#ghoap drabble

[walmart-icarus]

Erm... ghoap thoughts hurt/comfort. I wanna address that Ghost has been canonically sexually assaulted and fics don't bring it up much. No shame about of course, but it's a dynamic that is not often talked about. It's okay to ask to stop.

They nearly get themselves killed on a mission, got emotional, confessed, kissed. You know how it goes. Now Simon is on top of Johnny, both of them naked.

But the Ghost doesn't continue. He freezes.

"...Simon?" Johnny asks.

Ghost doesn't answer.

"Yer shakin'."

He loves Johnny. He really does. All he has to do is go through with it and then they'll be done. He can do that. For Johnny's sake.

Johnny sits up and gently holds Simon's face. He doesn't look disappointed or annoyed. But then again, when has he ever been irritated by Simon?

"We can stop if you want."

Ghost hesitantly nods. He waits for a sigh of abandonment. The sound of clothes being put back on. The door opening and closing, leaving him alone (like he always has and always will be)

The sounds never come though. Johnny stays. He talks, Simon listens, chiming in with his comments at times. They both lay there, Johnny holding Simon in his arms, enjoying eachothers company (like they have and always will)

[inneedofthearpyandbitches]

Ghost: I’m so glad we’re friends

Soap, mid thrust: what?

[lvrsfilm]

pt. 2 to this

They get lucky. Their leave has stretched on longer than any of you had expected. It's unpredictable like that—sometimes it’s cut too short, sometimes it lingers like a gift neither of them feels they deserve. This time, however—it’s the latter, and they find themselves settling into a rhythm that feels less like a visit and more like a life they didn’t know they wanted needed. Or at least that's how Johnny writes about it in his journal, unbeknownst to you and Simon. So are the pen sketches of both of you asleep next to him, all three of you curled up in your bed.

Mornings are slow. Johnny is usually the first to wake, wandering into the kitchen with a bedhead that makes you laugh as he rummages through the cabinets, still mixing up your baking cabinet for the one with teabags and coffee grounds. Simon follows soon after, quieter, his footsteps near silent as he leans against the kitchen doorway and watches the two of you tease each other. He prefers quiet in the mornings, but his eyes say plenty when he catches you sneaking a bite of Johnny’s toast or squeezing his shoulder when you pass by.

You insist they don’t have to help around the house, that they should be catching up on rest, but Johnny’s already washing the dishes before you can protest, sleeves rolled up and a grin on his face as he jokes about earning his keep. Simon surprises you by joining him, his hands steady as he dries the plates and stacks them neatly, something practiced and methodical in his movements. He stacks them in the proper cabinets, opening the right ones on the first try, pulling sounds of mock indignation from Johnny. You stand there watching, feeling like a spectator to something rare and intimate. Their banter, something they don't get much of when they're on base.

The evenings, though, are when it feels most like home. The three of you crowded on the couch, sharing a blanket that’s just barely big enough. You promise them you'll buy a bigger couch, one that'll fit all three of you easily. Johnny narrates whatever movie you’ve put on, one that he convinced you to pick, swearing up and down that it was a cinematic masterpiece. (It was Fight Club), making Simon groan and you giggle. At some point, Simon’s hand finds yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly, while Johnny rests his head on your shoulder, half-asleep by the time the credits roll, mumbling about Tyler Durden making Soap, how that's his name. You hum into the crown of his hair in reply and shush him to sleep softly.

It’s in these moments, with the sound of rain tapping against the window and the smell of Simon’s bourbon mingling with the remnants of dinner, that you realize how much you’ve come to cherish this too. You never expected them to settle in so easily, to find comfort in the small domestic rituals you’d often taken for granted. But here they are, and you know they’ve brought as much warmth into your flat as you’ve tried to offer them.

And when it’s time for them to leave—because it always is, eventually—it’s harder than you thought it would be. Johnny jokes about stealing your cooking, about tossing you over his shoulder and taking you back with them to “keep us in line.” Simon doesn’t say much, but the way his arms linger around you and his nose is buried in your hair when he hugs you goodbye tells you everything.

You know they’ll come back. They promised, and you believe them. But until then, you'll buy a bigger couch, try new recipes to feed them when they come back, and you’ll keep this little piece of them alive in the quiet of your flat, waiting for the next time you can call it home together.

[spidehpig]

the crooks are out, and the streets are grey

aka a prison pen pal au

HUUUUGE fucking thank you to @ceilidho for all of the writing advice and beta reading this and just generally being a big motivation and indulging in all of my random cod thoughts lol

this is incredibly self-indulgent. tags will be updated accordingly with a warning on each chapter when necessary. i'm a big fan of ghoap being perverted violent freaks if you couldn't tell.

thanks for reading besties. sorry there isn't any direct reader x ghost interaction yet. i promise it's coming.

you can also find me on twitter

[cw implied sexual harassment, future dubcon, explicit sexual content] 18+ MDNI

AO3

Part 1

It starts with a little slip of paper shoved under the bars of his shared cell with Soap. 

An official notice to inform inmates of the start of a new pen pal program the following week. Some rehabilitative bullshit about encouraging good behavior and rehabilitating prisoners on track to be released within the next few years. Ghost can’t help but roll his eyes as he crumples up the slip of paper and makes his way to the prison yard. Doesn’t give it another thought. 

That is until he receives a letter. Packaged in a little envelope with the prettiest handwriting he’s ever seen, addressed to the one and only Simon V. Riley: Inmate #634. The envelope had been torn open with a letter opener, read by prison staff, and searched for contraband, of course, before it made its way through the slot of his cell door. It comes in a lilac envelope and it's even adorned with a pretty little heart right next to his name scrawled in cursive. 

Ghost shoves the pastry he swiped in the cafeteria from a new inmate into his mouth as he rips open the letter with mild interest. He lets out a snort when he sees that the staple holding the pages of the letter together was ripped out by whatever guard had gotten stuck with mail duty today. He knows that you’ll have already received an angry voicemail from the prison advising you that all mail to inmates must be paperclip and staple free upon arrival. 

He glances over the letter with disinterest, a couple paragraphs introducing yourself and one detailing your excitement about joining the program. He only skims his way to the second page where you start to ask him questions about himself before he’s crumpling up the pages to shove under his bunk. He’ll be free of this place in a mere sixteen months; doesn’t need a bloody pen pal to encourage good behavior. 

He knows that there is anger and violence rooted deep within him. On a good day, it simmers in his chest, a warm heat that lies dormant. On bad days, it burns so hot that he can feel the angry heat creep up into his throat. It makes the words that spill from his mouth cruel, and his calloused fingers twitch as he stomps his way over to the courtyard to beat the old punching bag until his shirt is soaked through with sweat and his knuckles are raw and bloody.

Not all bad days end with him wrapping his split knuckles with bandages from the infirmary. Sometimes they end with him in solitary and picking another inmate’s dried blood from underneath his fingernails. He hasn’t had a bad day like that in over a year now. 

If he’s being honest with himself, it’s only because he doesn’t want to jeopardize his early release. Most of the other inmates know well enough now to leave Ghost be. The last inmate to piss Ghost off ended up in the infirmary with three broken ribs and two of his own teeth spat into his palm. 

Poor sod ducks his head like a quivering dog every time he meets Ghost’s gaze now; surely won’t make the mistake of cutting in front of him in line at the cafeteria again. Ghost hasn’t been outside of a prison in the last seventeen years but he can’t imagine a civilian would try to swipe food from his plate or pick a fight with him just to see if they could win it. 

So he lies through his teeth at every psych evaluation. Tells the doctors that the exercises they suggested are helping him manage his anger. He has a feeling they don’t quite believe him, but he hasn’t had an episode in over a year to justify their reservations. And since they don’t question his ability to rehabilitate into civilian life, he tells himself that he’ll be fine on the outside. All he has to do is keep to himself until Johnny gets released eight months after him. He just needs to behave for another year and he doesn’t see how writing letters would make any difference.

He had thought that if he just ignored the letters they would eventually stop coming, but despite his obvious reluctance to partake in the program, the letters keep coming. Every last one in a pretty lilac envelope, notably staple free since the first one. He gleans little from her letters. Some young bird that signed up for this pen pal exchange. She’s twenty-one and has an interest in criminology. 

Ghost decides that he hates her for it. 

Each letter gets shoved under the bunk; most of the time he doesn’t even bother to open and read them. He rolls his eyes when Soap whines and begs to trade pen pals with him. Apparently the poor mutt got stuck with some seventy-four year old retired veteran and he doesn’t think it's fair that Ghost got paired with a young woman. 

It isn’t until he receives yet another letter from his unwanted pen pal, this time addressed from another country, that something finally makes him stop in his tracks. The bird is apparently studying abroad and when he opens the envelope, a flimsy polaroid floats down into his lap. He doesn’t bother to read the newest letter and instead snatches the picture up between his thick fingers. He can’t help the groan that escapes his lips the second he flips the polaroid picture over.

Ghost hardly even looks at the sweet smile and bright blue ocean behind her. No, that’s not what catches his attention. His gaze immediately flicks down to the swell of her breasts taking up half of the image. What would be an innocent selfie to most might as well be a page ripped straight from a playboy magazine to Ghost. Clearly taken at the beach after a swim in the ocean, sweat and ocean water glistening on your skin, and Ghost can see the peaks of your nipples poking through your thin bikini top. 

And fuck is that enough for him. He hasn’t had a woman in, well, ever, and the guards keep confiscating his playboy magazines, so this will have to do. A low grunt escapes his chest as he reaches down to palm his cock that’s now twitching to attention. He pauses to make sure Soap is still snoring, loudly , in the bunk above him before he reaches down to grope at his stiffening prick. Unzips himself from his prison issued track pants and palms at his stiffening cock over the thin fabric of his briefs. 

He hisses between his teeth when he dips his hand under the band of his briefs and the rough skin of his palm tugs against the sensitive skin of his cock. Has to yank his hand back and spit into his palm before wrapping his thick fingers around the base of his cock. His other hand grips the picture of you between his fingertips as he pulls his foreskin back to reveal his swollen tip already leaking precum. It twitches in his hand as another glob of precum leaks down his prick. 

He has half a mind to wake Soap up and shove his cock down the boy’s throat. If he fucks his throat deep enough he could pretend it’s the tight heat of your cunt clenching around his cock while he laps at one of the nipples peaking through your bikini. 

Ghost’s fantasy is shattered the second the little shit sleeping above him wakes with a loud snort. He watches Soap’s head peek over the side of his bunk, pretty blue eyes clouded with sleep as his disheveled mohawk dangles over the metal bunk. 

“Yeh could’ve asked for a helping hand yaknow that, Ghost. Yeh know I’d—” Soap’s voice cuts off abruptly, eyes narrowing on the polaroid clutched in Ghost’s hand and the other wrapped around his prick.

”Whatcha got there, Ghost?” Soap drawls, accent still thick from sleep.

”Fuck off, Johnny,” Ghost grunts as he looks back down at your picture and gives his cock another stroke.

No use in deterring his mutt once his sight is set on a bone though. He feels the bunk shake and squeak as Soap scrambles down the ladder, the pervert already tenting his boxers as he crawls into Ghost’s bed.

”I said fuck off, Johnny.” Ghost grits his teeth and clutches your picture to his chest. Trying desperately to reimagine the swell of your tits pressed against his chest when you finally sink down on his cock. But Soap is relentless. His needy slut straddles Ghost’s thighs with a smirk on his face. 

And fuck it, his boy is gagging for it, he might as well. He doesn’t acknowledge Soap’s incessant teasing and instead fists a hand through his soft mohawk before shoving the brat’s head between his legs. 

A low growl escapes his chest as the man’s lips wrap around his throbbing cock. And fuck, does his mouth feel good, tight and wet as his soft lips slide down Ghost’s length, throat swallowing around him. He loses himself in the feel of Soap’s practiced mouth, eyes only snapping open when Soap lets out a deep moan. Before he can even think, the palm of his hand is connecting with Soap’s cheek, hard . It draws a low moan from Soap’s throat which only serves to irritate Ghost more.

”Shut up,” Ghost snaps and pushes Soap’s head down on his cock until he feels the man flinch and gag around his prick. Usually he loves to hear the whorish sounds that fall from his boy’s pretty lips but right now, he’s trying to imagine the way you’d cry out and beg as he inches his cock into the tight heat of your cunt. Ghost slaps his boy across the cheek again when Soap lets out a low growl and scrapes his teeth on the underside of his cock. 

Soap seems to get the message, his moans and growls slowly quiet, swirling his tongue around Ghost’s swollen glands before sinking down until his nose is buried in Ghost’s pubic hair. Ghost loses himself in the wet heat of Soap’s throat once more, eyes rolling back as his head knocks back against his pillow, your pretty smile contorting itself into a cry as he bullies his cock into your cunt. His hips buck and bruise the back of Soap’s throat with every thrust while he dreams of fucking your pretty cunt full of his cum. He cums with a snarl on his lips and Johnny gagging around him. Holds Soap down on his cock as he reaches down to squeeze at his balls one last time before ripping the boy off his cock with a sputtering gasp. 

Soap is immediately scrambling up the bed, grinding his prick against the swell of Ghost’s thigh.

”C’mon, Ghost, lemme see, just a peek I swear that’s all I need,” Soap whines, frantically grinding his cock against Ghost’s leg. Ghost blinks as the bliss from his orgasm melts away, the bunk creaking from the force of Soap’s desperate thrusts, the man panting and grunting above him. 

He languidly flips your photo between his fingers, any streak of possessiveness gone now, as long as it’ll get his mutt to stop humping his leg faster so he can get some sleep. 

“Ah, fuck , Ghost, looks bonnie, don’t she,” Soap pants as his eyes flit over your bikini photo, the grind of his hips losing their rhythm for a moment. 

“Bet ‘er ass hasn’t been fucked yet,” Soap groans.

”Make ‘er take us both.”

”Bet she tastes sweet.”

”Pretty thing.”

Ghost barely registers Soap’s babbling above him, just grabs his ass and guides his hips against his thigh until Soap is cumming in his briefs with a low moan. When the boy finally calms down enough to catch his breath, he pulls the cum soaked briefs off of his boy and tosses them across the cell before pulling the mutt to his chest as they both doze off.

Ghost wakes annoyed, drenched in sweat and cum and Soap snoring loudly against his neck. The little shit has the audacity to grumble and pout when he makes Soap go sleep in his own bunk. When he hears Soap’s start to snore, he sits up, stealing Soap’s pencil and a spare sheet of paper. He starts scribbling words back to you. The first letter he’s responded to. His handwriting is ugly and near illegible, but he thinks you should be able to read most of it. He hangs his arms out of the bars of his cell and whistles at the guard stationed down the hall. Shoves his letter to you in the guard’s hand and grunts at him to send it to his bird.

The guard, Andrews, he thinks, scoffs snatching the letter from Ghost’s fingertips before banging on the cell door.

”MacTavish! You got a letter for your lovebird too?”

Ghost groans, already prepared for the bitchfest that’s about to happen.

Soap awakes with a loud snort, head snapping up over the edge of his bunk and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.” 

“Aye fuck off, you limp dick prick,” Soap growls and scrambles down the rickety bunk to press the length of his body against the cell bars as he curses the guard that taunted him. A litany of Scottish curses fall from his lips as Soap presses his forehead to the bars and goads the guard into approaching their shared cell. The little spitfire has himself so worked up he’s pacing the length of their cell and spewing insults at the guards on duty.

“I know yer playing favorites, Andrews. Think yer funny giving me some old bastard, don’t yeh?” Soap hollers into the hallway and slams a fist against the bars of their cell, pressing his forehead against the bars once again, growling and swearing some more when Andrews takes a step back, barking out a harsh laugh. Ghost can practically see the metaphorical fur on Soap’s hind spike up at that, just a moment before he spits at the guard’s feet. Andrews, the scrawny little fucker, lurches forward to swat at Soap’s fists clenched around the bars of their cell with his baton.

“You better back up and watch that mouth of yours Mactavish, or it’ll be another two days in solitary for you,” Andrews snaps at Soap and shoots a knowing directly at Ghost. 

And oh does Ghost hate when Soap gets sent to solitary. Can’t use his boy’s holes when he’s locked up on the other side of the prison. The rough drag of his own fist just can’t compete with the tight heat of Johnny’s throat or arse. Especially now that he’s got a bird back home to think about. Ghost grips the back of Soap’s sweat soaked shirt and yanks him back from the cell bars, grunting at him to give it a fuck rest.  Ghost retreats to his bunk when Soap finally cools off, watching as Soap flops down onto the chair at their shared desk and starts to angrily scribble in his journal, occasionally grumbling to himself under his breath. He settles back against his pillow, content with thinking about his new bird on the outside until the guards release them for breakfast. He almost feels bad about not writing to you sooner. Poor girl tired of her letters going unanswered, you really were just begging for his attention when you sent a violent inmate a photo of your tits now, weren’t you?

[eiraeths]

ghost who rejected soap years ago because there’s no way soap loved him. soap, years younger than him with so little experience, couldn’t’ve looked at him with anything more than puppy love. time continues on and things shift. they’re put on different teams and it’s ages before they reunite. they’re both older now, both different. ghost says to hell with it and they hook up. it’s messy, it’s almost everything ghost could’ve wanted. it’s too detached. ghost considers pressing a kiss to soap’s sweaty forehead, staring at the way the hair starts to curl at the root, devoid of gel. soap pulls away before he can. gone is the adoration in soap’s bright eyes, resignation haven taken root.

before soap leaves he stops and turns his head, looking at ghost who’s still on the bed. “I used to really love you, you know.”

and fuck doesn’t ghost know it.

[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.

[queermentaldisaster]

I just scolded my cat for being on the counter when the crockpot is soaking in soapy water and all I said was: “THERE'S SOAP” and now I have a Ghoap drabble idea. So here.

@axelaxolotl09 @forestshadow-wolf @im-here-and-im-confused @rainerestored @bringinsexybackk69 @8-rae-rae-8

(Ft Gaz being the best wingman 🤌)

Ghost had just got back from a solo mission. He was tired, and overstressed. He went into the lounge, only to be bombarded with fresh recruits asking too many questions.

He managed to escape from them, but then Price found him and dragged him into debrief. He then spent the next hour recounting everything, and then another hour filling out reports. Then he had to go train recruits. He didn't get a minute to breathe.

Then, as he was finally heading back to his bunk, he got stopped by Gaz. Gaz shushed him, dragged him to their shared room and pointed at Soap, sitting dejectedly on his own bunk. “There's Soap!” Gaz exclaimed, before running off. Soap looked up and saw Ghost, and his eyes lit up. Ghost chuckled, and stepped into the room, locking the door. He rushed forward, tossing his mask on Soap's bunk, pulling Johnny into a kiss. And Johnny kissed Simon back.

[snootlestheangel]

Hi Snootles!

Thank you for the tag how about Ghoap (obviously lol) and the words “no we aren’t keeping it”

I hope your brain starts braining soon and you enjoy the holidays.

Hi friend!! I think the brain is indeed starting to brain again, and I hope you enjoy the holidays as well!

Civilian life was never meant for Soap, and he found himself struggling to sit still. They were on leave, a long one, in honor of their recent achievements, yet Soap felt it was a punishment. Some cruel joke from the powers that be. He had been up at the crack of dawn, had gone for a long run, come back and showered, and had eaten a decent sized breakfast all before Simon finally roused from slumber. He had reminded Soap of his namesake as he quietly sauntered out of the bedroom and wrapped himself around Soap in the kitchen.

"Steamin' Jesus, Si, yer gonna give me a fucking heart attack." Johnny muttered after flinching when Simon's warm hands made their way under his shirt. Simon hummed in acknowledgement, resting his chin on Soap's shoulder. Soap finished drying off the pan he used to make his breakfast, and pushed against Simon so he could move to put it away.

"I was about to head to the shop. Wanna come with?" Soap asked, leaning his head back against Ghost's broad chest, and the other rumbled something. He gently turned Soap around, placing a chaste kiss on the top of his head.

"I'll go. You need to rest, love."

"Ahm rested!" Soap argued, yet quickly gave in as Simon quirked a brow at him. A soft smile crossed Ghost's lips as he placed a gentle kiss on Soap's nose.

"I'll be quick, 'ow bout that?" Simon asked, and Soap frowned, nodding his head without looking at him. Simon chuckled, pulling him closer as he quietly asked for a kiss. With a roll of his eyes, Soap gave in, smiling into the kiss.

Ghost was quick to get ready, and before he knew it, Soap was left alone with the order to rest.

Roughly an hour and half later, and Soap was fully engulfed by a nature documentary he had stumbled across, and he paid little heed as Simon returned home. There was a lot of shuffling as Simon set the bags from his trip on the dining table, yet barely heard above the sounds of the TV was Ghost's quiet humming.

"Hey, Johnny, love?" Simon called out, and Soap paused the documentary as he waited for Simon to continue with his request.

"Can you grab a rag and wet it with warm water for the baby?"

"Aye." Soap responded, quickly jumping up and heading for the bathroom, thankful for something to do.

But as he reached the doorway, he paused.

"I'm sorry, for the what?" Soap asked as he turned to the kitchen. Simon's large frame stood hunched over slightly, cradling something in his hands. A flash of guilt crossed his face and his eyes fell to his hands.

"It was gonna die, Johnny." Simon responded, showing Soap the small gray kitten in his hands.

"We're no' keepin' it." Soap instantly blurted, staring at the little creature in disbelief. Simon made a small noise and pouted, doing his best to convince Johnny of keeping the poor, helpless thing. The kitten squealed, wriggling in Simon's hands, and Soap let out a heavy sigh as Simon softly cooed at it.

"Fine, at least until it gets bigger." Soap grumbled, and Simon smiled, knowing all too well how quickly that promise would be thrown out the window.

"Welcome home, Johnny."

[femoso-seben]

Blind Love

Medusa Soap x Hero Ghost

Don’t hate me for OOC! I tried my best…

————

Off the coasts of Sparta, in a small island once the shrine to Athena, broken and litter with the horrifically grandiose tender status of blissful hubris of mortal woes, was the lair of the only mortal Gorgon. For those Greek heroes who fall onto this island they would think this is a old shrine to Hecate, statues made from Daedalus’ own hands, details etched with perfect precision.

The marbles were well warn down to it’s white base hollow flat color only seen in the crevasse of the folds of marbles. A lone figure lives there abandoned by the gods, by all the gods, by the very goddess he worshipped, left to rot on a lifeless hideous island. The beach were rocky and new, filled with old rotting ships bobbed up and down some lossly drifting around the island, the locals call it The Fool’s Grave.

Sun-kissed and specialed with iridescent scales, and built like Achilles himself walked a lone figure, in robes of blue and gold, did he walk, past the Forrest of stone he made. Those statues of men were his only comfort for normality, if only they weren’t staring in fear, fear of him. He was cursed for a life of loneliness and isolation, waiting for a Heracles to slice his head off. He was curse to stay on the island, for no boats will move pass the shore, as even Poseidon does not wish to offend Athena.

A low rumble, scrapping of rocks and he knew their was another hubris hero coming for him. He turns around to find, a tall almost Harclean man standing there, impressive and broad, cover in dark leather armor, dark almost black cape, with a spartina helmet plums of black horse hair. A spartan is here to kill him. As this giant of a man, maybe a child of a god, maybe a son of Zeus was here to kill him.

He was No coward for every statue was a signs to the gods, a sign that he still live that all their heroes all their oracles and quest meant nothing to his hate and vengeance. He knew all these heroes that come were sent by the gods to die. These heroes full of pride and glory will all turn to fearful stone. The low hisses of his snakes were the only sound besides the dull beat of his heart in his chest. The man looms closer, foot steps sinking into the sandy soil.

He let out a familiar sign and his gaze rised, his cool almost white eyes meet, a void. Darkness except for the intense gaze of the Spartan.

He waited. And waited. But nothing arises.

The hero was inches away, a head taller, head bent staring down at him. It was almost embarrassing.

“You… You can stare at me?” The gorgon asks.

The hero drew his sword.

‘So this is how it ends?’ That was the only thought in Johnny’s head as the sword cleave through his neck. The world went sideways, but the gaze of that hero never blinked, never waiver. Maybe… If only.

—————

Inspired by @astheriiiart

@imakepapertrees @sparklingsprinkles @secretlyasalmon427

[inneedofthearpyandbitches]

Ghost: has anyone seen my top?

Price, without missing a beat: soap is in the kitchen

[lvrsfilm]

school has kept me stupidly busy so here's a little unfinished (and unedited) drabble that i'm considering expanding on knight! ghoap who catches wind of a pretty princess being moved to a nearby kingdom, married off by her father to some senile king who– according to Johnny, "Would'na know what to do with a pretty lass like tha.'"

knight! ghoap that brings it to the attention of King John, who's wife has been struggling to bear an heir for years, male or female

knight! ghoap who, with permission from the King, stage an attack along your travel route, slaughtering the men outside your carriage when they stop so you can stretch your legs, slipping your feet out of the cramped shoes you've been dressed in

knight! ghoap who wrangles you onto the back of Simon's horse, Johnny trying to talk to you between cries and insults you throw at them

knight! ghoap who finally gets you to calm down when they make it known that they're rescuing you, that they're bringing you to a better kingdom where you won't be forced to marry

knight! ghoap who doesn't tell you yet that this doesn't absolve you of a duty, that you will be a designated heir to the throne, chosen by King John

knight! ghoap that leaves you with the maids after your journey, letting them clean and dress you while they remain posted outside the door, even though it isn't necessary

knight! ghoap who's eyes linger when the maids bring you out of the room, your skin clean and a fresh dress on you.

knight! ghoap who introduces you to the King and Queen, who are taken with you immediately

knight! ghoap that watch them fawn over your manners, the way you answer their questions about a myriad of things, all things someone needs to be well rounded in to lead

knight! ghoap that escorts you back to your new chambers that evening, earning themselves a kiss on the cheek each in your gratitude

knight! ghoap who return to the knights quarters later than usual that night, Johnny's hair a bit more mussed than usual

[piasdo]

brainrotting about ghoap while listening to bobby and poison root by alex g.

i can fully see them as two mountain cowboys, sort of being a nuisance to lovers trope. clear water streams, alpine woodlands alongside rocky cliff edges, dipping into canyons. soap would have a meaty stallion, as giddy and blissful as his rider. ghost would have a gorgeous mare with a thick braided mane, ashy flank and dark grey spangles against its backside and powerful shoulders.

they eventually settle down in the countryside. their horses fall in love and have a pretty little foal. huh who said that?

[eiraeths]

During his enlistment, Ghost heard the words, ‘death happens twice. At the last breath and at the last remembrance.’ It was nothing more than a soft sentiment, something to keep them going even with the looming threat of their mortality popping up from every corner.

And somehow Ghost made it out alive. Even managed to get him someone he could easily picture spending the rest of his life with. Johnny made things easy like that. Never posed a challenge to love or be loved in the little thing of theirs.

For once in his life, Ghost felt accomplished. The next thing he knew, Johnny was dead. Funny, how they went through all that shit together and it was something so mundane that took Johnny out.

All of that bloodshed and carnage for what? Felt like nothing. The life Ghost was once so active in dulled, and he was no longer an active participant. Just a bystander letting the tides carry him through whatever else was left.

Ghost doesn’t clear out Johnny’s side of the room. His nightstand still holds his wallet and the spare change he emptied out of his pockets before slipping into bed. The closet still holds his clothes like it’s waiting on him to get up in the morning and get ready for the day.

He buys Johnny’s signature cologne again and again every time he runs out to make sure he never forgets how Johnny smelled. Wears it all the time. It’s not fair that your entire life can slip through your fingers just like that. It’s not fair that someone can be here one day and gone the next.

Gets a little easier with time. For as long as Ghost lives, he will never clear what’s left of Johnny. This space they created together will never stop being their space. He never touches the mass of hair products on the counter but always uses Johnny’s lighter to light candles. On harder days, his own cigarettes.

It’s not like he’s hedging his bets on a long future together still.

It’s life’s cruelest joke to turn a home into a time capsule of grief.

[lovemebutleavemewild]

Convict!Ghost and innocent!reader who signs up for a program to visit and write letters to convicts without friends or families on the outside. You believe in the program, believe you're acting as a way to anchor a man, who would otherwise be lost, to society.

Ghost pretends you're getting through to him, nods and smiles when you tell him you know he can do better, be better. Meanwhile, he's thinking of all the filthy, depraved things he wants to do to you when he's released, thinking of his friend Soap in the laundry whose specialty is smuggling contraband in and wondering if he can convince you to slip him a nice lil picture of yourself or maybe even a pair of your panties. Soap probably wouldn't even want his usual cut, so long as he can get a look too.

[softaestluv]

everyone always talks about one of the members of tf141 coming home after a particularly rough day of training on base and fucking you cruel and unforgiving… now let’s make it ghoap— as I always d

slight dubcon, mentions of aggressive sex

You were Johnny’s friends with benefits, more so benefits than friends. He texted you, more often than not, to come over, relieve a viscous ache in his core he couldn’t quite jerk away on his own.

And like a faithful friend, you always responded, for his sake, really. It’s not that you needed him, waited patiently, impatiently, for his text to come over. A short mistyped text—

‘Ned ya, birdie’

You were at his doorstep within minutes, cunt already wet from the drive over. Thinking of all the ways he would bend you in two, coax your orgasm out of you like no one ever has. Ram the shape of his cock into your walls until it took, until your poor, oversensitive walls only knew the curve of his fat cock.

Like a fucking pathetic dog trained, your pussy only knew him, only craved him. Weeped for him when he was on assignments, when your fingers weren’t fucking enough, when the dildo he bought you didn’t quite fill you the way he had, when other one night stands couldn’t even get you off the way Johnny seemed able to.

Your peaks and climaxes wrapped around his roughened finger, claimed them as his fucking own. Couldn’t get off unless it was on his fingers, tongue, or cock.

You hated it. Hated that one harsh grip of his large palm around your jaw had your panties soaked, clenching and throbbing around nothing until he would finally give you what you wanted.

These were normal days for Johnny. Ripped you in two and melted your brain into nothing but the sensory receptors linked to your clit, womb, and Johnny’s fucking cock.

But days he was tired, frustrated, infuriated with work were different. Johnny was flirtatious, charming, welcoming— graced you with enough kindness to give your aching cunt a break. Treated you with more care than a warm pussy he could take his anger out on.

Though when you were fucking Soap, the demolitions specialist; the version of himself where he hadn’t quite returned to civilian humanity, you were always left with a sore cunt, aching bones, a limp, bruises so harsh it alarmed your coworkers the next day— if you made it to work that next day.

You could barely handle one, but somewhere along the lines Johnny had invited you out with Simon. You hadn’t necessarily had intentions to sleep with Simon that night, Johnny was more than fucking enough, even when he was wasted. But maybe Johnny wanted it to happen, coaxed you with soft words and sweet promises.

Ended the night with tears in your eyes as Simon stuffed you full from behind, Johnny’s warm palm cupping your jaw as he fucked your mouth leisurely, cooed soft praises down at you for being such a good girl, taking both of them so well.

Then, Simon’s presence just became an expectation. The texts between Johnny and you became a group chat between the three of you. Simon’s short and curt texts the invite to Johnny’s flat more often than not.

It was great, amazing— every other cliche word in the book. They seemed more in-tune to your body than you did. Enjoyed every moment split between the both of them.

That was before the both of them came home grumpy, angry, pent up. Needed to expel their frustrations in ways only your spongy cunt could provided. It was difficult to deal with Johnny on his own, but involving Simon in the picture, the man who was the picture of a brute, nearly had you passing out.

You were sobbing into Simon’s neck, the larger man fucking ruthlessly, unforgiving into your cunt, arms banded under your knees. Johnny behind you, slamming into your ass with synchronized strokes it had your mouth watering, body limp between them.

You hadn’t even made it past Johnny’s hallway, the two of them had you pinned against the wall in seconds. Bullied themselves into your holes without a care. You were already babbling, body already bruising under their tight grip, hadn’t even been more than 10 minutes since you walked through the door, and their torment hadn’t even really started for the night.

But, ‘Aye, ye can handle it, can’t ye, hen?’

[queermentaldisaster]

Out of My Head

Crossposted on AO3, a short Ghoap oneshot. John often gets lost in his head, and it's hard to come out of it, especially when he's lost in memories. Good thing Simon knows him like the back of his hand and always pulls him out of it, no matter what.

They get a little fluff, as a treat <3

He was sitting on the roof, staring into the distance as he took a drag from his cigarette. The wind picked up, blowing the smoke off to the side as he exhaled. The trees rustled around him, and a wolf howled in the distance.

He lowered the cigarette after taking another hit, letting it brush against his leg. He barely noticed the sting on his skin. He could still see the look on his mother's face when he told her he was going into the military and could remember the fight like it'd just happened.

“Ah cannae let ye go intae the military!” She yelled, grabbing his arm. 

His eyes narrowed, and he pulled it out of her grip. “Ye never cared aboot me when I was growin�� up, why do ye care now?” He snapped, his voice lined with resentment.

“John, tha’s no’ true! I did care! Ye were just more self-sufficient than yer sisters!” She protested, taking a step closer.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. “Johnny.” A very familiar and comforting British rumble came from behind him, and John relaxed.

“Simon.” He responded, looking back. Simon had his mask off and was kneeling behind him, his eyes scanning his face. “Whit are ye doin’ up here?”

Simon scooted closer, cupping John's cheek. “Worried about you.” He responded, his voice soft. John took pride in knowing that he was the only one to get to know Simon.

“Ye worry aboot me too much, gràidh.” He murmured, the Gaelic word for beloved slipping out easily, despite the fact that he hadn't ever used it before.

Simon chuckled softly, taking the cigarette from John's hand, kissing his cheek. “I don't think it's possible to worry about you too much, darling.” He murmured, putting it out. “especially when you get lost in your head.”

John smiled, leaning into the kiss. “Aye, but at least I have ye, Si.” He cupped Simon's cheek, stroking one of his old scars. “Ah dinnae ken wha’ I’d do without ye.”

Simon leaned into the touch, putting his hand on John's. “And I'd still be buried without you, my sun and stars.” John’s cheeks heated up, and he chuckled, leaning closer.

“Yer a right tease, Simon.”

“Only for you, Johnny.”