns to look up at you, you give him your mysterious little smile—

Something hot blooms in Soap’s chest.

Then there’s a shriek of laughter in the living room, and when Soap turns to look, he sees Ghost on the Twister mat, huge body set in an arch, feet on green, hands on red.

He’s going to bitch later about his back or his knees, Soap can already hear it ringing in his ears—but right now Ghost holds position as kids crawl underneath him or do their best to clamber over him like climbing a mountain. Then, suddenly, Ghost collapses with one of their nephews worming over his belly, throwing his arms around the kid and hauling him over his shoulder.

“Bloody mountain goats, I look like a jungle gym to you?” he barks, baring his teeth in a mock-snarl. Though at home he’ll have it on as often as not, he never wears his mask around the children.

Ghost surges up to spin the boy around, and the other kids crow with laughter and demands for a turn of their own.

“Watch the lamps!” Mary cries out, undercutting her warning with a laugh. “You’re as bad as the wee ones, Simon!”

The heat in his chest billows. St. Elmo’s fire catches in his alveoli, flash-burns the lining of his lungs inward to cloak his heart in a white blaze. Heat sears his neck upward to flood across his face.

He thinks of you, belly round, breasts heavy. Ghost with a baby in his arms, a tiny thing made tinier by the bulk of his huge frame. A toddler clinging to your leg, face tipped up to look at you with adoring eyes, or napping at midday, thumb in mouth, on Soap’s chest.

It takes his breath away. The kitchen sways around him, the earth’s center of gravity shifting. A fissure crack the casket of his want.

Mary catches his eye with a knowing grin.

He starts with Ghost.

You’re going to be the harder sell. Early in the relationship, the three of you had sat down to discuss this, and you had been unequivocal—no kids. You did not want children, and you did not want to be pregnant.

It was a sensory nightmare, you’d explained. The thought of sticky hands reaching out constantly to touch you, and shrill, high voices shouting and screaming, with no knob to turn down the volume, made you shudder with fear. Piles of toys to trip over, when your balance is medium on a good day, and no moment to sit down in silence without the risk of it being interrupted by some little goblin’s insatiable demands.

Put that way, Soap could see your point. He remembers his parents’ most exhausted days, dealing with no less than five children in the house and seven for birthdays and holidays. That kind of exhaustion would weigh on anyone, but for you, it would be a different beast entirely.

And Ghost was in accord—both for your sake, and his own. By then, he had told you and Soap about the Sonoran desert, Sparks and Washington, burning down his own house with four bodies still warm inside it—one smaller than the pool of blood it lay in.

He did not want to bring something into the world so easily taken out of it.

Soap could see that too. Certain moments in the field live permanently now in the folds of his brain, bloody and ugly and grisly in the way most people only encounter through fiction. Too real to him now not to look at his nieces and nephews sometimes with dread tearing up his gut.

Soap was outvoted. Moreover, he was convinced. So he kept his desires to himself.

But that evening after the party, he can’t stop thinking about it. A little bundle with his eyes, and your mouth, and Simon’s nose. Little hands curling around his fingers. A high chair at their dinner table, right next to his place. Bedtime stories. Halloween costumes. Friday night movies, like his Dad used to set up for him and his brother and sisters, popcorn fights during action scenes and falling asleep in piles on the floor.

Soap has always wanted children. Always. He thought he could give that up, being with you and Ghost—what’s between the three of you is rare, precious, more than worth having even by itself. He loves the life he has with his little family, and he wouldn’t change it.

But expansion isn’t exactly change, is it?

The more he thinks about it, the more right it feels. The more he can already feel the weight of his child in his arms. And he knows it would make the two of you happy, even despite the trepidation you and Ghost share. Neither he nor you grew up in happy homes overflowing with love—it’s natural that neither of you can see the potential of it.

But Soap did. Soap can.

He doesn’t mind being the visionary. He’s more than willing to lead the charge. He can do the work of opening his partners’ eyes—

And he’s not above fighting dirty to do it.

It starts with getting Ghost on his back. You’re out one night teaching an evening class (bento dinner in hand, an extra square of chocolate Soap snuck in at the last moment), so the next few hours are just for them, and Soap takes possession of every minute.

It’s always a sight. Ghost is the biggest man Soap has ever been with—and to have that huge body below him, fatty muscle red and quivering, hips rolling with a needy cant as Soap slowly drags his cock in and out of him, is something that never fails to take his breath away.

He massages his hands up and down Ghost’s chest, cupping his heavy pecs and thumbing his nipples as the big man’s eyes sink closed and his bitten mouth drops open. Between them, his cock, blustery red and standing straight up, twitches every time Soap pushes in, dripping clear and messy all over his stomach.

Ghost’s hands are vice-tight on Soap’s hips, but he doesn’t urge him to speed up, doesn’t snarl at him to get on with it, like he usually might. No—Soap set the mood just right, backing Ghost into the bedroom with soft kisses up his neck and softer hands wandering up his shirt. It’s honey-sweet and slow as dripping molasses, with Ghost hot and tight around him, their groaning breaths mingling as they hang there together in the moment.

Watching Ghost’s belly jump with pleasure, Soap says—breathlessly, as if letting it slip out—“I wanna get her pregnant, Simon.”

It’s only supposed to test the waters. Take Ghost’s temperature, see where his head’s at. Soap is ready for anything—for Simon to freeze, to glare at him, even to shove him away.

But instead—

“Fffffuck,” Ghost growls, chest expanding, stomach going concave as he heaves a deep breath in.

His brows screw together, upper lip curling, and he draws so tight around Soap that he has the delirious notion that Ghost is going to pull his cock clean off. If Ghost had been blushing before, he’s positively blazing now, red blooming bright across his face and chest and all the way up to the tips of his ears.

Soap knows immediately what’s happening—Ghost is on the razor’s edge of coming.

And all it took were those six little words.

“Yeah?” he presses, blending the long thrusts he’s kept steady until now into a few short, quick ones. “Yeah? You like that idea? Her all big with our baby, Si, something we put in her? Us?”

Ghost pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, throwing his head back. “Fuck—Johnny—” he snarls.

“Did y’see her with the wee ones?” Johnny croons, pressing the heels of his hands into Ghost’s stomach. “She’d be so good with a baby, Ghost, I know it. Our baby.”

Ghost starts panting, hard, grunting like an animal with every exhale. He’s never especially talkative during sex, unless it’s to give instruction or bark an order, but now it seems that language has completely abandoned him, as he tries to get Johnny to fuck him faster with the roll of his hips, trying to thrust his cock into the open air.

As if you’re already there, already taking him, and Ghost is trying to get himself as deep inside you as he can.

Johnny wraps one hand around it, sliding his fist loosely up and down. He can practically feel Ghost’s heartbeat plunging through every raised vein. If Johnny had the flexibility, he’d bend down right now just to get it in his mouth, but as it is he contents himself with getting Ghost’s precum all over his palm and licking it off with his tongue.

“Probably take a few tries,” says Soap, closing his hand back around Ghost’s cock. “Though with two of us, probably not long. Not if we go one right after the other, every time we can, aye?”

He pauses to spit on the red, exposed crown, circled round by thumb and fingers, so he can lube up his grip. Ghost’s dense, heavy thighs shake around his hips, as Soap thrusts his cock as deep as he can and slides his hand down to Ghost’s base. He mimics the squeeze of Ghost’s ass around him—the tightness of your cunt swallowing him up—as he jacks him off, up and down at the same time he pulls in and out.

“Fuck,” Ghost breathes, “Johnny, you—Johnny—”

“Sounds good, doesnae?” Soap says. “Gettin’ her between us, not stoppin’ ‘til somethin’ takes.”

“Fuck!” Ghost shouts, and then he’s gone, balls drawing up, a stream of white jetting out so hard it lands on his chest, right in the valley of his swelling pecs. Soap fucks him through it with his hand, and slams his hips hard against Ghost’s as as he chases his own end—

“Just—like—this,” Soap growls, tether snapping, and he empties himself as deep as he can into Ghost, cock pulsing as ecstasy pours up and down his stomach. He swears he can feel every drop of cum leaving him, and worries wildly that there won’t be enough left for you later, as the intensity of his orgasm seems to empty his balls of every last reserve.

He holds himself still for a moment after, still buried in his partner, nerves alight with an ecstasy so bright and so fervent that it’s sharp enough to cut him to the bone.

He feels very present. Anchored and secure in this place and time. At home, Soap struggles often with the feeling of being tugged in a hundred different directions, all at once, myriad urges to see, do, and act all clamoring at him for attention. It’s something that keeps him alive in the field—that keeps him thriving on deployment, really—but constantly on his toes when he’s home, all safe and sound.

Always searching, it feels like. Always looking for something he needs, and almost never finding it. The feeling quietens when Ghost curls his hand around the back of his neck, or you lean your head in close to his to kiss him or to speak.

Now—it’s silent.

A father. He’s going to be a father.

Panting heavily, Ghost finds his voice—at least, enough of it to start laughing.

“Spoiled brat, you are,” he chuckles in his steel-edged tenor. “You know that? Spoiled.”

Soap grins at him, caressing one thigh. “Your fault.”

“Mm,” Ghost hums, having long known that he’ll give Soap whatever he wants. The hard cut of his mouth is pulled into a wry smile. “She ain’t gonna fold so easy, Johnny.”

Soap pulls out of his partner, and crawls up to lay next to him. “I know. S’what I like abou’ her, after all.”

Ghost hums again. He lifts one arm to wrap around Soap’s shoulders, drawing him close, idly tapping his fingers on his tricep.

“You’re gonna have to get a desk job,” he says.

His tone is thoughtful, but Soap knows the words to be absolute.

Once you’d agreed to be theirs, Ghost had retired. It had surprised Soap and you both, but Ghost treated it as the most natural thing in the world. And it didn’t take very long, after the dust settled, for Soap to see why—you needed care, more than Soap had realized, and for Ghost, that need superseded any of his desire to remain in the field.

And Ghost was good at caring for you. It seemed to come as naturally to him as breathing: remembering what you liked to eat, helping you with your stretches, using the special brushes you had to wake your nerves up every morning. Putting together a schedule and keeping you on it, making sure you got to work on time and bringing you home at the end of every day.

And as you began to flourish in receiving his care, so too did Ghost flourish in giving it.

The hard edges of him softened. The sharp tones of his voice blunted. Soap saw Ghost become a steadier version of himself than he’d ever seen before—and he saw you blossom with a happiness that, at the inception of their odd relationship, had only begun to bud.

“Lookin’ after her is one thing,” continues Ghost. “I’m alright bein’ the hardass, ‘cause you make up for where I’m shit. But a kid’s different, Johnny. You don’t get to come and go as you like with a kid. It’s all, or nothin.’”

And Soap has to be honest with himself—a corner of his stomach clenches. There is a clarity in the smell of oil and gun smoke that he’s failed to find anywhere else.

But it does not dim the sunlight shining in his chest.

He knew it would happen someday, to old age if not a bullet. So to a baby?

Better than he really could have hoped.

He swings one leg over Ghost’s hips, and pushes himself up to straddle his partner. Ghost smirks beneath him, hands rounding the curves of his waist, sliding backward to palm Soap’s ass before traveling further down to squeeze his thighs.

“Gonna be fun, LT,” Soap agrees, grinning. “I hear pregnancy makes you horny as hell.”

“Bloody fucking hell, Soap,” Ghost snorts, lifting up to one elbow and dragging him down by the neck for a kiss.

next chapter

author's notes: y'all wore me down. I'm writing baby fic. What has the world come to

[gloomwitchwrites]

Second Act // Chapter Six

Metal Band Task Force 141 x Backup Singer Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings: swearing, oral sex, piv penetration, multiple creampie, unprotected sex, breeding, dirty talk, praise, Ghost x Reader dynamic, Ghoap x Reader dynamic

Word Count: 3.1k

Flashback to the first night with Simon. Johnny interrupts. The duo becomes a trio.

Chapter Five // Chapter Seven

ao3 // main masterlist // second act masterlist

THEN

“Simon.”

“What?”

“My real name,” he says. “It’s Simon.”

“Oh.” You swallow. Lick your lips. “Hello, Simon.”

His mouth stretches into an amused smile. “Hello,” he croons.

You stare into each other’s eyes, and you’re unable to look away. Simon is searching for something, and whatever it is, you’re willing to give it to him. Like a hazy mist that lingers low over the ground, you’re clouded, enveloped in curiosity and the receding buzz of the alcohol.

Shifting closer, Simon cups your cheek, just like he did at The Foundry. He leans in, and there is an ask in that movement. A question.

Say yes, it says.

His eyelids grow heavy, those pale eyelashes reflecting the light from the tableside lamp like tiny halos. You lean in, and then you’re kissing him, accepting the silent question. It’s hard to resist with the way he gazes at you.

One kiss becomes two becomes three becomes infinite. Small and innocent at first. Gentle things that develop into deeper strokes. Wanton. Honey-laced. Dipped in sugar. Simon’s hand on your cheek shifts to the back of your neck, and that one touch changes everything. From sweetness to possession.

His fingers drag against your skin, and you gasp against his mouth.

But it is Simon who draws back, creating the faintest hint of distance. With the faintest touch, he teases another kiss, and then reclines, legs spreading wide as he drapes an arm over the back of the sofa. Simon grabs his thigh, squeezing, patting the same spot in open invitation.

Your core clenches. A new desire crawls forward, nails digging in, dragging you toward a singular mindset. He is offering, providing an opening. And why not take it? Why not find out what it would feel like to have him deep inside, stretching you deliciously.

It’s only a night. You don’t need to give him forever.

“Come here,” he purrs.

“But your face,” you blurt. “And your stomach.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “So?”

“You took a hit.”

“Think I care?”

Clearly not.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you admit lamely.

Simon’s smile stretches, clearly amused by your concern for him. “You won’t hurt me. Promise.” He adjusts his hips. Your gaze drops, noticing the obvious bulge. “Come here.”

It’s easy to move, your muscles primed and ready. You shift from the table to his lap, planting your knees on either side of his thighs, straddling him. Simon, unable to resist, immediately grabs for you. A squeeze of your thighs. Hips. A quick spank to your right butt cheek. The strike shocks you, sending you forward into him.

Simon has victory in his smile, in the way he returns to kissing you, as if knowing you’ll do whatever he wants. Whatever he says. And fuck it, you will. Sex is sex is sex. If you’re willing, and he’s willing, what else is there to discuss?

Draping your arms behind his neck, you give yourself to the moment, stealing as many kisses as you can for yourself. Simon tastes of the cigarette he just smoked and the faintest hint of whiskey. Your hips involuntarily rock back-and-forth, imitating what the two of you would be doing if there were no clothes between you.

Simon is the one that breaks the kiss. That puts a pause to all this.

“Need to know what you taste like,” he rasps, eyelids heavy with lust.

You slide your hand out from around his neck, tracing his bottom lip with your thumb. “You have my permission to find out.”

Desire flashes in his eyes. One moment you’re in his lap and the next you’re on your feet, legs wobbly as Simon forces you to standing. He leads you to the bedroom, bringing you to a stop in front of the large bed. His hands are ghosts over your body, taking you all in.

“Take it off,” he commands, voice dripping with authority.

It is easy to comply. To shed your clothes without a second thought. Simon stays perfectly still. Only his eyes move, following your every movement, observing silently as you strip down to nothing.

“On your back,” he breathes, and your pussy involuntarily clenches around nothing.

He’s not inside you. Not yet. But you desperately want him to be.

You step back, bump into the bed, drop down, bouncing slightly on the edge. Using your elbows, you recline, propping yourself up for a clear view but laying horizontal as Simon instructed. He goes down to his knees, his hands rubbing up and down your thighs in slow strokes, easing them wider, draping a leg over each shoulder.

His hands slide under your ass. With a quick tug, he brings your pussy to his mouth. You expect him to tease, to toy with you a bit. But Simon is hungry, and he has no patience for waiting. Sloppy, yes, but fuck it’s good.

His tongue is an electric shock to your senses, stroking every nerve. Your arousal snaps to attention, building quickly toward an orgasm. You are unable to stop it. Unable to do anything really. This man desperately wants to get you off, and he’s not shy about it.

Messy. Simon is messy. But it’s divine.

With a groan, your body shudders, limbs shaking, muscles tensing. Your thighs draw inward, encasing Simon’s head. Yet he’s uncaring of the fact that your legs are attempting to crush him. Simon continues to lap at your clit through your orgasm, prolonging the delirium, shoving you quickly toward overstimulation.

It could be one. Could be many. You’re not really sure. All you know is that Simon pushes up from between your legs, eases you further onto the bed. The rush from the orgasm still clings to you—still has you in it’s grasp as Simon guides your knees toward your chest.

You’re bent in, pressed into the bed. Simon eases his cock inside you, the two of you watching together as he bottoms out.

“Fucking hell,” he groans.

Locked into a mating press, Simon drives into you repeatedly. The bed squeaks and shakes beneath you, hitting the wall in a steady thump thump thump.

The hazy fog your orgasm put you under starts to fade. Reality comes creeping in again. Shifting beneath your bones. Expanding. Filling you in the same way Simon’s cock does.

“Don’t stop,” you breathe. “Please. Don’t stop.”

A muscle in Simon’s neck pulses. His jaw is clenched. All his focus is on where your bodies meet. Where his cock drives in and out of you. It’s a nice sight. You won’t lie. Being able to watch seems almost sinful.

The thought makes you shiver. Makes your pussy clench.

“Fuck,” barks Simon, his eyes closing momentarily. “Gonna come inside you.”

A protest starts to form on your tongue; to tell him you’re not on birth control. Lust is distracting. It’s ability to tug you in another direction astounding. Moments. Simon is moments away from finishing. And you’re speechless, unable to say the words that will stop him.

Too late. It’s far too late.

Simon thrusts forward, grinding his hips against you, sealing your bodies together. The hot burst of cum fills your pussy.

It’s fine, you tell yourself. It’s fine.

Because it is. You can stop at the pharmacy in the morning. Grab a morning after pill. You and Simon can fuck all night, and then you’ll leave before the sun rises. Pop a plan b, and move on with your life.

It’s just sex. That’s all.

With a pleased groan, Simon slowly pulls out. “Christ. That’s a lovely sight.”

You’re overly slick between your thighs. Part of you wants to draw inward, to close your legs and hide yourself from him, but Simon’s rapt attention is focused on your pussy. On where his cum pools. Where it leaks out. He’s admiring his work.

Simons hands return to your thighs, massaging the aching muscles, guiding your legs back to the bed and away from your chest. A tension radiates through your legs, a slight resistance that comes with staying in a singular position for too long.

“You sore?” he asks.

“Yes. How’d you know?”

Simon stretches out beside you, draping an arm over your waist. “You made a face.”

“I made a face?” you deadpan, and Simon chuckles, burying his face against your back.

You match his laugh, the two of you falling into giggles. A warmth spreads outward from your chest, flowing into limbs, fingers, and toes. It’s a gentle vibration. Like a comforting heartbeat.

“Could draw you a bath,” offers Simon.

“After one round?” you tease. “That’s all I get?”

Simon pushes himself up on his elbow to stare down at you. “Think I don’t have the stamina?”

You arch an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“You fucking devil,” he croons, wrapping his hand around the front of your throat.

With a bit of pressure, Simon holds you in place, coming in for a deliciously possessive kiss. The heat in your body intensifies, becoming an inferno again. It’s quick to consume, to draw you in. It folds you like butter into croissant dough, transforming you until you cannot separate yourself from your own lust.

You push back; hands splayed wide on Simon’s chest. It momentarily startles him, lips parting in surprise as you force him onto his back. This time, you take control, throwing your leg over his waist, sitting on his lower stomach, rubbing your ass against his quickly hardening cock.

“Think you can handle it?”

Simon’s gaze is lethal. Predatory. A dare.

Reaching behind you, you cup his balls, and lightly squeeze. He chokes. Groans. Eyelids fluttering as your nails graze over his engorged length.

“Can you?” you reply, almost mocking.

He is hard in your hand. Throbbing.

All it takes is an arch of your back and the extension of your thighs. You guide him to you. Sink down slowly. You both moan at the exact same time. Your hand on his chest flexes, fingers curling in, nails scratching against his sweaty skin.

You rock up. Down. Repeat. Lean forward. Find another angle.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Just like that.”

You find a pace you enjoy, moving up and down his cock, focusing only on yourself. There is no shame in it. You boldly ride him, taking whatever you want. And Simon is more than happy to oblige. His hands are everywhere. Grasping. When he palms a breast and urges the nipple to a stiff peak, your movements stutter, sending you forward.

Sitting up slightly, Simon laps at your nipple. The tip of his tongue can reach, but the angle is all wrong. You draw back a bit. Allow him room. With a growl, Simon sits up a bit more, his mouth coming down on your breast as you bounce on him.

You’re utterly lost in your actions. Uncaring of everything except for this man between your thighs. Each shift your lower body takes all your energy. All your effort. The friction is immense, dragging you downward into its depth.

Clawing.

Clawing.

Claw—

“What’s this?”

The thick, Scottish accent snaps you out of your trance. Your pussy squeezes around Simon’s cock even as your hips flex up to throw yourself off of him and hide. Simon refuses this. His hands are on you, forcing you down, keeping you fully seated on his dick.

“Johnny,” drawls Simon as if the interruption doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

“Bringing a woman into our bed without telling me?” He leans against the doorframe. “Thought we always shared.” He places his hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

“You were busy,” sighs Simon. His attention returns to you, his hand caressing over your stomach. “And this one caught my eye.”

You’re completely exposed, unable to hide anything from Johnny. The two of you haven’t met but you recognize him from their show the other night at The Foundry. The bassist who held the crowd’s attention. All high energy, keeping the crowd in line with hand movements and no words. A true entertainer.

“This open?” he asks, nodding in your direction.

Simon affectionately taps the sides of your thighs. “Up to her.” You shift your attention to Simon. “What do you think, love? Should Johnny join us?”

Should he? You’ve been with two at once. It’s an opportunity. A chance to explore something new about yourself. You might enjoy it. Might not. But you won’t know unless you try.

“He can join,” you answer, glancing over your shoulder at Johnny.

Johnny’s smile is stunning. Pushing off from the doorframe, he saunters over, coming to a stop beside the bed. He glances between the two of you, his gaze lingering where your bodies meet. It’s a slow caress. A slow sweep upward.

“Keep riding him,” instructs Johnny, unblinking.

You swallow. Nearly choke.

But you do as he says, returning to that previous rhythm. Simon’s fingers dig into your thighs, his chest heaving slightly as you move up and down his cock.

“Good,” he praises, as if you shouldn’t have stopped in the first place.

Johnny reaches out, grasping the back of Simon’s head, fingers threading through his blond hair. A tug, and Simon grunts, throat arching.

“How she feel?”

Simon’s exhalation is quick. Sharp. “Fucking stunning,” he replies, not looking away from you.

“Tits are bonnie, aye?”

“They are.”

“Could use a good lick.” Simon is already sitting up, already bringing your nipple into his mouth by the time the words leave Johnny’s mouth. “The other needs a bit of love, too.” Simon shifts his mouth to the other nipple.

You gasp. Muscles clenching. The pleasure is an electric shock that sizzles through your veins. Boils your blood. Turns your bones to goo. You’re not holding yourself up anymore. Simon is that support, even as you come undone in his lap.

Johnny’s hand returns to Simon’s hair. He tugs—hard. With a grunt, Simon is yanked backward, and then Johnny’s mouth is on his, the two men making out before your very eyes.

“Come inside her,” croons Johnny. “Know you want to.”

His lips return, and Simon takes control. With a hardened pressure on your hips, Simon fucks up into you, forcing you down onto him at the same time. It’s brutal and unrelenting. You claw at his chest, nails leaving red slashes behind where they snag his skin.

Your mouth hangs open, all your words evaporating. There is nothing in your lungs. Nothing for you to cling to.

Simon releases his control, gasping against Johnny’s lips. His cum fills you again, and you welcome it.

“That’s a good lad,” murmurs Johnny, teasing Simon’s bottom lip with his tongue.

Boneless and weary, you flatten your palms against Simon’s chest. Sweat clings to your skin. The air stinks of sex.

“Your turn.”

And it’s Simon’s voice commanding. Instructing. There is no lustful submission in his gaze, only fierce determination and desire.

Bringing a woman into your bed and not telling me?

Their dynamic is deeper, and it is you that’s the stranger.

Johnny draws away from Simon, turning his attention to you. That mischievous smirk tells you enough.

“Present her to me.”

Simon chuckles. “Fucking gladly.”

Grabbing your shoulders, Simon bends you forward. As your hips draw up, his cock slides out along with some of his cum.

Your pussy is exposed. Dripping. Presented just as Johnny asked. He settles over Simon’s thighs, knees planting on either side.

“Fucking beautiful,” croons Johnny, his large hands grabbing hips and ass.

His cock pokes at your entrance, teasing before he bottoms out with a singular thrust. The movement jerks you forward. Simon seizes the back of your neck, arching it, bringing his lips to yours. His kiss is savage. It is teeth and tongue until you taste a bit of coppery blood in your mouth. All the while, Johnny is fucking your pussy like he owns it and not Simon.

The room fills with your pathetic little whines, Johnny’s grunts, the slick slap of skin against skin. Fingers find your clit. Stroking. Teasing. An orgasm roars forth, knocking you over the head, making you dizzy.

And still, Johnny fucks you through it. Fucks you harder. Grunting and guttural, speaking in Gaelic.

“You like Johnny fucking you?” asks Simon, but it’s hardly a question.

All you manage is a nod.

“You want him to keep fucking you?”

Another nod.

“And me? Do you want me to fuck you too, love?” When you nod again, Simon tuts, shaking his head. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” you groan aloud, cunt clenching down around Johnny’s cock.

The man’s thrusts have become erratic. Likely nearing his end. And in your position, there is nowhere for you to go. Not forward. Not back. Not away. You’re staunchly held in place by these two men. You’re at their mercy. Johnny is setting the pace—setting the rhythm. And Simon is beneath you, enjoying the show, kissing you at his leisure.

Simon grasps your face with his hand, fingers pressing into your cheeks, puffing them out slightly. Instinct has you grasping his wrist, attempting to pull but finding no ground.

“You’re doing good, love. Taking Johnny’s cock.” Simon’s lips brush against your temple. “Wonder what the three of us will taste like.”

Johnny’s fingers dig in harder. You’ll be tender in the morning. Beyond sore. You know you will be. Walking out of here will be a fucking struggle.

Simon’s gaze flicks briefly up to Johnny’s face. “He’s about to come, love.”

Within the next breath, Johnny is holding you close, and his release follows. You’ve hardly registered it’s happened. You’re too stunned—to strung out.

Using his grip on your face, Simon forces you to look back, to watch as Johnny shifts back on the bed to admire his work. With a gleeful smile, he dives in, flattening his tongue against your pussy. He swipes it over your sex, picking up all the cum that’s leaking from you. Johnny holds it in his mouth, and then spits it out onto Simon’s cock.

The mixture sits there on the tip. Hovering. Tips. Rolls down.

Johnny fists the base. Pumps. Swallows Simon’s cock down, the cum mixture disappearing.

“Watch,” whispers Simon, but it’s not like you have the option.

You’re fucking transfixed. Enraptured.

“Tell me again,” murmurs Simon. “Do you want Johnny here?”

There isn’t a moment’s hesitation.

“Yes.”

[codtrashsammy]

oh no i'm having more soft Ghoap thoughts

okokko this is more of a little ficlet thing but it makes my lil heart happy so enjoy <3

also y'all i do not be editing these. at all. I just be throwin shit down on paper and making my brain produce dopamine.

if you all have any requests though pls feel free to drop into my ask box <3 I will gladly write whatever. I'm sure i'll come up with rules eventually, but rn I'm pretty open-minded and can't think of much I would refuse <3

You're waltzing around your apartment, half asleep but with a tired smile on your face. Johnny comes back today, after all, and of course that means Simon will be coming too! You've been dating Johnny exclusively for a few months now. Sure, sometimes Simon will hold your hand, or pull you in for a hug. And sure, sometimes Simon sits with you in the early mornings on the balcony while you drink a warm drink, and he smokes a cigarette- looking at you with rapt attention and soft eyes, hanging onto every word you say. Okay, and maybe he calls you 'love' and 'darling' but he's British, so it's probably normal. But it's entirely platonic- you're at least 78% sure, and plus only Johnny had asked you out- so you have to stay loyal to him even if you do feel something for the bigger brute.

But! You need to get your ass into gear and make your boys- boy something to eat- knowing damn well they- he will be hungry when they- ah fuck it. You're going to cook them a good ass meal to enjoy- knowing they will enjoy it after a month of MRE's and shitty mess hall food (Johnny's words). So you do. You work away in the kitchen- though the clock reads barely past 2AM, knowing they should arrive around 3AM at this point. You've timed it perfectly, so by the time you set everything out on the kitchen island, still steaming and hot, you hear the familiar playful rapt at your door.

ba ba baba ba

With a grin you glance over the selection of food first- mashed potatoes, green beans, fried pork chops, and freshly made black tea- you make your way over to the door and open it with a grin. "'m glad you're back!" You bout out happily, sending both men a bright grin despite your slightly tired eyes along with theirs. "Missed ye, bonnie," Johnny is quick to just waltz right on in, arms wrapping around you and lifting you up slightly with one hand, his other hand occupied carrying his duffel bag.

A snort of amusement leaves your lips as you hug him back, pressing a kiss to his lips before batting at him to put you down- though he doesn't hesitate once he notices the smell in the house. "Oooh, what's this, bonnie?" Johnny hums out, dropping his bag somewhere in the living room as he makes his way to the kitchen.

A soft laugh leaves your lips at his reaction, but you don't bother to answer him as you turn your attention to Simon, whose closing the door behind him. He's wearing his usual little black medical mask- the one he wears in place of the balaclava when he's off duty.

So imagine your utter shock and dumb fuck surprise when he pulls the thing down, steps forward, places a gentle hand on your cheek and kisses you. "Missed ya, too, love," Simon quips easily, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before simply dropping his bag and just walking right into the kitchen.

Sir, I'm sorry, what the fuck was that?! It's a thought, no words leave your lips as your cheeks heat up.

Oh no, you just cheated on your boyfriend- in the same house with him- with his best friend.

WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU DO NOW?!

Apparently, nothing but walk into the kitchen with your boys, watching as the two of them are already seated with stacked plates in front of them. You blink blankly at the scene.

You hesitate before taking a seat, sitting across from Johnny and resting your hands on the table, looking between the two of them as they converse casually.

"Take such good care o' us, bonnie, dunnae ken what I did to deserve ya," Johnny quips, looking at you with bright blue eyes and a genuinely content smile on his face between shoveling bites of food.

"Stopped bein' a bloody prick fer more than two seconds," Simon says, voice low and monotone yet somehow tinged with amusement.

You blink again. Huh "You kissed me?" You say it as a statement, but it comes out as a question as you look at Simon, ignoring their banter even though it makes you want to snort in amusement. You're too dumbfounded and bewildered right now to handle this situation. "Uh huh." Simon responds, flatly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world as he takes a bite of mashed potatoes. Johnny looks between the two of you, a slow smirk pulling at his lips, "LT, you sly dog," Johnny murmurs with clear amusement, elbowing the bigger man in the side playfully. You sputter for a moment, looking back over at Johnny, "A-and you're just- okay with that?!" You ask in utter confusion, bewildered but not exactly disappointed at the scene.

So you didn't cheat on your boyfriend with his best friend? Johnny looks at you and this time he blinks in confusion before turning his head and grabbing Simon's jaw, pulling him close and planting a kiss on Simon's lips, causing Simon to grunt in annoyance- only because he was still eating.

Johnny turns back to you with a shrug, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "Even?" You stare at the scene with heated cheeks before throwing your hands up in defeat, "...Even." You relent with a huff. ....can't cheat on your boyfriend with your other boyfriend who is also your boyfriends boyfriend you suppose.

[gothghostiie]

cw: threesome, double penetration, possesiveness, ghoap x afab!reader

ghoap x reader threesome, youre sandwiched between the two buff, sweaty boyfriends who you just happened to catch on the wrong (right?) day. ghost is behind you, soap in front, one is holding you in place, the other squeezing your tits, both of them snapping their hips up into their hole - yes , they already claimed them, once you're in between them there's no going back.

[unadulteratedvoidtragedy]

Ghoap and surrogate reader part 3

cw: smut written by an amateur, a little dubcon in the begining, easily manipulated reader, yandere Johnny and Simon

part 1, part 2

Masterlist

A/N: This is my first time writing such a long smut scene so I am a little nervous about how it turned out.

Struggling to grasp between dream and reality there are pairs of arms holding you between them. Peeking from under the eyelids you see the silhouette of a man cooing while gently playing with a lock of your hair:

"Isn't she a bonnie thing?"

You hear a grunt in the dark.

"Johnny?"

"I'm right here, lass"

"Where am I? "

"Oh, you felt asleep at the table so we brought you somewhere more comfortable"

At the same time there's a pair of lips making their away along your neck, slightly nibbing the skin.

"Looks like someone is eager..."

"You're one to talk" answers Simon, voice pausing his journey along your throat, a hand going over your body right at Johnny's bulge grabbing him over his jeans. A small groan coming from Johnny:

"Don't tease me, tonight it's about her"

"It's about the three of us"

The fact that they consider you a part of what they were together gave you a sense of belonging craved for far too long.

"How do you feel, bonnie?"

"A little sleepy..."

"You're not too tired, righ?"

"No, I..."

"That's good. Wouldn't want our luvie tiring from the begining"

"Si' don't be mean"

Their banter was natural, built on years of moments shared together, it makes you want to take a piece of what they had. A finger tracing your cheek tucked a lock of hair behind your ear:

"We're happy you came, lass"

"Really?"

"Yes, we knew from the moment we saw you fidgeting in the restaurant booth"

"You don't know anything about me"

"But we do, luvie, we know about the little incident back home, how much it hurt you when everybody walked out on you"

"How do you... it's not..."

"Shh, we know bonnie, we believe you"

"You do?" you don't acknowledge the hope in your voice.

"Yes, luvie"

Finally feeling acknowledged after being shunned away by your family and forgotten by most of your friends makes you reaching for them. Pulling your hands through a mohawk you bring him closer, a hand takes your chin and there's the feeling of another pair of lips on your own. Teeth clashing and a warm tongue in your mouth, arms pulling your hips closer to them.

"You did so good on your own, bonnie, but it got tiring after while. Isn't that right? "

Even without Simon's lips on your own it would have been hard to give an answer.

"But now you have us, we're gonna be together, a proper family" Johnny murmured as he was pulling off your cardigan, small goose bumps were forming on the exposed skin.

Another hand was unbuttoning your jeans, hungry fingers pulling flesh between them. The same smell of citrus coming back to you in Johnny's chest, small hairs tickling your cheek. You feel your underwear being pulled down to the ankles, eager fingers presing down and going back and forth. A small gasp tore from your throat:

"Isn't she pretty, Johnny?

"The bonniest lass there is"

Without meaning to the tip of your ears go red, cheeks warming up. A hard bulge was pressing you from behind as a finger finally slips inside you. Johnny's greedy hands paw at your chest, pinching and twisting. Everything feels fuzzy around you, bathed in a wave of euphoria. Light perspiration on the temples, you feel the texture of faded scars under your fingertips:

"Were you hurt a lot?"

"We got nipped a few times, but we managed to get through and it was worth it to be here with you. Isn't that right sergeant?"

"Pulling rank in the bedroom, Si' you're playing dirty. Do you want to be with us, lass? We would take care of you and the wee bairn, just us together"

As if confirmning Simon's lips gently kiss your forehead. It's overwhelming, all that pent up frustration and sadness unravels in yourself, a lone tear on the cheek that Johnny wipes it away:

"Shhh, it's okay bonnie, we're right here..."

"Yes, please..."

Letting yourself be embraced by the two of them, limbs tangling and hungry mouths kissing and moving around every part of your body. There's purple marks already blooming where they went over, a wet tip nudges at your entrance, strong arms pulling apart your thighs.

You hear a low rumbling from Simon's throat as he makes his way inside you, slightly flinching at the intrusion. Johnny's coos in your ear, an arm around the waist dragging you down on his lenght. Simon draws his hips back just to push them again, each thrust plunging him deeper. A warm tongue makes its way between your breasts, you cry out at the multitude of sensations smushed between the two of them.

"I'm gonna..."

"Our bird sings so prettily" said Simon as he gave a final thrust and gasps were spilling from your mouth.

"You did so well, bonnie"

You feel something hot spilling from inside you as Simon pulls of his cock, a finger proding and thrusting it back.

"Keep it inside, lass, gotta keep you warm"

Your flesh feels tender to the touch, swollen between your thighs and so full, some cum still leaking out. Sleep tugs again at the corners of your eyes.

"Sleep well, luvie, we'll take care of you" a hand running up your spine as if grounding you. The move lulls you back in a deep sleep, tugged safely between protective arms.

Part 4

[flowerfreya]

Cherry Wish

Johnny and Simon are in a established ten year relationship and Reader works at a grocery store, hasnt been in a relationship in three years and can't go to sleep without Nyquil, and they want her but she likes to be alone (not really, in fact it's quite the opposite)

CW: a/b/o dynamics

Deny

Waiting

Heat Sick

Fix it

All Fics Masterlist