#ghoap to soothe the soul

[machveil]

Johnny towel whipping Simon in a locker room, all giggling and immature. smile dropping immediately when Simon runs his towel under water - twisting it up while slowly walking towards him, “Havin’ a laugh now, Johnny?”

[machveil]

Soap x reader x Ghost

( or just Johnny with anyone) he has oral fixation. Doesn't matter it's a cunt oflr a cock, tit or peck, fingers? Anything he can in anytime anywhere.

He might be sucking on his hoodie string if he's out of gums and idle, but in sex? He gets his partner(s) marked with hickeys and bites.

He's the one randomly biting his partner(s) during the day

if I could reach through the screen and kiss your cheek I would jesus christ

CW: Fem!Reader, Johnny has an oral fixation<3, ambiguous on the relationship dynamic - up to your interpretation, no condom, wrap it before you tap it, Johnny x Reader x Simon

Johnny likes to keep his mouth busy - when he isn’t talking he’s got something between his lips. I feel like Johnny was a notorious nail biter growing up. his mother definitely tried to make him stop but eventually gave up because he just kept doing it. he doesn’t bite his nails as much as an adult, but every once in a while he’ll chew and bite off the edge of his nails

Johnny has a thing for wearing hoodies. they’re big, warm, comfortable, and the laces for the hood are nice to chew on. he tends to wear black ones to the gym so you can’t tell the laces are coated in spit and drool as easily. he’s definitely borrowed a hoodie from Simon briefly only to return it with spit soaked laces. Simon didn’t even bat an eye, just shrugged it off and put it on. sometimes Simon gets a hoodie back and the sleeve cuffs have been chewed and slobbered on, but that never deters him from lending Johnny his clothes

Johnny will absentmindedly suck on your fingers while you’re lounging. when you’re cuddled together his mouth is latching onto you, anything his mouth can reach. he doesn’t even notice, eyes glued to tv as he uses your index and middle fingers as a pacifier, gently sucking on them and coating them in his warm saliva. he’s so comfortable against you when he does it, eyes half lidded and body limp - he doesn’t even register how he’s got your fingers down to the knuckle resting on his tongue

Simon’s neck is littered with hickeys, easily hidden behind his balaclava. Johnny can’t help himself, tucked against Simon’s side as he mouths at his throat. it’s nice, Simon’s got his arms around his waist - a nice, secure hold. his brain gets to turn off while he dumbly sucks on his skin, red marks blooming against Simon’s neck and shoulders. it soothes Johnny, lets his mind go somewhere else while he sucks another hickey against Simon’s neck, shifting closer with a small whine caught in his throat

Johnny’s mouth is all yours to use, he’s begged for you to use it before. sometimes sucking and gnawing on items and clothes isn’t enough for him, he needs you. you can’t be upset with Johnny, not when he’s buried his head between your legs, lazily sucking on your clit. he’s solely focused on working his mouth, not aware of his stiff cock straining against his pants. he’s got your hips pushed down, ready to eat you out until he’s done. deaf to your whines and pleas, he’s moaning against your cunt as his eyes flutter shut

Johnny who’s kneeling on the floor, idly sucking on Simon’s fat cock. he’s got a rugby match on the tv, one hand in Johnny’s hair, the other cradling a beer bottle. Johnny’s more than content where he is, nose to Simon’s pelvis, jaw slack as he breathes out through his nose. the weight of his cock on Johnny’s tongue is so good, and Simon’s being nice - hips still and petting him, rough hand gently scratching at his scalp. Simon only thrusts a little when Johnny starts to nod off, eyes drooping shut and drool trailing down his chin

Johnny’s favorite thing? having to sit still, whining as he watches Simon mercilessly fuck you. Simon told him to be good, gave him two commands. “Open.”, Johnny was so eager to begin with, thought Simon was going to fuck his face, turn his brain to mush. he was wrong, but equally excited when Simon guided a dildo into his mouth, “Suck, Johnny.”. his heartbeat was rapid, ringing in his ears, whining as he did what he was told. Simon murmured a quick ‘good boy’, leaving Johnny to watch as he filled you. maybe it was mean, but it was doing something to the poor man, especially when he saw a trickle of white bead out of your slit

Simon knew what he was doing, had a plan going into this. watching you writhe beneath him, head dipping down to mark your neck up - leaving his own hickeys to match Johnny’s. he knows Johnny’s watching, the way his cock stretches you out, bullies it’s way in and out of you. absolutely filthy, his hips stuttering before he’s spilling into you. just a couple times, he forces his hips to buck again, fucking his cum into you, warmth spreading in your tummy as you cry out. Simon can hear the wet sucking behind him, doesn’t have to look to know Johnny has that dildo down his throat, eyes glossy and chin slick

Simon’s nice, lazily pulls out of you after his third orgasm. despite his exhaustion, the overstimulation he feels, he gets up. Johnny can’t help but whine when Simon slowly pulls the dildo from his mouth, teary eyes looking up at the Brit. his desperation is sated though, excitement coursing through his veins as Simon gently grabs his chin. “Good mutt.”, voice hoarse, Simon smiles down at him, “Go clean your toy up, yeah?”. Simon takes Johnny’s place, sitting down. dark brown eyes watching as Johnny settles between your legs, head dipping down to lap at your cunt as you hiccup

[elexaria]

poly!ghoap who live w/ the reader, johnny whining like a needy brat bc he wants to fuck you so bad but si says no :( simon’s perfectly happy, he doesn’t necessarily understand why johnny’s so adamant about opening the relationship up to include the lodger.

that’s until simon starts to actually observe you. how you tidy up after yourself, how you buy the boys the odd ‘saw-this-and-thought-of-you’ gift when buying groceries. it makes the harshness of simon mellow whenever you unintentionally ground him. he loves johnny, with all his heart, but johnny’s unpredictable nature and his loudness is all too much for such a weary soul sometimes.

you prune a floral arrangement you had bought, humming quietly as you pluck delicate thorns from slender stems. a wince escapes your lips as you accidentally snag your thumb on a particularly persistent thorn, and simon looks up from his newspaper with a concerned, yet stoney, look. “you alright?” his voice rumbles from across the room where he was sat, glancing up at you in the kitchenette. “yeah..” you mumble, still trying to tend to the arrangement despite trickles of blood that trail down your wrist with each gentle administration of attention given to the flowers.

cute, simon thinks to himself. the corners of his lips twitch as he makes his way over to the kitchenette, not even needing to stretch to grab the first aid kit from the top of the fridge. “c’mere.” he fusses, thick mancunian accent soothing your soul as his fingers begin to tend to the cut. his touch is calloused yet tender, sincere and gentle. and when your softening eyes glance up at simon, only to catch him staring back down at you with an affectionate expression, it makes him realise that perhaps johnny’s proposition of opening the relationship up isn’t an inherently bad idea.

[ch3rrybbie]

Get free

Ghoap x reader oneshot

Warnings: angst, death, smut allusions.

Summary: out of the black into the blue.

The jeep shook you as it sped down the dirt road.

A hot summers night, somewhere.

It didn’t matter where. What mattered was that this was where you were slipping.

The stench of dust and iron lay taught in the air as you were tossed between Soap and Ghost.

A rock and a hard place.

Your fingers were all you could focus on, ignoring Price and Gaz in the front checking on you every so often.

Ignoring that was all any of them could do.

Fingers numb and dulling, you felt barely able to feel the wound in your side.

You start to sag further in your seat, only to be dragged up by your tactical jacket.

Ghost.

“You’re fine, sit up straight” he commands fear tinging his bite.

You laugh delirious, he sure did pick his moments to show he cared.

He did’t show you he cared when he made you run 50 laps for laughing. He didn’t show he cared when he asked Price to bar you from a mission for carelessness. He didn’t show he cared all those times you were in the med bay. He didn’t show he cared when he slipped from your room under the crest of night. Leaving you sweat licked and teary.

It was your turn to leave him.

Soap licks your wounds, stroking your matted hair. At least there would be comfort in these last moments.

Soap always showed he cared.

It was like he couldn’t help it.

Always five paces behind. Hand always a caress apart. Always running beside you. Always shouting for you.

Lips pressed tight to you, swallowing doubts.

You were floating, light as air. Head swimming in delirium. Thick chuckles vibrate through you.

They all turn to stare each wearing an expression worse than the last.

A nymph amongst the dammed. A saint amongst sinners. The dead were always the holiest. You would be martyred.

Being the only woman in 141 had never given you any grace. Never meant differential treatment in the wounds shared. If it’d been anyone else in your seat the same glances would be shared.

But this meant you would be absolved of the awful things you all did.

Where would you go? What world awaited you?

Sleep nudged at your heavy soul.

You were a child again, sleeping softly against your mother. A drama playing on the TV, lulling you into the quiet.

What did Ghost care anyways, you tired of this back and forth. Of this life. Missions and gore and blood and running and killing.

For what?

You let your hand slip from you wound. Spite taking your hand and kissing it in praise.

Fuck Ghost.

You didn’t need to say anything, any goodbyes or I love yous could be imagined or there.

What did you care.

They knew you.

They knew you.

So you lean against Johnny, allowing yourself this small comfort. Hand, bloodied and limp falling against Simon’s thigh.

He grips it harshly and attempts to stem the wild blood flow running from you.

You can’t hear his barks anymore.

Eyes closed you tune into the soft strokes of Johnny’s hand. His soft touch calls you in the way he does, soft pats of ‘lassie’ and ‘Bonnie’ soothe false fears once again.

———

Johnny does what Simon never could, accept.

You can’t breathe life into a wilting flower as his mother would say. She would’ve loved you, he thinks.

He knows.

Johnny was selfless as always he would give comfort to you, no matter how much it hurt. He feels you soften and still, not daring to check,he looks to Simon’s frantic movements.

———

Simon was selfish in his wanting. Hands bloodied he attempts to animate you. Perhaps his pushing and pulling will respark your heart and put wind in your lungs. Perhaps not, and yet he persists. He wants you come come back and kill him, to drown him in your blood and drag him with you like some wrathful harpy.

Come back and hate me. Come back and kill me.

———

Ch3rrybbie says: sorry the ghoap x reader fixation made me write this will try get requests out asap, this got me out of the writing slump lol.

[izgnanik-a]

Drunk Ghoap thoughts

Cw — absolute saps, the fluffiest fluff, downright adorable

After being together for so long, Ghost and Soap just became Simon and Johnny again. There were no ranks, no rules or regulations, no boundaries that they couldn’t cross.

They had become one. One home, one car, one soul. The only thing they hadn’t done was share a single last name. It had been a talk they had a few times, if they’d become the Riley’s or the MacTavish’s or even Riley-MacTavish — it’d be a mouthful for anyone.

They spent their long awaited breaks nestled in the other’s comfort, wading in their silences, and basking in warm mornings.

They always had each other to come back to at the end of every night.

Usually when Simon and Johnny went out for drinks with the others, one would drink and the other would be the designated driver. It was common understanding. So they alternated between which would do the driving.

This week it was Johnny’s turn to drive.

Simon kept in the booth with the others, gentle circles rubbed into Johnny’s knee beside him. It was a sort of anxiety stim he could enjoy while also touching his person. Soundless and, most times, unnoticed by others, he could reach over to check in with the other lad.

Johnny nursed a chilled can of soda, nearly being the head of conversation at the table every time. But he was warm and relaxed, loud and painted in the overhead lights.

And Simon couldn’t help but watch the side of his face. His. Johnny was all his. He would’ve never imagined that kind of thing before Johnny, never would’ve thought someone could look at him the way Johnny does. He thought he was incapable of loving someone like he loves Johnny.

Johnny.

Flickering his eyes from the table, Johnny smiled at Simon, clasping a hand over his on his knee. He rubbed up his forearm. “Alrigh’, Si?” He leaned in to speak into the side of his face.

Simon nodded. “Warm.”

Johnny, mother-hen, reached up to touched the back of his hand to Simon’s forehead. “You feel a little warm. Do you wan’ some of my bevy? Or some water?”

Simon watched him reach across the table to the pitcher, pouring globs of ice and water into a cup, and bringing it to Simon’s chest. He took it in hand, though he didn’t want it, and lowered his mask to sip. He set it down but not before dragging his mask back in place.

It’s not like everyone hadn’t seen his face already , those who sat at the table were trusted friends and work companions. But the mask was comfort, it was safe and warm, and smelt like Johnny’s detergent.

Johnny watched Simon put his glass down. “Better?”

Simon peered into his eyes, glancing back and force, and nodded. Eyes so full of hearts, Johnny could’ve sworn the man was just about to re-confess his feelings for him. He leaned forward, bumping his head against Johnny’s temple, and keening like a purring cat when Johnny gave his jaw a squeeze.

If he could, Simon would tuck his face into Johnny’s neck and sleep there. Curl up in his collarbones, sleep over his heart, and watch the world go by him.

His love was exponential, overflowing, and overwhelming. But he was soft and sweet, gentle when it came to Johnny.

Simon found himself leaning into Johnny’s side when he sat forward, first with his hand on his spine, rubbing up and down. Then dropped that hand on the other side of him, leaning his cheek against the back of Johnny’s shoulder. Johnny’s voice and laughter vibrated in his ribs, echoing against Simon’s face.

If Simon could show any indication that he was in love, it would be him resting his eyes and his head on Johnny’s back while Johnny leaned his forearms on the table unbothered. There was no greater sign of complete and utter devotion and vulnerability than that.

Johnny’s soothing touches broke Simon from his drowsy trance, rubbing his shin softly before squeezing his hand under Simon’s outer thigh. He looked up at his partner with a lazy smile. “Tired?”

Simon nodded softly.

“Wanna go home?”

“I don’t want to take you from this.”

“It’s late. Dinnae think they mind.” Johnny insisted. “Come on.” He patted Simon’s thigh before turning to the table to say their departing ado’s.

Hand in hand, they left the pub with the night sheathed over them, and a slight sway in both of their steps.

“Did you have a good night?” Johnny asked.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Johnny pulled into his side at the crosswalk. “Anything fer you.” Kissing the exposed skin beside Simon’s mask, he looked up at the man knowing he couldn’t resist a proper kiss.

Simon’s mask was already unhooked from one ear the moment he settled back on his heels, and he was leaning in to steal a kiss.

Johnny hummed in contentment. “Let’s get you home.” He smiled against Simon’s mouth, “Then you can show yer gratitude ‘ta me in plenty ways.”

Simon’s face broke into a slight smile, only growing as Johnny chuckled against his tongue. He clasped both hands on Johnny’s neck before pulling away. “Promise?”

Johnny wrapped his arm around Simon’s back and lead them towards the car.

[ltkaro]

GHOAP : He Needed More Than Me.

Soap doesn’t know when it began or what sparked it. He doesn’t know how he let it spiral so far out of control, but he knows it did. Somewhere along the way, his world crumbled around him, and he stayed amidst the wreckage. He didn’t fight harder. He didn’t leave.

Now, as he sifts through the pieces of his heart, he understands why.

Roach. Gary ‘Roach’ Sanderson.

That’s why Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley fell so quickly, why they became so deeply entangled. To Ghost, John ‘Soap’ MacTavish wasn’t Johnny, wasn’t Soap. He was a stand-in. A placeholder. A shadow of the man Ghost had truly loved—the sergeant they’d lost.

Soap should’ve seen it sooner: the slip of a name Ghost whispered in the dead of night, the flicker of light in Ghost’s eyes whenever Roach’s name surfaced in conversation, the tension in the air when someone mentioned him too, as though Simon’s very soul reached out for something that was no longer there.

It was always there, an undeniable truth Soap had buried, hoping it might fade with time. But it didn’t.

At first, Soap convinced himself he could endure it. He could bear the quiet slip-ups, the distant look in Ghost’s eyes when he thought no one was watching, the way Ghost clung to him in moments of silence. He convinced himself it was grief—raw, unresolved. Ghost just needed time. And Soap had time. He could give Ghost all the time in the world.

But time didn’t soothe the wounds. If anything, it exposed them further. Every kiss, every touch, every whispered “Johnny”—it all felt hollow, as if it was meant for someone else. Someone Ghost couldn’t reach anymore.

One night, Soap found himself gripping the edge of the bathroom sink, staring at the man in the mirror. His knuckles were pale from the pressure, his chest tight with the weight of it all. His reflection stared back, tired, frayed, and hollow. Tears blurred his vision as the thoughts he tried so desperately to suppress bubbled to the surface. He wasn’t Roach. He could never be Roach. No matter how much he gave, no matter how deeply he poured himself into Ghost’s empty spaces, it wasn’t enough.

The bitterness of it clawed at him, making him want to scream, to tear at his own skin until he became someone else—someone Ghost could love for who they were, not for who they weren’t. Soap hated his reflection, hated his own eyes. Were they a reminder for Ghost? Did they echo memories of someone he could never replace?

Yet, he stayed. Because leaving felt like surrendering. Because deep down, a fragile part of him clung to the hope that one day, Ghost might see him—not as a stand-in, not as a shadow, but as himself. Each passing day chipped away at him. Every embrace that lingered too long, every whispered word meant for a memory, and every time Ghost called him “Johnny” with an undertone Soap couldn’t quite place—it all carved at the wound in his chest. A deep, ugly wound that hurt even at just the mere thought of it.

The ache had grown unbearable, a constant and gnawing reminder of what he wasn’t and what Ghost couldn’t let go of. Soap wanted to save what they had, but he couldn’t shake the gnawing truth: there was nothing to save. Because Simon wasn’t holding onto Soap.

He was holding onto Roach. To what remained of him. Soap hated the fact he had to admit that, the fact he had to acknowledge that every glance at Soap wasn’t for him; the realization was like a knife twisting in his gut. Every glance Ghost gave him wasn’t for him. It was for someone else, someone Ghost couldn’t release.

Truthfully, Soap didn’t know when it would finally break him. Maybe it already had. He noticed the subtle ways Ghost came alive at Roach’s name, the faint curve of his lips, the rare slip of the mask that revealed a man still waiting for someone who wasn’t coming back.

Simon Riley wasn’t buried back home in Manchester as Ghost had claimed. Simon was still here, standing in the ruins of his heart, waiting. Not for Soap. Not for Johnny. For Roach. For a dead man.

Soap tried to mirror that happiness, to mold himself into something that could reignite the fire in Ghost’s eyes. But he was beginning to realize the painful truth: no matter how much he tried, he wasn’t what Ghost needed. He couldn’t be what Ghost wanted either. Even if he tried his hardest and did whatever he could.

He never could be.

Soap didn’t know what hurt more—the realization that he’d never be enough, or the fact that, despite it all, he still stayed. Every moment with Ghost was a war within himself. A battle between the part of him that wanted to hold on and the part that begged him to let go.

Every glance, every touch, every word felt like a double-edged sword. When Ghost looked at him, Soap searched those dark, unreadable eyes for something—anything—that felt real. But all he ever found was a flicker of a memory, a ghost of someone else. Someone Soap could never be.

And yet, Ghost held him as if he were the anchor to a storm. Whispered his name as if it were salvation. But even in those moments, Soap couldn’t shake the doubt that lingered like a shadow in the corner of the room.

“Johnny,” Ghost had said once, his voice soft and unguarded in the dim light of their quarters. His hand had rested against Soap’s cheek, the barest trace of vulnerability breaking through. “You mean so much to me.”

Soap wanted to believe it. Wanted to take those words and bury them deep in his heart. But the way Ghost’s voice wavered, the way his eyes seemed to look through him instead of at him—it was enough to shatter any illusion of truth.

Soap had tried to convince himself it was enough. That even if he was a stand-in, a replacement, at least he had Ghost in some capacity. But the lie became heavier with each passing day, suffocating him in its weight.

[xxfaggatronxx]

AOOOUGHHHHHH-

Sorry guys for the MASSIVE amount of posts, it took me literal MONTHS to gain the courage to post on this site so… kinda dumping everything teeheehee

This story has MY headcannons. If you want to see all my headcannons, look at my page: it’s the pinned message (also someone said I wokeified them and my brother in Price I cannot agree more-)

Ghoap! Ghoap! Ghoap!

Soap had laughed at first, watching Ghost reverse the shitty pickup truck they had, ahem, borrowed, and slam the back of it into at least two or maybe even three Shadows. He stopped laughing when the screams had cut off as Ghost put the truck in drive and sped off.

The gunfire was heavy, the cool air whistling through the cracked windows, the glass splintered from the bullet holes. Soap saw a red dot appear over his heart, watched a sniper aim at him, his eyes fixated on the man behind the gun. “Johnny! Get your head in the fucking game! Cover my six!” And who was Soap to argue with his Lieutenant? He would follow him to the ends of the Earth. Soap, fumbling, aimed his gun and pulled the trigger.

The recoil punched his already wounded shoulder back, making it slam painfully into the door of the truck. He didn’t even check to see if he hit anything. He checked: the red dot was gone. His arm reminded him of its pained existence, forcing him to only sweat and grit his teeth at the sharp burst of pure hurt. Ghost looked at him with something…. Concern? Annoyance? Probably the latter, if he had to be realistic. “Can’t hold a gun, L.t.” Soap began unbuckling his vest, the sounds of gunfire having faded as the truck sped out the town.

“…How bad?” The person beside him grunted, the hulking form twisting to look out of the rear windshield, reassuring no pursuit. Ghost turned back towards him, the skull mask’s dark holes boring into him, the brown eyes staring deep into his soul, as if to say ‘Don’t lie or I’ll kill you.’

And Soap…. Kind of didn’t want to be killed. So, he told the truth, in his signature dance-around-the-fact-it’s-hurting kind of way. “Och! I ain’t wailin’ yet, Ghost,” The Brit grumbled, turning back to the road. But those dark brown eyes glanced over at him, and Soap saw the black fabric of the balaclava shift, as if…. Was Ghost chewing it’s lip?

He didn’t have the time to think about it, because Ghost exhaled through their nose loudly, gripped the wheel, and jerked it to the side, sending Soap against the door of the truck again. His arm was jarred painfully, and he groaned softly, glaring at Ghost. But then the car was stopped.

He watched, baffled, as Ghost came around to his side of the truck, opening the passenger door for him. Soap looked up at them in confusion, and Ghost cleared it’s throat. “…Right, get up Johnny, your legs still work and I’m not carrying you,” Ghost waited patiently as Soap awkwardly hopped out of the truck, the old thing creaking and its suspension giving a protesting squeal.

Ghost turned, not waiting to see if Soap was following. The Scot rolled his eyes and scoffed, but obidently followed. Even now, with the lieutenant walking clearly in front of him, he could barely hear it’s steps. Silent, stalking almost.

“Here, it’s a little bit of cover,” The deep, Manchester rumble hit him, making him perk up and peer at the small shack, his mind already flipping through the list of things he needed; Covered. Camouflaged. Inconspicuous.

Perfect. Now he just needed his arm fixed, and maybe a shot or two of something alcoholic, and all would be right in his world. A heavy, warm hand clamped on the back of his neck. He jolted, hand reaching down to grasp the gun at his hip, arm pulled forward and poised to jab into the stomach of-

“Johnny,” The warm voice, usually a deep timbre, was now soothing, Ghost. His mind calmed somewhat, relieved that someone he trusted had his six. The hand grounded him, and gloves fingers gently ran across the short hairs on the back of his nape. He had to resist the urge to take a good sleep after that. “…Hey. Sergeant, did you take anything else besides adrenaline out there? Wake up,” Fingers cruelly dug into his skin, and shook him.

“Sod off, yeh bawbag,” Soap grumbled as he pulled away, glaring over his shoulder at Ghost, who rolled their eyes and opened a small kit on his bag. The roll of gauze and topical antibacterial and topical anesthetic looked small in Ghost’s hands, but before his mind could think of anything else, his shirt was being yanked off. “Wha- Aye! Buy me dinner first!”

“Keep it tactical, Johnny,” Ghost simply grumbled before peering at Soap’s wound. It hummed, and pressed the flesh around the red hole, scabbed with blood. Soap jolted, and glared at the Brit, who just looked at the wound. The Scot let himself be, to put it bluntly, manhandled around until Ghost was peering at his back. “…Bullet went clean through, just gotta bandage and sanitize,”

Soap nodded, gritting his teeth as Ghost popped the tab on the 2-in-1 bottle of antibacterial and topical anesthetic, and turned to look as Ghost peeled off their gloves, making Soap stare at it’s hands more intently, looking at the scars and burn marks, the bloodied knuckles. Ghost warmed the clear paste in their hands to make it slick, smearing a healthy amount on the entrance and exit wound of the bullet.

Soap squeezed his eyes shut as Ghost’s thumb pushed some of the antibacterial goop into the wound, hissing through gritted teeth. “Hurts, yeh ass, be more gentle,” And to his surprise, Ghost listened. The hands smoothed over his wound, gentle and warm. One hand gently steadied his bicep while the other wrapped gauze around the wounds.

Soap looked down, seeing Ghost’s brow furrowed in concentration, it’s head ducked to look at the wound closely. The blond’s dark brown eyes with the eye-black smudges around them, peeks of pale skin popping through from where it had wiped their face or. Clumps of the sticky eye-black were on their pale lashes, which fluttered softly whenever Ghost blinked. Thier eyes were focused on the bullet hole, on him.

He paused, huffing softly as Ghost gently patted his freshly cleaned and bandaged shoulder, stood back up, and looked down at Soap. “…Well, all patched up, anything else?” And Soap, before he could stop himself, joked, “Aye, a kiss would make it all better L.t.,” And he leaned forwards, lips puckered and making exaggerated smooch noises.

Then soft lips pressed against his own. Warm and chapped, with a little indent that hinted at a scar on the left, lower lip. Soap’s eyes opened to see big brown ones staring at him, pale lashes a stark contrast from the doe eyes and smudged eye-black. Their eyes closed, and Soap closed his eyes soon after when he felt a warm, large hand cup his cheek. “There ya go… that’s it…” Ghost mumbled against his lips.

Embarrassed, Soap attempted to deepen the kiss, nibbling that plush bottom lip, and making Ghost grunt, then chuckle at the sudden pain. “Eager for something, Johnny?” The hand tightened on his jaw, forcing his teeth apart, forcing him to free Ghost. But the Brit dove back in, barely giving Soap time to breathe before all he could taste was salt and sweat and the shitty fake chocolate in their protein bars.

When both of them pulled away, Soap gaped like a fish, panting; lips no doubt swollen, probably a tad red and his eyes lidded. He could feel the bit of drool on the side of his mouth, and he heard Ghost swear. “Fuckin’ hell, you look lovely when kissed speechless Johnny,” The taller chuckled before patting Soap on the back, and left the shack.

Soap cursed, red faced and sputtering. “Ghost! Yeh Nyaff-,” Soap huffed as he tugged on his shirt, and followed after his Lieutenant.

[machveil]

follow up from this post where Johnny stole a mask from Simon

Simon who grumbles at Johnny for taking one of his balaclavas. “Just borrowed it, L.T.! Didnae know you’d be pissy ‘bout it.”, Johnny chuckles, arms crossed as he watches Simon scowl at him. “Prob’bly stretched the damn thing out.”, voice low and gravelly, unamused with Johnny. he only pauses when Johnny laughs, hearty and genuine

“Aye, it was a hit though. Wore it all night.”, a lopsided, proud smile tugging at Johnny’s lips. Johnny, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, can’t help but tell Simon about how much you liked the mask - how it gave you a good laugh, a quick kiss through the fabric, about your little escapade with Johnny, “Should ‘ave seen ‘em, Simon.”

CW: Johnny x Reader x Simon, ambiguous relationship dynamic - up to your interpretation, they’re both wearing Ghost’s balaclavas because Simon owns multiple

maybe you bit off more than you could chew, a rough hand on the back of your head, hips propped up as you’re being pounded into. “C’mon, who is it?”, it’s hard to make who’s talking, too focused on the stretch of one of their cocks - Johnny and Simon wearing those damn balaclavas. they had shoved your face against a pillow, Johnny - you think - lapped at you, fingers abusing your hole, before one of them starting fucking into you. any time you caught sight of one of them all you saw was that familiar skull pattern

“Give ‘em a break, poor things too dumb to know.”, maybe it’s Simon? god, you can’t tell— knees buckling and crying out when you orgasm. it’s too much, drool seeping into the pillow you’re laying on, limp as they - Johnny? - hold your hips up. “They should know— know who’s breakin’ ‘em.”, choked noise leaving you with a particularly hard thrust, you whine when they pull out. it’s not long before they switch, one hand pressing down between your shoulder blades, another petting your hair, “Doin’ good, love. Took Simon nicely f’me—”. Johnny, cutting himself off as he groans, sinking into you with a stretch you know all too well

[machveil]

Simon’s underwear finally disintegrating so he buys a five dollar pack from his local store. Soap seeing him in his brand new underwear thinking he bought them to look sexy just for him

[machveil]

something about how Price and Kyle actually know how to kiss someone while Johnny and Simon are all teeth, spit, and tongue, you know?

unrelated that they’ve only practiced with each other and think that’s how it’s done

[machveil]

zombie apocalypse au except Simon is a little too mysterious - he insists he hasn’t been bit when he returns from a looting trip despite looking roughed up and how his mask looks a little damp. he wasn’t, but him refusing to take his gear off for the 141 to inspect him raises eyebrows. everyone is so distracted by Simon being stubborn they don’t notice how Johnny’s tactical vest was sloppily thrown on despite it being straight when he left, they don’t notice how his mohawk is scruffy and mussed up

zombie apocalypse au except Johnny still can’t keep his mouth shut - even when every day is a challenge to survive he’s mouthing off about whatever is on his mind. Simon can’t stand it when they’re on a looting run, despite securing the building and how quiet Johnny is talking Simon would still prefer he shut up. yes, he still wears the balaclava, it comes in handy. instead of just asking Johnny to quiet down, Simon tugs his mask off. honestly, the startled sound Johnny makes when it’s stuffed in his mouth was louder than him talking

[machveil]

not-dating-yet-but-Soap-wants-Ghost-and-is-trying-to-make-it-known Ghoap thoughts

Simon is driving and lets Johnny play music. Johnny setting up the bluetooth before flicking to Spotify - he’s a dork, smitten with Simon. he has a playlist specifically for car rides with Simon, hoping to send a message to him… less than subtly

Lovefool by The Cardigans, JOYRIDE by Kesha, Seven (feat. Latto) by Jung Kook, Latto, Guilty Pleasure and Naked in Manhattan by Chappell Roan

Johnny noticeably side-eyeing Ghost as the playlist continues, trying to bite back a dopey smile while his fingers tap his thighs to the beat. Simon staring dead ahead at the road, face mask covering his warm cheeks as desperately tries to not look at Johnny - he’s pretty sure he’ll crash the damn car if he looks at the lover boy in his passenger seat. he’s white-knuckling the steering wheel as he tries to control his breathing, lips pulled into a thin line as he swallows

[machveil]

something about Simon unironically buying and wearing a bra after Johnny tells him his tits are too big and he should buy one (half joking, half serious). this is Johnny after Simon does it by the way

[machveil]

Ghost: “Stop lookin’ at me like that.“

Soap: “Like what?”

It’s like lookin’ into the ocean~

[machveil]

thoughts on Ghost checking Soap’s pulse during hugs?

oh, I have thoughts

Ghost would never say it out loud, but his team is his family. he’s not embarrassed to say it, to let them know he cares, he just isn’t good with words - so what does he do? blink and they’ll miss it, he checks their pulses. maybe it’s from too many close calls, helicopters going down, bullet wounds, and bloodshed, but Ghost will graze their pulses

it’s not often Ghost can feel Price’s, but he’ll take his glove off for a handshake, index finger reaching slightly too far as he brushes the vein on his wrist briefly. Gaz is easier, a side hug here and there where he can he rest his thumb against neck for a few moments before they part. but Soap? Simon holds Johnny close to his heart

it’s easy to check his pulse, all Ghost has to do is look at Soap before he’s barreling over, arm slung around his shoulders as Ghost leans down slightly. hugs are as easy to receive as breathing - it comes naturally for the pair. whether they’re on base, in public, or alone, Soap is always within reach of Ghost. Johnny is always there for Simon

so, when they hug, secluded and safe from the world, Simon holds Johnny tightly - chest to chest. Johnny’s heartbeat against his, and when he ducks his head down into the crook of Johnny’s neck? his eyes close, brows furrowed a little as he noses his pulse. it keeps him grounded, his mind at ease knowing Johnny’s breathing - arms around his thick waist as he breathes him in. an intimate little moment of closure for Simon, what he doesn’t know is that Johnny does the same thing - holding Simon’s hand, thumb pressed against his pulse

[machveil]

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Feel like I'm invading they privacy

oh word— I’ll invade their privacy, coming through