#established ghoap

[sageivyreads]

doe eyed and ready to kill

Ghoap x street kitty!hybrid fem!reader

introduction: ok ok the tension is finally building people!! and the beef between reader and ghost begins 😓 as much as i like this part it’s definitely kind of a filler chapter so i can move on to the next main plot point (smut coming soon 😋). tysm for 200 followers! masterlist here

contains/warnings: 2.6k words (un)consensual kidnapping, ‘rough but he means well’ ghost, allusions to drugging, manipulative & pushy ghoap, noncon touching but no sa, reader is awkward & insecure, slight unreliable narrator, brief mentions of piss but nothing sexual about it, slightest of angst & mildest of comforts, quick description of gagging & fingers in mouth, r eats toast & jelly.

“How long d’you think she’ll be out for?” Johnny asks, watching as Simon pets over your hair like a beloved dog. Simon’s gaze is downturned towards you, blinking slowly as he watches your eyelids flutter and close.

“I gave ‘er enough to last ‘till tomorrow morning.”

Johnny whistles quietly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his gray sweatpants. “Talk about a hell of a hangover, huh?”

Your mouth is dry as you wake. There’s something slightly scratchy around you. Under you. You’re warm. It takes all of your energy, and multiple seconds, to pry your tired eyes open.

You’re in a room. A small table stands beside the bed you’re on. A plain, dark wood. Blueish grey sheets. A door to the left and a double closet to the right. You’re trying to conjure some sort of memory, but nothing is coming immediately.

Your arm doesn’t ache so bad. In fact, it feels kind of numb.

A blanket is draped over you. A few, you think. The warmth you feel is from something- someone hot pressed against your back. A naked chest tight against you. You feel a chin on your shoulder, breath against your neck. This feels familiar.

You blink. Your fingers spasm. Your ears flick.

“Mm.. you awake, love?”

Johnny.

Your breath shakes as you feel a crooked nose run up your neck and nuzzle along the edge of your jaw. Your heart beats louder in your ears than his voice does.

You’re still wearing clothes. You can feel his boxers against the back of your thighs.

You know he knows you’re awake, so you hesitantly nod. You can feel your hair is combed and clean. The fur on your ears and tail is brushed. Soft. For the first time in a while.

He peels himself from you, and you can hear him sit against the headboard. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, turning you towards him, and lugging you up against the bed frame with him.

He pulls your limp body into the crook of his arm, pressing his nose against your hair and breathing in before he presses a small kiss to the top of your head. The flesh of your cheek is smushed against the muscle of his shoulder. You smell men’s shampoo. You don’t know if you can move or not. You haven’t tried.

You slowly flex your fingers, then curl them into a fist. You’re tired, but you’re okay. You shift to sit up a little, subconsciously leaning away from him a little.

“Are ya feeling okay?” he asks, “Took quite a tumble yesterday. Still ain’t sure if ya hit yr’head or not.”

Why is he holding you like this? You broke into their home. And aren’t they together? You swear you thought Simon and Johnny were in a relationship before, but now you can’t remember much.

“Tumble…?” you question, lips sticking together as you part them to speak.

“Oh, yeah. You don’t remember? Yesterday morning, when ye were about to leave. You collapsed.” Johnny tells you, squeezing you a little closer. You can’t tell if that was his response to you scooting away, or if he really is clueless.

“..Oh.”

“Yeah, but we got ya all fixed up, didn’t we, Si?”

You frown in confusion, eyes flicking to the doorway where you find Simon lurking, one hand gripping the doorframe. He hadn’t made a sound. Not even the creaking of a floorboard or squealing of shoes. He’s dressed in casual athletic wear as if he might’ve come home from a jog an hour or two ago. You’ve learned he does that every morning, usually around seven.

Simon just grunts like the caveman he is, eyes running over the picture of the two of you.

“Get up. I’m making breakfast.” he huffs, turning and walking down the hall just as quietly as he came.

Johnny sighs next to you, his free hand flipping the covers off the two of you. “Well, let’s not make him wait any longer than we need to.”

He stands, your eyes trailing down his back as he bends over. You watch as he tugs some gray sweatpants over his hips, grabs a shirt from the floor to pull over his head.

“After y’finish eatin’, I figure I’ll rewrap that nasty wound o’ yours, and you can tell me all about how ya ended up that way, yeah?”

You don’t speak, but he doesn’t seem to be looking for a response, anyway. He straightens and turns back toward you, your eyes fixing on his thick fingers tying the strings of his sweats, on the imprint of something against his upper thigh-

You blink heavily, eyes swiftly flashing up to his. He’s smiling at you, but not smugly. More… gentle, than anything. Your voice quakes when you speak.

“Don’t want to talk about it.”

He sighs, reaching a hand up to shove some overgrown strands of hair out of his face. “Alrigh’. How about you go on ahead an’ join Simon? ah’m gonna take a piss.”

He turns and trudges over to the connected bathroom before you can respond. You slowly nod to yourself. You feel tired. So tired. You shouldn’t, considering this is the first time you’d slept on a mattress, let alone a bedframe, in years.

You pull yourself to the edge of the bed, legs shaking as you push to stand. The floor is cool against your warm skin. You take a quick scan of your surroundings and don’t find much more than what you’d expect from them. A single, golden brown dresser. Two bedside tables. Not much decor besides a little clutter. Everything’s a little mismatch.

Your feet move as if they don’t belong to you. They seem to know the choreography of their kitchen more than your consciousness does.

Your vision is fuzzy. Your body feels like a rusty engine of a car. Just barely rumbling back to life each time you twist the key, sluggish and old.

Your sense of smell stirs to life before anything else. Slightly burnt toast, you think. Strawberry jam. You sniffle as cold air pinches at your nose, shivering and hugging your arms with the opposite hands.

You flinch and hiss when you make contact with the sore skin beneath the bandage on your upper right arm, shifting your grip lower as you wince. Your slow walk has finally brought you to the kitchen.

Your eyes trail over his face as he slides three pieces of toast on a plate, two on another, and a single slice on the last one.

“Mornin’.” He vaguely gestured around the stools at the kitchen bar. “Sit.”

And once more, your feet guide you before your thoughts do. The backs of your thighs meet a stool as he spreads a vibrant red jam across the piece of toasted bread, most of it golden brown with the crust a little black. He slides the plate with a single slice in front of you.

You prefer raspberry jelly. You don’t like the crust on your toast. You also can’t imagine he’d care if you told him either of those things.

Your fingers shake as they reach in front of you, skin feeling fragile as it touches the brittle corners of the bread. Sharp canines pierce the texture easily, teeth tearing off a chunk and chewing as your tongue slips out to swipe the remnants off of your lips.

He’s staring at you. Has been since you picked up the piece of toast. His gaze fixes on your tongue so vehemently, that you’d think he was waiting for you to open your mouth just to catch a glimpse.

A shiver runs down your back and you shudder, spine curling inward slightly to keep you looking small. Even if you weren’t physically.

“‘ave you brushed your teeth?”

Your face twitches into some expression of confusion, and your hand comes to cover your mouth not so subtly as you place the toast back on it’s plate.

One of the many luxuries you didn’t have being homeless.

“N-no, I haven’t h-“

You’re stunned into silence by the view of him abruptly standing, lips parting in surprise as he curves around the corner of the counter.

“C’mere.”

His hand is on your nape, grip just a little too tight. Again, you feel a sense of deja vu. He pulls you out of the chair and your hands jerk up to commit some sort of action, just to fall flat at your sides. You feel like a snail in comparison to his heavy footsteps.

He walks you to his bedroom and opens the attached bathroom, ignoring the way you nearly flinch at the sight of Johnny- his boxers and sweats tugged down to where you can see the beginnings of a pale appendage. There’s still a toothbrush hanging out the side of his mouth. His head pops up when the door opens but he doesn’t seem surprised to see you.

You swallow thickly, throat suddenly feeling tiny and clogged as Simon pushes you to the counter. You cast your gaze downwards.

His big fingers seem to randomly grab a green toothbrush from a cup on the marble. It’s clearly been used, has to be one of theirs. You nearly gag at the thought.

He shoves the plastic object into your mouth, his lips twitching at your gurgled grunts as he roughly pushes the bristles back and forth against your teeth.

Your hands jolt up to his offending digits and wrist, halfhearted claws digging into the firm muscle beneath his sleeve.

You try to turn your head away and his grip slips to the front of your throat. Light pressure. Thumb just under your jaw to keep your chin propped up while he listens to the thu-thud of your heartbeat. Your ears flick to the side and lower.

When you finally get a good enough grip to tug yourself away from the toothbrush, neck muscles straining to tear away, he seems amused at the flash of teeth.

“Yeah, bare those pretty teeth at me, love. Let’s see how that goes.”

The expression on your face twists to the closest thing you can get to a scowl. You almost get away when he tightens his grip on the front of your throat enough for you to part your lips in a gasp.

“Enough.” he snaps, so loud you think you can feel your skull vibrate. You nearly choke on the toothpaste, just barely manage to stop yourself from swallowing. Cold fingers tremble in front of you before you lower them to cling to the counter at each side of your hips. Squeezing your eyes shut helps a little and you go still.

“Jeez, Si, didn’t get a good night’s sleep?” Johnny pipes up, and you can hear a rustle of fabric and the groaning of pipes as the toilet flushes. You hear him spit into the sink behind you and the tap run while he rinses his mouth briefly.

Simon ignores him and resumes for a minute or two before he turns and pushes you to bend your upper half over the sink. Gives your tongue an exceptionally harsh scrub before he drops the toothbrush into the sink.

“Spit.”

And when you hesitate, because that’s a weird fucking thing to say, he shoves his salty, meaty fingers down your throat until you gag, nearly retching around his fingers so you expel the toothpaste involuntarily instead of just repeating himself.

Your nose burns.

You’re crying when he releases you, bitterly glaring up at him as he rubs the leftover toothpaste from your lips. He doesn’t let you rinse.

“Way to scare a girl away,” Johnny sighs, shouldering Simon out of the way to stand in front of you.

He cups your cheeks with his warm hands and gently brushes the tears away with his thumbs. “It’s alright, lovely. No need fer the tears. You know he means well, hmm?”

You can’t help the relieved sigh as he touches you, body instinctively relaxing under his heated touch.

You don’t know if it’s your own doing or his when you nod.

“Let’s go finish our breakfast.” he says, moving his hands to your shoulders. He turns you and you pout (frown) the entire time he walks you out of the bathroom. He brings you out to the living area but instead sits you down on the middle cushion before joining Simon in the kitchen.

You huff to no one but yourself, tongue running over your teeth absently. At least you have a clean mouth now. Better than nothing for all the trouble he’s put you through.

Johnny walks back in just as you finish your train of thought, holding your plate and his. He places the one with a half-eaten piece of toast in your lap, sitting beside you and doing the same with his. Your fingers twitch on your thighs.

Johnny slings an arm around your shoulders, bringing you a little closer to him. Just like he’d done a few minutes prior when you’d woke up in his bed.

You’re hungry. You know you are. With the way your stomach aches like a crater, there’s no way you couldn’t be. Why don’t you want to eat?

Maybe it’s the whole situation, the way they’re treating you. Like they don’t plan on you leaving. They’ve already started making space for you in their lives. It feels as if they’ve shoved you into the deep end, not given you a chance to catch your breath or dip your toes in. It’s weird.

“Not hungry?” Johnny’s voice brings you back to the moment, as well as Simon joining the two of you on your other side.

He’s farther than you’d like.

Your eyelashes flutter after a moment, and you shake your head.

“Tired.” You rasp, your voice scratchy and your throat feeling swollen.

“m’sure now you regret wasting all that energy causing a fuss in the bathroom, huh?” Simon unhelpfully adds, voice slurred while he speaks with food in his mouth.

You glare at him from the corner of your eye, but he doesn’t notice with the way he’s shoveling food down his throat.

Johnny releases your shoulders to reach for your plate, ripping off a small piece and getting some jam on his fingers as he brings it up to your mouth.

“Come on, just a bite?”

You don’t respond for a moment.

Eventually, you decide you’ll do whatever it takes to get you out of here fastest.

It only takes a nod before he’s pushing it past your lips, a bit more gently than Simon was with the toothbrush.

He ignores the fact you agreed to a single bite as he continues feeding you. The toast tastes slightly of mint when you take your next bite.

“So, after breakfas’ ah’ll rewrap tha’ wound, Simon’s gotta go to the store, I’ve got a game t’watch, I figure you can rest up on the couch with me. How’s that sound?”

You look over at him, red jam smeared over his lips, free hand stuffing food in his mouth nearly just as quickly as Simon. They’ve both got a bad habit of talking while eating.

It doesn’t feel like have any other choice but to nod. Not that you plan on sticking to that. You drift off to a memory earlier in the day when you were in the kitchen for the first time.

When your eyes naturally flit back to the window you’d climbed in the day before, you noticed the dried blood had been cleaned up.

You also noticed the little nob on the top of the window had been turned, sealing the window shut. Probably just because of the storm.

lHowever, it irks you. Even when it was storming, they kept it open for you. It’s only closed now that you’re inside. You need to say something. Confirm that they know you aren’t staying.

Something inside you hushes your thoughts, telling you to keep quiet, you want this-

You urge your unease to the front of your mind.

“S-So when can I leave?”

Do you really want to?

Your head turns to Simon, and he pauses, before resuming his meal.

You turn to Johnny, and he just smiles at you sympathetically, a speck of red on his cheek.

“Oh, love. You aren’t goin’ anywhere. Not in this weather. Let the storm pass and we’ll talk then, yeah?” he says, reaching forward to wipe a bit of toast from the corner of your lip with his thumb.

For the first time, his smile doesn’t comfort you.

You don’t finish your piece of toast.

notes: that little moment of reader struggling with food was meant to show her unease around them and loss of appetite from the drugs, not an ed btw! i admit i have no idea what foods english people eat so take it easy on me ok? if you’re reading this thinking ‘god i just want them to fuckkkk’ me too 😞 in due time. also at what point do i stop using the ‘new writers on tumblr’ tag?

taglist: @lilana56 @angelic-thingys @sweetnightowl @skullcrawler @kxnnxy @lazystorycollector @pagesfalling @honestlymassivetrash @theyoungeagle

lemme know if i missed anyone it wouldn’t let me tag a few people for some reason

me telling u guys i posted part three:

[rawme-price]

Ghost who has a really low sex drive but loves seeing soap have fun, versus reader who would look amazing under soap.

You met simon at the animal shelter, funny enough. He usually comes in to just sit with the dogs and let them climb all over him. You occasionally join him too, when you have the time, eventually becoming pretty close friends.

You learn hes got a husband who paints, a small house a bit outside of town, and quite a few pets of his own. You tell him abt ur life too, in the middle of regaling him with the fact you haven't had a good fuck in forever. Simon doesnt even glance up from where hes petting a goldens face, "y'wanna fuck johnny? You're his type."

You splutter for a good minute before finally asking if hes serious bc there's no way thats not a joke. But simon explains the whole thing, how johnny is insatiable and he doesnt really match that, but he likes to get johnny people to play with every now and then. You tentatively agree, remembering the photo you saw of johnny and knowing there's no way ur hand will satisfy if you dont find out what hes like.

Which leads you to the mactavish house. You expected them to get straight to it but johnny had cooked dinner, insisted on treating you properly beforehand, a really sweet guy. When dinners done simon takes u upstairs while johnny cleans, gets you set up for his husband.

Hes got you face down ass up on the mattress, working a dildo in and out of u, getting u nice and warmed up. When johnny does arrive? God its better than you imagined. He presses his whole weight into u, a hand at your nape and the other running along ur torso. The whole time hes chatting to simon between praises for you, telling his husband what a great find u were, how much he loves him.

All the while ur being fucked stupid, used and ruined in the perfect ways. Johnnys got you whining and babbling by the end, fucked out and limp with pleasure. While Johnnys cum is leaking out of u, him and simon share a loving kiss. You wonder if they'll invite you back...

[god-save-the-king---from-me]

What a sight to wake up to.

Also, does he have a license for that thing? 🍑

[lemonwrap]

Imagine: Ghost’s mask is permanently attached to his face.

It’s probably with pins in the bones, or something like that to make it extremely difficult or even impossible to remove. It hurts to eat and talk, so Ghost doesn’t speak much, and it keeps his identity hidden at first. It was Roba’s doing, of course.

It had been the 141’s job to take down Roba, which is why they were in Mexico in the first place and came across Ghost as he was escaping after killing Roba. They take him in, and Ghost becomes familiar with Price, Soap, and Gaz, the members of Task Force 141. Despite his trauma and initial reluctance, Ghost grows very close to Soap, begins to see Price as an almost father-like figure, and becomes good friends with Gaz.

They make it their mission to remove the mask.

[esclizku]

The morning after

🏷️ Sick-fic, Sick x Caretaker, Fluff, Vanilla, Domestic, Established Relationship, semi-SFW

Call of Duty, Soap x Ghost short One-Shot Fan-fiction Word Count: 704

if you like this kinda stuff, go check out my ao3, wink wink divider by firefly-graphics

The morning after was always something he was looking forward to. Ghost was sweet all the time of course, there’s no doubt about that. But something about whenever they were passionate flipped a switch in Ghost, which Soap loved. The cold rough hands begged for the touch of his warm skin, tracing the soft patterns of the barely visible abs. Those dull, matte eyes made more contact with his ice-cold blue ones, and fuck. The way he treated him.

The mixer whirred to life, the ingredients inside flinging around the glass frame. Soap was a little bit winded from last night, his back ached, his legs trembling, but most of all, he wasn’t feeling like doing anything. The exhaustion that came from this age hit him all at once. He didn’t expect them to get to him at this age, especially since the military kept him active. Yet, despite being around 2 years apart, Ghost always woke up a little bit more energetic after sex, and that was evident even now.

Soap hissed when he felt his lover sneak up behind him, shoving the cold hands from winter into his warm jumper, cupping his abdomen. “You fuckin’ ass…-“ Was the sentence that got a warm chuckle out of the Brit, and he rested his stubble beard onto the veiny neck, muttering. “Why are you up this early?”

“Stomach’s growling since six in the morning.”

“You should’ve woken me up, Johnny.”

“So you can be hungry with me as well?”

“So I could make sure you’re okay.”

“Are you playing caretaker again, Simon?”

Soap looked over at Ghost with a warm gaze despite the cold blue in his eyes, one that was almost taunting. The Brit blinked softly, the wrinkles under his eyes becoming more prominent as he huffed a laugh out of his nose, almost scoff-like one, and muttered.

“You know me too good.” He grumbled, his hands warm at this point as he slid them out, turning off the blender. “Get back into bed.”

This is what he meant when he said a switch in Ghost flipped. When Ghost was bringing him the smoothie he had started along with an ice pack to his bed, where he laid somewhat sleepy. The way Ghost sat next to him, lifting the shirt and placing the ice pack onto his skin softly, onto the deep purple and red bruising Ghost’s teeth created, making Soap mutter swears and curses at him. And then the questions, Are you aching? Or Do you need something else?, it made Soap scoff almost when he insisted on making breakfast.

He cupped Ghost’s cheek, redirecting his gaze up into his eyes. “Darling, your sex is good, but it’s not ‘causing paralysis in both my legs’ good,” With a soft tone, he tilted his head. “Now stop worrying, or else your wee little head will fall off.”

Ghost was barely convinced, looking down at his body again. “You’ve been complaining about your back and legs a lot recently, I’m just looking out for you… If I made it worse…-“ He sounded a little worried, his eyes scanning him for any aches, like it was something that could be seen by the bare eye. “Bloody hell..”

Soap knew where this behavior was coming from, to be honest. Ghost, now that he’s older (well, if 38 even counts as old), has had his fair share of medical scares. First seeing the damage of his smoking, Second the diagnosis of his sleep disorder, and not to mention his scoliosis… It all mixed into making Ghost a healthier person, yes, but now he was also very aware of Soap’s health. Every ache could be a problem, every crack and every trip is treated with utmost care, and Soap didn’t mind it that much to be honest.

Just when he was worrying like this did it bother him.

Ghost opened to say something else, probably related to Soaps previously mentioned sleepiness, or how he was dizzy  a week prior, or something else entirely. Soap had no shame interrupting him with a kiss though, the chapped lips hitting Ghost’s delicate ones.

“Shut up,” Soap whispered into the kiss, their lips still soft and gently touching. “come lay with me.”

[meowmeowriley]

Idea that's too short for an AO3 fic: Tactical Cuddling. (Is It Tactical Cuddling If There's No Tactical Need And It's Just Straight Up Cuddling?)

Side note- No but fuck you, I'll call this mini fic whatever I want.

established relationship, GhostxSoap, fluff Soap uses feminine terms of endearment and call Ghost his wife because I think it's funny.

Ghost had been on a long Op. Several weeks in the dark. No contact with his team, with his family, nothing. He was dirty, and exhausted as he trudged through the base. He'd debreifed with Price, after which he'd pulled out his phone and groaned.

"Something wrong, Ghost?" Price raised a brow.

"Bloody phone's dead. Just wanna talk to Johnny." He sighed in defeat. He'd charge the damn phone, then call his boyfriend ASAP, then he'd go to sleep. Knowing himself, he'd probably combine the last two, falling asleep to Johnny's voice was just so damn nice.

Price was smiling at him. "Stop by the sergeants quarters, say hi to the new guy, then get some rest. You've earned it." Damn Price and his push for camaraderie.

"The new guy?" He asked, exhaustion painting his words darkly. Or maybe it was disdain, he hated meeting new people, after all.

"You'd've known if your phone wasn't dead." Price dismissed him then Ghost kicked himself mentally again for forgetting to turn the damn thing off to save the battery.

Now, as he shuffled towards the Sergeants's room, he cursed the new guy for being between him and his room, and consequently, his ability to call Johnny. Nothing should stand between him and his Johnny. This man was already on his shit list. He'd be lucky if all he got out of Ghost was him flipping the man the bird. What Ghost really wanted to do was punch him in the face. The other sergeants were already afraid of him, might as well start the new guy off right.

He could hear Gaz talking as he approached, and started gearing up his best glare to send the way of the new guy whom Gaz was most likely talking to, but when he got to the doorway his legs and lungs stopped working simultaneously. There, across the room, was his beautiful beloved boyfriend. Johnny.

"Oh, sir, you're back! This is our new Sergeant, Soap." Gaz started to introduce, it fell on deaf ears.

Ghost jerked forward, barely keeping himself from running. With single minded focus he crossed the room. Johnny looked at him with a crooked grin, but he couldn't hide the worry in his eyes. Ghost knew he looked like shit, still fully kitted and filthy, but he didn't care. He collided with Johnny, crushing him in his embrace. A smaller man would've snapped like a twig. His momentum carried them both around and then down, falling gracelessly onto the bed that had been behind Johnny. Roach's bed, but who fucking cared? Not Ghost. "Simon!" Johnny grunted as he was pulled down on top of Ghost, then he chuckled as he accepted his fate.

"Missed you love, but why are you here?" Ghost asked. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back, carding his fingers through Johnny's hair.

"Got transfered. I texted you?" Ghost could feel the man cock his head to the side.

"Phones dead." He grunted.

Johnny hummed and Ghost felt a kiss be pressed against his lips through the mask. "You know, I wasn't expecting to get tackled." He chuckled against Ghost's clothed lips.

"Wasn't a tackle. Was a hug, 'n then I decided to lay down." Both he and Johnny laughed at his cheek. Ghost thought himself pretty damn funny.

"I thought you said you had a wife?!" Gaz croaked. Right. They had an audience of two.

"Aww, you talked about me?" Ghost teased.

"I didn't give them your name, in case you wanted this a secret. Guess I didn't have to be worried." With his hand still on Johnny's head, Ghost felt him turn to look at Roach and Gaz as he spoke to them. "Aye, he's the wife." He turned back to Ghost. "Simon, hen, you're filthy. Let's get you changed, yeah?"

"M'fine. Lemme sleep, Johnny." Ghost was fighting nodding off, the comforting weight of Johnny on top of him was pushing him towards sleep.

"No, come on. Up." Johnny was pulling on his tac vest, climbing off the bed to pull him up. Ghost obliged with a huff, and finally opened his eyes again. Roach and Gaz were staring at the two of them with open mouths. "You should hear the shit they said about you, Simon." Johnny said with a grin, causing both the other men to blanch. He began meticulously removing Ghost's kit. Helmet first. Then vest.

"I'm sure most of it was true." Ghost yawned as he lifted his arms to allow Johnny access to the sides of his vest. As he sunk down to remove Ghost's holsters and knee pads he looked up at Ghost.

"Ye eat babies, love?" Those electric blue eyes danced with mirth.

"There's something I've been meanin' to tell you, Johnny." Ghost couldn't help the smile that spread as he joked. The mask hid it anyway.

Johnny gave a playful shove to his chest, then withdrew his hand and gave an experimental squeeze to his fist. Ghost knew his shirt was drenched with sweat, if they were still early in their relationship perhaps he would've been embarrassed. Right now, he was not. Johnny made quick work of his shoes. "Right, let's get you some new clothes as well."

"My room's too far." Ghost didn't whine. Wasn't capable of it. At least that's what he told himself.

"I've got plenty of your clothes here, hen." And sure enough, from his own bag, Johnny produced a shirt and a pair of underwear, both belonging to Ghost.

"Bloody thief." Ghost whispers as he allows Johnny to take his dirty shirt off him. He caught a whiff of it as it was pulled over his head, damn thing was mingin.

With the shirt out of his way Ghost could see their audience had the decency to turn around. Good. Johnny took his underwear next, and while he didn't mind changing in the same room as his sergeants, he didn't need them gawking at him. As soon as his underwear was in place, Ghost grabbed Johnny from behind and pulled him back down. He removed his mask and buried his face in Johnny's hair.

"Siiimooon." Johnny unabashedly whined. "This isn't my bed." Ghost looked up to see Roach shifting from foot to foot, looking at them.

'That's my bed, sir.' Roach signed fearfully. Ghost was aware. He glared over Johnny's head, snapped his fingers and pointed towards what was apparently Johnny's bed. Roach nodded and scrambled towards it.

"Arsehole." Johnny chided him. Ghost barely heard it. He hummed in response. He was comfortable, warm, not clean but at least stripped of his gear and dirty clothes. Only one thing left he really needed, other occupants of the room be damned.

"Johnny?" He mumbled sleepily.

"Aye, love?"

"Talk to me?"

And he did. Ghost could feel the rumble of Johnny's words through his arms, wrapped tightly around his love's chest. And he nodded off thinking about how nice it would be to have him around more.

[stankygay]

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley/Gary "Roach" Sanderson, John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish/Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Minor or Background Relationship(s) Characters: John "Soap" MacTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, John Price (Call of Duty), Kyle "Gaz" Garrick Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Fluff, Established Relationship, Polyamory, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Bond, Domestic, Scenting, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Omega John "Soap" MacTavish, Alpha Simon "Ghost" Riley, Alpha Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Selectively Mute Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Intersex Omegas, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Cock Warming, Consensual Somnophilia, Alpha/Omega/Alpha, there is no mpreg! Summary:

John nods his head, his gaze wanders to Roach as he coaches a recruit at the pull up bar. The alpha isn't touching them just standing off to the side with one hand on his hip. John feels possessive, Ghost follows his gaze.

 "You want Gary, love?"

 John nods again because he does, please he really wants them both. Just need. Ghost applies pressure on his neck to calm their omega down. He doesn't want any alpha to get the privilege of smelling their omega.

[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

[mycapofmisfortune]

Established!Ghoap who dress each other before missions, putting the tac-vests on the other, tightening up the straps, running hands down each other's front to be certain that nothing is out of place.

Ghost who puts extra pencils in his pockets in case Soap runs out of his own and can't sketch, Ghost who puts snacks he knows Soap likes in his pockets, extra C4 because he knows Soap will run out of it, Ghost who dedicates an entire leg full of pockets for extra medical things because he can't stomach the idea of Soap getting hurt and not being able to treat the wound.

Soap who has started to carry extra knives on him, sharpened just the way Ghost had taught him to. Soap who carries protein bars because he knows Ghost prefers them when they're in a safe house, easy and fast to eat. Soap who always carries extra skull balaclavas with him, one for him in case he needs it and a spare for Ghost.

Ghoap who always say "I love you" before a mission even if they're mad with each other for whatever reason, because if it's the last time they hear it, at least they did.

[sageivyreads]

cat nip detox

Ghoap x street kitty!hybrid fem!reader

introduction: hello! this is part 4 of Kitty! i’m honestly not sure if there will be any more parts as i don’t have any more ideas as of yet :/ sorry if future me leaves u on a cliffhanger forever. there is another puppy reader part in the works though! no timeframe on that yet so let’s just get into what’s here today ;) basically gross simon and icky johnny who plays into it.. so yeah. can u tell i like choke holds. abuse of commas 😓😓 partially proofread. 4.3k words. previous part and masterlist

contains/warnings: nonconsensual groping & touching, yucky descriptions of spit, dubcon oral sex (reader does want the sex to an extent but there’s something else she doesn’t consent to), 2 spanks, coercion & manipulation, kidnapping, drugging, barely there threesome, ‘Kitty’ used as nickname for reader, negative self talk.

A heaviness is lifted from your shoulders when Simon leaves. You may have interacted more with him, but not many were positive. He was unpredictable, rude, and trapped you inside his house, all while seeming to hate you.

You appreciate Johnny a bit more. He’s nice to you. He’s a bit of light streaming from a window into Simon’s cold apartment of a heart. You don’t know why he’s keeping you here.

Johnny seems to like you. Maybe it’s just a relationship thing, but Simon will deal with you until Johnny gets bored. And you know the deal, then you’ll be tossed to the streets again. It’s not new.

At least they seem to be somewhere around middle class. They have enough to spare. You’ll stay a few more days, stock up on some essentials, and you’ll be on your way. They can’t kick you out if you’ve already left.

So, you let him tug you to the bathroom, willingly go along with him using that horrid disinfectant on your arm, and bandage you back up with some clean gauze. You let Johnny pull you into his side once Simon’s left, turn on the television, and tuck your head against his shoulder.

You struggle to stay awake, the only fuel you have being fear and rage at this whole situation. At yourself. How could you have ended up here?

You know better.

You know you’ll get out of this. You chose to be reckless, and now you’ll choose to be smart about it.

He smells nice. Like pine tar. Warmth.

A bonfire, only you’re just a little bit too close.

Your nose easily falls into place into the indent behind his jaw. Your breaths wash over his collarbone. You can hear the dulled roars of a crowd, and every once in a while, his muscles tense as they cheer.

You only get more tired. You sit up a little more, side propped against Johnny's, hand coming up to cover your mouth as you yawn.

You see him smile in the corner of your eye, and he still is when you turn to him.

“Need t’be put down fer a nap?”

You shake your head, ignoring the urge to roll your eyes. His head turns back to the screen briefly, noting the beginning of half-time, before taking your hand in one of his hardened ones and beginning to stand.

“Well, how about we go wash up?”

Just the motion of standing makes you nauseous, stomach turning lin waves as you resist the urge to gag. You quickly brace your free hand on the couch to help prop yourself up, blinking rapidly to help with the dizziness.

“We?” you ask, confused.

His smile turns more impish, and he tugs you closer as he starts pulling you towards the bedroom.

“Yes, we. Not shy, are ya? Jus’ to conserve water, of course. Bills are expensive these days, y’know?”

No, you don’t know. You don’t remember the last time you’ve even seen a bill in your name. You don’t know the prices considering you don’t- can’t pay them, but you’ve sure heard a lot of people with a home complain about bills.

You wish you had that issue.

You also don’t know how he hasn’t realized you’re not quite the outgoing type. No, he knows.

No response is given.

Once he’s brought you to the bathroom attached to their shared bedroom, he reaches for you. You can’t help the instinctive step you take back, and you almost feel bad when you see the wounded look on his face.

“Ye okay, Kitty?” he questions, brows furrowing slightly. Like he hasn’t trapped you in his home. Like he hasn’t started treating you like his girlfriend. Like it wouldn’t make total sense for you to be unsettled.

“Yeah, I’m just, uh…”

He sighs through his nose, pulling back the curtains of the tub.

“Listen, how about you get in first, and I’ll keep my eyes closed the whole time. Deal?” he adds, pushing his hand out towards you.

Whatever it takes.

You take his hand and let him pull you closer as he turns the faucet on. He switches the water to be directed through the shower before he lets the two of you switch places, stepping back to be behind you. You don’t know if he’s turned around or closed his eyes, but you don’t think you want to.

Trying to be quick with the removal of your clothes isn’t easy when your hands are trembling. You shudder violently when you step under the warm water, squeezing your eyes shut as you stay facing the wall.

“I-I’m in,” you breathe shakily, hugging your arms.

“Alrigh’. Gonna step in behind ya. Don’t rip ma head off.”

You hear the rustle of clothes, ears twitching. Your tail wraps around your thigh as you listen to him step into the shower behind you, flinching slightly as you feel him place a hand on your back.

“There ya are,” he murmurs, tucking his chin over your shoulder and grasping your side with his hand. You’re familiar with this feeling now. He’s not quite pressed up against you, but you can feel the warmth of his chest. You ignore the way your head naturally tilts to one side to make space for him.

“What’s got you so skittish today?” he asks, as if this is new behavior from you. As if he isn’t the one who trapped you in his home.

“Just… not used to this, is all. Want to go back outside.”

“Soon,” is all he tells you, and you don’t know if you believe him anymore. You want to.

He holds you carefully, tilting your head back to keep your hair out of the water as he reaches around you to grab men’s body wash. Compared to the 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner next to it, it looks almost ornate.

His rough hands are surprisingly gentle with you. Even as they scrape against your skin, he’s slow and leisurely with the way he washes you. Around the slopes of your shoulders, down your sides, up your chest. You ignore the way his hands unnecessarily cup around your breasts. Over the curve of your stomach and dipping between your thighs.

You choke on saliva as he does, hand jerking to grip his wrist.

“Easy, Kitty,”

His hand stays strong.

He isn’t looking to give you pleasure. Instead, his fingers swerve around your clit and down your slit to ‘clean’ you. You wish you could enjoy it. Wish you could lean into his touch and-

No.

“Jus’ washin’ you.”

“I can wash myself,” your voice tremors, chest rising up and down a little harsher.

“Ah’ know you can.” he huffs, leaning his cheek against your jaw from behind. His hand leaves you, briefly, squeezing more soap into his hands before he begins on your legs.

You’re not brave enough to fight him. Not today. You don’t want bad blood, you just want peace. You can only have peace if you leave.

He washes the entirety of your body before moving onto himself. Avoiding your hair. It makes sense to you, considering they’d just done it the other day. While you were unconscious. While you have no recollection.

What else could they have done?

The thought makes you shiver.

You quickly shift your thoughts to something more digestible. He cleanses his hair as though he’s a dog, scrubbing aggressively and shaking his head to send excessive water flying all over the bathroom as he turns the faucet off. You both step out.

He wraps up in a towel and turns to clean himself, seemingly unconcerned with the fact you can fully see his ass. When the rustling of him putting on clothes gets loud enough to cover the sound of their sink cabinet creaking open, you manage to snag a few pads from ripping open a brand new box.

You’d seen them earlier when Johnny was giving you a new bandage for your arm. You tried not to ruminate on questioning why these grown men had period product, women’s clothes, women’s underwear-

Maybe they had an open relationship? No, you would’ve seen someone in the time you’d watched them. A roommate? Nope, same thing. Maybe they were swingers.

Yeah, that makes sense. You’ll go with that.

You crouch down to slip them into the pocket of the pants you wore previously to the shower, and you toss them in the laundry bin casually when he faces you once more. He doesn’t seem suspicious. Just annoyed with the fact that his hair keeps dripping, cursing under his breath. He wraps a towel around his waist and grips your wrist to tug you along with him.

Your wet feet slip along the floor as he drags you, much more focused on getting to the bedroom. He releases you once you’re inside, letting you wander to the bed on your own as he fishes through the dresser.

You sit with the towel wrapped around your armpits, holding the fabric tightly to your body. He stumbles around a little as he pulls some new clothes on. Blue boxers, a red wool-looking sweater, and some casual black pants. He’s not very balanced.

He rifles through the other drawers and brings you out a new outfit, but places them aside instead of clothing you like you expected. You watch as he huffs and puffs until he finds a pale green bottle of lotion, giving you another one of those smiles that make your breath tremble while he kneels in front of you.

“What’re you doing?” you sniffle, holding the towel closer to your body.

“Relax,” he coaxes, squeezing a pump of lotion into his hands. “Yr’skin is so dry, jus’ giving ya a little moisture.”

He rubs his hands together, reaching for your left ankle and starting a soft massage up your leg. You notice the tip of his tongue popping out, running along his lower lip. It makes you anxious.

Excited.

“You don’t need to. Really.” you breathe, but you don’t pull away.

“Let me do this for ya, Kitty.” he says, looking up at you with those blue eyes. They don’t scream danger. No, it’s something else. Something wild and fierce. Not scary or scared, just… off.

It unsettles you. Turns you on.

You nod absently, staring down at him as he reaches higher up your leg. His fingers work near flawlessly. Purposeful. So, when he gets to the top of your leg and his fingers slip along the cleft between your thigh and cunt, you know it’s intended.

He switches to your right, using his warm hands to encompass you all the same. When he’s made your upper leg, he rests one of his hands on your right inner thigh, the other palm slipping under you to slather your left cheek. His thumb is resting on the curve above your slit. Rubbing up and down, back and forth, not quite touching your more sensitive parts. It feels like a warning.

The rest of his movements are made with his left hand only. You feel him reach towards your towel, pulling it to slowly fall on the bed behind you. You exhale shakily. He keeps his right hand just above the little bundle of nerves, pumping some more lotion into his other. He begins to rub it onto your hip, up around your lower stomach and sternum.

His thumb lowers. Resting right over your pulsing clit. Presses.

“Johnny-“ You jolt, voice wavering.

“Shhh. Yer fine.”

You glance at his face, insides clenching, “I don’t- You-“ your voice breaks off on a choked whine, head falling back between your shoulders. It shouldn’t feel like this. You don’t like feeling out of control, but now you feel that your entire being, bare throat and all, has been plucked by them.

Your lips part to pant as he starts to rub half-circles atop your clit. You can’t tell whether it’s from stress or pleasure. Your lids fluttered closed.

Stop, no, more, now-

He abandons rubbing the lotion part your collarbones, both thumbs parting your lower lips. One thumb just above it, raising the skin of your clitoral hood to expose the little bead beneath. “Fuck, look how pretty she is…” he mumbles softly, his voice startling you all the same.

“Please-“ you choke out, head lifting forward and righting itself. You feel too vulnerable. Too exposed. He rubs his thumb in light circles around your bare clit, your fingers curling against the bedsheets.

His hands slip around your thighs, gripping the curve of your ass to pull you to stand, feet dragging against the floor. Your hands snap to press against his shoulders for support, your vision fixed on the way his pretty blue eyes look up at you. Fuck.

“I gotcha, baby.” he exhales, and you frown. He cranes his neck to press kisses along the part of your slit, gaze focused on you, then flitting to somewhere behind you, before opening his mouth to carefully suck your clit into his mouth. Your mouth drops open, cheeks feeling warm as the muscles in your neck knot together, head falling back just to shove you back into reality as your head hits a firm pillow of flesh.

You flinch in surprise, head snapping to the side to see the side of someone’s jaw, then raise your gaze higher to meet Simon’s. Your muscles are stiffened in preparation to flee, eyebrows pinched together in a guilty expression, corners of your lips tugged down into a frown.

He’s staring at you. You return it. What’s there to say? ‘Hey, you’re back. By the way, your boyfriend is eating me out. Sorry?’

Until Johnny’s lips part to make way for his tongue, your spine curving inward and eyes rolling to the back of your eyelids as your head meets Simon’s shoulder. Your hands drop from your chest to lace into his hair and tightly grip the strands.

“Fuck,” you sputter, eyelashes drifting shut. You feel a pleasant ache in your lower stomach, muscles twinging in a good sort of pain.

There’s movement behind you, a rustling of Simon’s pant pockets against the back of your bare leg. You feel his hands raise- and there’s pressure on your neck now, a clasping noise right next to your ear.

It’s hard to make your eyes force themselves open when Johnny's mouth feels so good, but the strange noise has you curious.

One of your hands comes up to your neck, feeling around to feel a leather strip banded around your neck. Johnny tightens his grip on the backs of your thighs and pulls you closer. Renews his efforts. Your pleasured noise is cut off by how startled you are, hand frantically pulling at the collar on your neck.

“What-“ you squeak, only a finger or two fitting between the collar and your skin before Simon is redirecting you. He grips your forearms, maneuvering you until he can clasp both your wrists in one of his bear-like hands, pinning them against your sternum. His other arm hooks around your collarbones and pulls you flush back against him. “What’re you doing- Stop-“

“Settle down,” he scolded, feeling your muscles tense as you squirmed. A grunt- halfway between pleasure and panic is then the next thing that slips from your lips as you struggle. Johnny is acting none the wiser, flattening his tongue against your opening and dragging up until your fingers twitch.

You moan, displeased, as Johnny draws his hand up to press his thumb to your clit. Firm pressure at first, almost a bit too much for your liking, until he starts rolling the nerves underneath his thumb.

It’s when you get to the point of baring your teeth that Simon decides you truly need an attitude adjustment. His forearm tightens around your collarbones until it is flush with your neck. Holding the fragile dip of your throat in the stiff tendons underneath the roughened flesh of his arm.

A justified rumble of disapproval bubbles up your throat only to be caught in its tracks by his grip tightening. Your breath gets weaker, vision a little hazier, muscles losing some of their fight, while your head gets lighter.

“There y’go…. That’s it.” His words are molten against the back of your neck. He steals your last breath, holding you for a few more seconds until he loosens his grip. You gasp, the air whooshing down into your lungs harshly. It leaves your head delightfully fuzzy from the rush, eyes watering until a tear streaks down your cheek.

You let your head fall back willingly this time. You go a little looser in his arms, hands going limp in his grip while you lean back against him. Johnny takes the newly relaxed muscles as his sign to slip his tongue inside of you, your thighs instinctively squeezing around his head.

You let out some sort of indignant squeak as your voice comes back, hips leaning away from his motions and causing you to bump into Simon behind you. It doesn’t give you much, besides a guess on Simon’s opinion of the situation considering the imprint of his cock against his thigh.

Johnny just digs his fingers into the meat of your thighs while he hums against you. Simon doesn’t seem as pleased. “Give it up, love. Fighting just makes him want you more.”

You moan, displeased as Johnny’s tongue makes its way back inside you. It somehow feels more visceral, more raw than your fingers do. It aches in a beautiful way. Johnny’s hand slips up your side, palming the swell of your breast when he reaches it.

His tongue slips out of you, drawing the muscle up to replace his fingers against your clit. Your toes curl in your socks as he sucks it into his mouth, thumb coming down to rub circles around your opening instead.

They work together like a perfect melody. Johnny’s finger pressing just barely inside, his lips making way for his tongue, Simon’s forearm tightening just at the right time. It feels like amber burning between your legs, the fire spreading up your abdomen and down your thighs.

You nearly screech your way through the climax of it, your throat grating painfully. Simon’s arm around your throat makes you feel ten times lighter. You should feel scared.

You don’t.

Your eyes flutter back open without the knowledge of ever closing them, flicking down to Johnny between your legs. He slowly pulls his mouth off of you, his smile surprisingly sweet for the filthy things he just did to you. It nearly enrages you.

“I hate you.” You pant, bare chest heaving. He just fucking smirks at you.

Simon releases your arms, and your shoulders release their tension. Your hands stay where they are, glued to your sternum, fingers curling and flexing to test the renewed sensation. His freed hand dips down between your legs, your brain too fried to defend yourself. Your nose scrunches in disgust as he collects your saliva on his fingers before subsequently smearing the liquid on your cheek with his index and middle fingers.

“Yeah, m’ sure y’do.”

Your hands come up to push at his forearm, sending yourself further back into his chest. “Ew, that’s- fucking gross!” you blurt, ignoring his snicker.

Johnny stands in front of you and grabs your face in his hand, smushing your cheeks between his thumb and other fingers. He takes his time licking the stripe of slick off your cheek, moaning like it’s the most delectable thing he’s ever tasted.

He pulls away with a laugh, deep in his chest, licking his lips and releasing your face.

“Fuckin’ delicious.”

You scowl at him, the space between your eyebrows crinkling with the amount of distaste in your expression, ears turning to the side. You wish you could like them. You wish you could relax for once.

Fuck them. Fuck their apartment. Fuck their money. Fuck their perfect faces and gentle hands. You want out.

You cringe internally at nearly every other interaction with them throughout the day. They’ve touched you. Felt what it’s like when you come. Tasted the tacky substance between your legs.

It grosses you out to have someone know you so intimately, without even knowing your name. ‘Kitty’ isn’t *so* insufferable anymore, but you still don’t love to hear it.

It’s later in the day, Simon doing whatever he does in the bathroom that makes him take so goddamn long, when you decide it’s time. Johnny is curled up in their bed, under the covers, waiting for you to return with water. You won’t.

You’d said you were thirsty when you saw a moment that your biggest threats were at their weakest. It’s not nice. You don’t enjoy it. It's necessary.

You open the cabinets a few times, pretending to look for the glasses. (You wouldn’t need to, you’ve already been here a dozen times.) You turn on the faucet, too, hoping it covers some of the noise while you're grabbing the things you’d stashed below the sink. A few pads, some protein bars, and a bottle of water. A pair of socks, ibuprofen, and some toothpaste. Things they won’t miss. Things they don’t need.

You’re currently kneeling in front of the cabinet under the sink, shoving as much as you can fit into the front pocket of the hoodie snatched just a few minutes ago. You curse quietly to yourself as the toothpaste clatters to the ground to your left, and you go to reach for it, startling when the tube is beside a pair of legs.

“‘the fuck are y’doing?”

A jolt of surprise runs through your body at the sound, lips parting and closing like a fish out of water when your startled gaze lands on him. You wince as you bang your head on the counter on your way up. You frown, ears tilting to the side at the sound of his voice.

Your shoulders are up by your ears, and your arms are held close to your chest while you stare at him. Your voice comes out unnaturally high-pitched and quick-paced. “I- You just- You don’t even *like* me. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, I’ve already thanked you for everything, you can just let me leave-“

He grabs you by the face, thick fingers digging into the flesh of your cheeks. You can only imagine the way you look, lips smushed together by his grip, despite your attempt to glower. “Y’think I’d let you stay in my fuckin’ apartment, eatin my fuckin’ food, if I didn’t like you?”

And when you don’t respond, you can’t with the way your lips are pressed together, he shakes your head like an unruly dog might. You can almost feel your brain rattle around in your skull. “Hm? Think I’d let you make out with my boyfriend?”

“Mmph!-“ you aren’t allowed to begin speaking with how quickly he smashes his lip against yours, your teeth catching on his upper lip, but he doesn’t mind. Your hands raise to his abdomen, ready to push away.

His other hand comes around to press a heavy hand on your ass, pushing you to stumble forward until your chest collides with his.

All the while, he’s pried your mouth open, ignoring when you try to shove him out, moaning unnecessarily loud as he sucks on your tongue. You can feel the copious amounts of spit swapping back and forth between mouths as he ravages you, a foamy glob sliding down your chin and onto his thumb, where it drips down his hand.

It’s only when you’re struggling to gasp for breaths that he decides to pull away. When you open your eyes again, your head immediately turns to the side with the way he’s staring at you, heavy breaths coming from his nose.

Your eyes are watery and glossed over, lips raw from his teeth, a bit of perspiration at the back of your neck. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“That help you?”

You nod, lips parted to pant, eyes reopening. You’re not sure it did.

“Good.” He huffs, tugging on the D-ring of your collar before freeing you and shifting aside to let you pass. “Go join Johnny. I’ll get your water.”

You’re frozen for a moment, mind buffering before it catches up just to hear the sound of Simon reengaging the lock on the window. You feel a clap on your ass just as you start to walk away, shoulders jumping while a yelp leaves your lips.

You hurry your pace, nearly stumbling in your urgency to get away from him as you hear a chuckle from behind you. You frown, tail agitatedly swishing between your legs as you walk through the hallway. Soap is sleepily smiling on the bed when you come across the open bedroom doorway, lifting one of his arms for you.

“There ya are. Where’s your water?”

“Um…”

“I’ve got it.” Simon interrupts from behind you, causing you to jolt once more. You look at him over your shoulder, and he just raises a brow, signaling for you to continue.

“I couldn’t find the cups. Simon helped.” You breathe, exhaling through your nose. His name tastes foreign in your mouth. Tingles on your tongue. You swallow through thick saliva, walking around the bed to sit on the opposite side of the bed.

Johnny does seem to mind the space, opening his mouth, just to be interrupted by Simon coming to sit next to you. He squishes you up against Johnny and forces you to settle between them. Johnny hooks an arm around your neck, pulling you down to be reclined with him.

Simon hands you your water wordlessly. You take it, hands clasped around the glass, eyes distracted by the small, white flurries swirling around at the bottom of the cup. You make eye contact as you pause. He holds strong with that same, dead look in his eyes, and watches as you take your first sip.

You know better.

You shove the thought down, as well as the small satisfaction at Simon looking pleased. You settle in closer to Johnny, fixing your blurry vision on the television.

You’ll try again tomorrow. Maybe.

notes: not my best work 😞 i might edit some in the next few days. just wanna get it out or ill never post it. this is also like my third time writing smut soooo… did i match your freak. be honest

taglist: @eyes-ofhell @insideboburnham @mellohimmku94 @uglygirltrying @ghostsoapwhore @callsignao3 @risk606 @theyoungeagle @honestlymassivetrash @lazystorycollector @kxnnxy @skullcrawler @sweetnightowl @angelic-thingys @pagesfalling

[x-snickersnap-x]

established ghoap where johnny's pretty content with his relationship with ghost. ghost has some walls up still, but on the whole, their communication is getting better and ghost is unfrosting. slowly. but johnny's okay with that.

until they get a k9 unit on base and johnny suddenly finds out that ghost has a very specific voice he only uses on friendly dogs. he goes so soft, so sweet and gentle and suddenly johnny has to grapple with being blisteringly burning jealous over a //dog//

[gofishygo]

no but what if reader sacrifices themself for soap in the tunnel... (implied ghoap, ghoap x reader; mcd, reader has very low self esteem, reader probably has depression, mw3 spoilers)

you know how important he is to ghost. everybody does- it's hard to not notice that they are practically symbiotic- feeding off of each other's laughs, near inseparable. you never see one without the other.

and compared to him, you are nothing more than a burden to the team, you figure. you do not carry soap's explosive force, the intensity in his eyes, nor do you have half of ghost's expertise in sniping, do not carry any of his mystique. you dont- you dont deserve a second glance, much less any of their kindness. your fascination, you like to call it, towards johnny and ghost, it should be hidden under your tongue, clandestine and invisible.

nobody gets a say in how quickly you are to establish yourself as the wallflower of the 1-4-1. and by the time of mw3, nobody gets to intercept how you manage to run solo in a team, no matter how much they try to reach out. they have each other. why would they ever need you?

so in that clammy, chilling tunnel, your reactions to such an ambush are second nature- you shut down the moment johnny's shoulder is shot. tackling the enemy- the movement is so instantaneous and blurry that you do not realise that said enemy is makarov himself-onto the asphalt and plunging your knife in and out of him until the muzzle of a gun presses against your head and it's bullet lodges into the back of your brain. you die instantly, silently, not hearing how johnny screams your name instead of your callsign, how simon, for the first time, seems uncoordinated, desperate like a dog as he fumbles to revive you. you had never thought that they cared, never believed they would look at you with reprocipricated admiration. and moments before you die, you realise that you will never know how much of a presence you were in their lives, and you close your eyes knowing that they will be okay together. but you arent around long enough to see how they crumble, and you die with the belief that in this world, you are none other than a replacement. you never seem to stay around long enough to see how simon, johnny, love you.

and you never will.

[moody-alcoholic]

Sick

Ghoap x reader, established relationship

CW: Sick reader, vomit, hurt/comfort.

I'm trying and failing to keep my random dribbles under 1k words.

____

“The whole thing’s a waste of time.” Johnny says as he walks through the front door with Simon.

“An order’s an order.” Simon replies, hanging his coat up. Johnny closes the door sighing.

“Don't mean I have to like it.” Johnny says following him. 

“Yeah well such is life.” Simon sighs, stepping down into the living room. 

“We’re home!” Johnny shouts walking into the living room. It's late, maybe you’re sleeping. Simon goes into the kitchen. 

It took all your energy to pull yourself out of bed, hearing them walk through the door and call for you, you forced yourself to move. You feel weak, shaky, your body is sticky with a fever. You thought it was just a cold, this is more than a cold. Your head is throbbing, your body aches. You’ve missed them though, you always miss them when they’re away. 

“Hey love.” Johnny calls coming over to you. You lean against the doorframe, nausea bubbles in you and you press your hand on your stomach. Your mouth fills with saliva and before you can stop yourself you’re sprinting to the bathroom. 

You hear footsteps following you as you vomit into the toilet. Your head throbs with each heave, tears run down your face. You feel hands on you, Johnny’s rubbing your back as Simon pulls your hair out your face. 

“You’re burning up love.” Johnny says the back of his hand pressing against your cheek.

“I thought it was just a cold.” You say as your stomach settles and you get a chance to breathe. 

“It’s more than a cold.” Simon says, stroking your head. “We need to get this fever down.” You reach over for the toilet paper to wipe your mouth. Johnny grips your shoulders pulling you against his chest. He pulls some paper off for you and presses it into your hands. You dab your mouth hearing Simon running the bath. 

Johnny’s arms wrap around you holding you against him. He presses kisses on your head running his hands over you. 

“I’m sorry.” You say feeling guilt rise in you, the shivering comes back and your head starts going foggy. 

“Don’t be silly love, we’re here now. You’re okay.” He says squeezing you tighter against him. Simon comes to bend down next to you both, his hand comes up to brush your forehead. 

“Why didn’t you call us? We could have come home.”  He says. 

“You’re busy, I didn’t want to bother you.” You say. Simon sighs, leaning over and planting a kiss on your forehead before he leaves the room. Cold air blows in and you shiver in Johnny’s chest. He grips you tighter, running his hands up and down your arms to try and warm you. 

“C’mon, let’s get you out of these clothes.” He encourages tugging on the bottom of your pyjama top. You raise your arms for him letting him strip the soaked clothes off you, you shiver wrapping your arms around your chest. He shuffles pulling your bottoms off before picking you in his arms. 

“I can walk.” you murmur as he places you down in the hot water of the bath. 

“Sure.” He chuckles as Simon comes back into the bathroom with a glass of water in his hand. He bends down by the bath helping you bring it up to your mouth. You take little sips while Johnny coos over you, picking up a flannel and wetting it in the cool water of the bath before pressing it around your upper body.

You lean back in the bath, closing your eyes letting the water wash away the tension built up in your muscles. Johnny’s hand keeps your hair out your face as he dabs your forehead. Now and then you open your eyes looking at the concerned look on their faces as they fuss over you. 

The longer you stay in the bath letting the water cool you the more tired you become. The nausea fades and you’re just left with the throbbing in your head. 

“Ready to go back to bed?” Simon asks eventually, his fingers stroking your cheek. You open your eyes, humming and looking at them, you don't really want to move, enjoying the warm water relaxing you. Johnny smiles, getting up to grab a towel. You let out a sigh feeling goosebumps rise on your skin as Simon helps you sit up in the bath. 

Simon's hands stay on you, holding your back and your waist as you stand, stepping out into the towel Johnny is holding out for you. Your teeth almost immediately start to chatter as the cold air from the flat hits your skin. 

“Let’s get you all tucked up in bed.” Johnny says, wrapping his arms around you and guiding you into the bedroom. 

“Let me sleep in the spare room, I don’t want to get you sick too.” You protest as he sits you down on the bed. You hear Simon open the wardrobe.

“Don’t worry ‘bout us love.” Johnny says helping you dry, you let them dote over you as the fogginess comes back to your head and warmth from the bath starts to fade. 

You barely remember them dressing you in fresh clothes only that you’re now laid down in the bed with Johnny tucked up behind you. 

“Where’s Simon?” You ask looking round the empty room, there's a bright light coming into the room through the door making your head throb forcing you to close your eyes. 

“He’ll be back in a sec.” Johnny says, pulling his arms around you. You can feel his warmth behind you, his kisses on your neck pulling your hair out your face. You hear Simon come back, opening your eyes to see him bed down by you with a bowl and a cloth. 

You smile at him shuffling in the bed. He pats the damp cloth round your face. It’s nice, almost instantly taking away some of the throbbing in your forehead. You let out a sigh relaxing into Johnny’s warm embrace. 

“That's it, just relax.” Johnny hums in your ear. You close your eyes sinking into the bed. 

“We’ve got you, you’re okay.” Simon says. “Just rest, you’ll feel better in the morning.”

____

[rememberwren]

Thinking about established soap/reader drifting into ghoap/reader territory…hear me out:

Soap’s had his girl back home for a few missions now; it’s become Known. Ghost is no longer surprised when Soap mentions missing her or when he finds some inevitable way to bring her up in conversation.

Sometimes at night when they’re in close quarters, Ghost gets stuck overhearing one-sided phone conversations between Soap and his girl—filthy shit that has him wondering what he wants most: to have a woman to mutter things like that to or to have Soap muttering them to him.

Ghost gets enamored with them both. His complex feelings for Johnny have been growing as long as they’ve been teammates, but now he finds himself wanting to know more about the girl who has captured Soap’s eye.

And Soap misses nothing.

Shall I tell her you say hi? he teases. Fuck off. Showing Ghost selfies she sends, watching the way Ghost’s eyes eat up the arc of her smile and the curve of her cheek.

The videos become a constant too. As often as they’re given access to their civilian devices—as soon as Soap turns on his phone, he is making a quick escape with his headphones into his bunk. Ghost can only imagine the things you must send: all the different perverse things you happily film yourself doing just to keep Soap entertained during the long nights apart, all the dirty things that will pass your sweet looking lips.

As he and Soap grow closer, one night Johnny flops down beside Ghost and pulls up a video: you spread out on a bed based on the soft mussed sheets beneath you, tugging aside the gusset of some lacy scrap so you can slip two fingers inside yourself.

Sent this one for you, she did, Soap says.

[etclouie]

hey lol/ ⁵⁾ “where the fuck have you been?!” and poly!ghoap when readers been out with friends too late. just two very oevrprotective boyfriends

title; home late (poly!ghoap x fem!reader)

prompts; “where the fuck have you been?!” — from three hundred assorted dialogue prompts 

warnings; established relationship, poly relationship, overprotective!soap and ghost, reader’s drunk, simon hauls her over her shoulder at the end, that’s it really but lmk if i missed any (644 words)

one year masterlist | main masterlist

— thank you for celebrating my one year!!! | submissions are now closed

you’d stayed out later than you thought you had, getting in closer to 2 am when you told Simon and Johnny that you’d be home at 11 pm.

which, sure you should’ve told them about, but you were out with your friends having fun.

what’s the harm in that?

with a drunken caution, you slowly unlocked the front door, pushing it open and slinking inside.

as you shut over the door, you sighed a sigh of relief, letting your head fall back against the wood. you were late home and neither of the guys noticed.

this was great, or at least you thought so.

after kicking off your shoes, you stumbled into the living room, ready to drop yourself down onto the couch, when the side table lamp flicked on and both men came into sight.

shit.

“oh hey guys, you didn’t have to wait up for me”

Johnny sat on the other couch next to the lamp, presumably the one that turned it on, while Simon stood in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, arms crossed firmly over his chest and a scowl on his face.

he was maskless, always was around the house, but now it only served to show how pissed he was.

“where the fuck have you been?!” 

Simon finally asked after a minute, Johnny’s eyes flicking between you and Simon before settling on you again.

their annoyance was palpable, and it made you want to sink further into the couch.

“i was with friends, i told you about it, remember?”

they shared a look, a disapproving one at that.

“aye but ye said 11, it’s 2am”

you sighed at Johnny’s words, refusing to meet either of their eyes, but their eyes stayed on you.

it was clear they were more concerned than anything, even if Simon’s annoyance was obvious.

“my phone died and we stayed for another round or four”

you offered them that smile that usually seemed to work, but didn’t this time.

Johnny was slowly giving in, less annoyed than Simon still happened to be.

“could’ve used a friend’s phone”

his voice was flat, posture unwavering as he stayed in his space in the doorway. it pulled another sigh from you, crossing your arms defeatedly across your chest.

“i’m sorry, okay?”

Simon huffed while Johnny moved to sit next to you on the couch, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to pull you into his side.

he leaned in to press a kiss to the top of your head, whispering softly to you.

“shh, we’re only worried about you, tha’s all”

your eyes flicked back up to meet Simon’s, watching him nod before he took a step towards you, dropping his arms away from over his chest.

“i am sorry Si, didn’t mean to come home so late”

Johnny’s hand soothed across your arm as Simon moved even closer, squatting before you as he soothed his hands across your legs.

he shook his head in regards to your words, pressing a kiss to your knee that pulled a drunken giggle from your lips.

“just gotta call us next time, okay?”

you nodded, before gasping as Johnny cradled your face in his hand, tilting your head towards him.

“words love”

they were always like this, always wanting you to explicitly say you understood what they meant.

it was nice, knowing they cared enough to make sure you understood what they were saying.

with a small smile you nipped at Johnny’s jaw before whispering, his arm unhooking itself from around your shoulders.

“call yous next time, got it”

Simon pressed another kiss to your knee while wrapping his arms around the backs of your knees, hauling you over his shoulder and upstairs towards your room.

you squealed, slapping at his back while watching Johnny trail behind you upside down.

“getting you into bed luv, it’s late”

reblogs are highly appreciated !

[lay-z]

COD CHEATING AU | ML

— multiple pairings x fem!Reader

— info/cw: 18+ MDNI | established (romantic) relationship; (emotional) cheating; toxic behaviour; angst; smut/sex; hurt/no comfort; cussing; open endings

Author's note: Please stop asking me if I'm fine 💀 I clearly ain't, but I've never been cheated on. (Not a weird flex.)

— You get a text from an unknown number. × [ Kyle Garrick x fem!Reader ] — You meet John's friend Nikolai. × [ John Price x fem!Reader ] — Rudy assures you, his heart is yours. × [ Rodolfo Parra x fem!Reader ] — You're just happy he's back home. × [ Simon Riley x fem!Reader ] — Johnny is insatiable. × [ Ghoap x fem!Reader ] — Phil comes home late again. × [ Phillip Graves x fem!Reader ] — They fall in love with someone else. × [ Ghoap x fem!Reader ]