#ghoap comfort for reader
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You don't have to do everything alone
A/N: Making some blurbs while I work on a longer piece, could be awhile before that one comes out though, probably gonna end up at 10k words if I haven't calculated it wrong. Requests are open too if you got a blurb you'd like to see!
Blurb: Reader is overworked and gets pulled away by their boys.
The screen in front of you had gotten exceedingly brighter during the last few hours. You could feel your brain slowly turning to mush in your head, no matter how hard you tried to sharpen yourself.
The sun outside had long since gone down, replaced by a dark and clouded sky that you didn't have time to pay attention to. You could feel your eyes hurting, slipping closed every now and then from exhaustion. Most people had already gone back to the barracks by now, done with their work for the day and in for a good sleep.
You couldn't afford such a luxury right now, not with the current mission and everything that's at stake. You didn't know how long you had been at it today, but it's all your mind had been focused for the last week. Your job was to track the targets, find them, information anything you could to figure out potential locations.
That's what you'd been occupied with for so long now, and you were failing at it.
You were supposed to be a specialist, a professional who knew what they were doing. Instead, you were here, with a headache that could kill, no hope, and tons and tons of unreviewed files you had yet to get to.
You take a deep, long breath, hoping that it could give you some relief in your state. It doesn't. Your hand comes up to rub at your neck, taking the opportunity to look around the office you'd been holed up in.
You'd been right to assume everyone else had already gone, someone must have missed you were still in here and turned off the lights. Either that, or you'd been sitting still as a statue for longer than you thought.
It was a possibility, judging by the ache in your bones when you stretch and pop your sore joints. You didn't dare look at the clock, but you didn't doubt that you had missed your usual afternoon gym session. There was too much to do to allow yourself to be distracted, even for a few moments.
You knew a large part of this operation now relied on you and few others. Ones that you didn't count on being competent enough to get the job done, so it came down to you. Not that you felt very competent now either, you weren't much better, having found no solution to your problem yet.
With a sigh, you turn back around in your chair, honing in on the sharp screen once again. You could ignore the ache in your stomach for a bit longer, if you just tried a few more things, maybe you could find the fix all solution you'd been looking for?
Even with your split mind, and rundown state, it wasn't hard to get back into focus. It was the only trait you could rely on now, the focus carrying you through long enough to fix your problems one by one.
A downside, some would say, would be the way you tune out of your surroundings, you stop noticing things happening around you, not to mention the passage of time completely eludes you. You didn't even realize when the light in the office were turned on, or when two different sources called your name. You didn't notice the footsteps become louder in your direction, or when two shadows towered over you.
You were only torn out of your focused fixation when someone gently slid down a hand over your eyes. Your breath hitches in your throat, your hands coming up to grab at the arm and push it away but getting stopped by a different set of hands.
"Jus' us luv" Simon's gruff voice vibrates close to your ear, making you relax your shoulders and let your hands fall back to your lap. It's only now when your eyes are shrouded in the darkness his palm creates that you realize how much your eyes were hurting. You forcefully blink a few times, settling for closing your eyes, protected behind the security of his hand.
You lean back in your chair, feeling the back of your head collide against Simon's firm stomach. You crane your head upwards, despite not being able to see him, you can almost imagine the curious look he has on when you do. His other rough hand slowly slides from your shoulder, over your throat, holding a persistent comforting weight there to keep you in check.
Your lips part ever so slightly, letting out a long gust of air, expelling everything in your lungs and making your shoulders sag. You had barely noticed how exhausted you had gotten, but this was nice.
You try to jerk your head when you hear someone else's movements, but Simon holds you in place. You feel a different set of hands gently lay on your shoulder, that someone shuffling in-between you and the desk you'd been spending the last several hours at.
"Missed ye darling," you let out a small huff when you hear the Scottish accent, not that you expected him to not be hot on Simon's heels. Your scoff is silenced when he gently places his lips on yours, Simon's hand not even bothering to move to give him space to do so.
In a way you don't want him to move his hands away from your face and neck, it was somewhat stabilizing. "What are you two doing," you ask, slightly out of breath when Johnny pulls away. From the sounds and his movements, you guess he crouches down in front of you, placing both his hands on each of your thighs.
You reach forward, blindly searching for him, and only finding him when he guides your hands to his face. "You've been actin' off," Simon starts out, Johnny slipping in a hum of agreeance, "you're working yourself to death dove."
You let out a huff in response, not wanting to agree with him no matter how true his statement was. You run your hands through Johnny's hair, grabbing playfully at his mohawk. You lean forward, gently sliding out of Simon's hold.
His hands resting on you retract, and you almost instantly regret it, squinting your eyes in the bright light. "M'fine," you mumble quietly, letting go of Johnny and looking into his bright blue eyes, "Jus' a bit stressed".
"C'mon to bed, love," you had halfheartedly expected Johnny to plead with you, but he seemed way past that now, using a more authoritative tone and leaving little room for disagreeing. Of course, that didn't mean you weren't going to, though.
"Can't" you continue to mumble tiredly, doing your best to keep your eyes open and ignore the dull ache in your head, "still have to finish this." You hear Simon let out a heavy sigh behind you, you'd almost feel guilt under his disappointed stare if you weren't already ridden with it already.
"You've worked hard enough for today, there's always tomorrow" Simon reasons with you. You're about to protest again when he points another thing out, "don't come with another excuse, you can barely even keep your eyes open, don't deny it."
You barely catch the glance the two men exchange with each other, but you don't fail to recognize what it means. You've already lost the fight at this point, you didn't have an argument that would actually make them listen, and deep down you knew they were right.
"I…" you barely get your word out before Johnny stands up, taking your hand in his and softly pulling you to your feet. You don't know when or how, but they'd already turned off the computer you had been using.
You take a step towards Johnny, but instantly feel your vision swirl, the millions of thin pricks blacking out your view for a good couple of seconds. With a groan, you collide against his chest, closing your eyes and staying there long past how long it took for the prickling to disappear.
"Ah got ye," he mumbles quietly, bringing around his burly arms to encompass you into a hug, placing a small kiss to the side of your head. The last of your willpower and determination to continue and finish your work tonight, dwindles away when you feel his warmth.
"When's the last time you ate?" you hear Simon ask in a quieter, knowing tone. You wince against Johnny, knowing the scolding you were gonna get later. It was hard for you to recall much of anything from the day, most of it was spent in front of a screen with data, minimal breaks. You weren't entirely sure whether or not you had eaten anything that day.
Johnny takes in a deep breath; you feel his chest expand under your cheek before lowering back again. "We'll get ye some leftovers on the way back aye?" he mentions and softly turns you around, "Garrick left some from his last meal, ah think it's something ye will like."
You nod gently, letting the exhaustion take a small win when your eyes softly close. You don't feel like opening them again, being quite fine with falling asleep standing up right now. "C'mon, let's get you to bed, Johnny'll get the food." Simon places a hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you along.
"Aye."
How you stay upright all the way to your room, you have no idea. You're pretty sure you should've collapsed at least ten times on the way here, but with Simon's hand on you, you felt like you could push on just a little more, and finally you could collapse on your bed.
Simon let's out a breathy chuckle at your theatrics, moving your limbs around like you were a doll. He pulls you up and takes a seat behind you, pulling you close with your back to his chest. You feel his hot breath on your ear, and after getting yourself comfortable, you can finally feel yourself relax.
"You need to stop taking on everythin' alone" he dips his head into the crook of your neck, his lips ghosting over your skin. "You're not the only one working on this, you can take a break" he mumbles, and lets his arm travel over your midriff, pulling you even closer back against him.
"I know, but the less I’m working, the more time it's going to take to find our target" you answer, moving your hand up to run it over his scalp. Your attention is taken away from him when the soft click of the door opening reaches your ears.
With a small smile, you greet Johnny back in, watching the plate of food he brings along. As soon as you smell the delicious meal, your stomach rumbles, loudly. You grimace, once again having forgotten the gaping hole you felt in your stomach.
"Hungry then aye?" He sits down in the bed next to the two of you, handing you the plate of food, which you accept graciously. You knew how good of a cook Gaz was, but this was one of your favourites, it was likely he had intended to give you some as well, had you been available at all during the day.
You let out a sinful groan when the food collides with your taste buds. "Thank you…fucking hell," you mumble with your mouth full. You make a mental note to thank Kyle for the food later, and then also beg him for another batch.
"Easy," Simon grumbles from behind you, "gonna upset your stomach by eating so fast." His hand comes to rest against your elbow, slowing your movements so you don't inhale the food on your plate.
"I know I know," you mumble between bites, catching the cheeky grin Johnny gives you from how you sound with your mouth full. "It's fine, I can eat, take a nap and then get back to it" you declare after finishing another bite of your food.
"Nu uh," Johnny shakes his head, seemingly amused that you think you're not going to be resting longer than that. "We'll keep ye in bed until ye're rested properly" he reaches his hand forward, letting it rest on your knee while his thumb rubs against your skin.
"What you can't do that-"
"We'll do whatever it takes to make sure our darling isn't working themselves into the ground again," Simon comments from behind you, leaving you a bit stunned at his sternness. You feel him gently take the empty plate away from you and put it on the bedside table when you're done.
"You can't keep me chained to the bed," you respond with a pout, crossing your arms over your chest and twisting your body to look in the eyes of the man behind you. He doesn't look like he's about to put up with your shit, however, and doesn't even dignify you with a greater response than his infamous glare.
Johnny brings your attention back to him, turning your head back by grabbing your chin. He leans in to plant a gentle and short kiss to your lips. "Ye heard 'im, whatever it'll take love" he chuckles quietly, the breathy sort of way.
You feel heat rise in your cheeks and let out a squeal when he picks you out of Simons lap, rolling over and ending up on top of you in the bed. He rests his chin against you, letting his weight hold you down and give you a comfort to your restless edge.
The light turns off above you, and it doesn't take long after that before the bed dips and Simon joins beside the two of you. Johnny let's out a satisfied hum when Simon pulls you both closer, wrapping you all up together in the blankets.
"Goodnight, ye sleep tight now, darling."
#noctmoon fics#gender neutral reader#fluff#hurt/comfort#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#simon ghost riley x reader#john soap mctavish x reader#simon riley#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#john soap mctavish x gn!reader#simon ghost riley x gn reader#simon ghost riley x gn!reader#john soap mctavish x you#john soap x reader#ghoap#soap ghost#ghoap x reader#ghost x soap x reader#ghost x reader x soap#soap x ghost x reader#soap x reader x ghost
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I know we all love a good "reader gets kidnapped" fic but what if
What if one of your boys gets napped instead?
I was thinking about polyam ghoap for this specifically for some reason but like
Poor Johnny kidnapped in the middle of a mission gone wrong and no one knows where the fuck he is
Ghost is ready to tear just about anyone's throat out and he might if it wasn't for you to keep a leash on the poor sod
The reunion is sweet, typical "lovers rescue their kidnapped beloved and reunite" shit but you can't spin a cliche and assume it's not cliche anymore, right?
Now. The only hurdle. I know Johnny's personality and such. But to write it to my satisfaction... hmm...
Ugh I need to make this happen now
#ghoap x male reader#ghoap x reader#male reader#ftm reader#trans masc reader#hurt comfort#i have too many ideas now#ghost x reader#ghost x male reader#john mactavish x reader#john mactavish x male reader#soap x reader#soap x male reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x male reader
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🌃Mercurial
ghoap x male reader
Chapter Two: Hunger
"...you had these compelling magnetized eyes you must've lost when you got older."
-The Taxpayers, I Love You Like An Alcoholic
(tw: aftermath of violence, poverty, alcohol, implied past addiction)
It started in an alleyway your aching back against the cold bricks, blood from your nose ruined three times over slowly dripping onto your lap, staining threadbare jeans, headlights occasionally blinding your left eye.
You don't look around, you keep your dry, itchy eyes on the filthy floor wondering if they'll finnaly fire you for missing work tomorrow or showing up looking like a battered street cat, you wonder if you'll be able to keep the lights on with whatever measly savings you've got left, you wonder if mom will clear out the basement for you, you wonder if you'll need the E.R if you can even afford that.
The thought of prescription pain meds brings about that familiar spike of excitement, of desperation you thought you had burried a while ago but it's short lived. Your head is fuzzy, almost cloudy with the rush of the recent bar brawl, if you can even call it that when in reality it was little more than you running your mouth in a place you knew not to when in reality it was you getting battered and thrown out of your fifth pub in this town. This is what happens when you stay in one place for too long, you get restless, you get mean. İt's no excuse, it's just how you are.
You hear footsteps approaching and before you can look up a hand is under your scruffy chin lifting your face up.
The first throughout in your head is 'He's beautiful' and he is. Blue eyes and thick baby cow lashes, a well sculpted face, overgrown stubble, thick shoulders and a surprisingly fitting mohawk.
"Ye alive laddie?"
He asks, thick accent and scotch on his breath but all you can focus on us the scar curled like a snake nestled in the scruffy stubble of his chin then you notice the other man behind him, taller or at least you think he is, you can't tell where he ends and the shadows begin untill a headlight passes over, illuminating a juvenile skull mask, thick shoulders, wide arms straining against the sleeves of his jacket.
He seems like a guardian angel, like the grim reaper himself.
"Yeah, thanks mate,"
You groan throat scratchy and dry as you pull yourself up, no energy to dust yourself off as you pat his shoulder.
"Looks like ye could use some help, we'll drop ye off."
You shake your head instinctively
"Nah, thanks, not my first, 'be fine."
He frowns, it's akin to a pout and you're stuck with the thought that he can get anything he wants when he does that.
"Nah, yer in no state to be walkin' home by yeself, plus we insist, don't we?"
He turns to the man behind him who shifts either nervous or stiff and nods.
"Yeah, we do, c'mon."
His words are clipped, voice gravell not that much of a contrast to the other man's like sniew and heartstrings.
You haven't got much left to lose and help is always appreciated -never really deserved - so against whatever better judgement you've got left you let them hold you up by the shoulders and half march, half drag you home.
They're strong, much stronger than you and they carry you with an ease that embarrasses you, you do your best to not look desperate between them, not look needy.
The first one -John- fills the awkward air with small talk and jokes, the other one watches as if he's thinking you through, writing down the pros and cons and although you slur and stumble through your words and laugh way too much you dare to think a favourable judgement has been passed on you when you wake up to a band aid on your busted bottom lip and a note with two numbers on it signed John and Ghost.
<< Next Chapter / Next Chapter >>
#cod x male reader#cod x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x male reader#john Mactavish x reader#john mactavish x male reader#tw violence#tw alcohol#tw poverty#tw implied addiction#ghoap x male reader#ghoap x reader#simon x reader x johnny#cod hurt/comfort#hurt/comfort#meet cute#ig?
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prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 1; ghoap x reader)
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Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately.
Ghost listens because the periods between missions are long and colourless—he fills the time with paperwork, PT, exhausting his muscles in the gym, and dissociating in a booth at the only good pub on base when Johnny drags him along—and it’s better to tune out the thoughts in his head and replace them with something else. Besides, for as much as he gripes about poorly trained dogs barking too much, he enjoys the sound of Johnny’s voice. It quiets the faint ringing that follows him wherever he goes, an agitated humming that leaves him, on his best days, on the brink of rage.
“Tinnitus,” a doctor says when he brings it up during a routine check-up. Can you shut that fucking noise up?
“Best we can do is get you hearing aids.” Apologetic, sincere even. Stained, as always though, by a trembling, noxious unease. It emanates off the doctor in waves.
Hard not to feel uneasy around a man in a mask, Ghost assumes. That’s all part of it though. He doesn’t cultivate comfort, doesn’t attempt to engender soft feelings or put the mind at ease. His body and persona are designed to put the body and mind on the knife’s edge of fear, and then tip it over. He leaves the sweet talking and charming to men like Johnny, who babbles red language in a tongue like larkspur.
Ghost’s first language is oil slick. It stains and it covers and it darkens everything it touches.
And now, Johnny’s talking about a bird.
A couple months after Las Almas, the first picture comes out. Not a folded up keepsake tucked away in the pocket of a bag or a wallet or the inside of his jacket, but right on Johnny’s lockscreen on his phone. He disapproves at first glance. Not of the girl, but at the thought of keeping something so valuable on display for anyone to see. It’s not how he functions. Everything sacred is burned, destroyed, or—if precious enough—buried so deep underground that salt miners might greet it on the way down.
“Pretty, eh?” Johnny goads, nudging Ghost with his shoulder. He’s all wide grin, eyes electric-blue like the flames of Kawah Ijen.
She is pretty. Pretty as pie. Not a speck of grit or blood on her; if there’s any edge to her at all, it’s tempered by her smile in the photo on Johnny’s phone. A sugar sweet cunt, by the looks of it, sure it’d taste like candy if he got his mouth on it. He angles his eyes with Johnny’s lips and wonders how many times he’s eaten her out, if hers was the last cunt he ate. Likely. His boy’s the loyal kind, hard to shake off once he’s got his teeth in. Swapping spit or blood, he doesn’t leave once he’s got a taste.
“Where’d you find her?” he asks instead of agreeing, and takes a swig from the bottle in front of him. The bar’s hardly filled out yet; the two of them come early because Ghost’s an old man—that’s what Johnny would say—and doesn’t like to be around people once the sun’s set. It’s a burnished gold now, sun hovering low in the sky when Ghost turns an eye to it.
“Florist. Met her when I picked up flowers for mam’s birthday.”
Nearly a month then. “And I’m just hearin’ about this now?”
Not in this same pub three times a week since then. Not on the tarmac, suited up and sweating already beneath two layers of gear. Not in the shower beside Ghost’s, fingers reaching over the side for a bar of soap because Johnny can’t be arsed to get his own. Not with his head slumped to let Ghost shave the sides of his head nice and neat, thick fingers splayed over the delicate bone of his skull that Ghost knows would take nothing to break.
It rankles him until he looks back down at the phone in his hands—the one he’d plucked from Johnny’s fingers even while he whined about Ghost always stealing his shit—and feels his heartbeat slow. It levels out like staring into the scope of a rifle, the molecules of his breath melding with the molecules of the air until even the sound of his heartbeat dulls to the insects around him.
Johnny purses his lips. “…Wasn’t sure then. Am now.”
“Cunt’s a cunt. What’s there to be sure about?”
“No.” Johnny shakes his head vehemently. “She’s no’ like that. She’s special—I’m telling ye, Lt—” he stresses when Ghost snorts, the sound thick with scepticism, “—she’s a good egg. Smart one. Sweet as pie.”
Sweet as pie. Mutt half-shares his thoughts these days. They must have brought more home than just shellshock and keloids.
Johnny squawks when Ghost unlocks his phone and thumbs through his photos, trying to wrench it out of Ghost’s hand to no avail. He’s easy to hold back. All he has to do is put down his beer for a second and get a handful of hair and jerk, and there it is. Peace and quiet. A wince bleeding into his peripheral vision while Johnny mumbles something under his breath about him being a mean bastard.
He snorts again. Even from Johnny, he’s heard worse.
There isn’t much left of him these days. A tired husk and a taste for Guinness. He bleeds and shaves and wipes it off, smells the viscera still staining his mask that he hardly ever washes, can’t bear to honestly. Waste of fucking time, as far as he’s concerned. Just going to get dirtied again, soaked in blood again within the week. Shaves his head too just to have less to deal with, less to distract him from the single-minded intensity he brings to the job. He’d dematerialize if he could, become a ghost in name and shape, if only the laws of physics allowed.
Instead he’s saddled with a body that echoes back his age in creaking joints and low back pain. Scar tissue that aches when it gets cold.
In the months he’s known Johnny, he’s never let himself think about the world outside their bubble. His rank demands a certain level of socialising, and while he doesn’t schmooze with the brass like other lieutenants might, Ghost hardly has the privilege of isolating himself all the time, but still he can count the people he considers close on one hand.
Not family, but close. The thought of family is sheathed within him; he knows to leave the knife in lest he bleed. Still, Johnny’s fought his way onto the list and now he has to pay with his pound of flesh.
There’s a switch that’s been off for years, closer to a couple decades, and it flips back on when he finds this man that trusts him without question, that follows his orders and looks up at him with these big, puppy blue eyes. It twists something in his chest. It turns him into a thing that says maybe it’s better to take than just covet.
There are other photos of the girl in Johnny’s phone, some likely not meant for present company (Johnny flushes red when Ghost flips to a picture of his bird in a pretty little number, lace cupping her tits and ass, sitting on Johnny’s bed back home and looking back at him over her shoulder with a little grin). Still, it interests him to see this side of his boy; he’s maybe thought of it before in abstract terms. He knows that Johnny’s no stranger to a wandering eye, not with the way he’s built and his pretty boy face. He’s well acquainted with Johnny’s dick, hard not to be in such close quarters; it’s a nice, pretty thing, just like him, a good handful. Nothing like the ruddy battering ram in between Ghost’s legs. The one Johnny once got a glimpse of in the showers after a two week long stint in Kyrgyzstan and paled, mouth gaping open while he stared until he could finally laugh it off.
Ghost remembers thinking detachedly about how lovely that little gaped open mouth would feel around his cock.
Surprising that it took this long for him to cotton on to his own desires.
“Bring ‘er around then. I’ll see for myself how sweet she is.”
Johnny scowls at the sudden uproar from a nearby table. “No’ a chance in hell. Dinnae trust any of these fuckers to behave around her.”
Ghost hums. He’s not wrong to be wary; under the table, Ghost runs a hand over his bulge and gives it a squeeze, lifting his thigh to readjust. She has a lovely mouth too.
He’s been breathing fire and brimstone recently. Hungering to hear something break. It takes Johnny’s hand on his arm to hold him back, every cigarette puffed down to the filter. The pictures on Johnny’s phone make it seem easy though.
Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately, preening at every opportunity to show her off. He doesn’t know that it takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost’s brain to file the girl in Johnny’s phone under mine, slotting her right under Johnny in that category and isn’t that just perfect because it also takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost to imagine what she might look like under Johnny.
He hands Johnny back the phone, face down. “You get one week. Then I wanna meet your bird.”
#ceil writing#cod mw2#cod x reader#ghost/soap/reader#ghoap x reader#soap x reader#ghost x reader#ghost/reader#ghoap x you
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Masterlist
18+ Blog! MDNI
Simon 'Ghost' Riley
I'm your only situationship
Mistress
Inevitable
Situationship into Relationship
Tormented by a Ghost
Submitting to his dominance , part 2, part 3
Please stop staring (or don't)
Good thing we're all dogs
Not a dog, but a rat
John 'Soap' MacTavish
Maybe Dessert first
John 'just the tip' MacTavish
You'd look better as mine
John Price
Happy trails, John
Loba
Soulmate AU part 1
Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick
A chance encounter
Drabbles
Ghost being a toxic ex
Ghost with pre-parenthood
141!spotter Simon
141!spotter John
Dom!Ghost
cbf!Johnny
pathetic!Simon
pathetic!Simon extra
pathetic!Simon 1.2
pathetic!Simon 1.3
pathetic!Simon monopolizing you
blindfolded
König
cbf!johnny 1.1
cbf!johnny 1.2
Alpha!Ghost
Alpha!Ghost 1.2
pup!Ghost ask
cbf!simon dbd inspire
neighbor ghoap x reader
neighbor ghoap x reader 1.1
cbf!simon would kill for you
biblically accurate simon
davy jones!simon
ups!simon
cbf!simon teaches you everything
ex-husband simon
ex-husband simon with a twist
simon's not a guy you take home
pen pal simon, 1.2
Reqs
Ghost NSFW
Best friend!Johnny & FWB!Simon AU
Ghost is the unexclusive fwb
Ghoap x reader
Johnny helps with your monthly
You don't need anyone else but us
Escort AU
Needs must, part 2, part 3 (simon, johnny, simon)
Sensual Domination (kyle)
Price
Pet!Reader
Simon meets John's cat
Simon plays with John's cat
Betrayal pet au
Betrayal pet au 1.2
Betrayal pet au 1.3
The boys take you from your old owner
Old owner sees you with the boys
The boys take care of you
Taken to a new home
John doesn't come home to his kitten
Pet needs comfort
Pets exchange hands
Johnny gets himself a fox
Bun waits for Gaz to come home
Multiverse COD
'09 Ghost's wife meets '22 Ghost, part 2, part 3 pre part4, part 4
multiverse asks
Pornstar!AU
pornstar ghost, part 2, part 3
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poly! ghoap except….. johnny is the one who doesn’t like the reader 😮💨
he glares daggers into the back of your head whenever simon fusses over you, his calloused hand finding its way to the small of your back as he watched you cook up dinner with a content expression.
the only difference between johnny’s jealousy is that simon can tell, and it’s exhausting to have to deal with. johnny’s moping around in bed, stocky arms crossed as he huffs and puffs. simon scowls when he comes out the en suite and notices this, rolling his eyes. “what now?” he groans, thick blonde eyebrows knitted together out of frustration. johnny huffs again, seething as he refuses to even glance at simon, like a wounded puppy.
“what now? i’ll tell ye whit fer, simon william riley,” is how the argument starts, johnny just nonstop ranting and raving about how frustrating it is to see you practically glued to simon’s hip all of the time. simon’s jaw tenses, his head whipping around as he instantly dismisses johnny’s argument. he keeps his tone down, hushed so as not to make you uncomfortable from across the apartment.
he reminds johnny of the clauses to their open relationship, how the only reason they’ve found themselves in this predicament is because johnny can’t not think with his dick. “remember our old lodgers? i didn’t exactly hear you complaining when you were balls deep in them both. you didn’t hear me complaining, did you?” simon says in a lowly growl, towel drying his mop of hair as he strides around their room to find a pair of clean boxers.
johnny huffs, crossing his arms like a child. “this is different, si. i don’t… like it, ye ken? youse lot are too close for comfort.” he retorts, biting the inside of his lip hard enough to draw a bit of blood. “yer bein’ selfish.”
that gets simon’s blood pressure rising. he whips his head around, eyebrows furrowing as he storms back over to the bed, thick finger in johnny’s face as he glares right at him. “don’t you fucking dare tell me i’m being selfish. don’t even go there.” he warns him with a hushed growl, his piercing blue eyes glaring right through johnny, who tenses up at this change in tone.
the next week is tense for ghoap, and johnny doesn’t even bother showing his face for a couple of nights. one evening, you and simon are watching a shitty tv show together, and he doesn’t seem to be able to relax. you’re not an idiot, you know he’s had a fight with johnny. his usually stoic expression is strained, simon even absentmindedly chews on his lip whilst his fingers scratch into the sofas fabric.
“he’ll come back.” you gently say, rubbing his arm affectionately to ease his worries. he clears his throat, turning his head so you can’t see the tears pricking up in his eyes. “i know.” he gruffly replies, lazily reaching over to squeeze your thigh affectionately, his non verbal way of thanking you.
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sy ur tags on that military issued spouse post,, im going insane thinking about it omg
insane about what?
+18 only. x gn!reader. a smidgen of ghoap x reader.
cw: some dubcon. possessive and controlling behavior.
about simon 'touch starved and trust issues' riley not letting you see his face for the first six, eight weeks of marriage? he doesn't take off the mask in front of you once. locks the door when he showers. eats separately. just a skull face glaring down at you when he has you on your back. doesn't say much, barely says goodbye when he goes off on his first deployment post-wedding. he's gone for weeks with no word, no updates. then, one night, you wake up to find a sweaty, mountain of a man crawling into your bed, knocking your legs open, face covered in smudged eye black and scars. claps a hand over your mouth when you scream. don't recognize your own husband? you'll recognize something.
about kyle garrick, who was, sure, a little rougher than you expected that first night? he makes up with it with a massage the next day, kneading his skilled hands into all your sore spots. has you gasping while he apologizes, fingers somehow finding their way back to your holes. you quickly find out this man never keeps his hands to himself. out in pubic, it's an obvious problem. a hand slipping from the small of your back to your ass at the store, shoving between your thighs at the movies. he follows you into fitting rooms and lavatories. at home, it's worse. you work remote. it's plush, comfortable - until he starts making space for himself between your knees under your desk. hooking you off screen at the end of video calls for quickies. insatiable. you learn to schedule time off when he comes home from deployment.
about john mactavish? who won't let you call him 'johnny'? it's either 'john' or 'soap', and he doesn't have a preference for either so long as you're screaming something when he's got his head between your thighs. goes down on you for an hour, minimum. wrings orgasms out of you until your legs are useless and his jaw's sore. it works for him, makes it easier to play with you. pesters you for pictures and videos when he's deployed. don't bother with anything vanilla. he doesn't care if your underwear matches or if it's brand new, he needs a pick-me-up. a boost to morale. and don't forget to say his name. when he tells you he's coming home, you prepare as if a storm is making landfall. you learn to wait in the bedroom or else he'll have you against the door. he puts you on your knees, unusual for him, he likes seeing your face. you're two orgasms in when a deep, unfamiliar voice comments you're just as vocal in person as you are in the videos, and tells johnny that it's his turn.
about captain john price, who makes one too many comments about turning you into the perfect house spouse? he encourages you from day one to quit your job. you got the benefits you wanted the moment you married him, so there's no reason to continue working. he doesn't like that you're out of the house for hours at a time when he's home. he doesn't like it when you go out with your friends, saying you need your own space. doesn't like you going anywhere without him, period. plays the perfect husband when your boss suddenly lets you go, and your friends give you the cold shoulder. you don't understand why or where it's coming from. a string of bad luck. but he'll make it all better. he'll bury himself inside you over and over again until you understand you don't need anyone else. just him. maybe his boys, too, when you're good and ready.
edit: still thinking about john price
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ghoap x reader / 18+ mdni / dark themes / prev here
‘C’mon, you never want to go out.”
You rub your temples, eyes closed in exasperation. “I’m broke, Case.”
“I’ll spot you. Come on, it’s Friday. I’ll get us into The Rook.” She pleads and pushes, tugging away your excuses and defenses until you’re backed into a corner with nowhere to run. Finally, you opt for a different tactic, lamely.
“Doesn’t that place have a waiting list?”
“Oh yeah, miles long. But the owner likes me.” The owner. How does she even know the owner of The Rook?
“I don’t know…” you linger, still bent over your tiny kitchen table, back bowed and tired, “isn’t it like, dangerous?”
“The Rook is neutral ground or something, I don’t know. It’s perfectly fine, I’ve been dozens of times.” A litany of stories exists about the speakeasy, from its origins to the current clientele, each as unbelievable as the next, and you’ve always imagined it to be this dark den of sin and debauchery, filled to brim with hitmen and lawlessness. “You have to do something other than work and sleep; you know. You’re missing out on your whole life.” She chides, attempting to launch into the same speech she repeats over and over every few weeks.
“Alright, alright,” you look down at your torn up cuticles and sigh, “I’ll go.”
You weren’t wrong about The Rook being dark.
It’s hollowed out under a club, nooks and crannies and little hallways splitting off in every direction, dim lamps and flickering candlelight casting shadows to the ceiling, bartenders dressed in all black working behind a massive, burnished wood bar along the back wall. Velvet couches, high top tables, overstuff armchairs flow in the space, and Case tells you there are more rooms if you’re keen to explore, explaining in hushed tones how there’s usually a band in one, a card game of sorts in another, a pool table somewhere, all with various styles of seating, and even another bar. It's elegant, decadent, sinful. Most of the people are startlingly beautiful, high heels and skintight dresses, perfectly made-up faces, polished onyx cuff links gleaming against expensive navy suits.
Even the drinks are licentious.
You decidedly do not belong here. Perched on a stool next to Case, you occasionally rub your wrists, casually wondering if it would have been acceptable to wear your braces, your carpal tunnel flaring into a swell of agony.
Wouldn’t that be a sight.
The bartender slides her two generous neat pours of… something, and you raise an eyebrow.
“On the house, from the boss.” He says with a wink, and she tips her head to ceiling with a bubble of a laughter, before pressing one of the tumblers into your hand.
“What is it?”
“Probably bourbon.”
“Oh, no thanks, I don’t-“
“Just shoot it.” She throws it back with ease, showing her teeth afterwards, a hyena leering in the lamplight.
Fuck it. Maybe it will the throbbing in your wrists will quiet down.
It’s thick, syrupy, hot in your throat. Burns all the way down and settles like lava in your stomach, uncomfortable until the sting ebbs into warmth, moving through your bones.
“Not bad.” You rasp, and she smiles.
There are more free drinks. They stick to your insides like tar, slicking you in a heavy cotton, weighing your limbs down, loosening the tension in your neck and shoulders, peeling away your layers of discomfort one by one.
You’re surprised by how at home Case seems in this place, how comfortable she is, smiling and waving to the occasional person, making small talk here and there. She practically floats in her seat, black dress taut against every dimple and dip on her body, hair artfully twisted into something that could be considered modern art. She’s a gazelle. A heron. Something graceful and gorgeous, fine feathered and fabulous.
And you’re… a tired girl in a tired dress, counting her lucky stars that there seem to be so many generous patrons buying drinks tonight.
“Having fun?” She whispers, nudging you with her shoulder.
“How often do you come here?” Her eyes wander, flicking past you and then back, wistful caution etched across her brow.
“Often enough,” She sips her drink and then folds her hands together on the bar top, looking over shoulder, “Most of these people in here… are connected to organized crime somehow.” The information doesn’t surprise you, but hearing it confirmed, knowing it’s not just some story made up, some fairytale about boogeymen, makes you shiver.
“Like, the mafia?”
“The mafia is Italian, but they have a presence in the city.” She shrugs, like it’s all common knowledge. Like you’re out of the loop. “The Rook belongs to Kyle Garrick.” You shake your head, unfamiliar. “Of The 141?” your mouth goes dry.
The 141.
The 141 were a notorious organized crime group who ran half, if not more, of the city. You knew they owned clubs, bars, restaurants, and hotels, but you were never clear on the details of their illegitimate work, and you didn’t want to know.
You knew, for sure: they were men to be feared. Men capable of terrible things. Destruction. Death.
Their ongoing war with The Shadows was the reason the city was soaked in blood.
“Don’t worry,” she rushes out, hand on your arm, “like I said, It’s neutral here. Nothing happens in The Rook.” You nod meekly, head swimming. You’re more than drunk now, stuck in a sloshing ship, floor tilting beneath your feet. The urge to get away, to disappear slams into you like a truck, and you slip off the stool.
“Which way is the bathroom?” She points to one of those dark hallways, and you stumble through the throngs of people like a fresh born fawn, unsteady and teetering on the edge, approaching a hallway that splits into two.
Which way?
You pick one, sure you’ll run into someone who can point you in the right direction, but when it zigs and zags up to a polished wooden door, you stop short, confused. The alcohol has rendered you fuzzy, and your vision spins, trying to look for a recognizable placard.
Is this the bathroom?
It must be.
The first thing you realize when you push the door open, is a chorus of men’s voices, stopping on a dime. You hear them, before you see them, and immediately try to backpedal, tugging the door handle towards you, trying to close it. You’re wayward, with heavy, tired feet, and the movement is slow, slow enough that an opposing force pulls on the other side and then-
rips.
You fly forward into the room, dragged by your grip on the handle, spilling onto your knees with a shocked gasp, and someone curses in the background, another voice barking out a name.
Then, the room goes Sunday church service silent.
You gape at the table of men, transfixed in horror on the two familiar faces staring back at you, the unforgettable Scot and his marble etched partner, who was just in the shop only two days ago. They’re frozen, half risen from their seats, a cigarette burning away in an ash tray filling the air with smoke.
There’s a nickel-plated flash, and your blood curdles.
He has a gun.
“I…” you croak, still on your knees, unable to categorize or rationalize why you’re seeing them here, why one of them has a gun, why any of this is happening. “I’m sorry, I was lo-looking for the bathroom.” There are many men in this room, you realize. More than just the two you’re acquainted with, and your stomach rolls, nausea creeping forward, trying to bring the too many drinks you’ve consumed up through your mouth. “I’m sorry.” You say again, more clearly.
Obviously, you’re interrupting something.
“These aren’t the toilets, little girl.” A Russian voice booms over your head. “Unless you’re going to piss on the floor for us?”
“Nikolai.” The blonde cuts, Manchester accent rougher than sandpaper, and you shake your head frantically.
“N-no, I just got turned around, that’s all.” Your brain screams at you to get up, but your body is immobile, and you look away in fear.
A warm hand takes yours, tanned skin soft and sweet, gentle touch urging your face back up.
“It’s alright, doe. Ye’re alright.” It’s the Scot, crooning in your ear, wrapping an arm around your waist to bring you to your feet. “Let’s get ye to the bathroom then, aye?” You lean against him, breathing in cypress and ocean spray, letting him guide you out of the room, his partner right at your back.
“We’re not finished.” Someone calls out, and the bigger man clips out a response.
“We are now.”
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pet!au part 2 | ghoap x fem!reader
simon brings you home
cw: stalking, panty/clothing stealing, drugging, kidnapping, non-con touching, nsfw, simon is a freak and johnny is pathetic
Things began to go missing in your apartment around July.
They were simple things at first. Items that could easily be lost in some hidden crevice you wouldn’t find until you moved out of the place. At first, it started out with clothing, and they were usually items you wouldn’t pay much mind to. When you lost your favorite pair of underwear, you treated it just like you did with your mismatched socks. What a shame. You’ll just have to buy more later.
Then a pair of underwear became a pair of shorts, which then became a bra, and then a shirt, and then your favorite sweater. It was the one you always wore when it was cold out, and though you hadn’t worn it for months, you noticed its distinct disappearance from your closet. Strange. You swore it was hanging up with the rest of your jumpers earlier that week. Perhaps you had put it in storage and forgot? You’d have to check some other time, you were going to be late to work.
While you had been plenty attentive when it came to your missing clothing, there were many other things you didn’t notice. Like a shampoo bottle slightly out of place in your shower. Strands of hair untangled from your brush. New scratches on your deadbolt. The masked man who watched you exit your apartment.
Simon had learned that when it came to obtaining pets, he needed to do the process slowly. Snatching you right off of the streets wasn’t going to accomplish anything if things were too unfamiliar to you. No, he needed to make sure you were comfortable. So he tracked down the brand of toiletries you used, your style of clothing, your sizing, everything. He found those exact brands and bought copies that would greet you when he would finally bring you home.
Meanwhile, he had an impatient animal at home to satiate, so taking a few personal items couldn’t hurt. What better way to get Johnny acquainted with your presence than having him sleep with the pair of panties he had snatched from your laundry? He was certain he had caught the mutt jerking off with the fabric wrapped around his cock the other night, but he was just happy to not be pestered into fucking the pathetic thing, so he let it slide.
There were more important things for Simon to do than fuck Johnny every time his cock got hard, which was often. That was going to be your job, as it seemed like you needed a new one based on the rejection email he saw on your laptop. Looks like that interview you had been dressed up for a few weeks back hadn’t gone all that great, and judging by the dead look in your eyes as you worked the late shift at the bar, you were desperate.
Good. Desperate pets always made the best listeners.
At least your top was nice that night. Something Johnny would certainly enjoy seeing you in. Some low cut tank top that attempted to fight off the sweltering heat that lingered in the small confines of the bar. Even Simon had to admit that he felt sweaty and claustrophobic in that place, yet he still refused to remove that thick balaclava.
The perspiration caused the skin on your chest to become illuminated under the dull glow of the light fixtures above you, and you were too busy serving drink after drink to pay any mind to the strange bloke hidden in the corner. For such a perceptive pet, you couldn’t manage to see the forest through the trees. Always paid perfect attention to the head on the beers you served, and how clean your station was, but couldn’t taste the pill Simon had slipped into the soda you had sipped on that night.
Of course, he was patient with it. Didn’t want to slip you anything too early into your shift. Your co-workers were bound to get annoyed with your absence and go looking for you. No, he waited until the patrons dwindled to just a small handful before approaching you to pay for the drink he hadn’t taken a sip of all night. Simon was well aware of the effect he had on people. He was a large man with unkind eyes and a bitter attitude, yet you still put on a brave face and smiled at him as you took the cash from his hand. Didn’t bother to check your drink for tampering before downing the rest like it was a shot when you returned.
By the time the world started to spin and you felt your dinner from that night wanting to come back up to say hello, Simon was ready. With pupils blown so wide and dilated, it was impossible for you to think straight. Your body didn’t know right from wrong, and so when his arm wrapped around your waist, it didn’t fight against him. Everything you were had been rendered into nothing but a perfect, pliant mess for him.
It wasn’t until Simon pulled in front of the house that he realized he might have given you too strong of a dose. You hadn’t stirred the entire car ride, and he had to check your pulse to see if you were still breathing, and he was slightly relieved when he felt the gentle rise and fall of your chest. He didn’t even want to imagine the whining he would have to hear from Johnny if he had accidentally killed you. Not to worry. It was best if you were asleep anyway. Johnny would certainly pounce on you otherwise. Cradling you in his arms, your limp body was brought into the house, and Johnny bounded out of the living room the moment the door slammed shut behind him. His eyes were as wide as saucers the moment they landed on your body. You looked so soft. He wanted to dive right into you.
“Down,” Simon warned.
Johnny’s impatience was drowned out by the static that jolted through his body. This new excitement had his blood coursing through his veins with resurrected vigor. Refusing to give Simon any reason to deny him his new treat, Johnny trailed behind him like a good pup as he brought you into the bedroom. You were placed on the mattress with such care one could have confused you for some prized possession. If he wasn’t afraid you’d shatter, Johnny would have thrown himself on top of you.
“She’s so fuckin’ beautiful, Si. A goddamn angel, she is. Please, can I? Let me touch her, I wanna touch her,” Johnny asked, eyes begging for approval.
Before giving him a reply, Simon’s hand reached for his throat. The thick leather collar that adorned his neck always got twisted around one way or another, and he quickly straightened it out. Silver glinted in the dim lighting of the bedroom as Simon’s thumb swiped across his dog tag. Soap was the name Johnny proudly wore on his collar; one he never even dreamed of taking off.
“Play nice, yeah?” Simon ordered.
Johnny nodded, and once he had gotten his confirmation, Simon let go of the leather around his throat. Wasting no time appearing by your side, Johnny laid down next to your motionless body on the mattress where he enveloped you in his embrace. Had you been awake, you certainly would have cried out at his crushing grip, but your unconscious body didn’t know any better. It gave him no reaction as his nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck where he inhaled long and deep against your skin.
“Fuck,” he groaned, hips grinding against your thigh, “smells like heaven too. Christ…”
Wandering hands pawed at your body, taking things from you in your unaware state that you were sure to miss come morning. But how was he supposed to stop when your supple flesh felt like a divine comfort in the palm of his hand? Simon had gotten you for him. This was his right. This was what he had earned.
“When will she wake up?” Johnny asked, not bothering to remove his face from your neck.
“Dunno,” Simon replied, bored. “Have your fun, just don’t fuck her. You hear me, mutt? Keep that fuckin’ cock dry ‘til I tell you, yeah?”
“Yes sir,” he answered, though it was impossible to fully hide the whine in his tone.
As Simon’s feet meandered out of the room, Johnny only buried himself further into you. Hands under your shirt, hardened bulge against your thighs — he couldn’t get enough of you. Your scent was intoxicating, and he couldn’t hold back the groans that escaped his mouth while his lips pressed against your jaw.
“Welcome home, Bonnie.”
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Writing this while laying in bed and trying to combat my period pains. The painkillers are in fact not working, so maybe fantasizing about these two will instead-
Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" Mactavish x Transmasc!Reader
I just feel like Simon and Johnny would be amazing at caring for you, doing your period. Maybe they wouldn't be the most knowledgeable at first, but they are quick intuitive learners, and seeing their darling in pain isn't something they can stand for.
If they happen to be home during your period, expect the utmost and best care of your life. Don't feel like eating anything? Don't worry, they've made something just in case you get hungry. Need to take a shower but don't got the energy, don't worry, I'm sure both of them would be happy to help you out.
There is not a single craving they will not help satiate. Chocolate? Johnny's got something to spare, chips? Already in the cabinet, gummies? One of them is going to the shop while the other one cuddles you. That one very hype specific food craving that's really an absolutely ridiculous request? What do you mean ridiculous love, they've got it right here.
I normally get really bad cramps, and the only type of painkiller I'm allowed to take, doesn't help whatsoever. And if that was the case, I just have to believe that, the boys would then do everything else in their power to make you comfortable. They've got the heating pad ready in the charger, a hot beverage on the bedside table. If the heating pad isn't enough, they'll help with pressure instead, by either laying on top of you or having you on top of them and pressing their rough hands on the spots where it hurts.
You're not left alone for a second, unless you specifically request the alone time. If one has to go somewhere, the other will stay with you until they get back. He would put on your favourite movie, while you lay in his arms and snack on whatever it was you're craving. Don't feel like watching something? That's okay, you could read a book together, play a game, or even just lay and talk.
If there are chores to be done, they'll get it done for you, unless you insist that you can manage. Even then, once they see you huff and puff in pain, they'll practically order you away from the task, taking over for you and finishing up.
They know you're perfectly capable of doing it yourself, even in pain, but they'd rather have you resting on the couch, as comfortable as you can get, while they take care of it for you. You already do so much for them when they're home from deployment, doing everything you can to make sure they're resting, and spending quality time with you. Let them return the favour once in a while, making sure you're well cared for.
They know that your period can be a source of dysphoria, when it turns extra bad. They won't stand for your own self-deprecating thoughts. They'll reassure you at all the right times, as if they can read your mind. Reminding you that, you are their beautiful boy, the only man they could've ever wished for, that no matter what your silly head makes you think, they've always seen you as exactly who you are. It doesn't matter what you think your physical appearance might say, to them, you'll always be their man.
Maybe I'm just delusional, but I just feel like they'd be amazing for you. No matter what you might need from them, they'll do their best to provide. They love you so dearly, if there is any slight thing they can do to alleviate your distress, it's already been done before you can even ask.
I think the fact that I'm laying here alone, and I don't have a Simon or Johnny to take care of me should be a crime.
Anyways that's all Moon out-
#noctmoon fics#simon ghost riley x reader#john soap mctavish x reader#john soap mactavish#simon ghost riley#ghoap#ghoap x reader#ghost x soap x reader#ghost x reader x soap#soap x ghost x reader#soap x reader x ghost#transmasc reader#period comfort#period cramps#trying not to die over here-#I need them viscerally
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ghoap being completely fucking obsessed with your mouth + slowly making you have an oral fixation you can't live without.
(nsfw/mdni, f!reader, mild dubcon/degradation/puppy play/spit kink/cumplay/general grossness)
johnny gives you an endless supply of lollipops, because he loves watching you suck them. purposefully picks his and simon's favourite flavours only so they can sneak in kisses and have you tasting extra good for them. johnny enjoys sharing, taking a lollipop from you to suck on himself, or making you take one he's been sucking on--gets off knowing you're swapping saliva.
both of them like to bite your lips when you kiss them. johnny goes for playful nips and nibbles, but simon likes it when he draws blood and can feel the coppery taste on his tongue, he loves seeing the aftermath where your lips are reddened bruised and cracked from him.
johnny and simon will both force their tongues into your mouth but johnny will sweetly beg (coerce) you into sucking on it, and he makes you love the intrusion. sometimes you'll all kiss together and it's completely overwhelming with all your tongues swirling together.
johnny will hold open your jaw while him and simon just play with your tongue--pulling it out of your mouth, running their fingers across it, pressing on it, wiggling it how they like, pushing at your lips.
johnny will make you stick your tongue out like a lil puppy and won't let you stop until you've drooled all over yourself and made yourself a drippy, sticky mess (maybe if he's feeling super nasty he'll lick it off your skin too.)
simon loves to shove his fingers in your mouth whenever he likes, fucks your face with two thick fingers, loves to see you gag and choke and cry around his digits. sometimes will make you fall asleep with his fingers or thumb in your mouth, and in time you find yourself sucking on them idly while watching movies or doing other things. definitely becomes a comfort thing.
johnny and simon will both squish your cheeks together just to see your delicious pout, johnny will give you sloppy kisses with it too and make the most condescending cooing noises (but it gets you wet anyway.)
simon will sometimes hook his fingers in your cheek when you fuck, if he's feeling really rough.
simon especially loves to spit in your mouth, loves to make you beg for it too. also enjoys making you and johnny spit into each other's mouths while he watches.
simon loves smacking his cock on your tongue before he slides in, johnny loves using your face as a fucktoy, just sliding his dick over your cheeks, leaving trails of precum and spit on your face and barely even treating you like a human.
johnny loves to make you lick him, whether it's his cock, his balls, his abs, his face. expects you to act like a lil puppy for him again, bonus points if you hump his leg while doing it. bonus bonus points if you find yourself licking his face as a cute, innocent gesture outside of sex.
simon will sometimes tell you to only make him come with kisses or licks to his cockhead, because he likes to see your lips do so much work. loves smearing his pre around like its lipstick, watching the plush of your lips squelch over his head.
both love to have you cockwarm them, simon especially when he's playing Lt, getting paperwork done. watching movies, they could be stuffing you from both ends but not moving. if either are ever playing video games, they might have you suck them off (johnny leaves the headset mic on and doesn't give a fuck.)
both make you show them their cum before you swallow, or simon might kiss it into johnny's mouth, and don't dare either of waste a drop. simon will sometimes cum on his own fingers and make you both suck it off.
simon has a recording on his phone of the sounds of your gags, where as johnny prefers a video of you sucking with your sparkly pretty eyes looking up at him.
they both like applying lipstick for you, even if it's just so it can get smeared on their cocks. sometimes they'll go about their day with the stains still on them, underneath their clothes.
they shower you in balms and glosses and scrubs and everything to keep your lips perfectly soft for them.
johnny will full on make out with you in public with no regard or care, if he needs your mouth, he needs it now and no stares or your shy blushes are going to stop him. simon gets turned on just watching the two of you kiss.
they go through phases where they decide your mouth is only for sucking or licking, not talking, so they don't let you make noises that's anything other than whines or moans or whimpers.
they have all different kinds of gags for you ball gags, ring gag, pretty gags, funny gags (johnny loves making you wear the rubber duck one while he fucks you and laughs in your face, it only makes you more squirmy. simon likes the ring gag so he can still finger your mouth, collect your drool on his fingers and smear it across your cheeks.
simon takes artsy photos of your lips to have on a canvas in your shared home, johnny has numerous sketches.
they love when you get a little feral and return the favour of biting them and leaving marks on them. you're all marked up by each other at any one time, twin bruises on each person's neck.
they'd find it hot if you got some sort of oral piercing, whether it's lip or tongue--it only enhances your natural beauty and steals their eyes to your lips even more.
and of course they're obsessed with the way your mouth moves when you say their names
#simon ghost riley x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#ghost x soap x reader#ghoap x reader#ghoap#ghost x reader#soap x reader#call of duty fanfic#call of duty fanfiction#i need to be put down
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Could you do a poly 141! If you’re comfortable with it! I’d prefer fluffy poly 141. Or if you’re not comfortable! Maybe Ghoap or just ghost x reader fluff! I’m not that big of a smut fan when it comes to cod, these poor military men just need a hug
with lots of love - 🩰
FERAL FOR POLY 141 FE RAL FERAL FERAL
can u tell that I like this dynamic just a lil bit ( a totally normal amount )
You're pottering around the kitchen when the boys come home from the gym, said boys not including a very sullen Johnny who threw his knee out last week leading you to promptly issue a very firm bed rest order, swatting your tea towel at him when he'd attempted to slip out this morning with his gym bag.
Kyle is on you immediately to see what you're whipping up, whilst John goes off to shower and Simon goes to bring in more logs for the slowly dwindling fire. You attempt to shoo Kyle away as he and Johnny sidle up to your back, nipping at your neck or toying with your hair - making your cooking far more difficult. You successfully manage to shoo Johnny away with a spoonful of creme brûlée stuffed into his open mouth, whilst Kyle sticks at your side like a limpet, whinging about how he'd missed you at the gym and that the boys are all so testosterone-y, which you promptly shut up with a gentle kiss to his waiting lips. With the first lot of grumbling military men out of your hair, you seek Simon out where he smokes on the porch, a steaming mug of earl grey in one hand and a brownie in the other. He promptly moves his cigarette to his other hand so that he can scoop you up against his side, resting his chin against the crown of your head, breathing in the smell of your shampoo and perfume appreciatively. You yourself give an appreciative hum at the warmth of his presence, your wellies and pyjama shorts not doing very much against the chilly morning outside the cozy confines of home.
"How's Johnny?" He rumbles into your hair, pulling back momentarily to take a drag from his cigarette before sidling back up to you.
"A pain in the ass." You huff fondly back, unable to hide the pity in your voice for the normally eternally energetic Scotsman.
"Cabin fever's got him practically bouncing off the walls."
"And you? Are you doing okay, birdie?"
"M' just happy to have all my boys home and safe." The sound of your voice melts into the quiet birdsong and the eternally soothing sound of Simon's slightly raspy breathing from the deviated septum he'd managed to get after breaking his nose a few years back.
The sound of the door swinging open doesn't disrupt you and Simon from your shared moment of peace, John coming out with one of his cigars hanging between his lips, free hand snaking around your waist as he leans against the porch. Quickly you notice the phone balanced between his ear and shoulder, and his expression focussed intently on what the person on the other end is saying. John puffs away at his cigar, fidgeting absently with the waistband of your shorts whilst you and Simon chat away about nothing, careful not to let your voices be heard by whoever John's on the phone to.
Growing sick of the cold, you give Simon and John kisses respectively before retreating inside where Kyle and Johnny have settled on the couch, playstation controllers in hand and a video game shown on the large flatscreen Johnny'd insisted you all bought when you moved in together. You're quick to shimmy up beside Johnny, settling your head on his lap, soothed by the sound of he and Kyle talking about the game, John and Simon soon joining the three of you. Simon squishes between Kyle and Johnny in order to play with your hair and chat to you about your day, whilst John gathers your legs up and plops them into his lap, tracing patterns across the bare skin of your calves as he reads something on his phone.
You eventually find yourself dozing off in spite of the ruckus around you, only waking at midday when you're coaxed off of the couch by Kyle who carries your tired body to the simple dining room where the others are laying the table, diligently having taken the large piece of meat you'd been slow roasting all morning from the oven, placed in the middle of the table.
The boys thank you as you all tuck into the hearty, late lunch you'd prepared, laughter and chatter filling the cozy room, gratitude palpable amongst you.
#Angies asks!#cod mwii#cod mw2#call of duty#modern warfare#cod modern warfare#cod x reader#captain John price#John price#price#captain price#simon ghost riley#simon Riley#ghost Riley#ghost#Johnny soap mactavish#John soap mactavish#soap mactavish#soap#Kyle gaz garrick#gaz#Kyle garrick#gaz garrick#tf 141 x reader#simon riley x reader#John price x reader#gaz x reader#gaz Garrick x reader#soap mactavish x reader#poly 141
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Halloween Party
Pairing: Ghoap x fem!reader
Cw: smut, cunnilingus, drinking, DUB-CON, partying, kidnapping, mentioned cannibalism, locking up, tell me if I missed any.
wc: 1.4k
You’re at a Halloween party with a group of friends, well, coworkers. You all came to this party under the guise of having a good time with the promise of good booze and free food. Who wouldn’t want to go when there was free food? There were neon lights in the dark house, high ceilings with decorative spiderwebs and loud - near deafening - music blasting in the background of the place. In the frenzy of it all, you all separated, one gravitating towards their preferred clique: the wild partygoers, the wallflowers, the dancers, the gossipers or the foodies.
You found yourself lost, between the loud music, the low lights and the shoulder-bumping crowd around you, you couldn’t make heads or tails of where you were, stumbling between swaying hips and screaming voices. You felt lost and confused, falling into the arms of a stranger, strong arms holding you up, big, gloved hands wrapped around your hips. Apologies tumbled off your tongue with awkward shifts, but you didn't expect him to laugh, a smooth voice reaching your ears over the loud music and cacophonous atmosphere, an accent you couldn’t recognize on his tongue.
He presented himself as Soap. Soap, dressed in black rags with his hood lowered, combat boots, leather gloves and a white mask propped to the side of his head, smooth plastic pulled into a screaming face with a thin cloth covering every hole, entertaining you during the first portion of the night. He led you to the kitchen and poured you beer - from the taste - in a red cup, you ate, drank and chatted, from his hobbies to your favourite animal. You slowly gravitated towards stronger alcohol, letting Soap fill your cup over and over again, you lost count of how many drinks you’ve had.
A while into the night, when Soap had broken down your guard and had you relaxed and comfortable around him, dropping hints that he was interested in you, another man peered over his shoulder, making you choke down your drink from his sudden appearance. He called himself Ghost in a low, grumbling voice, British in every sense. He wore tattered clothes, hanging from his wide shoulders and bulky arms, bloodied boots and gloves, and a hockey mask sewn into a black mask covering his whole face.
Ghost and Soap knew each other, you were certain of it, from the way they faced each other to the way they held one another, Ghost’s arm around Soap’s hip, Soap’s hand on Ghost’s forearm, how close they stood together or how physical they were. You felt as if they were more than friends, more than they told you - or so your drunk mind perceived it. Seated between both men, one nursing a cup and another holding food, they coaxed you into their car, from the stool in the kitchen island to the backseat of their beat-up car, a black, unassuming jeep.
Soap has you squirming and moaning, back pressed into the soft leather of the seats with your panties pulled down to your ankle, legs spread open by his hands, strong and unmoving to your struggle and cries of pleasure. The scruff of his trimmed beard scratched your thighs sensually, the rough texture of his fingers thumbing your pulsing clit and his nimble tongue had you coming a few times, body arched and wound tight, the coil in your navel exploding in white, fiery pleasure. They focused solely on your enjoyment, Ghost driving the jeep with a painful and neglected hard-on, his cock pressing against the seams of his briefs and pants, and Soap’s occupied mouth, tongue and hands left him rutting against the seat, coming in his pants.
The short walk from the car to their room was a blur, ending with you trapped beneath Ghost, his thick and veiny cock pounding you into the mattress, his filthy praises making slick pool out of you, rolling down your ass as he pressed your legs to your chest. Then he had Soap eat you out, cleaning up his mess, moaning and groaning into your lips while he fingered his boyfriend’s ass, thick fingers stretching the rim of his twitching hole.
When Ghost deemed it stretched enough, he had you ride Soap, bouncing on and off his cock while the masked man rocked into Soap, his balls slapping loudly against Soap’s ass, degrading and calling Soap a pup, his puppy. It slipped from riding one to being pressed between them both, being manhandled with both cocks driving into you, fighting for whose cock got to come in you, to paint your walls in his load, ropes upon ropes of white cum.
Sometime around being pressed beneath them both, to arching over the bed, ass bucking against Soap’s hip while taking Ghost down your throat, roughly fucking your throat, you passed out after a mind-numbing climax, body twitching and whining, used and sensitive. You were too lost to catch onto their quiet conversation, their shared plan of taking you, but then Soap liked you, wanting to keep you rather than cut you up and eat you.
When you woke up, all you remembered was the incredible night you spent, the heavily sexual moment that left you sore and bruised, you expected to see light filter through the window of their room, but you weren’t laying under a blanket, instead, you woke up shackled by the ankle and naked on a mattress. You were in a dark and damp room, the air humid and the light limited to the small, singular window at the farthest wall of the basement. It was utilitaristically decorated, with boxes and a metal table covered with tools, butcher knives, saws, meat hammers and a variety of sharp and specific knives, and to your far left, multiple freezers. It was like a scene right out of a horror movie with a stupid and horny female character - you.
You panicked, breathing shallowly in rapid puffs, whines tearing through your sore throat, tears bubbling from your lashes and streaming down your cheeks while all you could do was cry and hyperventilate. Your mind raced with terrifying images, the dooming end of your pitiful life and restless death, unable to tell your loved ones goodbye.
Your cries had attracted the men’s attention, the floor creaking as they walked towards the basement door, you scrambled to your bed, covering yourself as best as you could and stared at the stairs with wide, fearful eyes. Light flooded the room when he opened the door, his feet appearing at the corner of the stairs, the gap between the steps and the railing. The slow walk and the suspenseful silence had you quivering, doe eyes gazing their way until both men stopped before you.
You let out pleading mumbles, body wracked with shivers from the slight breeze of cool air from the autumn air. You couldn’t fight them, you couldn’t stop them, Ghost and Soap were twice your size in height and weight, muscle-bound forms and specialised strategies. To them, you were the drunk girl they picked up from a party, deeming you fit for their next victim. So all you could do was cry and whimper as Ghost walked closer to you, feet stopping at the edge of your bed.
He crouched down, his face, now donning a new mask painted with a white skull, meeting your lowered one. You heard him sigh, closing your eyes when his fingers held your chin, forcing you to stare him in the eyes, his pretty brown hues, and you were too terrified to fight against him. Behind him stood Soap, smiling happily, yet unmoving and deaf to your teary plight, he had his hands stuffed into his pockets, his face portraying brightly his happy countenance.
“Oh, don’t cry,” Ghost’s deep, rumbling voice shook you, “We won’t do anything, pet.”
He called you pet, his pet. You were chained and naked in his basement where he probably killed and chopped up people into pieces before burying them in god knows where.
“Aye, we decided to keep ya,” Soap - or whatever his real name was - pushed, closing in to stand by your side, sitting beside you and cradling you in his arms, away from his partner, “I like ya a lot and so does Si, so stop crying, bonnie.”
“B-but you-” you stuttered, voice catching in your throat. “Ple-please, just let me-me go!”
“We're not letting you go, pet,” Ghost - Si as Soap called him - scoffed, his eyes lingering down your chest and bruised thighs, “Johnny and I’ll keep you safe, you’ll be happy with us, yeah?”
At least you knew the names of your captors, the names of the men you screamed last night rather than Soap and Ghost. Your big, handsome and strong kidnappers had normal names despite their unusual hobby: Johnny and Si.
Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973
#x reader#cod mw2#simon ghost riley#ghost mw2#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#cod mw2 x reader#yandere x reader#yandere#mw2 ghost#ghost cod#ghost smut#simon riley smut#ghost simon riley#simon x reader#simon ghost riley fanfiction#simon riley#simon riley x you#mw2 ghost x reader#ghost x reader smut#ghost x reader#ghost x soap#ghoap x reader#ghoap#ghost x reader x soap#soap call of duty#soap mactavish#john soap mactavish#soap mw2#soapghost
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prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 5; ghoap x reader)
part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4
-
Give him blood and he’ll give you something new to chew on.
Except that isn’t the way it goes. Not this time at least.
He tries to talk Ghost out of it, but it falls on deaf ears. Blatantly ignored. The car barrels down the motorway under the cloak of night, a swell of stars overhead as the city falls farther behind. Radio shut off. Johnny thinks if Ghost had his way, the radio would’ve been pulled out entirely, just wires and an empty, black cavity in the dashboard, but it’s a rental.
And no one wants to deal with the paperwork involved in damaging military property. Not even Ghost.
Ghost won’t so much as glance over at him. Unaffected as ever, as if they didn’t just fuck. Johnny’s stomach hurts when he thinks about it. Even without her knowing, he’s broken his girl’s trust. Not for the first time; maybe not even the last. His guilt echoes not only that he let Ghost make him come, but that he liked it—that the buzz in his bones says do it again, please god, again, please let me come, I need to come, touch me, please—
He thinks about his girl, then turns to Ghost again.
In the pit of his stomach, Johnny knows this is wrong. In his rational mind, he knows it. If he were in a better place, he wants to think that he’d make a real attempt to change Ghost’s mind, maybe get him to turn around at the next gas station, but he can’t deny the excitement bubbling in his belly at the prospect of seeing his girl again after a week of nothing.
The silence has been eating away at him. Bits of his brain flaking away, moth-eaten. Checking his phone again and again to no new messages, getting the same voicemail message whenever he calls. Something flutters high in his chest, an itch he can’t scratch; it tells him to take off in the middle of the night, drive all the way back home and pound on her door until she’s forced to answer it, forced to talk to him face to face.
Again and again, he tries looking at it from her perspective—tries to empathize with her. What he would’ve done in her shoes had she allowed a coworker to grab his dick in front of a crowd of strangers. It’s more than fair, he thinks. His own shame leaks out of his pores in the middle of the night, sleeping on top of the covers because he sweats right through the sheets.
And yet, he keeps butting up against his own anger. Talk it out with me, yell at me, he growls into her voicemail, anger growing as the days pass one by one.
It’s the road that alerts him to their arrival into the city more than anything. More cracks in the asphalt, the car rattling over sewer depressions and potholes in a way that says home sweet home. Usually it’s a source of comfort, like seeing the silver lining on grey clouds or the iridescence in an oil spill, purples and greens catching the light. Not now. Now the road winds like descending into the underworld, each turn coming with a sinking feeling.
They park down the road from the flower shop, tucked just out of sight. A cool breeze wafts over his hot face when he steps out of the car. It nearly rocks him back. When he glances up, his heart stutters at the sight of her bedroom window, sealed tight now. Only cracked open during their sleepovers, when Johnny runs a bit too hot at night for them to sleep comfortably with the window closed.
“Should I…do ye want me to give her a call to wake her up?” Johnny asks tentatively, shutting the car door softly so as not to make a noise.
Ghost shakes his head. “We’ll let ourselves in.”
Johnny’s picked hundreds of locks in his time; he’s jimmied open doors with crowbars, set up explosive charges, used a good old fashioned ram from time to time—no stranger to the trade—but it feels decidedly uncomfortable with Ghost at his back, staring down at him as he breaks into his own girlfriend’s apartment.
“This is a bad idea,” he grumbles, turning the pick in the lock until he hears a familiar click inside.
Ghost doesn’t answer, just raps his knuckles against the back of Johnny’s head. A silent get a move on.
Her apartment looks the same but different when they enter it. His muscles remember the layout though. The pink couch in the living room with two dimpled pillows on either side, the footstool by the door, the stand with her shoes all piled in neat little rows, the vase on her kitchen island with a fresh new bundle of flowers, fragrant when he dips his head to take a whiff. He’s loved flowers ever since meeting his girl.
Ghost doesn’t try to muffle his footsteps for once. He rummages through her cabinets and drawers with all the finesse of a first time burglar looking to get caught. It smacks of intentionality. Johnny’s worked with him too many times in the field to know that if Ghost wanted to disappear into the darkness, he would. He’d be the thing creeping silently through the shadows, tread lighter than air, close enough to touch but never see.
So it’s more than deliberate when he noisily shuts a drawer. Baiting her out.
It’s no surprise when Johnny hears her creep around the corner from out of her bedroom. He’s tucked in the shadows of the living room, just out of the light, so he sees her first when she comes silently down the hall, whole body trembling with fear, the bat she keeps beside her bed drawn over a shoulder. Even her hands shake around the grip.
Of course she yelps when Johnny says her name, stepping out of the shadows, swinging wild. He winces when the bat smashes into a lamp, shattering it on impact.
“Fuck!” she screams, scurrying backwards into the wall behind her. Several framed pictures rattle against the wall, nearly knocked off their hooks.
“Noisy, isn’t she?” Ghost grumbles from the kitchen, tossing a bored glance over, unbothered by the commotion. He undoubtedly heard her creeping down the hall as well.
“What the fuck?” she gasps, chest heaving when she breathes. Her eyes dart from Johnny to Ghost’s massive form in the other room. Poor nervous thing. She must recognize Johnny’s voice saying her name even through the panic because her lips droop in a frown, more confused than petrified.
“Hen, it’s jus’ us—nothing to worry about,” Johnny coos, hands stretched out in front of him to show he means no harm.
It gets her to lower the bat, but only just, the slightest dip that has him darting forward to pry it gently from her hands. The ceramic shards on the floor will have to be swept up later, but he’s relieved that at least she didn’t step on any of them.
Up close, she’s just as pretty as he remembers. Pretty as pie. How could she not be? In the glow of youth still, not like it's been a decade since they last spoke face to face—only a little over a week. A sight for sore eyes, even though Johnny’s narrow when he stares down at her and thinks about the week of his texts and calls going unanswered. His jaw undulates, rage held back by the thin thread of her scent that wafts under his nose, making him lean into her.
Breathe in and out.
“Us?” she repeats, brow furrowing.
She glances over at Ghost again, the man still ambling around the kitchen, at home in her little one bedroom apartment like he visits her frequently. Like it’s his as well.
“Aye…Ghost wanted to come—Simon wanted to apologize…for the other day,” Johnny explains.
“You broke into my apartment in the middle of the night…so Simon could apologize for sexually harassing me?” she says, the disbelief smacking in her words.
“Hen, it's no' nice to say it like that—”
“No time like the present,” Ghost says, not ashamed in the slightest. “Heard you weren’t taking Johnny’s calls. Might not’ve had to do this if you’d picked up.”
Johnny doesn’t believe a word of that, but there’s no reason to call him out on it now.
He can see her wrestle with a trifecta of emotions competing for first place. Anger, embarrassment, and then, a smidge of worry holding up the rear. Aware of the fact that she woke up to two grown men, one practically a stranger, breaking into her apartment under the guise of having a conversation. His heart aches at the thought. The lion’s share of the blame rests with him, but still it’s her that suffers for it.
“You…you shouldn’t be here,” she rasps, flinching when Johnny lays a hand on her waist, towering over where she’s still cowered against the wall. Bat gone now, defenceless. Her pupils narrow to a pinprick. He almost tuts, poor thing. Scared out of her wits.
It feels so good to touch her though. Soft and yielding.
“‘Was Simon’s idea, hen, but, ah—” his breathing picks up when his fingers tighten on her waist and she squirms “—I was goin’ crazy thinkin’ ye were pissed for what happened last week. Couldnae get a wink of sleep—kept closin’ my eyes and seein’ your face. Nearly broke me.”
“I am pissed at you,” she snaps, temper getting the better of her.
“I ken, I ken,” Johnny coos, ducking his head until his lips graze her temple. “Simon’s sorry—we came all the way here so he could tell ye to your face, but fuck, hen, I’m sorry too—shoulda said something instead of standin’ there like a fuckin’ dolt—”
“You should’ve,” she interrupts, still fuming mad, an iceberg melting right in front of them. It makes his cock pulse.
“—Aye, hen, I’ve no excuse, none at all. Shoulda told Simon to fuck off and keep his hands to himself—”
“Careful, Johnny,” Ghost says warningly, finally stepping into the living room. He fills out the archway imposingly, almost forced to twist his body on an angle to step in.
Her eyes cut over to Ghost, narrowing, lips pursing. Johnny’s heart jumps in his chest. It’s one thing to see his girl again in the flesh, but to see her all righteous and on the verge of an argument—he could bend her over the back of the couch now, sink into the plush, delicate folds of her pussy, reacquaint himself with deep, languid thrusts. Heaven after not getting his cock wet in a week.
He flinches when he thinks about the last person to touch his dick.
“So you’re sorry?” she says to Ghost, her disbelief clear. Difficult to see why she wouldn’t find it hard to believe that the man that shamelessly grabbed her ass in broad daylight in front of a group of his colleagues and her boyfriend would now choose to apologize.
Johnny knows the answer is no when he sees the way Ghost’s eyes rove over her body, taking stock of her little cotton pajamas and her bare feet curling against the cold floor. Ghost tilts his head to the side, eyes travelling back up to meet hers. “Sure I am, bird. Don’t I look sorry?”
Neither of them answer that. Arguing with Ghost feels different, like inviting in danger. Moving too suddenly in front of a hungry dog, jowls loose and salivating for a bite.
He takes a step closer. “Complete pillock, wasn’t I? And now Johnny’s getting the silent treatment ‘cause of it. Just couldn’t bear another second of him moping around base on the verge of tears.”
Johnny frowns at that. His girl frowns too, but there’s something more to it. He wouldn’t blame her for not accepting Simon’s apology, if he could even call it that—nothing about it rings sincere, more like words spoken softly to call a kitty over—but questioning it feels worse somehow. Like detonating a bomb at two thousand feet above ground.
“…Okay,” she says instead, voice trembling a little. “Apology accepted. You guys can go home now.”
“Bird’s forgiving, huh, Johnny?”
Johnny preens despite himself. “Aye. She’s a good girl, Lt. Told ye so.”
Ghost nods. “That’s right. A good girl who’s gonna let us make it up to her ‘til we have to report back in forty-eight hours.”
“Wait, you can’t—” she starts, then cuts herself off when Ghost’s eyes flash.
He can’t help the way he shudders at the helpless look on her face. Downturned eyebrows, pretty lips slack with disbelief, just the slightest hint of a whine building in her throat that dies when it dawns on her that nothing short of calling the cops will make the two of them leave.
And she’s a good girl—would never call the cops on him. His perfect girl. Sweet as pie.
Johnny falls in love a little bit more when she presses her squeezed fists against her eyes and exhales. “Fine. I’m too—I’m going back to bed. We can talk about this in the morning.”
Ghost doesn’t react to her acceptance. It’s taken as a simple fact of nature—he says something and it happens. He speaks the world into being.
“I’ll take the couch,” he grunts, finally sitting down to unlace his boots. He looks comically large on her little couch—it’s more than likely that his feet will hang off the end, if not everything from the knee down.
Johnny already figured as much. No point in them driving all the way back to base when they both have the next two days off duty and there’s a perfectly serviceable couch for Ghost and the other half of her bed for him. He thought they’d have to convince her a bit more or strong arm her into it (a putrid thought; he’d rather have sweet talked her into the idea), but his girl always manages to surprise him in the best way.
On that thought, he looks over his shoulder towards the bedroom door, cock throbbing again at the thought of getting to hold his girl’s body against his. Touch starved dog. Mangy mutt, tongue lolling out at even the possibility of a pet.
Ghost must notice the object of his gaze because he sets him straight. “You can take the floor, Johnny.”
His tone brooks no argument. When Johnny whirls around, the words already on his tongue, she’s my girl, I’ve already slept in that bed ten times over, the sight of Ghost’s bare face, the mask now off, dangling in his hand like some scrap of fabric, makes him lose his train of thought. It’s not often he’s granted the luxury of seeing Ghost’s face—wide, clean shaven jaw, buzzed blond hair, old burn marks like a half-moon around his eye, nasty old scar slicing through his lips—and to see it now, here, makes something in him give.
Saturnine man with a wolf’s appetite. Ravenous.
It burns him that his girl looks slightly relieved at having the bed to herself. Irks him. Makes his jaw clench on a mean remark, half tempted to spit out something cross. Just because things have gotten complicated, now he’s not welcome in her bed? After the week he’s spent toiling, trying to make amends? Pleading desperately over the phone, stewing in guilt and heartache—Johnny knows she’s a good girl, but if he finds out that she’s replaced him with someone else in the week since they last saw each other—
Even the thought makes him see red.
He watches her as she turns around to retreat back to bed, more than a little displeased.
“Give Johnny a little kiss before bed, why don’t you, bird?” Ghost lightly suggests. Not a suggestion.
She freezes mid-turn. His expression dares her to put up a fuss. Johnny again nearly clucks his tongue, troubled on her behalf. Her spitfire nature is snuffed out easily under that stare. Grown men with experience in the field wither under Ghost’s stare. It’s no weakness of hers that she acquiesces time and again to his demands, glancing up at Johnny from under her eyelashes before shuffling over, pressing the lightest of kisses to his cheek.
“Better than that,” Ghost grunts, unimpressed.
His poor darling. Humiliated now. No skin off his back though. Johnny’s heart pumps double time when she presses her lips to his; soft petals that spread when he slips his tongue into her mouth, too eager after a week of nothing. Touch starved. Desperate to sink into her, lap his tongue over her lips and the roof of her mouth and press her jaw open to spit messily in her mouth. Take it, hen, every piece of me.
She rips her lips from his and dances away when he tries to get his hands on her, eyes wide, casting one last glance over at Ghost before hightailing it back to her room.
He barely resists going after her. Only Ghost’s stare roots him in place; his voice in Johnny’s head that rumbles, heel. I’ll tell you when to go.
He still doesn’t know what it says about him that he angles himself towards it. Bows his head to it. Moth to a flame that shocks him to the bone when he touches it.
Ghost tosses him the second pillow from the other end of the couch and takes the only blanket for himself. No matter. Johnny’s bivouacked on snowy cliff sides, chilblains blistering his toes for weeks; nights spent camped in torrential downpours, his tent on the verge of collapsing; windswept baysides chilling him to the bone. He can handle a pillow on a hardwood floor.
The ebb and flux of an ocean in his ear, and then Ghost’s voice from the couch: “I’ll take first watch.”
Whole body falling loose as if snipping a cord tethering him to the world.
“I’ll clean up the lamp in the morning,” he mumbles, vision already blurring. Ghost hums low in his throat.
He falls asleep with Ghost’s voice in his head, his girl’s taste still in his mouth.
#ceil writing#cod mw2#cod x reader#soap x reader#ghost x reader#ghost/reader#soap/reader#ghoap x reader#ghost/soap/reader
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Ghoap (well, Cbf!Soap mainly) asking Afab!Reader to be their surrogate (pt 1)
CW: Talks of surrogacy/pregnancy
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The last thing you expected when you came home after work one day was your friend Johnny sitting on your couch. You two have been friends since childhood and have been inseparable, even after he joined the military. You trusted the man with your life and would let him come over whenever he felt like it, going as far as giving him an extra key to your flat in Sunderland.
At first, you thought something bad must have happened since you could see he was clearly stressed about something. You drop your bag down and go over to the couch, sitting next to him
"Johnny, what are ya doing here? Is something wrong?"
He looks up at you with those crystal blue eyes, running a hand through his mohawk.
"Nah, there's nothing wrong per say, but...there is somethin' I need to ask ya, lass. Somethin' big...."
"What is it?"
Johnny pauses, unsure of how to ask this. After a moment, a voice from behind you two speaks up. A deep, gravely voice with a Mancunian accent. The unexpected voice causes you to jump slightly and turn around. It was Johnny's husband, Simon. Johnny had told you about him numerous times but you had never gotten to meet him in person before. His brown eyes bore down at you. It was hard to tell what exactly he was thinking but from the tone of his voice and how blunt he was, it was clear he wasn't exactly happy.
"He wants to know if you'd be our surrogate."
This makes you pause. They want you to be their surrogate? The MacTavishs? Really? You understand that you and Johnny are good friends and all, but you figured they would have gone through an agency or even adopted instead. You look back at Johnny, who was giving Simon a bit of a look himself.
"Johnny, is this true?"
Johnny turns back to you and his face softens quite a bit before he looks down at the ground.
"Aye...it's true, lass. I know this is a really, really big favour to ask, but...."
Johnny looks back up at you and gently grabs your hand.
"Could ya do this for us? We'll pay ya, take care of ya. Simon's done took a step back from the military for this next part of our lives so you'll always have at least one of us around at all times."
The look of desperation in Johnny's eyes makes your heart break for him a little bit. You knew he's always wanted to be a dad one day, have a family of his own. You fold your arms over your chest and lean back into the couch a bit, thinking it over....
"If I do this for you....how would we be doing this? Do you already have an egg from a donor? Are you just needing me to carry your child for you?"
Johnny sighs
"No. We'd be hoping ya wouldn't mind doing it....the ol' fashioned way...."
"The old fashioned way...? You mean... You'd sleep with me to knock me up?"
Before Johnny could say anything else, Simon interjects.
"No. Not him. I'd be doing it..."
You look up at Simon, clearly shocked. You barely knew this man and here he was saying that he'd be the one sleeping with you. You've only heard tidbits about him from Johnny. Sure, Johnny made him out to be a good man who liked to crack jokes and was a pretty laid back guy but from this first encounter, he doesn't seem like that at all. This made you extremely hesitant to help your friend out in starting his family....
Seeing the look of worry on your face, Johnny clears his throat causing you to look back at him again.
"Don't mind him, lass. He's just a bit....protective. Simon doesn't feel comfortable at the thought of me sleeping with someone else. I hope ya can understand that? And don't worry, like I said before...ya don't need to say yes now. Ya can give your answer later on, after you've spent a bit of time with Simon and have gotten to know him better. I wouldn't want ya sleeping with someone ya barely know."
You slowly nod. You could understand that. You and Johnny have known each other for much longer and it wasn't a secret he had a crush on you in the past....so Simon most likely felt the relationship would be threatened if Johnny was the one to sleep with you, worrying that would rekindle the old feelings he had for you from your younger years. Giving a slight sigh, you smile at Johnny and slightly give his hand a squeeze before letting it go.
"Yeah, okay. I'll give it a shot for you, Johnny. I'll try to get to know Simon better before I make my full decision..."
Johnny's face lights up and he immediately leans in to hug you tightly. He pulls away after a moment with a huge grin on his face.
"Thanks, lass. I promise Simon isn't normally like this. He just....has a hard time trusting people he doesn't know. He'll warm up to ya eventually."
This earns a scoff from Simon as he turns his head away from you two. Johnny laughs and gets up from the couch, moving behind it towards Simon.
"Lighten up, love. I know ya two pretty well....I think you'll get along in no time at all..."
He looks at Simon lovingly as he brushes his hand through Simon's short, black hair before giving him a kiss on his forehead. Simon frowns a bit, some of the scars on his face becoming more prominent; especially the ones on his upper lip and cheek.
"Really, Johnny? In front of her?"
Johnny only laughs in response, nodding.
"Aye, in front of her. Now come on, we should probably let her be now..."
He didn't need to tell Simon twice. The Brit immediately started heading towards the door without another word, only stopping in the doorway to wait for Johnny. Before leaving, Johnny turns to you again.
"Again, thank you. This really does mean a lot to me, and especially Simon....even if the brute doesn't want to admit it..."
Another groan is heard from Simon, who's barely...just barely....got a slight upward curl of his lips going on.
"...So I'll text ya soon with some dates and times so we can all get together and hang out a bit, so you can Simon can get to know each other better, yeah?"
You nod, smiling as you stand up and give Johnny another quick hug.
"Yeah. Sounds good. See you later, Johnny. Simon."
You give a slight nod to Simon, who hesitates before giving a slight nod back. Johnny turns and walks to Simon, taking Simon's hand in his before the couple leaves your house.
#cod mw2#cod mwii#cod#cod modern warfare#cod mw3#simon ghost riley#cod x reader#john soap mactavish#ghoap x reader#ghoap#ghoap au#ghoap fic#simon riley x you#john soap mctavish x reader#cbf!soap
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Oh no 😅 what’s Simon gonna do once he realizes he cares about the reader and craves non-sexual intimacy with them, too? Is he still gonna be mean, are they all gonna have a talk, will he change his behavior? Will he grow to love reader?? I’m obsessed with your poly!ghoap!!! 💕I also love the other one with reader and Gaz, too. Great job!!
simon’s been distant since he realised that he’s jealous of the affection you give johnny. he can’t say he doesn’t understand why you keep your distance from simon, especially seeing as the last few times he’s had you pinned up against the fridge with a snarl.
it’s actually kind of terrifying that simon’s hopped off your back a bit, not acting all threatening when you two cross paths in the apartment like he normally would. holding doors open for you, he even woke you up when you had accidentally slept through your alarm??
johnny’s in the shower one evening, his screechy voice belting out rock tunes. you’re in the kitchenette, making yourself lunch for the next day, occasionally stealing glances from simon, who’s sat on the sofa watching a shitty soap opera. whilst also listening to a Soap Opera.
you bite the inside of your lip nervously, trying to think of idle conversation. “so… i know you and johnny have a work event tomorrow. do you want .. me to make you two lunch?” you squeak out, a chill running down your spine as his head whips around and he stares right at you. with one powerful lunge, he’s up off the sofa and striding towards the kitchen island, large hands reaching out to grab a knife.
fuck, this is how it ends. you’re gonna get stabbed to death by your lunatic roomie and johnny’s too busy singing in the shower to hear you. fuck—
“pass us the cheese.”
??
you furrow your eyebrows, looking up at simon. his facial expression is blank, piercing blue eyes just staring right at you. he grunts, extending his hand and curling his fingers up, motioning for you to pass him the block of cheese.
“i said pass us the cheese then. i wanna help.”
when johnny finally steps out the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, he swaggers into the kitchenette with a comfortable stride. his thick eyebrows raised curiously at the sight of simon prepping sandwiches. except, there’s a fuck tonne of sandwiches on the island. he looks at you with a confused expression, which makes you giggle. “simon’s helping me make lunch for tomorrow.” you say gently, looking up at simon with a small smile.
simon’s lips twitch up ever so slightly, something he’s never done around you before. he clears his throat as he grabs some tupperware containers, shrugging as he begins to store the excess sandwiches. “dunno… might have gotten carried away. reckon we’ll all be eating sandwiches for dinner for a couple’a days.” he murmurs, smirking up at you when you laugh at his comment.
it’s a start, and you and simon are both content with that.
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