#needed to sneak in some ghoap

[sir-heichou-smith]

141 and their awkward but meaningful experience(s) with wild animals

Gaz:

-It's exactly 1800 hours when he spots the shabby safehouse after they complete the mission that went to utter shit, leaving him separated from the rest of the 141. His back and left arm are sore. Getting shot at and falling out of a second story window doesn't compliment his bone structure, as it turns out.

-He clears the perimeter to make sure he hasn't been tailed while he waits to rendezvous with the others.

-As he surveys the inside of the cabin, he doesn't see the bird's nest perched up in the rafters, but he feels it drop square onto his head when he breaks the lock on one of the doors and shoves it open.

-The little bird that rolls onto the floor chirps desperately and flutters its wings, lopsided and favoring its left side.

-After the minor heart attack and an admittedly embarrassing noise that soap would never let him live down if he'd heard it, he feels bad for the poor thing, picking it up and sticking it in a makeshift nest of his outer layers while he tends to his own wounds.

-"Poor little guy, sorry I fucked up your home. You're all alone too, huh." Gaz makes it up to the bird by wrapping its injured wing in a similar fashion to his own sling, in hopes that it'll help in some way. He even finds a bug in the windowsill to feed it.

-He's so distracted by his new friend that he almost doesn't notice the three sets of footsteps getting closer to his temporary safe haven.

-"The feck do ye got there, mate?" He's relieved to hear the familiar Scottish lilt from the main entrance, their captain and lieutenant right behind him.

-"It's my best buddy. He's your new replacement, Tav." Laughing as he dodges the MRE thrown in his direction, he settles the baby bird in next to him while they take watch in shifts for the hours long wait to exfil.

Price:

-For once the 141 was able to take a much needed break. In between missions, the captain invited the rest of his team on a camping trip for the weekend. Not many knew, but instead of a house, Price owned a beautiful log cabin just north of Hereford with a few acres of land and a body of water for hunting and fishing respectively.

-The next morning, Price and Ghost left at the asscrack of dawn to part take in the former, hoping to score dinner for them all from the comfort of his backyard.

-"See anything up your way, Simon?" "Negative, sir." The pair continues to wait in silence as the sun slowly starts to creep over the horizon. He's just about to call it when he hears crunching leaves just to his right.

- Price looks as far as he can without turning his head, and spots their dinner, just out of the corner of his eye and a few paces away at that. A beautiful 12 point buck that has no fear or spacial awareness as it seems. It turns its head to look directly at him too, as if daring him to do something.

-The deer inches forward ever so slowly to him, seeming more curious than anything. He can see Ghost not 10 meters on his opposite side, not doing anything to help the situation, just desperately trying to hold it in. Slowly, as a trained and patient death machine of a man can be, he pulls out his cell phone to take a picture.

-Then he feels it. The light sniffs, and then the feeling of a slimy tongue on the side of his forehead and hat. The damn thing is tasting him as if he were a berry on a bush.

-At the turn of Price's head, he meets its eyes. As if it just now figured out it's been caught in the act and regains control of itself, the buck whips around and bounds away.

-The photo in their group chat, from yours truly, has the other men in shambles. "You're lucky you're my favorite lieutenant. Otherwise I'd give you extra duty for at least a week." Price thinks it's worth the hassle though, as he rarely gets to hear that deep grumble of a laugh from his most stoic soldier. Take out doesn't sound so bad after all.

Soap:

-"C'mon lt, a few drinks won't kill ye, first round's on me." A flash of pearly whites and a playful wink thrown is all it takes for the man to cave.

-The two men walk to a local pub frequented by soldiers and civilians alike. Not too busy but not as quiet as Ghost would prefer. They meet up with Price and Gaz, Soap greets them with a smile and Ghost simply nods, already anticipating the night to be over.

-Soon enough the first round of drinks becomes the second, then the third, then a pint, and two, and a few more after that. Price bids the three of them goodnight, claiming something about having paperwork to finish up for tomorrow.

-"Aw cap yer no fun, Gaz here's the only one who knows how to give a lad good company." At that, Soap turns his head with a cheese grin to lock eyes with his fellow seargent. "Don't rope me into this, Tav, we all know you'd drink us all under the table even if we dared you not to. Plus, the old man's right. I've got training tomorrow with the rookies too, I'll catch you later mate."

-"Looks like it's you n me, lt. I knew you'd never leave me alone." Soap goes to get up and order another set of drinks for them, but ends up stumbling and holding the edge of the table for a bit too long before Ghost then stands up. "Alright, seargent, you've had enough it looks like. Let's head back before I have to throw you over my shoulder."

-Soap gives a sheepish grin and scratches the back of his neck. "Aye, lt. Let's get outta here." The walk back to base goes by without a hitch. Until Soap hears something that sounds like a cry coming from an alleyway just off post.

-"Ya hear that Ghost? Where's it comin from?" He's begins to look for the source of the sound as the larger man attempts to drag him towards the direction of the base. "Who knows, Johnny. It's fucking baltic out here an' youre worried about god knows wha- STAY out of that dumpster!"

-Soap doesn't listen as he begins to try and look underneath and around it to see where he's hearing the sounds from. A few seconds later Ghost hears, "Aw lt it's a wee kitten! We cannae just leave 'em out here. Gimme yer coat, he's cold."

-"Johnny what the bloody fuck do you think you're doing with tha-" "IT'S A KITTEN AND I'M TAKIN' EM TO MY ROOM SO I WON'T GET IN TROUBLE NOW HAND ME YER JACKET." Ghost rolls his eyes and sheds his outer layer, leaving him in his black crew neck and balaclava. He knows it's best to just give him the damn hoodie since it's the only way he'll be able to herd his seargent back to his room safely.

-Just before Ghost hands over his coat, Johnny comes out from the darkened alley with what he claims is a kitten. However, he yanks the hand holding his precious coat back once he sees what the other man is holding in his hands.

-"Johnny what the FOCK that is NOT a cat you bloody fuckin- put it DOWN NOW."

-The man gives his best big blue puppy eyes even though he doesn't realize what he's holding isn't a cat at all, but a baby raccoon he found digging around in the trash. "Can we keep him lt? Please he'll be good and we can call him Floof or Bringer of Death or whatever you wanna name him!"

-"Oh for fuck sake you idiot, put the damn thing back in the trash before you get rabies and then I'll have to do so much paperwork because of your dumbass. I swear to you I'll-."

-As Ghost carries on, Soap puts the little trash panda back where he found it, (albeit begrudgingly), and they walk home just a little bit faster. If only to warm each other up when they get there.

Ghost:

-Ghost gets sent on a solo op to the desert in the middle of bumblefuck nowhere. He's on a stake out mission, meant to gather intel from afar and report back to Watcher periodically over the span of several days.

-As the hours pass by in the blistering heat, Ghost is a sentinel, unmoving and unwavering and unseen. The man has been glued to his rifle for the past 72 hours, and there isn't a sight of hair nor hide of anything worth noticing or reporting since he landed.

-It's approximately 12 hours before he needs to pack up and head to the exfil site that he sees movement. "Bravo 0-7 to Watcher." "Watcher here 0-7, send traffic." "Got movement heading towards the compound. HVT confirmed, multiple armored vehicles, what looks to be a package being guarded for delivery." "Good work, Bravo. Keep an eye out for any reinforcements or sudden changes until further notice. Watcher out."

-It's only after he clicks off his comms that he feels movement coming from his pant leg. As calmly and quietly as he can while flat on his stomach, he wiggles out of his boot and removes the offender. A small, brown lizard doing it's damndest to hang on to his sock.

-He flicks it to the side, shakes his head in silence, and doesn't think about the incident until after he rendezvous with the bird.

-On the tarmac and sore to hell and back from being a statue for several days, his seargent greets him before he even steps out of the belly of the plane.

-"Lt! It's good to have you back." Ghost just nods his way, not unkindly--the exhaustion setting in quick now that he's returned. Soap sends a bright smile his way, and follows the older man all the way to the armory to turn in his gear, and then all the way to the captain's office for debrief, and then to his door to finally shower and fall into bed for the next 10 hours until he's needed again.

-Ghost doesn't have the mind to look either direction before pulling his sergeant into the room behind him, locking the door once it's closed. He dips his head to the other man's shoulder and wraps his arms around his back in a much needed embrace.

-"Let's get you washed up and in bed, mo ghraidh." Soap takes the lieutenant by the hand and leads him to the bathroom to begin shedding him of his many layers.

-It's when he gets to his cargos that he notices it. "Uh, lt?" "Yeah, Johnny?" "Whatcha got in there?" "Huh? In where?" Johnny gently pats the right side of his hip, where his deepest pocket lays from the side of his hip to the middle of his thigh.

-Simon reaches into his pocket and freezes. "You've gotta be shittin me." He pulls out from his pocket a small, wiggly brown lizard that followed him home in the safety of his pocket. All they could do was look at each other and laugh.

[girl-lostconnection]

Acceleration AU (part 4) 7.1k

Warnings: smut, insecurities, unhealthy attachment, Johnny is middle child and hates it, possessive behavior, Ghoap x fem!plus size!Reader, Simon is a loser😔, mentions of religious elements (prayer beads) as allegory, suggestive themes, abandonment issues

Soap isn’t sure about anything. Soap looks at you and feels a surge of protectiveness, your tears cracking open the soft tender part of him.

The protector. At his core Johnny is a protector, and you look like you could use one. He knows you are capable of doing it all yourself, God, he can see the way you actually snarl at Simon when he tries to make decisions for you.

But he can’t help but move a little closer to you, passing you a pillow for your lower back while you drink your tea. It earns him a small smile and an additional biscuit on his plate.

(He will come off his leave few pounds heavier thanks to your efforts, but God, it’s not fair how delicious everything is)

For some reason you keep feeding him like your life depends on it, sneaking him crackers and nuts and sandwiches.

Passing him juicy cuts of steak Simon fries for dinner. Making him tea and sharing your cookies. Cutting fruit and peeling oranges and tangerines.

Soap feels like you would hand feed him like he’s a sparrow if you could. If he’d let you.

Caring for him comes to you so naturally like you don’t even have to think about it. And watching you notice Simon’s mood swings and the fact that you pinned comfort foods list for his lieutenant on the fridge…it speaks volumes.

Soap isn’t sure what’s going on and what it means but Simon seems incredibly pleased, and you seem to act like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

So, he just…accepts it? He likes to eat and things you pass him are always delicious so there are no actual grounds for complaining.

You aren’t pushy like Simon is with his advances, you don’t hover, you don’t stare him down. Where Simon is a mountain, an enormous heavy presence and heavy hands and heavy eyes — you are the wall.

You are the cover and safety and absolutely unyielding nature. You are wide shoulders and warm fingers passing him food. You feel like shelter.

Still, he can’t help but sneak glances at you and Simon, trying to gauge how you two even happened. How does it work?

Why did you two stuck together for so long?

Two stones won’t make a paper and while he thought that he and L.T. balance each other out, he didn’t know about you in the past. And now when he does the dynamic leaves him puzzled.

It’s entirely new side to Ghost. A side he never knew before, a side no one but you see, probably.

But you mention running low on groceries and Simon gets up without a second word, getting dressed.

Soap isn’t sure he’s morally ready to stay with you in an empty apartment while he wears your…boyfriend’s? partner’s? just yours? Simon’s sweater.

So, he gets up as well and then you hum to yourself and also get up, quickly drafting up a list in your phone’s notes app, murmuring to yourself what you need to get and occasionally asking Simon (who’s already one leg out the door) if he knows whether or not you have flour.

Simon huffs, getting his boots off and pads back to pantry to check before reporting that no, no flour.

Finally, after two more walks to the pantry (you seem to enjoy making Simon walk back and forth simply because why not and Soap hides his grin behind a cup) and uncomfortably warm fifteen minutes in a puff jacket (that’s what he gets for getting ready too quick) you all are dressed and ready to go.

The afternoon is cold but crisp, not a cloud in the sky, sun shining brightly enough for you to pull out sunglasses and push them on Simon’s nose.

Simon presses a short kiss to the crown of your head and extends palm to Soap, making a flexing gesture with his fingers.

Johnny feels something inside of him warm up when he takes Ghost’s hand and gets pulled up close, grinning when sunglasses almost slide off Simon’s crocked nose.

It’s good. He feels like a boyfriend. Like Simon’s boyfriend.

Where he stands with you, he’s not sure yet, because as much as primal part of him surges up to protect you from slick mud and Simon’s glares and stranger almost checking you off the sidewalk into oncoming traffic, he doesn’t know how you feel about him.

Why bother imagining something that may not even come to life? Powering through obstacles is purely Simon’s virtue, Johnny is more used to rebuilding things. To squeezing through the cracks and making his home in people’s heads before they catch the wind of it.

But you prance forward, click your tongue in annoyance when Simon pulls you back. There is a silent moment where you two just stare at each other and Johnny swears he can see the conversation happening.

He’s just not a part of it.

Johnny has never seen before the way you and Simon operate outside of your home bubble and now, he thinks he gets it a little.

There is this years-old familiarity with which you cover Simon’s side in the crowded mall, pressing him to the opposite side of people walking by you — minimizing amount of accidental physical contact with strangers for him.

And Simon lets you do this without as much as a sound, free palm under your puff jacket, on the small of your back as you lead the way.

It’s as if you know Simon like you know the back of your own hand, perfectly attuned to the level of his comfort, hypervigilant as soon as you step outside.

It’s the same deal inside of the supermarket when Simon tugs your puff jacket off, draping it over the crook of his elbow and pushes the trolley forward, following you as you go.

It’s a routine that you two have, it’s a habit born of years and years of knowing and learning each other’s clicks and hurts and little sore spots.

To the point when now Simon just hums and puts headphones on you when there are screaming kids in the store, and you haul in the shopping cart twice the amount of his favorite snacks.

You two just click and go, moving as a well-oiled machine, the intimate understanding of a perfectly combined puzzle — polished to perfect silence and flickering back and forth glances.

Soap feels the way his right shoulder nervously twitches and speeds up, so he doesn’t get left behind. There is a cool spiky ache in his chest at the comfortable silence you two share.

He’d honestly prefer to chat up one of you, but you are already wearing headphones, engrossed in shopping and Simon looks like he’s perfectly content with staying silent.

You two share a routine and Soap doesn’t know how to slot himself into it.

He doesn’t know if he should.

(How do you know when you are in? How do you know that you can make yourself at home? How do you know you are wanted there? How?)

Johnny waits for a sign.

Trying to see whether he needs to pack up his bag or stay by the door.

He doesn’t wait to see if he’s invited in the bed, he doesn’t wait to see whether or not Simon would change his mind, he doesn’t wait to see if you would kick him out like a stray dog.

A mutt that wandered a little close to the warmth of the hearth and wasn’t immediately shooed away.

Now lying under the table, nervous to breathe too often, nervous to ask for things, nervous to lick petting hands.

But Johnny is not a mutt. He doesn’t want to be one.

Johnny is smarter than empty despair, Johnny is stronger than taking it lying down, Johnny is too stubborn to give up easily.

So, he chats Simon up, so he makes his way into Simon’s arms and Simon’s bed and Simon’s life.

And he meets you.

You watch him — wary and tense, eyes growing heavy when he tries to push through you, when he tries to sneak under your table and wait you out.

It doesn’t happen.

John is annoyed that it doesn’t.

Part of him relieved at that. He tries not to think about that part.

Johnny is from a big family with brothers and sisters, born somewhere in between.

Born and forgotten — mom’s kiss on the cheek and sibling’s shove coming a little too late to go unnoticed. Just a moment later than for everyone else, like they have to make a conscious effort to remember that he is there too.

Just one of the children. Just one of the brothers.

Nothing special really.

He fucking hates it.

He doesn’t want to be one of someone’s, he doesn’t want to be blank face in the crowd, he doesn’t want to be second fiddle and second choice and second best.

Johnny wants to be the first. Johnny wants to be the best.

Johnny wants to be wanted.

He’s just not sure yet how to get himself in your hands. If you even want him, if you even would take him as he is or would he need to adapt to you. Would he need to create a separate Johnny specifically for you?

So, he can stay with Simon and you. So, he doesn’t get tossed out as soon as you are done with him staining your pretty hardwood floors and laying in your bed and fucking with your Simon.

Johnny hates that in his head he can’t name Simon his. Johnny hates that he doesn’t even share Simon with you — you already have him. You had him way before Soap.

And you won’t need to do anything to keep him. Simon is not leaving. Simon isn’t going anywhere from you. Simon is not leaving you behind.

Johnny doesn’t know whether or not he will get left behind. Johnny wants to find out.

He murmurs “give it to me, lass” getting your bags of groceries and watches you wrestle the door. Plastic of bags cuts in his palms, and he thinks they bought entirely too much, because do they really eat all of that?

But then he takes another look at Simon, picking coins off the floor and sighs. Yeah, probably they do. He didn’t think how much three grown people eat. Or two grown people and a bottomless pit of a man.

Simon huffs out air and rolls his shoulders when everything spills out of your bloody pockets.

It’s nothing special really, just that you fumble with your keys and send flying spare change and keychain and old museum ticket and some scraps of paper all over the floor.

Simon crouches with a grunt to pick them all up because Johnny is holding the bags in both hands, pressing one more to the wall with his hip and you are trying to unlock the door (God, he will change the fucking locks as soon as he can. That’s ridiculous, thing jams since you moved into the flat and it’s been years).

So, it’s nothing out of ordinary when you finally wrestle the doors open and shake off your coat, cupping your palms in a boat so he can place everything he picked up in your hands.

It’s not unusual, honestly, it happens a little too often to his liking, but it is what it is and then his eyes catch on a receipt stained with liquor.

A receipt with a phone number and cheeky “gonna wait for your call, doll!” in the corner written in the most shit cursive he has ever seen.

Which bloke with a handwriting like that tried to hit on you? A bloody chicken?

But you just hum, throwing everything back in your pockets, not paying much attention to his inner turmoil.

Though when your eyes catch on the corner of receipt, you pull it back out, inspect the cheerful note and hum again in a way that Simon isn’t sure he likes.

Because you don’t crumble the piece of paper and don’t throw it away — you put it back in the pocket of your coat.

You help Johnny with bags, giving him a chance to shake off his own winter jacket.

There is a dark hot coil of anxiety in Simon’s gut when he stares down your puff jacket, fingers itching to get the bloody receipt and throw it away while you are not looking.

It’s childish and he has no right to do that, but the urge is so strong he actually tries to come up with an excuse in case you catch him.

Soap’s voice is the only thing that snaps him out of it, forcing to start undressing, heavy boots thumping down as he gets them off. He’s a little lightheaded with razor-sharp panic and clouding agitation, tension pain in his neck spiking up again.

Will you call the number? Will you go out with the bloke again? Did you like him? Would you date him?

The timing really couldn’t be worse for this kind of thing. Not when he finally realized what he wants and how he wants it.

Not when he got you and Johnny in one place, not when he already admitted to Johnny that he wants you both.

And while he understands that he mostly dug his own grave on his own, Simon also strongly dislikes the idea of you with someone else.

It’s selfish and he has no right to your time and personal space. He has no legitimate grounds to even be jealous.

But he is.

Drives him fucking mad it does.

Simon watches you pour Johnny some tea, Soap’s eyes warm and thoughtful on you.

Like he is not sure he gets you. Like he doesn’t know where to put himself.

And maybe it should soothe him, but he can’t not think about the number that’s still lying in your coat. The number you didn’t get rid of.

There’s heavy dangerous kind of rage beneath Simon’s skull — pulsating and filling his head with migraine intensity, pushing on his eyeballs harder and harder. Until something breaks.

Until he can’t hold it in anymore.

But Simon could’ve gotten Olympic gold in bottling up his feelings if it ever became a sport. He’d be undisputed world champion with how naturally it comes to him.

Would be great if he also could bottle thoughts in his stupid fucking head so he can think clearly, so it doesn’t make him fidgety and snappy, so he doesn’t hole up in the bathroom for forty minutes just standing under the water.

He gets out only when Soap gets in, fingers massaging his nape, fingers rubbing his shoulders and pressing him in cool tiles. Somehow Johnny knows exactly how to pull the plug and drain him.

Somehow Johnny is always there, making it better, biting into Simon’s arm to force him out of delirium.

Johnny’s palms slide down Simon’s waist, forcing him to brace his forearms on the shower wall, forcing his back to arch.

There’s a familiar tap on his thigh, command to open up because frankly the floors are slick and there’s a huge fucking chance for Simon to fall and break his skull open if Johnny plays rough and kicks his legs open.

But Soap presses himself from behind, teeth scraping against Simon’s shoulder blades, fingers sliding down until there is this familiar pressure on Simon’s hole. The one that leaves him empty headed and greedy, the one that makes his legs slide open and his jaw go slack because bloody hell, Johnny and his long fucking fingers.

(Sometimes he thinks that he and bombs are the only things that get Soap’s fingers with his full concentration in addition. Simon often feels like Soap does work him like a tricky bomb)

Johnny and his attention to smallest detail because he knows exactly what he’s doing when he presses Simon into the wall and fucks him stupid.

Coaxes out moans and greedy greedy creature sitting in Simon’s chest, aching for more, always begging for scraps off the table, still not used to sit like a person and ask like a person.

Johnny cracks him open and bleeds him out just to kiss it better afterwards. Johnny is there, pressing his whole body into Simon, holding him together.

Just holding him.

The water in the shower is cold by the time they get out and Simon is blissfully empty headed and relaxed, shifting his weight from one leg to another when he feels familiar pull inside.

Probably should have stretched better but bathroom is cramped, and he needed to get out of his head then and there.

Johnny watches him before swiping his thumb at the corner of Simon’s mouth and popping it in his mouth, blue of his eyes so scalding Simon’s throat bobs.

Soap wipes off the drool and silently promises to make him go slack jawed again later. When he gets his hands on the lube that got left in bedroom.

Simon pads back into the kitchen and you silently place a mug with his tea made exactly the way he likes it, and Johnny plops himself down, leaning in close and snuggling.

All sated aching and pleased rumbles.

Simon isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel after everything, but he feels warm. His body melting into Soap’s, his eyes melting into yours when you swat away a tiny eyelash from his cheek and hold it up so he can make a wish before you throw the thing away.

How did you even notice it there? He has blond eyelashes; the tiny hair would be practically invisible on his skin.

Simon doesn’t ask, staying content with the knowledge that you just did. Like always.

You and Johnny both — keeping him together, noticing smallest thing, making him sane and full.

Making him Simon again and not just Ghost.

Simon watches you standing over the pot with water for future pasta you three are apparently having for dinner. Means he’s in charge of cooking meat a little later than. Okay, that he can do.

But for now, he doesn’t get up anywhere. Doesn’t really want to.

Kitchen is quiet, warm with more than just condensation from cooking, soft from more than just small light of your lamp.

Simon likes evening like this one, when it all slows down and feels home. Like a proper life. And a proper family for him.

The two of you is frankly all he needs. All he wants. He knows that it may be incredibly greedy of him, but he’s been more than humble in anything other than you and Johnny. He’s been content with scraps and leftovers for a long time.

Is it really selfish if he wants to have it all for once?

Maybe it is.

Simon watches you salt water, sleeves of his sweater pulled up to your elbows, your shoulders spread and relaxed as you hum something under your breath. It’s a pleasure to watch you like that. Calm and relaxed in the safety of your home, in the warmth of your kitchen.

Johnny leans on his shoulder yawning and Simon wraps an arm around him, letting him lean in, letting him nap as they sit there.

Feels good. Feels exactly the way he wanted it to.

Better than he imagined.

Simon rubs circles on the back of Johnny’s shoulder, skin under his fingers is warm and soft, littered with smallest freckles he has ever seen. Like his boy was just dusted with cinnamon at birth.

Prettiest fucking thing.

Simon looks back at you coincidentally in the same moment you look at him and you smile silently, mouthing “you okay?” just so he can nod, feeling his chest slowly melt.

Yeah, he’s okay. He’s more than okay. He’s perfect.

Simon smiles as you quietly pour the pasta in the boiling pot, doing your best not to disturb half napping Johnny. You may not be in love with his boy (yet), but he’s rubbing off on you.

You already care after all.

Simon’s eyes slide to your neck again and something in him clenches, scrubbing from inside out with annoyance. Demanding out.

He can’t help but think back to the phone number in the corner of receipt and the way you came back home — neck blooming with hickeys, some bloke’s cologne clinging to your hair.

It disappeared after prolonged cuddling session, of course. He took care of that.

And when the evening of that day came — you were warm, sleepy and smelling like you again. Soft skin and laundry detergent with the hint of something uniquely yours.

The soft scent he could usually feel only by nuzzling into your neck or when he managed to dip his nose in your cleavage.

Same soft scent he could feel on the tip of his tongue, when he’d leave kisses on your cheeks and jaw, soaking you with his affection.

The thing is, he could take care of scent.

But could he take care of some bloke that took interest in you?

Soft, gorgeous, warm you. His moon in the sky, his home, his family. His lovely bird.

Simon doesn’t know how to just tell you what he wants. It’s not conventional and he already fucked in a bit and then some.

But if he was at some point to inevitably lash out when his desperate childish “don’t leave me, not you, don’t leave me, i don’t want to do this without you” pours out into something thick enough to choke the words out of him and possessive enough to try and keep you back…he’d better have some really good reason.

Because if he was to ask of your attention, your time, your effort, you — both for him and Johnny — it wouldn’t be fair if he wasn’t honest about his reasons.

You are grown people. He’s a grown man for god’s sake; he should be able to hold a proper conversation with you about something this big.

Simon knows you hate change and don’t like surprises and have hard time adjusting to changes in routines and patterns.

Honestly, so does he.

That’s one of the perks of being in military — you get the same fucking routine over and over again, you have a clear set of rules and even clearer one of instructions.

(If drill sergeant tells you to sweep the sunlight out of the garage, you sweep the sunlight out of the garage)

But it’s not military this time. It’s home.

And home has always been a safe harbor.

Place for both of you — space designed with your specific quirks and preferences in mind.

Big bed with orthopedic mattress for Simon to help his back aches and sleep apnea, bought bloody thing off the first cheque he got. You bought proper pillows and weighted blankets (filled with glass balls or something, he wonders where you even found it. Probably costed a fortune).

Good ACs both in living room and bedroom for you, which costed a bloody rack at the time, but it’s been more than worth it. Keeps you nice and cool in summer (God knows you can’t sleep if you are sweaty and if you aren’t sleeping — neither does Simon).

There is his favorite beaten up armchair you saw on Facebook Marketplace and somehow hauled back to the apartment. There is your couch with dozens of blankets and pillows, thing that’s sinfully comfortable but a tad short for someone of his size. Though many things are.

There is Simon’s butcher knives in the kitchen and your neat rows of spices. Your herbal tea and his straight black Earl Gray.

Simon’s right side of the bed and yours’s left one.

For so long this home was only for the two of you — the only constant in your lives, the place of comfort and security.

He still remembers how he had to change locks on windows and screw in additional bolt lock for you to the front door. Can’t have any accidents happen while he’s away on deployments and not here.

Simon knows that asking you to even consider making space for an entirely new person is a lot.

Almost too much.

So, a proper conversation about the matter is the least he can do to smoothen over possible transition.

He needs to do this.

Because as much as he loves you, he doesn’t love Soap any less. He can’t ask of Johnny to just wait, standing in the doorway with his bags still packed and ready if he’d need to leave at moment’s notice.

He can’t leave Johnny hanging in the air.

It’s not fair to Soap.

So, after dinner when Johnny is already halfway napping Simon wraps him in a blanket and tucks him comfortably on the couch. Lights on the Christmas tree are still twinkling, there is unfinished plates with pasta on the coffee table and some movie you and Simon watches a million times is playing.

It’s soft and quiet, it’s warm and peaceful.

Simon pads back to the kitchen, nudging your hip with his so he can wash dishes instead. It’s only fair — you cooked, he’s gonna clean.

You hum, moving aside and picking up towel in area to dry off things he passes to you after thorough wash. God knows both of you can’t stand dishes being wet and cold.

“Something on your mind”, you muse quietly and Simon glances at you, moving his lower jaw until there is click before he actually nods.

“Yeah. Think we can have a proper conversation?”, the words feel like he has to physically drag them out of himself, fingers twitching again because there is sharp ping of anxiety in his head, and he hates that he can’t just bottle up some of his thoughts.

You hum, eyes sliding up to him. There is something in your face that makes him pause turning off the water, heart thumping in his chest.

He needs to sit down and preferably right now. This is fucking scary, why is that so fucking scary.

Simon doesn’t know how to properly say everything in a way that would be coherent and make perfect fucking sense to you.

God knows out the two of you, he’s the one who’s worse with words.

A small stubbornly childish part of him still really wants you to read his bloody thoughts so he can be off the hook. But the same part sometimes makes him eat ice cream in the middle of the night and then sugar doesn’t let him sleep so evidently, that’s not the wisest his part.

There’s thumping anxiety behind his thorax, phantom vibrations sending nervous twitch to his fingers, his eyes landing on the useless awkward stump of his absent finger.

Had to re-learn how to fucking shoot after Roba’s torture and even then, he managed to crawl back to you.

Legally dead and everything, he came back, and you didn’t ask any questions. You just accepted him — a finger less and a whole lotta scars more.

You deserve to have a proper conversation about his behaviour and about Johnny’s presence. You deserve so much, and Simon is here fighting himself to choke out something. Fuck, anything at all.

But there’s knot in his throat and lead weights in his belly and it should be funny that he’s that scared.

Only he doesn’t feel like laughing at all.

“Do you want me to move out?”, your question snaps him out of panic induced stupor and every thought train in him stops with screeching of pulled stop lever.

“What?”, his voice croaks with broken shards, thumping in his chest just getting louder and louder, his eyes flicking to you like you might disappear if he lets you out of his sight. “Luv, no, I— wha’— sweet’eart, no.”, there is an edge to his voice.

An edge that scrapes the inside of his gut, carving your initials in tender bleeding flesh. So, he gets to keep something. So, he lives with a reminder of you.

“Why—”, he licks his lips, feeling every crack and that’s the wrong time but maybe he should have used the chapstick you gave him and maybe he should have talked with you before and maybe he should have done more. “Do you want to move out?”, the question tastes like bile in his mouth and God, he hates the way even the thought of you leaving makes him blind with panic.

Because no. Nononono, you— he doesn’t want you to leave, please, don’t leave, please, don’t.

“Thought that’s what you wanted to talk about. So…you know, Johnny can move in”, you explain with tone so casual he’d snap if he didn’t know better.

If he didn’t know you.

There’s tension coiling in your shoulders, that pulls occasional shrug-like motion out of you — half-discreet attempt to loosen some of the muscle pain by rolling your shoulders.

You don’t look at him, staring down in the sink at the remaining cup like you can obliterate it with the power of your mind. And honestly, Simon wouldn’t be too surprised if the bloody thing fell apart.

He for ones certainly feels like falling apart.

“I don’t want you to move out.”, Simon’s hand wraps around you, pulling you away from the sink. “I want you to never move out”, he mumbles in your hair, breathing in the smell of your shampoo and it’s so lame of him and he hates the numb-headed state he gets in as soon as he starts panicking.

Maybe he should actually try therapy like you’ve been suggesting. Or at least start taking medication? He’ll think about it later.

“Luv”, there’s a soft press and a tickling exhale to the back of your head and Simon is very close to wrapping himself around you like a weighted blanket and just pin you to the floor.

Which would be a lame fucking decision but thankfully, you aren’t leaving yet. So, he can do that. He has to do that. “Luv, I want you to stay. You and Johnny both. I want you two to stay with me”

Simon breathes it out, wrestling every word out of himself and it feels like bloody confession he saw in movies and with his palms on the soft roll of your tummy he feels impossibly close to the divine, knuckles gently rubbing idle patterns on you.

Why would he need any prayer beads when he lives with a bloody saint? Your flesh so soft under his fingers he wants to press his face into it and never come up for air.

“I don’t think John would appreciate your friend forever third-wheeling you two”, there’s a small vulnerable crack in your voice and Simon can’t help but dip his fingers in it, opening you up.

Cracking open your ribs and scooping up your heart.

More and more and more and more.

So he can finally see what you are feeling, so he knows he isn’t the only one scared/

So he knows you want him. Them.

“Luv, I don’t want to be friends anymore”, Simon exhales and his lips are trailing down the nape of your neck, drinking in the rapid beat of your heart and soft scent of your skin, his body pressed flush to your back. “Not just friends”

“What do you want then?”, hitch in your voice makes his blood flow south, raw feral need bubbling in him, nose rubbing at the hickeys someone else left on you.

Thick and dark hunger of his threatens to spill over and cling to your skin. Never to be washed away. Never wiped off. Never-never-never.

You can always be his, he’ll take care of everything, he’ll take care of you, of Johnny, of home. He’ll be so good, you won’t need for anything, you just gotta stay.

“Want you. Want Johnny. Want us three together.”, the quiet exhale sends a shiver through you and Simon drinks in it, lightheaded and slightly mad with need, pressing a kiss to the soft place between your neck and shoulder.

“What does Soap think about that?”, you try to deflect, slide into different railroad, branch conversation away from his obvious need to hear your answer.

“What do you think of that?”, Simon huffs out, teeth nipping your soft skin, stubble scratching you. Bastard knows exactly what he’s doing.

Simon smiles in your neck, his open-mouthed kiss hot and sinfully wet, his embrace tightening around you.

You are warmth and safety. You are home.

You are moon in his sky — he’d be blind without you, he’d be lost without you, he wouldn’t be Simon without you.

“I asked first.”, you dig your heels in and smack his palm away from sliding under the hem of his your sweater, effectively stopping Simon from getting handfuls of you to squeeze.

This man is not going to drop a bomb on you and then turn around and use your tummy as anti-stress toy.

He annoys you even more because Simon is not even trying to look guilty — his smile so wide you can feel it with every inch of your skin he’s pressing his big head to.

“I told him that.”, Simon finally admits, nuzzling himself in your neck. “You are mine. And he’s mine. It’s not gonna change.”

The silence stretches between you two as you turn your head to him, giving him the slowest blink in the world.

Simon pauses for a moment before huffing out air in your neck, palms finally getting a hold of your love handles.

“I can hear you rolling your eyes, sweet’eart. I’s not very nice”

“You are not very nice, Simon. You can’t just drop something like that on a person. It requires proper conversation. A mutual discussion of everyone’s borders and comfort levels”, you hiss trying to wiggle yourself other way in his hands so you can face him.

Simon eases his hold on you so you can reprimand him properly, but he doesn’t let you out of his hands completely. Not yet.

“I’m trying to have one”, which is honest to god’s truth, because he knows he’s not good at that and he knows you are right, fuck, you are right more often than not.

The sigh that he gets in response is so heavy he almost feels bashful. Almost.

“We can have one. All three of us in the morning”, he offers, and he can practically hear the sound of gears in your head turning faster.

Planning and outlining everything, already building a system in case of bad ending or good ending or no ending at all.

“Okay.”, you finally nod, your fingers hooking under his chin to tilt his head so he’s looking you in the eye. “Tomorrow in the morning, yes?”

Simon nods, leaning into your touch, eyes half-lidded and entirely too soft for someone who doesn’t have a definitive answer.

But he knows you.

And if it’s worth anything, the mere fact that he hasn’t heard “no” or “fuck off, Simon” is a good bloody sign. So things are going much better than expected in all honesty. Job well done. Almost.

There’s warmth in his chest as he cuddles sleepy Soap back to the land of awake, fingers rubbing the nape of Johnny’s neck, pulling him out of the slumber.

It’s slow and soft and for a few long blissful moments Soap is warm and heavy, honey is coating his limbs and eyelids.

He is safe and he is home, Simon’s side pressing into his, your quiet voice asking if he’d like a cup of tea.

And then, like a bucket of ice-cold water is “We will need to talk”, sending his heart in a rapid beat, his eyes flying open.

“Talk?”, he sounds hoarse even to himself and you just hum, collected as always, eyes calm when they settle on him.

“About the three of us”, you explain, and he swallows, eyes watching you.

Is that the time for him to pack bags? Is that the time you realised that you don’t want a stray in your bed and a strange man in your home?

Johnny wraps his fingers around your wrist, not even realising until he’s face to face to you, your eyes watching him expectantly.

“What’s wrong?”, there is a gentle care in your face he didn’t expect to see, there is lack of fight in you he didn’t expect to encounter.

Because in his first day here you looked at him like he was a mutt your partner dragged from a cold street and told you that it’s staying.

In his first day here, you hissed and bristled and snapped at him, your silence weighted, your eyes heavy.

Soap knows all too well that nothing comes to the likes of him without a fair price. Soap knows better than to hope without fighting his way up and proving himself over and over and over.

He’s not going to be pitied. He’s not going to be a charity that you do for the sake of Simon’s happiness; he doesn’t want it to be like that.

Johnny is anything if not persistent. Johnny refuses to go out without a fight, without trying to wiggle his way in, without clawing at everything he wants.

If he won’t get place for himself, at least he will leave his mark.

As a reminder that he was here. As a reminder that he was almost loved.

Johnny nuzzles in your palms, eyes a little mad and a little gone, hollowed out pit in his belly, hunger in his chest that he cannot sate, need that you know all too well.

A hysterical chant in his head.

Love me-love me-love me-love me.

Don’t leave me, don’t forget me. Notice me.

Johnny shudders when you hug him, when your hand reaches out for him even if you don’t need him. Just because you want to.

Just because you want him.

Johnny presses his body into you, whines when Simon presses his own from behind, his mind blanking out at the feel of being surrounded by you two.

It’s warm, plush of your tits cushioning on his chest, bulk of Simon’s body pressing him into you tighter.

More. He wants more. He needs more.

Johnny spreads his legs open and hides his face in your shoulder.

Johnny hiccups when Simon’s fingers rub his prostate, torturously slowly stretch him open, kisses littering his back, sharp overbite of Simon’s jaws sinking in the fat of Soap’s ass.

Leaving mark, staking claim, showing love.

Johnny whines when you pepper kisses all over his face, fingers going through his sweat-wet hair, pushing it off his face, your lips the sweetest fucking thing. He never wants to go without your kisses ever again.

He is sloppy and wet, mixed drool dripping down yours and his chins, his stubble scratching your soft face and oh, he’s sorry, bonnie, he’s sorry-he’s sorry-he’s sorry.

Johnny doesn’t realise he’s crying until you wipe his tears off, until Simon doesn’t wrap his hand around his waist tightly, pulling him in, the delicious stretch of thick cock spreading Soap open.

Fucking hell.

Johnny whimpers something incoherent, Scottish Gaelic mixing up with English, eyes glazed over and desperate, hands gripping you and legs spreading for Simon.

Anything. He’ll do anything.

Just don’t leave him behind.

“Love me-love me-love me-love me”, chants in his head, dances on his tongue, tears out of his throat when he sinks into your welcoming heat. Drunk on pleasure and dazed with need.

He wants it all. He wants you both.

Forever and always. Until death do you part.

Until you no longer want him

You make the prettiest fucking sounds when he bites your neck, canines sinking in soft skin, his cock so deep inside of you it should be impossible.

But he pushes himself into you again — dives in and gulps as much water as he can so he stays at the bottom of you.

So he can stay as a small coin in your fountain, a memento you’d never forget, a man you might never love but who’d never be just another face in the crowd for you.

He will always be someone.

Simon presses himself hard to Soap’s back, rumbles out “kiss ‘er more” and Johnny obliges because if this is his last night he’s going out with fireworks and your taste on his tongue and Simon’s bites all over his body.

And the imprint of your combined hands on him — gripping and tugging and holding and squeezing.

It’s so much and so overwhelmingly perfect he doesn’t know how he’s still lucid, pleasure dripping down-down-down, his spine melting, his mouth hungry wet thing full of teeth and promises to be the best.

To be everything. Anything. Whatever you need. Whatever you want.

Your lips find his and Simon bites down on his shoulder, fucking into him with the slow force of a heavy hammer coming down on anvil with all its weight.

You squeeze around him, inner walls of your cunt wet silken heaven that drives Johnny mad, that makes Johnny blabber filthy things, voice cracking with something wet and gurgly and he's kissing you again.

You won't forget him. He won't let you. He won't let Simon.

Pleasure coils in him until there's nowhere else to go, until he's overflowing and pathetic - face buried in your neck and god, Simon was right, you do smell divine - back arched so hard he feels like his spine will fucking crack but he wants more. He wants everything.

Until he's sick from how full he is. Until he can't take it.

Pleasure drips down-down-down and he never wants this moment to end, he never wants to come back to what was before and how fucking ironic it is that orgasm snaps him out of it?

He's coming and coming and coming, his body honeyed and heavy, his head empty and he's wet like a fucking dog - sweat and drool and saliva and combined fluids drying up on the insides of his thighs.

Soap blinks himself back to reality, but he can't move - he doesn't want to really. His face is nuzzled in your tits, your fingers combing through his wet hair as Simon wipes you both off.

The towel is warm and a little scratchy, cleaning you up, taking care of a mess Johnny is right now.

It's good. It's soft.

It almost feels like he belongs here. Like he deserves it. Like he isn't a stray accidentally let in and who purposefully overstayed his welcome.

But you are soft, and Simon is warm, and Johnny is sandwiched between the two of you in the best way possible.

He makes sure to remember every little thing about this moment. After all it may be the first one and very much the last one.

So, if things go south tomorrow - he was here. He felt good. He felt wanted.

For one beautiful hot night he belonged.

That's what matters, isn't it?

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Taglist: @thestoriesiread @skeletonsucker @sirbonesly @blackhawkfanatic @rpgsandstuff @danielle143 @parasite--girl @un-aesthetic @vmaxis @kittygonap @love-kha1 @hidden-reblogs @sgt-barnesveins

[lay-z]

Another Johnny blurb :) A bit of folklore in this.

After barely surviving and recovering from a gunshot to the head by Makarov, Johnny is sent on medical leave, back to live on his elderly parents' farm in Scotland.

Now blind in his left eye and with the decline of his hearing, he keeps himself busy as best as he can helps taking care of the farm animals around, tends to the large pond in the spacious backyard and catches up with some old friends.

However, now suffering from nervous anxiety, Johnny picks up hiking as his new favourite pastime, needing to get away from the hubbub of his hovering family more than ever; his injury causing him excruciating headaches and, if he's particularly unlucky, panic attacks.

He takes his new journal on his hikes, buys a few more pencils (in case one breaks while he's out again), and finds the most bonnie places to catch a break and either sketch away or write down his memories because he doesn't quite trust his brain anymore.

One day, after hiking down a new path he found on a yellowed map from his late gran'da, Johnny finds a dale straight out of a fairytale.

Honey-bright rays of sunshine break through the surrounding treetops of willows, rowans, and copper beeches, shrouding the scenery in a myriad of shades of yellow and green while the local fauna goes about its merry day, ignoring Johnny like he's just another lost intruder stumbling upon the place.

And Johnny feels drawn to the overflowing creek after the earlier summer downpour, finds a cluster of moss-covered rocks, and decides to take a well-deserved break until his good right eye catches sight of someone already occupying the spot.

A woman clad in something he can only describe as... historical. The dress she wears is dripping with water, her wet hair sticking to her equally dewy skin, an aura of mystery and sorrow surrounding her as she sits there all by herself.

"Oi, miss? Ye shouldnae be around here by yerself. Ye need help find yer way back?"

You glance at him over your shoulder, and Johnny bristles, pulled forward, and screamed at to run by his most primal instincts simultaneously. At first, he doesn't even notice the sudden eerie silence surrounding him, blames it on his bad ears, but there is no more chirping and bird songs only the trickling of the nearby stream gently rushing in his ears.

Steamin' Jesus, she's beautiful. Hauntingly breathtaking that one. A wee bit strange perhaps, he thinks, but

"Death clings to ye, lad," you tell him matter-of-factly, tilting your head as you regard him with murky yet curious eyes, "and he'll come fer ye again."

Your nonchalant remark, spoken so sweetly, nearly knocks him onto his knees like a physical blow. The grip on his leatherbound journal tightens, knuckles whitening as he takes panting breaths to rid himself of the bile suddenly rising in his throat.

It's then he knows what you are, and while Johnny has lost his youthful wonder and believe of his own countries folklore, he can't help but believe that you must be a bean-nighe, a washerwoman.

An omen of death.

"N-no," Johnny croaks out, eyes widening with disbelief and fear before shaking his head so harshly, it worsens the headache already sneaking up on him. "Tha's not true! Tha's not Tha's not possible. I'm home! I'm safe here!"

Then, the softest smile lifts the corner of your mouth, and your buried maternal instinct makes you want to reach out to soothe his worries while he's already scrambling clumsily to get a grip.

"You'll see, sweet man," you snicker, standing up to watch him run, leaving your valley. "We will meet again."

And how was Johnny supposed to know that you simply wanted tell him about missing Simon's phone call? He didn't even give you a chance to clarify.

Ghoap x spirit!Reader ? Or perhaps I should make her a pixie :)

[superhoeva]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞 (𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞)

prisoners!ghoap x civilian!reader x ex-cons!pricegaz | simon really needs johnny to stop talking. you meet some familiar strangers. (w/c: 2.1k)

warnings include: dark content, prisoners!ghoap, excons!price gaz, light ghoap smut, rough sex, unprotected sex, johnny's dirty mouth, language, simon being a hypocrite and a hothead, age gap (late 20s/40s), heavy petting, bodily fluids (mentioned), improper/taboo relationships (prisoner/worker), cheating, loser boyfriend behaviors (again), illegal activities, corruption, violence, injury (mentioned), unsatisfying sex, masturbation (fingering)

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Simon likes Alex.

Alex doesn’t mind if the inmates don’t walk in a straight line on the way back from meals. Alex minded his business the first time he caught Simon with his cock down Johnny’s throat one afternoon. Alex brings him and a few other lucky blokes whatever their heart–within reason–desires.

Sneaks it in, rather. All for a price, of course.

“You’re still good for the painting, right?”

Ghost pauses, turning to Alex with a look that reads the fuck are you on about? A small grin lightens Alex’s face before it falls into an uncertain frown.

“The painting. The portrait ” the guard reminds Simon but he still doesn’t budge. This is fun for him, even if the expression on his face is its usual glower. “For my fiance, man. Our anniversary’s next week, you’d said you have it ready for me to give her.”

Simon gives Alex five more seconds to stew in his panic before softening his face and clapping Alex on the arm. Ha .

“Just fuckin’ with you, Keller. ‘S hung up right now, nearly dry. Should be ready tomorrow.”

“Fuck you,” Alex shakes his head, huffing out a breath of relief.

“Buy me some dinner, then we’ll talk–”

“Yo. Simon, right?”

All of the humor, as little as it was, fades from Ghost. Both he and Keller tow their gazes to an awaiting face. A face Simon is two seconds from caving in.

It’s a kid. Well, a kid to Simon. He’s a little thing, far too skinny to have been in here for long, and his head still fresh from the mandatory buzzcut they make all inmates receive the week of their arrival.

When Simon doesn’t respond, the kid is stupid enough to try again.

“Simon… Simon Riley?”

With the look Simon’s sending him, the kid’s question falters into a nervous whisper. Ghost’s look is dark. More grim than death. The scars on his lip and the clenching of the fists around the bag thrown over his shoulder make it so much worse.

Alex cuts his eyes between the two with held breath and doesn’t exhale when Simon mumbles out a mean-sounding grunt.

“I heard you’re the guy to speak to if I wanna, uh, move some stuff inside…”

The long, long breath Simon sucks in does nothing to stop the flame that threatens to ignite the wrath building inside him. He keeps his stare with a large step forward, knocking into the kid’s shoulder so hard that the smaller man falls with a painfully loud thud. No one attempts to help the guy up off the ground. Most just look and are happy it isn’t one of them.

Alex huffs a quiet sigh, following after a stomping Simon who doesn’t bother with so much as a glance back at the boy squirming in pain. The hall of prisoners part like the Red Sea as Ghost makes a B-line for his cell. He commands the entire floor without so much as a word, head high and chest stretching the scratchy-cotton of his jumpsuit. The poor fabric of his sleeves is in worse condition, barely fitting around his nicely ballooning biceps.

What he wouldn’t give to wrap the muscle around the kid’s neck and squeeze until he hears a satisfying pop. And what he wouldn’t give to drain the subsequent adrenaline by fucking you ‘til he’s filled your pussy with at least three loads of his seed.

Hotter than th’ sun. Fucking stupid.

Johnny’s laying stretched out across his cot when Simon and Alex arrive. His stare lulls from the ceiling to the two men, a lazy smirk blooming across his face at the irate expression on Simon’s. Chuckling just barely, Johnny rises into a sit.

“Whit’s got Si’s cock ‘n a knot this time, Keller?”

Alex settles for a lean inside the cell entrance, watching Simon throw his bag to the side and plop on his bed with his signature grumble. Thank fuck Ghost managed to keep his head. The last time he broke up a fight that involved Simon, he ended up with a stinging shiner and sprained shoulder. The painting Johnny made Simon gift as an apology helped but only a bit.

“Just some kid,” Alex shrugs. “Little shit even called him by his first name.”

Johnny’s eyebrows raise as he lifts his arms in a tall stretch. “Hm. Brave laddie. He still alive?”

“Unfortunately,” Simon answers, pulling another laugh from Johnny before he turns to his favorite C.O. with a gleam in his eye.

“I’m grabbing the guitar strings tonight as soon as I get off my shift. You’ll have everything by tomorrow,” Alex tells him, already knowing. Shit, the man’s been on his ass about it for the past week. “I gotta go but stay outta trouble, gentlemen. For all our sakes…”

Nothing from Simon and a wide grin from Johnny–that definitely reads never –has Alex leaving with a snort. With the two men now alone, Soap sighs contently, staring at Simon until the older man is forced to meet his eye. He’s greeted with the sight of Johnny swinging his legs on the side of his cot and staring back with a tilted head.

“What?”

Johnny takes so long to answer that Simon wants to smack something hard against his ass.

“Our babe asked ‘bout ye today.”

It was an accident. Cracking his palm against one side of your ass yet Johnny has no regrets. He never will, stuffed inside you so deeply that his thighs shake.

“Soap…”

Your whimper, buzzing each time he shoves himself back into your dripping warmth.

“Fuck, where s’at spot at today, huh? She shy, hm? Hidin’ from me?”

Another whimper, loud enough for you to force your hand against your mouth to cover as best you can, slinks out of you when Soap changes the angle of his hips. He resumes his wet pumping, hurrying to grab you when you go limp at the feeling of his leaking head nudging against your walls perfectly.

“Ah, there we go. Thas’it. Ye know, we stay in ‘ere much longer ‘n they’re gonnae think we’re up tae somethin’ naughty.”

Johnny laughs at his own joke through a quiet groan, arms still hugging you to his chest. He’s been close for a while but dragging it out like this… seeing how long he can take being inside you, seeing how long he can take watching your ass bounce back against him before he floods you makes him feel like he’s really earned it at the end of it all.

“D-do you–ah, fuck,” you have to pause in your question, reaching to Inmate Soap’s forearm to squeeze at the sound of how well you’re creaming around him. “Do you talk about me? With–with Inmate Ghost?”

You feel a stuttering of Inmate Soap’s hips though he recovers quickly. It seems the words have done something to him, opening the door to a new canyon of whatever passions drive the man that’s driving you to ecstasy.

Inmate Soap accelerates his pace, one hand grabbing blindly at your tits through your shirt while the other reaches to swivel your head to huff inside your mouth. For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you, and your soul soars. His lips are closer than they’ve ever been. They just barely brush along yours, hot breaths puffing onto your tongue in the form of filthy whispers.

“Get ta blab to ‘im every damn day ‘bout ye, doll. Tell ‘im how good ye look when ye fall apart ‘round my cock. How yer the closest thing tae heaven someone like me’ll touch. He wants tae touch ye, too, ye know… ends up solid as a fuckin’ rock when he remembers what we do back ‘ere and nuts an entire ocean right ‘ere onto my tongue after. God, ah would do just about anythin’ tae see you take that fucker’s load. Then make ye sit on mah face so ah could eat it outta ye right after…”

Simon doesn’t realize he’s stopped breathing until his chest starts to burn.

“ Riiiight while ‘m balls deep inside ‘er, funny thing. Nearly fainted when ah told her ‘bout all the times ye don’t last longer than a few minutes thanks to the lass.”

Now that he’s thinking about it again, you did look a bit more… wobbly… than usual after you’d exited the back closet. Simon has noticed it right away, the dazed look in your eyes and the slight sheen just barely decorating your skin.

Simon sniffs. There’s no sense in glancing to see if Johnny’s words have succeeded in their task–he’s throbbing already and can feel each twitch of his cock as he pictures the image of you below him, whining for him to pretty please, just stick it in while he teases his fat tip across the swollen bud of your clit.

Johnny only watches, palming at his own hardening member and watching with a crude grin as Simon ignores the bulge in his trousers to turn to his bag.

 New acrylic paint. More flat brushes. Three cartons of cigarettes.

Thanks, Keller… and piss the hell off, MacTavish.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Rocky wants chicken for dinner. At least, that’s what you think he mumbled last night prior to half-heartedly fucking you for a handful of minutes and then rolling onto his back to drift into a swell of snores. He doesn’t even remember to take the condom off before sleep takes him and you don’t peel it off his softened cock until after you finger yourself to an underwhelming orgasm.

Happy anniversary to you.

You decide to take your time wandering the familiar aisles of the grocery store, mind clouded with the indecencies that oozed from Inmate Soap earlier in the day.

The heat from him still dances across your lips in ways that make you feel half drunk. He still won’t kiss you, though. Why won’t he kiss you?

Fuck, the things he told you. The things he revealed about Inmate Ghost–and how he wants to touch you. How would he touch you? What would he do if you rattled off one of your lies about a broken machine and led him to the back closet?

What would either of them do if you asked for them both?

“Woah. Eyes up, love.”

Your body jolts at the feeling of your shopping cart knocking into someone. Growing warm in embarrassment, your face folds into a frown.

“I’m so sorry, I–”

Two of them. There’s two of them and they dry up all the spit in your mouth in mere seconds.

The man on the left sports a smirk that shows off a near-perfect set of teeth that match everything else about him. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was a model. Hell, he probably is one and should be if he isn’t. With his umber-tinted eyes boring into your’s, you become absolutely certain; he’s one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen… and knows it.

A flick of your stare to the right reveals the other man. He's longer than you realize, and holds quite a build as well. Staring right back with a patronizing tilt of his head, he stares at you with… something . Not cockiness, but cunningness, rather. Like he knows all the things you don’t 

“You what, doll?”

Blinking, you nearly jump again. The man, older than the other from what you can tell, has a rumble to his voice that trembles your insides. A gulp bobs your throat and you swear you see both their gazes rake to the skin of your neck before dragging back up to meet your eyes.

“I-I’m sorry.”

The words fall from you pathetically but the men soften a little. The older one with a tone that you know will never leave you allows his eyes to crinkle as he gifts you a charming half-smile, while the younger man throws you a wink that snatches your breath.

“S’alright, darlin’. Just watch out for next time, yeah? Don’t want you falling into traffic one day… head like your’s s’too pretty to get knocked around, hm?

You’re frozen in your place, and that’s all they give you before they stroll past you and your cart. Squeezing the handle, you let them pass, pretending not to notice the way each of the men made sure to send you one last glance. Their looks are different than before.

Intentional. Heated. Familiar .

The younger one lets his gaze linger a little longer as he follows his friend around the corner and onto the next aisle–that same smirk tilting up the corners of his mouth as his tongue peeks out to wet the plush lips.

You shiver, whipping your head to look inside your cart.

Maybe you’ll just order pizza tonight...

kyle garrick, the man you are... and what i wouldn't give to hear the captain call me doll just once | (next part) – © 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[tiddygame]

Ghoap god type AU.

Soap is the long forgotten god of death.

Ghost is his first follower in a very long time.

[this started as a humble text post and has snowballed into 60,000+ words]

Ao3 /// part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3 /// part 4 /// part 5 /// part 6 /// part 7 /// part 8 /// part 9 /// part 10 /// part 11 /// epilogue

————

At first, Soap had been seen as kind and benevolent. The one to end someone’s suffering and help them along to the afterlife. However, as more wars began to break out, his perception changed into that of a bloodthirsty warmonger. The type that you sacrifice the blood of innocents to for luck in your upcoming battles.

Soap had simply ignored the brutish offerings. But then they spread. Like a plague, soon everyone was murdering their chosen victims in his temples in the hopes that it would bring them even more fortune.

Realizing that his presence was just causing more and more to die, he let himself fade away. He was reduced to nothing more than a comforting feeling people felt before they died. Over time, the so-called offerings stopped. Scared of what would happen should he return, he continued to fade.

A god is only as strong as their followers believe them to be. With no followers, no offerings, they are nothing. While mortal weaponry may hurt a god, may even get them to bleed, it cannot kill them. A god can only truly die when they are no longer remembered.

Soap is waiting for the day that he is truly forgotten and can pass on when he gets a feeling. One he has not had in an age. Though his worshippers have abandoned him, his temples and statues remained, though now significantly worse for wear. And someone just provided an offering of a single slice of bread on one of his statues.

A meager offering, sure, but it’s enough to get his attention. He has almost no power nor any energy left, but he sees a soldier sitting next to the statue as he ate his meal.

Meanwhile, Ghost hadn’t the faintest clue what god he just gave an offering to, but he felt a little better afterwards and so just hoped they weren’t evil. He took note of the statue’s appearance and when his troop was encamped near a town, he snuck away to a local library to see if there were any books he could find about it.

He was not apart of the army willingly, but he owed them a life debt and they had decided that it would only be repaid upon his death. Just a glorified prisoner, he was kept at the general’s side as his favorite weapon. Sneaking away was difficult, but definitely doable. The few times he was caught, he made enough of a disturbance that it was easier for everyone involved to let him do his thing.

They did not need to worry about him running away. If he was able, he’d have run the second he was given the chance. However, he was stuck. As long as he owed a debt, he could not leave.

The statue, at the very least, gave him something to do.

He was intrigued. He did not recognize the features at all, and his research confirmed that it was not a well known deity. It takes a long time of asking the right people and finding the right books to uncover the story of the forgotten god.

Having read everything — from loving poems about the being helping sickly children find comfort in their last moments to angry anecdotes about desperate townspeople sacrificing themselves in the hope that the god would show them mercy — he decides to give the god the benefit of the doubt.

He figures the world is shitty enough, why not find some good that had been tucked away? Ghost himself was seen more as a weapon than a person and couldn’t help but sympathize. He was never one for gods or worship, more likely to curse the heavens than ever sacrifice something of his, but he almost felt bad for the being. So, the next day, from one bloodthirsty monster to another, he gives the forgotten god more offerings.

It’s still not much, just an apple and a ring the general wouldn’t notice missing, but he sets them there anyways. He damn near jumps out of his fucking skin when the feeling of an accepted offering floods through him. He stares at what would have originally been the face of the statue, but nothing happens. The trees behind him continue to sing their song in the faint breeze, with the sounds of a lively woods never fading.

There is no outside sound, no out of place movement, no indication that he hadn’t just imagined the feeling. A leaf falling from one of the branches and landing on the pedestal, where the offerings were now gone, snapped him out of his staring contest. He muttered out a gruff thanks and sat down to eat, ignoring the feeling of being watched.

[karlachismylife]

My linear algebra class got moved to tomorrow and I have the terrible urge to post, so here are some speedrun headcanons (yes I'm aware that it's been done a few times, and I agree with the takes I've seen, but lemme just have my fun). It's something along the lines of favourite body part, I guess? But not quite.

I wouldn't say they're explicit, but there are suggestive parts.

Also these aren't strictly x reader, cuz I feel these can be applied to character x character relationships too, but I won't tag them cuz there's a lot of them and I don't wanna get yelled at by people who hate seeing even hints of x reader content. But I have very much been thinking GhostPrice, NikPrice, Ghoap, SoapGaz and a fuckton of others in the process. Just something cozy and loving to start the week since it's snowing (no they are not snow-related).

Price is a tits man. First of all, research shows that older men prefer boobs over ass (I KNOW that he's not actually an old man, it's a joke), but second - he just gives off vibes of someone who can spend hours holding his partner in his lap and just groping and kneading them breasts - doesn't matter the size, doesn't matter whether those are real breasts, implanted, just pecs; whether you have big areolas. mastectomy scars, absolute flatness, doesn't matter in the slightest: John will latch onto them, mouthing all over the skin, sucking hickeys and lovebites dangerously close to the area usually visible under their clothes. If there's not enough flesh to fill out his palms, he'll just hold what he gets while he sucks on those nipples eagerly, beard prickling sensitive, wet skin. John is also a tits man outside sex: his partner's chest is his favourite pillow, so he rests his head there or nuzzles between for a nap regularly. It's about the intimacy, the heartbeat and the sensual symbolism, not tits in particular.

Ghost is a lap/belly nuzzler. Nothing feels safer than being able to rest his troubled head on them soft thighs and hide in the softness of one's stomach from the world. He might be so much bigger than his partner's lap, or they might not have that much meat on their bones, but Simon still feels the safest when he's cradled like a baby and surrounded by the warmth of one of the most vulnerable parts of a human body. Hug his shoulders, shield him, push him into the folding between your belly and thighs - that keeps his demons away. And gives him a nice opportunity to tickle/blow raspberries when you least expect it. Probably finds delight in those occasions when yout stomach grumbles right above his chipped ear - you can feel his scarred lips stretch into a wide smile against your skin and you can rest assured he will let some little joke slip. But even more probably he will ask to stay for five more minutes before you can grab a bite to eat.

Soap is an ass man and he also has been ashamed 1,5 times in his life, so he will put his grabby paws on his partner's butt in all circumstances, beware. Sneaks a squeeze every time he passes by, slides his hands down during kisses, holds a posessive handful when he has his partner in his lap. It's just nice to look at and also very fidgety for his restless hands - so good for squeezing, kneading and pinching! Is a menace and will slap that arse - with a palm or, after he almost injured himself with the change/keys stuffed in your back pocket, a towel. Will be a coward and run away from revenge, but actually can take a rough spanking and give one too if you're into that. Absolutely uses your ass as a pillow, good luck shaking him off if you need to move - he somehow gets heavier when he's relaxed, but keeps a steel grip on your hips. If you wake him up by trying to escape, he'll just drag you back and bite. Oh yeah, he bites. He'll do anything with your ass, really, make out with it, take it out to candlelit dinner, tie a knot... are those sex metaphors? Yes. But also if he could marry someone's butt, he probably would.

Gaz feels like he would be into thighs, but also into hands. Like, every one of them isn't a straightforward character, but Kyle's duality strikes me the most for some reason. Probably because it's so trixter-y in its nature, he's such a romantic, moral man, very much focused on doing the right thing and serving as a compass for everyone around him, even if his views and principles evolve with time, but he's also such a little shit at heart - a real prankster and chaos agent. Incredibly clever and sly. So it feels right that while he loves just holding hands, be it out on the street or while lounging at home in a cuddle heap, tracing patterns on the back of his partner's palm and brushing his thumb over your knuckles, he is also a feral fox, gripping, biting and kissing those thighs, ogling the way they move when you walk, leaving marks and tracing those with his tongue... he's also a big lap napper, but he prefers his face stuck in the lap itself, arms wrapped around your thighs tightly. Or even better - one arm hugging your thighs like a comfy pillow, and the other resting peacefully with your hand clutched in his, fingers intertwined tenderly.

Nikolai is a waist grabber. He probably prefers tits over ass, yeah, but he's more focused on keeping his arm wrapped around his partner's waist - or at least pressing his big palm on the small of their back. Is a big tease and likes to keep everyone around him on their toes, so expect sudden pinches of tickle attacks on your sides. Comes up from behind to hug you and lock his huge paws on your stomach, probably interrupting whatever you were doing, but he just wants to hold what's his properly, arms full and securely tightened. Also he likes to kiss those spots behind his partner's ears (and tickle those too). He's not overly possessive since he very well knows only the dumbest of the dumb will try to steal from him (and also he's pretty sure he's doing enough to keep his partner with him willingly), but he just likes the feeling of having something he likes so much. Might stem from his strict upbringing, soviet scarcity of everything or maybe he's just a lil' bit greedy by nature. Either way, his preferred sex poses usually include him holding you by the waist a lot.

König is there to be the little spoon. Not only is it safe since he trusts his partner more than anyone, it also frees him from the necessity to hold eye contact - it's just tiring and a little anxiety-inducing for him, even if you say you're okay with him avoiding it. He feels like he's just expected to do it, but when his back is turned to you, he kinda isn't. And finally, it's just fun: he has quite a sense of humor, actually, and he won't deny that him being the "little" spoon with a partner who's smaller (doesn't matter if your size difference is comicly huge or you're actually not that far, you're definitely smaller than him). He also very much enjoys taking his partner's palm and placing it over his heartbeat - it's soothing and romantic, and also will help you notice if his anxiety spikes before he has some upsetting reaction. Never happened while you two cuddle, actually, but knowing you're there to just be with him and keep him safe is enough for this big boy. Will repay the favour by seating you between his legs, chest pressed to your back, and cuddling you like that - but only when seated for some reason. Might be spine problems, I dunno.

Valeria is a throat grabber, squeezer, biter, kisser and everything else you can imagine. She likes power, she's not ashamed of that, and she can handle having it. Marks her partner up with bitemarks and hickeys, and maybe even knife scratches and her name carved into the soft, vulnerable place between their collarbones. Likes to just run her fingers over your throat, feeling the pulse, stretching her grip to accomodate as much of your lifeline as she can into her threatening palm. But it's not always such obvious powerplay, she also enjoys kissing the soft skin gently and innocently, simply because it's sensitive and intimate. Her fingertips dance around your nape and throat while you're cuddling, sometimes they stop to feel your voice vibrating as you're telling her something, sometimes she flicks your earlobe plafully or scratches that nice place at the base of your skull. It's possessive and warm, and she would never actually threaten your life (probably), but the thrill gets both of you.

That's my random character speedrun for now, might add someone with a part two (feel free to request), and now back to my other things to do.

[ohbo-ohno]

Okay so BO!!! I have two brain worms lately that I wish to share but I’m only gonna tell you the one now because I’m lazy. Police Officers!Ghoap stopping your friend for speeding and seeing Reader in the backseat, drunk and to yourself, waving at them excitedly when they look in your direction. It gets Johnny all excited and before Ghost can even say anything he’s telling your friend and you to get out of the car, giving you both field sobriety tests. You fail and your friend passes but they both lie and say that they failed and that they have to take you both into custody. Taking you to the station and frisking you, Soap reassuring you when you ask if it’s normal to need two officers for a search. Ghost holding you still when Soap starts to remove your clothes, ignoring your whimpers and whines when he gropes at the flesh of your ass, resisting the urge to bite into it. And then Ghost says they have to do a cavity search on you to be certain you don’t have anything dangerous to hide :((( 🧡🧡🧡 - 🕸

ooh you should maybe check out No One Has To Know by Carin Hart! tbh i wasn't a huuuge fan, but it's got a stalker police officer who kidnaps the fmc and uses his position as an officer to threaten her

anyways! i very rarely write it bc i've actually never been drunk (looong history of addiction in my family) and i feel like if i tried i'd sound like kid guessing at what drunkenness is lmao but! i fucking loooove noncon (dubcon?) with a drunk victim who wouldn't consent if they weren't drunk, and the abuser takes complete advantage of that. hot as fucking hell. and the talking them down the next morning, gaslighting them into thinking they did consent? ohhh i eat it up

anyways 2x. im obsessed with what you've sent me, may i offer some variations?

rookie cop soap & experienced (and jaded) cop ghost who's stuck as his partner. they take both you and your friend in and soap takes you into a private room for your search but ghost can just tell that soap is gonna get himself in trouble, so he finishes his search real quick and goes into the private room to find johnny humping your back while you grind on his leg :( soap freezes in fear because he is actively assaulting you, but ghost just sighs and closes the door, grunts "hurry up, then. need to get her in a holding cell. can spend some more time with her then." and johnny moans, making you moan, and the two of you are just a soaked and desperate mess of limbs

ghost and johnny pulling you over alone on the side of the road in the middle of the night. they handcuff you and you're too scared to fight back, and they insist on doing a search, and then a cavity search before they take you in their car :( you're squirmy and scared and trying so hard to be good, and ghost and soap play good cop/bad cop with you. except, surprising you, ghost is the good cop and soap is the bad cop. mostly because ghost is near silent and soap is rough, kinda mean, while ghost is just ordering you around. anyway the interaction ends with ghost fucking you with his gun :/ you're trying so hard to be good but it's scary and soap keeps threatening to gag you if you get any louder :(

ghost and soap sneaking into the holding cell, making you stay silent in less you want your friend to wake up and see you taking their cocks so well :/ age-old trope but reader getting interrogated by ghost and soap and totally abused and violated as an interrogation method :/ ghost getting mean mean and telling you he'll either fuck you with his baton or beat you with it :/ soap making you shine his badge with your tongue while he's railing you :/

[dexterlittle]

Hello Ghoap Community! And CODMW as well!

I am currently working on something HOT for the community! As in something you'll be able to use on tumblr, in discord, on telegram etc !

I was thinking of selling the bundle on my Ko-Fi at first but then everyone would just save and use them from those who would've spent money.

SO. It will be free! Ill only charge a little fee for extra characters (I currently have 7) as it will be extra time for research if I dont know that particular one and to try drawing them correctly.

I'll even accept OCs and characters from other games/movies/etc for a small fee.

And by small fee I mean 5$ or less. Still thinking about it. Once I reveal the project (Just need to colour the bois!), Ill add the commission info for other characters on my Ko-Fi page!

So considering all this and the time Im putting into it, it would make me very happy if some of you would consider tipping me/become a member and sharing my Ko-Fi (and this post) within the community!

Im a small disabled artist who cannot work so this would help me a lot. Especially since I need a new tablet to keep working on nice art! (My current one is borrowed, and completely full, making programs crash quite often, loosing progress whenever it happens)

So thank you in advance everyone! I really appreciate it! I will try to make a commission sheet but for now contact me if you'd like to commission me for a small project! I can colour something you made or commissioned as well! :)

So thanks again!

-DexterLittle

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EDIT: I decided that if I get one donation/new member I will release a WIP/Sneak Peek/Teaser!! :3 (From someone else than @tapioca-milktea1978 - you silly friend! You already donated and are a member! Ahah <3)

[swordsandholly]

Just got my ao3 account let’s goooooo [link]

Also holy shit y’all I didn’t expect to get this much attention this early into having an account. Thank you all for your kind words and support of my silly little one shot!!

I’m so excited to start posting more - here are some sneak peeks into bigger fics I’m working on:

Butcher Shop Owners Ghoap x Bakery Owner Reader

Poly 141 x Reader Pro Wrestling AU

Poly 141 x Seamstress Reader - reader needs fit models and sends out an ad