༊*·˚ BUT YOU BELONG TO ME — you, your boyfriend johnny, and his friend simon
featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish
warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, polyamory, threesome, enemies to lovers, bi ghoap, angry sex, hate sex (kinda), dom/sub undertones, bickering, friends to lovers (for ghoap), love confessions
// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //
You love Johnny's friends.
Really, you do. They're a rowdy bunch, all in-your-face with their larger than life personalities and even larger frames. However, overall, they're people you don't mind hanging out with, as long as your lover is by your side.
But that's all... general.
It's an entirely different story when discussing Johnny's closest friend. The only other person to hold their own acre of property in his gentle heart. A man who the Scot admires almost as much, if not the same amount, as he does you.
Since the day you met the lieutenant, you knew that your relationship was going to be a rough one.
He's quiet. Annoyingly so. Somehow, he manages to deliver the nastiest of words without opening his mouth, or taking off that damn balaclava of his.
No. He says it all with deep brown eyes, and overall presence. Who the fuck does that? Can manage to do that?
The feel is mutual, you discovered within two seconds of meeting him for the first time, all those months ago. All it took was a firm, almost warning, shake of your hand to cement that fact, and a hardening glare of his from behind the mask.
Since that very first interaction, the animosity between you both has been nothing if not apparent.
And, look, you try. Really, you do. This is your soulmate's best friend, the one who he spends an equal amount of free time with as you. That's all fine. You're happy for Johnny.
It only becomes a problem when his love for the two of you overlap. When he invites you both over at the same time, or you plan to go on a date and Simon just 'happens to be there'.
It's weird. Alarm bells siren in your ears, red flags are waved in your head, and you have an inner monologue yelling at a mile per minute.
At the end of the day, if you ever truly suspected Johnny of being unfaithful, you would end things.
You knew your worth, even if the pain would be near unbearable.
But this is different. Hell, you know that this is different. And not because it's a man -- your boyfriend had always been open with his inclinations for just about any gender -- but because it's Simon, and because it's you.
When you and Simon are in the same room together, it encompasses a hell of a lot of insults and pettiness from your end, with Simon's cold glares and huffs of indignation on his.
It's a never-ending cycle.
Johnny, for his part, puts up with it. He laughs it off, cooling the mood, because that's who he is. It's part of the reason that you love the man, his ability to work with people and deal with confrontation outside of missions.
Neither you or Simon could've properly prepared for his patience to end, however.
Or the realisation he came to.
You're spending the night at Johnny's, which, at this point, is an event occurring more often than not, when Simon knocks on the door.
And, look. Usually you'd pull up your big girl pants and deal with it.
But you'd been waiting for weeks to try something out with Johnny. You'd both done all the research, ordered the rope, and bought the blindfold and cuffs. The wine in your hands and makeup you'd done with the specific intention to cry it off later said just as much.
It all collapses onto itself when Simon fucking Riley knocks on the door.
Johnny gives you an apologetic rinse, before hopping off of the ouch and lightly jogging to the front door, unlocking it and cracking it open. You mourn the lack of his body heat, his warm body against your own.
The dim lights from the warm yellow lights sat at the back wall cast heavy shadows over Simon's face -- his maskless one. It's rare that he shows up without it. In fact, that's only happened once in the year and a half you've known the guy.
"What's up, mate?" Johnny asks with a tilt of his head, leaning against the door frame and folding his muscled arms over his bulky chest.
Lord, if you didn't already have him, you'd be praying to every God to get your hands on that frame of his.
Simon replies quiet enough that you can't hear, and you know it's an intentional act. It shouldn't piss you off as much as it does, but you can't help the feeling of annoyance and distaste creep into your mouth like a poisonous acid, lacing your tongue with the bitterness.
Johnny murmurs back his reply, before Simon steps in, and your boyfriend shuts the door closed behind him.
"Are you serious?" The words slip out on your own accord, before you can stop them. They're accusatory, angry, and... reflective of your current mood.
If Simon's responding glare could kill, you'd be six feet under. "Date night?" Is his dry, curt reply, and fury boils in your blood.
"He had no where else to go, lass," Is Johnny's input, but you don't even spare him a glance. No. Your ire is all directed at his best friend, and he deserves every last drop of it.
"Actually, yes, it is date night," You quip back, ripping the blanket off of yourself and standing up, moving towards the two men where they stand in the doorway. The light creeps onto the floorboards, the darkened corner of the room shrouding yourselves in shadows. "You know. One without your ass for once."
Johnny rubs his roughened hand over his face, looking up to the roof as if asking it to spare him.
With a roll of his eyes, Simon spares you a flitting, dismissive glance, before turning back to his best friend. "Needta' keep her on a tighter leash."
There's a moment, then. One where you're stuck on a forked path, where each option seem as unimportant as gum on a city sidewalk.
They'll both change the course of your life forever -- but it certainly doesn't feel like it, and it certainly isn't about to affect your decision-making in the slightest.
"Is that why you can't get laid, huh, Simon? Want a submissive little wife you can walk all over? Didn't know you were compensating that fucking much. Hell, if you're that fucking desperate, we can lend you a few bucks and you can go get lucky at the fucking strip club!"
There's a tense silence, that passes for a few beats.
And then Simon scoffs a nasty, incredulous sound, his attention now fully on you. "Didn't realise ya were so passionate about where I stick my dick, Princess."
It's a lot of words from the usually quiet man, and -- and they're hostile, with anger lacing every syllable that escapes his scarred mouth.
You take a step closer, unknowingly, jabbing a finger into his -- admittedly built -- chest.
"Wasn't until it started to affect me and Johnny! You're always hovering, always fucking there -- hell, if it weren't for social decorum, you'd be pulled up beside the bed while he fucks me! Maybe you could take notes, hey? You know, so you could actually find a chick that could fuck this -- this clinginess out of you!"
It's a low blow, you know it all too well, but he reacts like a dog with a bone, and it's somehow satisfying, rewarding in a way it shouldn't be. Not at all.
"You're actin' like a spoiled fuckin' brat, Princess. What, Johnny's gotten' bored of your ass? Gotta beg him to fuck ya?"
You aren't entirely sure when the two of you had gotten just a breath's distance apart, when you'd had to start tilting your head back to keep eye contact, when the tips of your bare feet started pressing against his black shoes.
Both of your breaths come out ragged, and you're entirely in your own world, forgetting all about the man holding both of your affections, the man that started this vitriol-filled relationship in the first place.
"What? Wish it was you he was fuckin' instead?" You hiss, lowly, calculated, and Simon rears back as if you've slapped him.
In a way, you might just have.
"You need to get put in your fuckin' place," is his slow, scarily calm quip in return. Your spine is ramrod straight, eyes filled with a fire in the barely-there light.
"You need to get laid," you seethe, hands balling into fists at your sides.
"Ye both needta' fuck a'd get it over with."
Silence, once more, fills the room, infinitely more cataclysmic than what any of you had planned for.
But that's just it.
There's no planning a calamity.
"What?" Johnny shrugs, as if he hasn't set a bomb between you all, as if he hadn't planned for you all to fear shrapnel scraping your skin. "Dinnae realise it was a fuckin' revelation."
"Johnny --" you begin, or, well, you try to, but your brain isn't exactly cooperating with your mouth, and vice versa.
"No, love, I'm serious," he raises his hands, palms facing both you and Simon in a placating gesture. "Hell, yer both givin' me a boner jus' from watchin' ya both go at it."
Oh, he's right. He's so fucking right. The tension, the thinly veiled animostiy between you both -- it's never been one of pure hatred. Never been one of pure, mutual dislike.
It's been one dripping of sex, of desire. One consisting of lashing words and biting tones because you couldn't unleash them on each other in the one way you wanted to.
And maybe something else. Something you're not quite ready to face, not yet, not now.
But you will. Someday.
"Johnny..." Simon's brows are pulled together, and god, now that your lover has made you confront the feelings so heavily pushed down inside of you, you realise how beautiful the man is. Short, almost messy blonde hair, scarred face consisting of sharp features and defined cheekbones.
He's disarming in how attractive he is.
And when paired with Johnny? It's as destructive as the very bomb resting between all three of you, the one that your partner had constructed with bare hands and an ever barer heart.
"Yer tellin' me ya don't wanna bend 'er over the couch?" Johnny asks, flippantly, a genuine question.
The silence is as good of a reply as any words, and the man figures as much.
It's Simon's next words that change everything.
"Not just 'er," he says.
Not just her.
Not. Just. Her.
The warmth of the living room reflects in Simon's velvet brown eyes, in the vulnerable glint in them. With those three words, he's put everything on the line, prepared himself for the guillotine that's in Johnny's hands to erect.
You see your lover work his jaw, work around the words about to leave his mouth, and your stomach hollows out.
If it had, oddly enough, been anyone else. Anyone else, you'd have already asked them to leave, let alone after that remark. But it's Simon. The man you know Johnny loves just as much as he does you, and the man you've forced yourself to hate, if only to repress the emotions you wouldn't allow yourself to feel.
"You," Johnny says, properly rolling his tongue over the full word, letting its weight sink in to the quiet of the apartment. "Want us. Both."
A moment passes.
Then, Simon nods, albeit stilted and, dare you say it -- nervous.
They both look at you, then, and you realise that what happens next is entirely in your hands, that all of your lives are effectively at your mercy.
So, with a deep breath, you nod.
a/n. just a teaser for this oneshot. ghoap x reader agenda 4ever!! just something about them is so flavourful and then adding a reader-insert?? boom there u go that's the good shit