#domestic ghoap >>>>>>

[rusticfurnace]

domestic ghoap. again. (posted this on twitter last month)

[softaestluv]

I love your writing so much like chefs kiss😌 I was wondering if you could write a really sweet story about reader meeting Simon and Johnny and joining their relationship. Maybe she gets insecure that she hasn't met them sooner but they give her lots of love. Ive read too much ghoap x reader angst and need some fluff😩(maybe a lil spice too lol)

The art store you worked at was small; a local shop that was occupied by elderly men and women more often than not. That wasn’t necessarily an issue; you enjoyed their company, though you would be lying if you said a particular Scottish man with a mohawk wasn’t your favorite customer.

When you first meet Johnny, he had been roaming the aisles aimlessly for a couple of minutes, so like the good worker you were, you asked if there was anything you could help him with. You practically swooned when he smiled wide at you— ‘aye, bonnie, fancy helpin' a lad oot?’

Soon after his presence became common place. At first, he would ask you for help, pull you from the counter so you could walk him down the aisles to the specific item. It seemed like an everyday thing; you were sure he didn’t actually need half the things he was buying— ‘Didn’t you just buy a sharpener last week, Johnny?’

‘Did I? Must’ve lost it.’ followed by a smile with a glint of mischief.

You didn’t really mind, you were quite enraptured with every animated story he told you in his thick accent while at work— even if you weren’t completely sure what he was saying half the time.

You couldn’t even act like seeing his burly shoulders walk through the doors didn’t make your day. Though, it was hard to admit that you had a small crush on him when you knew he had a boyfriend. It was even harder when Johnny started to drag Simon to your paint and drink classes and you became just as enamored with him— ‘Johnny, ya laugh at me paintin’ again, I swear that'll be your last.’

‘Si, this is meant to be therapeutic, aye!’

They became regulars; two ex-military men, massive boulders in the back of your paint and drink classes sat between the elderly. It was a comical sight to the say the least, but as much as they were amusing, they were gentlemen too. Helped carry the seniors bags and walked them to their cars at the end of the night.

Then, they helped you clean up after too, always stayed late to make sure you got to your car safely too even if you protested— ‘Only lookin' out for ye, lass.’

You felt bad for having a crush on both of them when they were clearly just trying to be friendly, but it became almost impossible when they started bringing you lunch on your breaks, when they started to brush their palms on your arms and back. When they kept inviting you over for dinner, but you kept denying them because you didn’t have the strength to eat with them and pretend you didn’t want more.

But, one particular class you indulged in the wine too— something you shouldn’t have done.

You ended up going out for more drinks with them after, confessed your feelings with tears in yours eyes when you were absolutely wasted. You thought it would be your biggest regret, that it would ruin your friendship, but you couldn’t have been more wrong.

They took you home that night, dried your tears with Scottish shushing and rough fingers. Cleaned your makeup off the best they could, stuffed you full of chicken nuggets, and snuggled you to sleep.

And then you never left.

It wasn’t always easy, especially when your boyfriends had been dating for years before you came into the picture, when they had been through traumatic experiences together that you would never know. They had a bond that you don’t think you would entirely have with either of them.

It was a hurtle you struggled to get over, but it stung your chest painfully when they seemed to communicate with each other with one look. Made you feel quite isolated in your own relationship because you didn’t understand them to extent they did each other.

So, when Johnny was sprawled on your chest, running your fingers through his mohawk, your head in Simon’s lap, the words came out of your mouth before you realized.

“I wish I met you two sooner.”

“What d’ya mean?” Simon asked, finding your eyes from above you.

“Well, I just feel left out sometimes,” You confessed quietly, Johnny’s body stiffening atop you.

“Why’s that?” Simon’s voice rang again.

You diverted your gaze from him; you hadn’t intentionally planned for this to turn into an actual conversation.

“Um, I don’t know. You two-,” You paused, licking your lips anxiously, “You two have a deeper bond with each other than I do, and sometimes I just feel like I don’t belong. That if I met you guys just a little sooner then it would be an easier relationship for the two of you.”

Johnny slid off your chest at that, pulled you to sit up beside him, “Bonnie, what are ye on about? Our relationship wisnae complete until we found ye.”

“You were the missin’ piece, love,” Simon said, banding an arm over your shoulder and pulling you close, “Everythin’ else just fell into place when you became our girl."

“We wouldnae change a thing for a' the world, nae chance,” Johnny confirmed, pressing a sloppy kiss to your forehead.

“Really?” You asked, pinching the smile that threatened to spill from your lips between your teeth.

“Aye, of course. Ye want us to prove it?” Johnny asked, but it was mischievous, a wolffish smirk smearing across his face which meant only one thing— you knew you were in for a night.

Anon I hope this is what you meant lol!!! Thank you for the kind words & request 🤍

[voidbunnyxo]

Trigger Warning:

This piece contains explicit sexual content (18+), established relationship, domestic fluff meets filthy smut soft dom dynamics, overstimulation, comfort and chaos, rough/soft contrast, mutual desperation, praise kink, and unprotected sex. Minors GO AWAY!

Reader discretion is advised.

Quiet, Love — The Game’s Still On

Pairing: Ghost x Soap x Reader (Bunny)

The flat was warm with the scent of clean sheets and skin, lit only by the soft flicker of the telly. Football commentary murmured through the room, half-muted, like background noise to a memory being made in real time.

Johnny lay lengthwise on the bed, one leg hanging off the edge, still a little damp from his shower. A beer rested on the nightstand, untouched. His eyes flicked between the match and the woman perched between them — you — crawling across the sheets in one of his old shirts, hem brushing the tops of your thighs.

Simon sat up against the headboard, a book forgotten in his lap, shadowed eyes trailing your every move. His mask was off — a rare comfort — mouth twitching with something unreadable as you slowly, shamelessly straddled him.

“Bored already, Bunny?” he murmured, low and rough. “Game’s not even halfway over.”

You smiled sweetly. “Not my game.”

Johnny snorted from the side. “Course it’s not. You come in here wigglin’ like that and expect us to focus?”

“I didn’t say that.” You shifted, grinding just enough to make Simon grunt. “But you could’ve said please.”

Simon’s hands locked around your waist in one smooth movement. “Don’t push it.”

“You want her to stop?” Johnny asked, voice a teasing lilt. “’Cause I sure as fuck don’t.”

You leaned forward, kissing Simon’s jaw, hips rolling lazily. His cock was already thick and hot beneath you, sweat just starting to bead at his temples.

“Thought you were relaxing,” you whispered against his neck.

“Hard to relax when you’re sittin’ there drippin’ all over me, love.”

Johnny’s eyes never left you. He stroked himself absently under the blanket, beer forgotten, breathing a little heavier now.

“Go on then, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Ride him. Nice and slow. I’ll wait my turn.”

You bit your lip and reached down, guiding Simon into you with practiced ease. He filled you in one slow thrust, thick and deep, making your spine arch and your lips part with a gasp. His hands tightened — not enough to bruise, but close.

“There she goes,” Simon muttered, voice almost reverent. “Always so fuckin’ warm for me.”

You started moving — long, slow rolls of your hips, using his chest for leverage, keeping your pace steady. You wanted to take your time. Let them feel how much you missed them.

Missed this.

From the corner of your eye, you watched Johnny fist his cock harder now, breath catching every time your moan slipped past your lips. His thighs twitched. His jaw clenched. He looked almost angry with how much he wanted you.

“You’re fuckin’ killing me, Bunny,” he growled.

“Not yet.”

Simon grabbed your chin, dragging your gaze back to him. “Focus, love. You’ll get his cock when I say you’re done with mine.”

That edge in his voice — cold and possessive — made you whimper.

The rhythm deepened. Simon’s hips began to rise into yours, catching just right, hitting that perfect spot that made your vision blur.

“Look at you,” Johnny groaned. “So fuckin’ pretty when you’re full.”

You could barely speak now. Each thrust sent another wave through your body, fire coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

Simon leaned close, voice ragged. “Come for me, Bunny. Do it with him watching.”

That broke you.

Your climax hit in crashing waves, thighs trembling, cries muffled against Simon’s shoulder. He groaned low, deep, spilling inside you with a brutal snap of his hips.

You collapsed forward, panting, skin slick with sweat and love and everything in between.

And before you even had time to catch your breath—

“Up,” Johnny said, voice tight. “My fuckin’ turn.”

Simon chuckled, smoothing your hair. “Still want more?”

“She always does,” Johnny said, pulling you off Simon like you weighed nothing. “Don’t you, Bunny?”

You nodded weakly, still pulsing between your legs.

Johnny laid you on your back, spread your thighs, and shoved into you with a growl.

“Fuckin’ ruined,” he hissed. “So wet it’s drippin’ outta you.”

Your back arched again, tears stinging your eyes at the overstimulation. You wanted to say stop — but your body was begging for more. And they knew it.

Simon lay beside you, stroking your face, whispering sweet nothings while Johnny fucked you like he was trying to brand himself into your skin.

“You’re alright,” Simon murmured. “You’re doin’ so good, love.”

Johnny was rougher — one hand around your throat, the other digging into your hip as he took what he needed.

“Mine,” he muttered against your ear. “You and that tight little cunt. Fuckin’ mine.”

You came again — sudden, blinding — muscles spasming as Johnny finally followed, groaning into your neck as he filled you to the brim.

Silence fell like snow.

Only the TV spoke now. Some forgotten match still going. A player fumbled. A groan from the crowd.

Johnny rolled off you, chest heaving.

Simon pulled you close, wiping the tears from your cheeks, kissing your temple. “You alright, Bunny?”

You nodded, blinking slowly. “Just… full.”

They laughed, and Johnny pulled you in too, big arm tossing over your waist like a weighted blanket.

“Next time, we turn the game off,” Johnny mumbled.

Simon hummed. “No. Let her earn it.”

You drifted off between them, sore and satisfied, the warmth of love and sin stitched into your bones.

And when they reached for you again later — because they would — you’d let them.

Don’t be a loser and steal my work. Thanks. 🐰💚

[ghostlysoaps]

Whenever they're on leave Simon tucks himself into the left corner of the couch, propped up against the armrest, a stack of pillows to support his poor back. Johnny joins him at the first sound of rustling. Trampling circles into the carpet like a dog preparing for bed until Simon beckons him in. He'll sit in the cradle of his legs with his back to Simon's chest. It's one of few times Simon will wear the thin-rimmed glasses – the ones he refuses to admit make his life easier – without grumbling or fuss.

They'll read togther like that with Simon's chin hooked over Johnny's shoulder.

Soap turns the pages while Simon keeps him secure in his seat. Whenever Johnny manages to finish a page before him – a rare occurance indeed – Simon will scratch his nails down the side of his ribs. Just the once. Enough to make him jerk and titter and turn his face enough to glare at Simon over his shoulder. An ordeal lasting a couple of seconds wherein Simon has just about enough time to skim the necessary bits before plants a kiss to Johnny's cheek, or nose, or lips while murmuring a thouroughly unrepentant "sorry."

[d-emeter]

The world has gone to hell, but you've found your own paradise (or: apocalypse au with task force 141) — plus-size!fem!reader x poly!141

CW: zombie apocalypse (but no real zombies mentioned lol), allusion to smut but doesn't actually happen yet, soap being a horny bastard, implied age-gap?

HEAVILY based on the bill and frank storyline from the last of us but can be read as a generic zombie apocalypse so no worries if you haven't seen/played tlou! Also different format? Is this something?

Captain John Price who, over the years, has become a bit of a survivalist nut — a prepper, if you will.

Sure, his sergeants make fun of him for it sometimes, but he more than anyone knows the shit that plays behind the scenes, the things governments keep hidden, the threats that loom every damn day — so he'd rather be safe than sorry when the world inevitably goes to shit. He's almost smug about it when it does (he hadn't calculated in the zombie aspect of it all, but still)

Unfortunately for him, however, he and the rest of 141 are deployed when outbreak day comes around. More and more cities are bombed by the hour, the population dwindling by the second, and in the week that follows he and the boys are amongst those assigned to evacuate the smaller towns and villages and escort the citizens to quarantine zones — that is, until the QZ's are full and they're under direct order to execute those that didn't make it in.

Now, Price's moral compass has been skewed for some time now. He's done some stuff during his years serving — man or woman, guilty or innocent, it hadn't mattered to him then. It doesn't now, either.

What does him in is the tear that rolls down Soap's cheek when Price shoots the mother and child his sergeant couldn't bring himself to ("Aren't these the people we're 'posed tae protect, cap?")

He convinces his task force to desert that very night (they'd been hesitant, but in the end, they'd follow their captain to hell and back). They gather as many weapons, ammo and MRE's as they can get away with without being caught, and they're off into the night.

Price brings them to his home — a big, old house inherited from his grandparents somewhere in a small, sleepy village. He had spent the better part of his time on leave preparing the house to be self-sufficient should the need arise: generators on solar and wind power, water filters, a chicken coop and a garden set up in the backyard (that, and enough weapons to supply a small army in the garage)

They wait until this village gets evacuated, too, so they can claim it for themselves before raiders come around. They fence off a section of the town, set up traps and cameras, anything to ensure no unwanted visitors can enter, infected or not.

It's their own form of paradise, in a way. (the house has enough bedrooms to give them all their own — they end up in eachother's more often than not)

One day, you fall into their lives — literally. You've fallen into one of their traps, a literal hidden hole in the ground, and within a few minutes you hear the creak of a gate, multiple sets of feet and the unmistakable sound of a gun being loaded ("I'm not infected!" You yell from your hole before they can lay eyes on you, certain they'd shoot you on sight if you didn't)

The first thing you see is the barrel of the gun leering over the edge, before you see its owner — a man with a beard and the most intense eyes you've ever seen. He keeps his gun pointed at you while he makes you recite the alphabet, forwards then backwards, all with your hands held before you to ensure you weren't twitching. You pass his test, it seems, and a ladder is lowered into the hole.

Once you're back on the surface, you see it's not just the man with the beard — there's four of them in total, each looking more terrifying than the last, all muscle and bulk and having the ability to snap you like a twig should they feel the need. There are still guns pointed at you as you explain your situation and simultaneously beg for your life — you were with a group travelling to the nearest QZ, you're the only one left now ("Please, I didn't mean- Please don't hurt me, I'll be out of your hair before you know it — I won't tell anyone about this place! I haven't eaten in three days-")

John and Simon were hesitant at first, but their sergeants manage to convince them to let you inside, offer you some food before sending you on your way again (Soap had been frothing at the mouth a little the moment he had laid eyes on you — sure, they had kept eachother... satisfied, but "Cap, when's the last time any o' us felt the touch o' a lass? 'N such a pretty one at that..." and Price knows he can't deny them when Gaz leans over to whisper how prettily you had begged for your safety, surely it'd do no harm?)

Your eyes widen a little when the scary man with the beard tells you to come with them — your hunger ends up winning the battle with your brain as it tries to convince you that following four big male strangers into their fenced home is not a good plan.

You expected a dented can of beans and maybe a cup of water, so you're definitely more than a little surprised when they usher you into a bedroom with an ensuite, telling you to go take a shower (Soap wanted to follow you into the bathroom, mumbling something about wanting to double check for any bite marks. Ghost had to hold him back by his shirt)

You nearly cry when you feel the stream of hot water on your skin, and feel like you're in some sort of fever dream when you see the clean clothes laid out on the bed for you — granted, they're men's clothes, but anything is better than the rags you had on before.

You start to wonder if maybe you died and are in some sort of weird state between worlds when you come back downstairs to a table that's fully decked out and beautifully presented plates of food.

All of them turn to you immediately and you have to do your best not to falter under their stares (you don't notice the flustered little cough Price lets out at the sight of such a pretty creature in his shirt — god, maybe Johnny was right, it had been a while since he's had a woman, and such a young, plush one at that)

One of them — the one with the darker skin and the prettiest face you've seen in months — is the first to jump into action, hand on your lower back as he ushers you into a chair.

You're convinced you're dead when you bring the first bite to your lips — God, that's good. (Johnny nearly chokes on his food at the small moan you let out. Simon remains stoic, but damn him if he didn't feel a spark of heat in his gut at the sound)

The men start introducing themselves while you're shoveling food into your mouth. The man with the beard — John, you now know — explains that they're all ex-military. Through bites of food, you do your best to introduce yourself as well. You tell them your story, they tell you theirs (well, Johnny and Gaz do, mainly. The one called Simon still hasn't really said a word to you, and you can tell John is a little paranoid about sharing too much information with a stranger)

As the night progresses, there's a shift in the air. Kyle leans in a little too close while brushing a crumb away from your lip, and John lingers behind you a little too long as he refills your glass (you pretend not to notice the sound of his deep inhale as he leans over you).

John insists you don't have to help with the dishes, so you wander into the living room and are immediately intrigued by the piano standing there. Johnny joins you on the bench, thigh pressed against yours as you play with the keys. Simon — or 'Ghost', as you noticed the others called him sometimes — leans over you from behind, and your breathing nearly stops (Simon knows he's too close, but so what if he wants you to accidentally brush against his abdomen?)

Once it's all said and done, you try not to let your disappointment show as you prepare to leave. Much to your surprise, it's Simon that grunts something to you, speaking the first words he's said that night. ("Stay. F'r the night. 'S not safe out there.")

John keeps a heavy hand on your shoulder as he leads you back to the bedroom you were in earlier. It's his, he tells you, but he can stay with one of the others. ("Are you- Are you sure? I can take a couch, or-" "'M sure, love, good night's sleep 'll do you good. Give me a yell if y'need somethin', yeah?")

With that, he leaves you to it, shutting the door behind him. Fuck, that bed does look inviting, and you can almost hear your vertebrae begging for a soft mattress. As you get ready for bed, a thought enters your mind. It had... been a while.

Is what you're about to do a stupid decision? Maybe, but you figured if these men had wanted to hurt you they would've done it already, and you'd be lying if you said that all their touches and affection weren't having an effect on your panties.

You yell out their names from the room, and the four of them are there within a second, though they all falter at the door as they take in the sight before them — you're sitting in the bed, covers pulled up so the only thing visible are your bare shoulders and arms, and it's immediately clear what your intentions are.

Soap, once again, has to be held back by the scruff to prevent him from pouncing on you immediately. John, instead, is the first one to actually enter the room, sitting down on the bed and carefully bringing his hand to caress your cheek while asking if you're sure about this (he'd rather not admit the way he shuddered a bit when he made contact with the soft skin of your face)

Your answer is immediate, you've made up your mind — on one condition ("I'm not... a whore, or anything. I don't sleep with people for food or shelter or anything, just- if we're doing this... I'm staying. For a while.")

Simon nearly laughs at this — funny how you think they would have let you leave otherwise.

[bmtillerbabe]

(my art above 🥰)

I have FINALLY WRITTEN A FIC FOR THEM!

Chapter one is out now on AO3!

Its Baker!Omega!Soap + Alpha!Ghost

Soft domestic fluff, bliss, and smut! Can't wait to write more on this ❤️

The brainrot is so real with these two, I fucking swear.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66322861/chapters/171001870

"Sweet Little Baker"

[salemlinnet]

some of those soft warmups i was talking about

[ghcstao3]

“Simon?”

Soap’s tone is gentle, light. It’s warm and inviting, a soft prompting for a reply that only has Ghost wanting to bury himself further into Soap’s hold within the comfort of their bed.

“What’s’t, darling?” Ghost mumbles, throat scratchy and rough with sleep. He sighs deeply, wishing to sink all the way into the mattress. Mornings with Soap always felt peaceful in a sense he never knows otherwise.

Soap hums, breath skating over Ghost’s skin as he moves his mouth closer to Ghost’s ear. He presses a chaste kiss to the hinge of his jaw before whispering in that same tone as before, “Need you to move your fat arse off my arm, Simon. It’s gone numb.”

Ghost scoffs, though he can’t be bothered to throw a haphazard arm back to swat at Soap like he might another morning. Instead he only makes it clear he wouldn’t be budging any time soon.

“You’re a strong man, Johnny,” he says. “Smart one, too. Figure it out yourself.”

Soap gives an experimental tug on the arm that is trapped beneath Ghost if only to prove the point that he had already tried his own solution when his limb remains in place.

“Just roll over a bit,” Soap insists. “I need to be able to feel my arm if you ever want me to jerk—“

This time, Ghost untucks his pillow from under his head and hauls it over his shoulder to smack an indignant Soap in the face. He bites his cheek to keep back a grin, but can’t help the way his shoulders shake in silent laughter.

“You’re insufferable, Simon Riley,” Soap hisses, though the words hold no real malice. Ghost feels merciful enough to shift over just a little so that Soap can finally free himself.

“You never had to go out with me,” Ghost retorts. He nestles beneath the covers again, already halfway to drifting back asleep. “So whose fault is it really, Johnny?”

“Och.” Soap swats at Ghost’s shoulder with his newly freed hand. “It’s yours for fallin’ in love with me.”

A quiet yawn drags out Ghost as he tucks his pillow back in its place. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Soap snorts. “Not spoonin’ you, that’s for sure.” The bed frame creaks with his weight as he leans forward to plant a proper kiss on the crown of Ghost’s skull. “I’ll wake you when breakfast’s ready, if I ever get this lousy arm to work again.”

Ghost listens to the gentle pad of Soap’s feet against the hardwood as he leaves the bedroom for the kitchen, laughing quietly to himself at Soap’s complaints.

And as the sounds of Soap milling about their flat begin to fill the air, Ghost falls back asleep with a faint, but fond smile on his lips.

[nothingbutnowhere]

Your favorite blankets are very fluffy and very soft with your favorite cartoon characters on them. Simon, however, thinks he's too good for fluffy blankets and shuns them in favor of no blankets. Which is absolutely absurd!

So one of your favorite pastimes is ambushing him with the blankets. 'Sneaking' up to him with the corners of a blanket in your hands then wrapping your arms around him, or pouncing on him while he lays on the bed or couch. 

Johnny on the other hand is a rational human being who likes soft, fluffy blankets and doesn't hesitate to wrap you both up on chilly days. 

Sometimes, when Simon is grumpy you both sabotage his mood with soft, warm comfort. Closing in on either side of him on the couch while he waits patiently for movie night is one of the great traditions.

You and Johnny make a devious team with many successful captures, completing the mission objective of cuddles. And related activities.

Simon thinks he tolerates it for your amusement, but deep down he knows he wants it too. He wants to love and be loved, despite everything that's been thrown at him, because it turns out he's not completely rotted away inside. There's two people he loves and he's lucky enough that they love him back. They're so patient and kind, even when he pushes them away they give him space when he needs it, but they never truly leave. Because they need him too. His care and protection. Him in their bed. His bites and bruises and kisses and licks. His perfect darlings need him. And that's worth sticking around for.

More Simon and Johnny

I do NOT consent for my works, part of my works, or my ideas to be used for ANY form of AI.

[puppydollgstar]

Poly TF141 x Fem!Reader

This is a really self indulgent little fic! Pronouns for reader are she/they. Reader is also caribbean (I am reader lmao)

A very self indulgent little writing piece bc I'm sad and woke up alone today :( (my family was out for work and it's been a hard week for me aaaa) its unedited so probably filled w a bunch of mistakes lmao

Story below the cut! :)

You wake up, the heavy fog of sleep still pressing you firmly to the mattress. Even though your eyes are open, squinting at the dim lights of the room, you make out the voices and silhouettes of your loved ones. Price, or at least whatever sounds like him, was in the kitchen, talking lowly to someone. His voice was still gruff with fatigue but he sounded calm and content. You could hear the static of the TV from the living room, some sort of sport channel was playing. A stifled voice hissed over the noise of the TV, "keep it down, you'll wake them." That had to be Kyle. He was always so worried about you. "Sorry." That was Johnny. You heard the creaking of the couch, then the ruffling of pillows and blankets. "Oh shit!" A loud clatter on the ground, then the groaning of the couch shifting beneath Johnny's weight. "Hope you didn't break the remote." Kyle snickered. "Bah...it'll be fine. Nothin a little duct tape can't fix." The couch creaked again as more weight was added to it. The Hum from the TV soon got quieter.

"See? It's fine." Johnny again. You could practically hear Kyle rolling his eyes. Suddenly, a high pitched squealing caused your heart to stutter. You opened your eyes, only to then recognize the noise to be the sound of the Kettle. Simon's brewing tea most likely. You heave out a sigh, placing a hand on your chest to feel the beating of your heart slow down again. That sound was enough to wake you. You sighed and rolled over, tightening the sheets around you. The mattress beneath your body heaved out an angry creak from the shift of your weight. Suddenly, footsteps and a knock at your door. The hinges creaked as the dim light from the living room flooded your dark bedroom. "Morning sleeping beauty." You could hear the smile in Price's voice.

Lifting the covers off of your head, you turned to peek at him within your nest of blankets. His smile then turned into that signature grin, the one that makes him look like a big soft teddy bear. Walking toward your blanket burrito, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead before grabbing the hem of your Bonnet and sliding it back down onto your hair. "Left your breakfast on the stove. You can heat it up when you're ready." Wrapping his arms around your big cocoon, he gave you a tight squeeze before exiting the room. "Princess is up?" Kyle asked. "Might need a minute or two to rest. Best you boys leave her be for now." You could hear price grunt and the Crack of his back as he leaned down to press a kiss to either Johnny or Kyle. Honestly, maybe both.

You rested for about 10 more minutes before lifting yourself out of bed. Shivering at the cool air of your room, you reached for a nearby sweater. Pulling the hoodie over your head, you realized that it was Simon's. He probably forgot it in here when he kissed you goodnight. You then reached over your bed and grabbed your favourite plushie, snuggling it close to your chest before stepping out your room. Johnny and Kyle were snuggled up on the couch and greeted you both with soft smiles.

"Mornin, Hen. You sleep well?" Johnny's voice was soft. He opened his arms for a hug. Approaching your boyfriends, you then kneeled on to the ground and wrapped your arms around their waists. Resting your head in Kyle's lap, you then looked up at Johnny with a smile. "Yeah..I slept good.".

"Glad to hear it, babygirl." Kyle leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head before reaching down to affectionately squeeze your shoulder. The three of you stayed like that for a while, enjoying the warmth of one another along with the hum of the TV.

Johnny let out a yawn, stretching his arms and groaning at the quiet 'pop' of his shoulder. "Price and I tried to make ackee and saltfish. I think it turned out pretty okay. We left you a plate for breakfast." You felt your mouth water at the thought of breakfast. You weren't really hungry the night before so you skipped on dinner. "You mean to tell me, your pasty Scottish ass combined with John's British self, both tried to make a Caribbean dish?" You laughed. "Emphasis on tried." Kyle added, a small snicker of his own. "Well...I thought it was okay..." Johnny looked a bit sheepish. "We did end up burning the bake though...But you can't fault us! Its hard as shit to fry dough in oil.". You laughed, getting up off the floor and holding your stuffy close, "Well, I haven't even tried it yet. I'll be the judge of if you disgraced my culture or not." leaning down, you press a kiss to both of your boyfriends before walking toward the kitchen.

The aroma of ackee and saltfish filled your nostrils along with....Chocolate tea? At the table, Price sat with a mug of coffee and a few papers from an overdue report. Simon stood at the kitchen island with two mugs of tea. "Hey, lovie." He smiled, lifting his balaclava over the bridge of his nose to take a sip of the tea. You made your way over to Price, hugging him from behind and pressing a kiss to his temple before walking over to Simon. "Didn't know you like chocolate tea." You smiled, grabbing the cup next to his and taking a sip. The warm flavours of cinnamon, nutmeg, and chocolate hit your pallet, filling your belly with that fuzzy feeling of comfort and nostalgia. "Didn't know either till today. Price and I stopped by a Caribbean market earlier this morning. Saw it on the shelves and thought to give it a try." he shrugged before taking another swig from his mug. Setting your cup down, you then walked toward him and pressed your face into his chest. Your own lazy way of giving him a hug. He laughed before setting his own mug down and wrapping his arms around you, lifting the hem of your bonnet to smother your forehead in kisses before pulling it down over your eyes.

"Hey!" you playfully scolded, lifting it back up to your forehead. Simon took a playful swat at your ass before walking over to the stove and grabbing your plate of food. "Take a seat, I'll warm your breakfast."

Pulling out the chair next to Price, you then sat down and leaned your head against his shoulder. "Glad to see you up and about, love." Price smiled, wrapping an arm around you. Simon came back and placed your heated plate of food in front of you, "Enjoy." he smiled, leaning down to quickly peck your cheek and kiss Price before heading to the living room.

You shut your eyes, enjoying the smells and soundscapes that filled your home. From Price flipping through the various pages of his reports to the grumbling of Simon, telling Johnny to "move his thick ass over." on the couch. you felt content. You felt at home.

[rusticfurnace]

fist date in a long time after soap recovered.

[robiinurheart33]

Soap likes it when they’re alone.

Don’t get him wrong, it’s fun when 141 are all together, the four of them kicking ass on a mission. But when it’s just two of them on a mission, it just feels.. different. Like he has Ghost all to himself. They work wonderfully together as a duo, which is probably why Price never separates them. Also probably because Gaz is his favourite, that prick. (He misses them.)

They’re currently on a stakeout, and Soap was supposed to be asleep 2 hours ago.

He’s sitting across from Ghost, dressed in his sleepwear which was a sweater and old sleeping shorts he used to wear back in secondary school. Ghost was wearing a large hoodie, some sweatpants and the mandatory balaclava. They were both sitting in front of two windows next to each other, the wooden blinds pushed open and moonlight illuminating them both. The cooling air seeps into the room, and soap breathes in deeply. He glances down towards his journal, a finger stuck between the pages, the other hand twirling the pen around. It’s quiet.

His journal is far from neat, pages sticking out waywardly and the leather ripping off from one side of the cover. Soap resists the urge to pick at it. It’s filled with notes from missions, sketches of his loved ones. Mostly sceneries of places he’s stationed at.

He looks up at Ghost staring out of the window. Soap turns his head back out the window, wondering what Ghost was specifically looking at, what he was thinking at the moment, whether he would scold soap if he said he wanted to slip out to buy some supper because he’s hungry. Soap flips back open his journal, and can feel ghost attuned to his actions, even if he wasn’t currently looking at him. Soap likes him for that. He pays attention. Soap wants to return the favour. He wants to know his ins and outs, wants to pay attention. He’s always been an attention-seeking child, which meant that most adults and classmates would ignore him. Endless nights of young dumb teenage John Mactavish sobbing into his pillow about insecurities, his future and the people around him. The things he used to do for attention, each one more drastic than the last. He can’t count the amount of times his Ma had to bail him out, the amount of stress he caused her, his dear Ma.

He likes the natural attention the army brings him, big brute having the green light to legally kill people for a living. It was liberating for a while, but eventually that too died out. At the not-so ripe age of 30-whatever, Soap learns to savour the portions of attention and praise he’s delivered, especially when he joined 141. Maybe in another universe he would be just a little easier to love, little easier to endure. It’s not something he really dwells on nowadays (lie), but he would have preferred somebody be actually interested, not just for the sake of taming him.

Soap looks back on the half-filled page of his journal, clicking open his ballpoint pen, and starts to sketch Ghost. He’s a pretty good subject, not really needing to focus a lot on anatomy since most of his face is covered anyways. He’s familiar with the strokes. He eventually gets lost in it, thoughts fading away and autopilot coming to take over the wheel, the skktch of pen on paper is repetitive and soothing to his ears. It’s the only sound between them now, the crickets and wind opting to stay out of their safe little bubble.

So when Soap looks back up again and sees Ghost looking back, he physically bristles. They lock into a strange sort of stare-off, Ghost’s eyes upturned slightly in a way Johnny knows that he found it amusing. They look at each other for about a solid ten seconds, enough time for him to memorise his blond eyelashes and his eye shape, clocking in internally on how to draw him even better, tempted to just look down and sketch them as fast as possible, so he wouldn’t forget. Ever.

“…Wha’?” Johnny’s fine with breaking first.

“You’re looking at me.”

“Astute observation, LT. Is it still night time?”

“Wha ‘ave you got for us?”

Soap covers his journal in a sort of bashful kind of way, feeling like a schoolgirl covering her diary.

“Didn’t know you got yourself a little diary.”

Soap tsks. “It’s a journal.”

“Right.” An indignant huff.

“Am’ no lying!” Soap feels heat rush to his cheeks, strangely defensive of his pride in front of his lieutenant.

“Never said you were. Drawin’ me now?” His manc accent was suddenly getting very annoying. Ghost’s eyes skirt down to his hands covering the pages, and suddenly Johnny is very aware of the skin wrapped around the muscles of his hands, down to the bone. He feels the dirt under his fingernails, the ink smudged against his fingertips and palm. He wants to turn his hands in and out, inspecting them himself to see if they’re worthy of being looked at by Ghost. Acutely aware of the sheer pressure, the weight of ghost’s attention on him, his skin gets all prickly and he wants to hide.

Is he doing that on purpose?

“Yer a good subject, never movin like a statue. It’s good for practicing my still life.” Soap’s ring finger twitches, and he knows he’s been given away.

Ghost’s eyes glint in the moonlight. His eyes are almond shaped, bigger than most. His pupils are dilated, dirt brown, like the whisky he likes to choke down. His eyelashes are long, so blonde they’re almost white. they shine so brightly soap wants to reach over and close them, just to calm his poor heart a bit. Soap wants to jab his pen into his eye. Soap knows how many strokes it takes to draw Simon’s eyes.

“…. At least get my good side, Sargent.”

“Full o’ shite, you.” he chuckles, the spell breaking as soap rests his knee up on the table and placing his journal against it. It would be a little harder to sketch ghost now, but it’ll be a cold day in hell if Ghost ever sees what he does with his journal. (Would probably be more inclined to call it a diary, old fuck.) Although, he can’t help but admit that it’s a beautiful night in this particular day. It doesn’t count that Ghost and Soap’s legs are in between each other’s under the table, just short of touching each other. It doesn’t count that Johnny pointedly ignores the way that Ghost is still looking at him from the corner of his eye. It doesn’t count that Simon allows Johnny to draw him out when he would break the neck of anyone even trying to look into his eyes too deeply.

It doesn’t count that here, in their little fake apartment with one bed, sniper gun concealed under the window, two toothbrushes side by side in a cup in the bathroom, that they allow themselves to be Simon and Johnny.

They fall back into comfortable silence, Johnny 2 hours and 30 minutes over his allotted time to sleep.

Ghost’s pov

[mireyarowan]

I saw Sam Roukin’s post about guessing Wordle in 1. Now I'm just thinking about some domestic fluff where Soap and Ghost are on leave together and Soap has introduced Ghost to Wordle. And he loves it so much that now it's the first thing he does every morning, before even getting his tea. Then one day he guesses the word on the first try, running from the bedroom out into the kitchen to tell Johnny who has only just taken his first sip of coffee.

[justanofficeworker]

Man's best friend

TW: This Fic contains kidnapping, dub con, NSFW scenes, Stockholm syndrome among other things. Please do not read if these themes upset or disturb you. That being said welcome and enjoy the ride.

Chapter 1- The meeting

The harsh fluorescent lights of my local grocery store shone into my eyes as I struggled to reach the top shelf for the last item on my list. I groan as I fall back from the tips of my toes. ‘God whoever put the brown sugar on the top shelf is a fucking whore’ I think to myself rolling my eyes. ‘Ok, round two’ I reach up to the shelf again, my hand just barely grazing the bag before a large scared hand plucks the bag down and offers it to me. My eyes follow the hand, up a thick arm to an attractive scared face, it's bottom half covered by a black surgical mask with a white skull decal on the front. 

“Need a’lil help love?” the man's voice was warm like hot chocolate and just as smooth. “ holy, blond babe” involuntarily slips through my lips, I need to start thinking before I speak. “ well that's a new one” he chuckles, a sound I would pay a premium just to have in a bottle. "Geez, I'm sorry, that was creepy. Thanks for grabbing that for me" I rush out, taking the bag of brown sweetness in my hand. " Don't worry about it, I've been told my appearance is a bit shocking to most civilians, I'm Simon" he holds his hand out for a handshake. 'civilians, maybe he's ex-military?' I think as I shake his hand. It's as warm as his voice sounds and he grasps my hand gently, not like how most men squeeze your hand to intimidate you when you're a woman. "I'm Y/n, but most people just call me Beanie" The sentence all but falls out of my mouth, god I'm awkward.

Simon steps closer to me as another shopper passes through the aisle. "Beanie? A cute name fitted for a cute girl" his eyebrows quirk like he was smiling or maybe laughing at his own joke. 'holy shit this guy is huge' runs through my mind as he gets closer. Simon has a least a foot on me and is nearly twice as wide, hes like a brick house covered in a fluffy green cardigan. "hello? Earth to ms. Beanie. You still in there? or do you just like staring?" He waves a hand in front of my face and i let out a startled squeak.

"I'm so sorry, I just um ,have a lot on my mind" a good enough excuse if I've ever made one. Simon looks pensive " well, I've got to get home before my , dog, gets antsy. But how bout we talk more over coffee. maybe you can tell me a little of whats on your mind" he pulls out a pen and receipt from his pocket and jots his number on it. "text me some time" he winks as he turns to walk out the aisle. " Oh um yeah ok" i call out to him , dumb founded, a hot english guy just gave me his number after calling me cute. The world must be ending. I finish my shopping quickly and begin my walk home, unable to shake the sudden feeling of being watched.

SIMON POV

“Toothpaste,sorbet, lemons….” Simon’s thoughts trailed off as he looked catching a glimpse of what had to be the most pathetic looking woman he had ever seen. She was small and curvy and struggling. Muttering under her breath , probably about the sugar she couldn’t reach. Her braids bounced with his movements as she tried to reach the top shelf again. Simon had know her, before he could stop himself he was walking over and reaching for the sugar, brown like her glossy skin, and handing it to her. He had asked if she needed help and in her surprise called him a ‘blond babe’. She was shy , like a mouse , in their short interaction she seemed to just loose focus and float off. A girl like her shouldn’t be by herself, she should be at home being coddled and cozy. At least according to Simon.

He had to know more, so he gave her his number, he knew she eventually reach out and then they’d have their girl. He excused himself and then waited. Soon enough she was exiting the store and walking , presumably, to her home. As he watched he called Johnny. “Soap, i’ve found a bird for us” he said into his earbud as he took a picture to sent to his partner. As the photo was received johnny groaned. “She’s a pretty one, looks sweet” came johnny’s voice.

“When?” Johnny barked impatiently

“Soon” Simon scolded as he got into his car and drove off

————————————————————————------------------------

The sound of the car door alerted Johnny to Simon’s return. Soon enough heavy footsteps sounded up the porch. Johnny opened the door for his partner, eager to know more about their new girl. Crowding Simon in the entryway and throwing questions left and right. Whats her name, when will she be ours , what does she smell like? The inquires dying in his throat as Simon curls a warm hand around it. “ patience johnny shes a skittish one. Quiet and easily distracted too. We don’t want to scare her , do we?” Johnny gave a whine and nodded “I’m going to take her out , wine and dine her and when the time comes bring her home. You will not interfere. Copy?” Simon pulled Johnny in close by the throat, towering over him. “ yes sir” johnny whined, his hips twitching against Simon’s leg. Johnny had always been impatient and impulsive, but now with the prospect of you all training went right out the window.

"Good lad, now kneel for me love" Johnny easily slides to the floor, his head bowed and lent against Simon thigh. Johnny was docile when he wanted something and in this case it was information. Slowly, johnny unzips Simon's fly, " tell me a bout our bird Simon, whats she like?" Johnny, voice sultry and sweet, is allowed to pull Simon from his pants.

" Eager are we puppy?" Simon hisses as Johnny kisses his leaking tip. "shes a golden goddess of a women, small and demure, she was shy when i approached her but" he pauses as Johnny's warm mouth engulfs his member. "i can see it , shes got a mean streak, was cursin' up a storm before she noticed me." Simon sighs as johnny takes him to the base. "Easy pet, wouldn't want to" Simon is interrupted by a high pitched *ping*.

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

" I'm home" you yelled into your empty apartment. You lived alone but had read somewhere that announcing your arrival and departures could help stave off the effects of depression. And god did you need a break from those effects. You'd been alone since you had kicked out your then boyfriend of 3 years after finding him in bed with your now ex best friend. "it's not what it looks like' he had said as you started grabbing all traces of him and throwing them out the nearest window, you friend's clothes included. You'd kicked them both out with nothing but the sheet off your bed and said good riddance. 'maybe i should get a cat" You mused as you unloaded your groceries. Your thoughts suddenly swerving to the huge blond you'd met, the number he had slipped you now burning a hole in your pocket.

Maybe you'd text him , be real suave and ask him out or something.

Beanie: Hey it's Beanie from the grocery store you helped me wit the sugar :)

Typing....

typing...

' He must be typing a letter or something, you think as you lean against your cabinet. Setting your phone down you leave the kitchen take a well deserved bath. As you turn the tap you hear a distant *ping*. You may or may not have run out of the bathroom and tripped trying to get to your phone faster.

Simon: Yeah Beanie

Simon: I remember you , the pretty bird buying sugar

You can feel your face heating at the compliment, already imagining his smooth as warm butter voice. You were having some inappropriate feelings about a stranger and you needed to *ping*. Another text.

Simon: so about that coffee love?

[salemlinnet]

this is what plagues me

[storeecbrcod]

In light of recent events (watch your back, Activision), I’d like to share a domestic Ghoap thought, or add to an existing one.

Soap and Ghost, living together. Whether it’s on leave, or after their time in the military, whatever. Usually, they take turns cooking; Soap is a good cook, whipping up delicious and hearty meals like his hands were guided by God himself (even if it looked closer to a failing juggling act despite the results, much to Ghost’s amusement). Ghost likes cooking, even if his food isn’t as good as Soap’s, because he likes doing things for Soap to help him. He likes taking some pressure off of his partner if he’s had a bad or tiring day (acts of service, amiright?).

Soap loves cooking. It occupies his mind, it’s something he’s got a natural knack for, and the end result is always worth the effort. While he’s never been one for instructions, he’s always shadowed his mam in the kitchen, which has compounded over the years despite not really having a space to cook since he was 18 unless he was on leave. All in all, it’s cathartic and helps him overcome his pestering perfectionism with small accidents that have no effect on the heavenly result, most of the time.

One day, Johnny tried baking. Unlike cooking, it’s not quite as smooth. Whether it’s baking paper that won’t rip right and won’t sit in the tray, or accidentally messing up the measurements, or having to go out to the store again because he forgot something, or trying his hardest to stir every little lump out of the batter, it just isn’t working right. He’s frustrated, struggling to understand why nothing was working as the recipe says it should, and he’s about ready to throw the batch of still lumpy batter at the wall.

Ghost, having been out on some errands, walks into the apartment to complete silence. There was always some sort of noise; music, tv, Soap’s own humming or playful singing or laughter. Now, though, it was eerily quiet, and Ghost couldn’t help but revert to creeping around silently, trying to find Soap.

When he enters the kitchen, he sees a scene. Flour spilled onto the counter and ground, a batter-covered spatula lying on the counter surrounded by opened containers of ingredients, and a metal bowl of batter sitting amongst it all, alone. As Ghost rounded the island, he found Soap sitting on the ground, legs out in front of him and his back against the corner of the cabinets.

If it wasn’t for the pure defeat on Soap’s face, Ghost would have laughed. Instead, he sighed, his concern melting to calm. He placed his wallet, keys, and handful of mail on an empty space of counter, then sat next to Soap on the floor in silence for a few minutes. He could practically feel the frustration rolling off of the other man, Soap’s jaw clenching and unclenching in silent irritation.

“What do you call a baker holding sugar in both his hands?”

Silence.

“Ambidextrous.”

A reluctant snicker later, Soap’s burying his face against Ghost’s shoulder, groaning.

“Ye’r fuckin’ insufferable, Lt.”

“And you’re a useless baker.”

“Aye.”

“C’mon, I’ll help.”

Ghost helps Soap finish up, fixing the batter as much as he could and setting it in the baking tray. They cleaned up as it baked, though somehow Ghost ended up with a face full of flour, and Soap ended up with his shit-eating grin being wiped off his face in surprise when a white handprint ended up on his ass with an accompanying chuckle.

When the offending brownies were finally done, they tried them.

“Steamin’ Jesus, these are incredible.”

“Not bad.”

“What d’ye mean? They’re beautiful, Simon!”

“Needed salt. And batter was over beaten, but yeah. Not bad.”

For Soap, it was yet another surprising thing he’s learnt about Simon in his time of knowing him. He was a damn good baker, a talent he’ll be looking to take advantage of in the future.

For Ghost, it was the first time in a long time where the memories of his childhood weren’t exclusively bad. Right now, with Johnny, he could almost feel his mother’s hands on his shoulders, a whispered “Good job, baby,” breathed against his ear like she used to in their own kitchen, with their own batch of brownies.