#ghost x reader x soap
Text
Simple Math / Part Thirteen
Simple Math masterlist
Ghost/Soap/female reader
4.2k words - AO3
Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Nurse!reader. Domestic slice of life. Feelings of fear, self loathing, anxiety, dread. Complicated emotions. Verbal depiction of domestic violence. Non sexual intimacy. Scars from cigarette burns. Very brief daddy kink. Sick character (not reader). Comfort.
Confessions.
The park is quiet.
You hoped it would be- middle of the day, in the middle of a work week, in the middle of the city. There are a few people around, walking, running, lingering. Enjoying themselves, the warmth of the sun on their face, a bright spot amid a typically grey winter.
It makes it easier. To look.
To watch.
To wait.
And you do. You wait, and you wait. You sit steady on the park bench, pretending to be remotely interested in the rough paperback cradled in your lap, spine already cracked flimsy by Simon’s grip. It’s Stephen King. Carrie, if you’re precise. A story of stolen girlhood and rage.
You swallow the shards of glass and acid the pages bring forth.
Deep breath.
The breeze gusts, and your shoulders nearly shake. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve sat out in the open like this.
Easy prey.
You may have always been easy prey. Easy and young and stupid, easy, and naïve and manipulated. You fell for every trick in the book. You didn’t see the signs until it was too late.
Still, you watch. You wait.
You considered, for a while, that if Philip was around, if he was in the city, looking for you- he’d arrive here. Like magic. Like a classic villain, materializing in a plume of smoke.
And while it’s not exactly comfort you feel as each minute ticks by and he fails to appear, there’s relief in your soul for certain.
It’s a risk, to sit here. A question. With an answer, for now.
Will he? Won’t he?
Today, the answer is he won’t.
Your phone vibrates, and you don’t need to look at it to know, guilt worming its way into the depths of your heart, anxiety piquing as you imagine both Simon and Johnny at their house, their home, worried.
Don’t fool yourself. Don’t give yourself too much credit. Don’t get carried away.
Someone clears their throat over the back of the bench, and you whirl.
“Hey, sorry.” Your pulse slows from a gallop to something slower, and you shake your head.
“You can’t sneak up on me like that.” The man shrugs his second apology, legs spreading into the spot next to you. You’re practiced at this, familiar. Knowledgeable enough to keep your hands from shaking, even though the tremor builds through your bones.
“Been waitin’ for you to call.”
“I’ve been busy.” You eye the black bag in his hands, a small black fabric pouch, gold zipper glinting in the sun. “That everything?” He nods.
“Can I ask-“
“No.”
“Just seems strange, is all. Pretty, polished thing like you, needin’ all this. Most of my clients are more… rough around the edges.” Your teeth dig into your tongue. Already, this guy is less discreet and more obnoxious than your last purveyor. You wish you had hidden your face.
Like Simon.
“We’re solid, then?” You unzip the pouch, cursory eye roaming over the collection inside, checking off a mental list. Usually, you would feel relief at this point, but today, it sours and rots. Liberation burns into a roaring wave of uncertainty, and your fingers tighten over the zipper.
“We’re good.” He stands, giving you one last long look, and then his mouth shifts into a half smile. “Good luck.” Your polite nod is strained and forced. A nonverbal fuck off.
He takes the cue, and slinks away, disappearing around a corner and out of sight.
The bag weighs heavily in your hands. A terrible reminder of the truth.
You’ll never have a life. You’ll never have a family. You’ll always be alone.
You’ll never be pretty or polished or perfect.
You’ll always be this.
Scarred. Sectioned off. Scared.
Desperation wells, and you close your eyes. You see Johnny, and Simon. Their faces. Sunlight in bleak darkness.
Love and family and strength.
The ache in your chest widens. You want to be home, with them. Curled up, with them. Sitting at the table and eating dinner, with them. All these things, these domestic, familiar things that once seemed so unattainable, now within arm’s reach.
But still so far away.
Your shoulders relax a fraction, dipping lower, the strain on your injury zinging through your muscles as you roll them, and you shove the little bag into the backpack, above the clothes you pulled from your apartment.
Deep breath.
Johnny’s the first you see after locking the front door. He’s in the kitchen, half leaning on his crutch, fishing something out of a pot, a noodle of some kind, and he freezes, eyes heavy with relief, when you come around the corner.
“Bunny.” His good arm reaches, fingers brushing together, cold against warm. He coos. “Ye’re freezin’.”
“It’s cold.” You agree, unzipping the front of your jacket. He slides cautious and slow touch around your waist beneath it, and you go with him, face burrowing into his chest, just below his collarbone. Your nose is nearly smashed, but you can still breath him in, feel him, be in this moment with him.
His hold tightens. “What is it?”
“Sorry it took me so long.”
“That’s alright, was jus’ worried is all. Text us back next time.” You nod, but stay silent, still taking gulps of air, nosing against the collar of his shirt to find his skin. “Pretty girl,” his hand strokes over the back of your head, warm breath on your cheek. “Ye alright?” You breathe through the threat of tears, though they sting and threaten to sink you.
“Ye-yeah.” You choke, and he tries to pull back, grip steady on your upper arm, but you follow him, still trying to crawl inside and hide, wrap yourself up in him and disappear.
“Hey now,” he clucks his tongue, trying to re-focus you, trying to get your attention, nimble fingers cradling your jaw, “what is it?”
There are no words to explain it, these feelings. The fear. The dread. The bile rioting in your stomach, the anxiety churning like a turbulent sea. It’s like no matter what you do, it all comes back, no matter how deep you bury it or how much you try to change the tide.
It’s easier to lie.
“I’m tired.” You whisper, and he rubs your back.
“Did ye eat?” No.
“Yes. I got something at the hospital.”
“Paperwork all in order so ye can hang out wit’ us until ye’re better?” His smile is infectious, a mirror blooming across your own face, and he dots your nose with his lips. “There’s our girl.” Your toes curl. He tugs the backpack into his grip, and you let him, let him push you up into the counter, drop your bag to the floor, slip his tongue between his teeth. You let it all go to your head, let yourself get lost in him, twist your fingers in his hair, nipples pebbling stiff as his mouth finds the sensitive skin of your neck.
He takes it all away. Every time.
“Johnny.”
“I’ve got ye.” He finds an opening, a soft spot between your jeans and your shirt, hands roaming upward and over, everywhere. He’s everywhere, effortlessly, and you’re along for the ride, clinging so tight like you’re afraid you’ll fall.
And then-
It stops.
He’s holding your face, blue gaze unwavering, focused. “Bun, talk to me.” Your throat throbs, words sticking like taffy, clawing their way up in a jumbled mess until the only thing intelligible is what spills out.
“Is this real?” You’re a child. Small and scared, desperate for some sort of reassurance, some semblance of security.
“Is what real?” His fingers close over yours, lifting them to his lips. “This? Us?”
“Everything. All of it… I- I-“
“It’s real. It’s been real since ye held my hand the first time. Or at least, it’s been real for me… since then. Thought ye were an angel. An answer to a prayer.” He cracks a smile, thumb rubbing across the slope of your cheek. “An’ I’m not the praying type.”
“There’s… you don’t know me, Johnny. There’s so much… you don’t know.” Your chest heaves, anxiety stuttering inside your lungs, air turning thin in your mouth.
“I know, shhh. I know.” You press your face back into his chest, words slowing to a stop, a trickle. “Ye remind me of him, ye know. A lot prettier though.”
“Who?”
“Si.” He kisses your temple, your forehead, peeling away to peer at your face. “Guarded… but scared under it all. Ye dinnae even know how life can be, too busy runnin’ away.”
“Johnny-“
“Ye’ve got secrets, I know. But it’s the same thing I used to tell him. Eventually you’ve got to let go, let me in. Let us in, Bun. We’re not goin’ anywhere. We’re not afraid. Let us prove it.” Your lower lip trembles, eyes burning with the brunt of tears. “Shhh, dinnae cry. Ye’re alright, everything’s going to be okay. I swear it.” You do nothing, nothing except stand there, half folded into him, breath and touch agonizingly slow, steady in his hold.
The two of you stay there, in the silence, until the agonized sear of distress starts to fade, and you begin to balance, ship righting itself after a long night in rocky seas.
Penny’s bedroom door is open.
The soft glow of a nightlight floats into the hall, and you peer past, finding Simon with his arms full, reclined in the rocking chair, a nearly asleep Penny gap mouthed in his arms. You wave.
“Hi,” he whispers, “get everything you needed?”
“Yeah, all set.” You nod to the baby. “She’s knocked.”
“Bath time was rough.” He traces her cheek, twirling a finger in her hair. A soft, faultless picture, his features delicately framed by shadow, thick arms the perfect place for a baby, an easy cradle.
It’s an intimate moment, and inside it, you feel out of place.
“I’ll see you downstairs?” You shift away, motioning, and he hums.
“In a few.”
Everything is slow with them in the evenings, you’ve realized.
They move leisurely, dancing around one another, Simon constantly watching and waiting, for both you and Johnny, anticipating. It’s a natural role, one that seems more permanent over necessary considering the circumstances, Johnny falling into an unhurried pace, languishing on the couch after dinner and dishes are done, fingers mindlessly stroking into the soft spot beneath your ear. Simon leans over, kissing Johnny and then settling at your side, an arm stretching around your back. “Should we watch something?” Johnny brightens.
“A movie?”
“If you’d like. Bun, any suggestions?” You blink. It’s a surprise, one that’s never occurred to you, the ability to simply choose a movie.
“Umm… no?”
“What’s yer favorite?”
“I don’t know. Whatever is fine. What do you guys like?”
“We know what we like. We want to know what you like.” What do you like? Comedies, you suppose. Something light and funny, something to distract the never-ending stream of thoughts cycling through your head.
“Uh, have you guys ever seen Forgetting Sarah Marshall?” Johnny chuckles.
“It’s been a while.” He flicks through the icons on the screen, thumbing over to where he starts to type it in. What if they don’t like it? What if they’re humoring you? What if you picked wrong?
“Or, if you don’t like that, we can do something else. Anything. I’m not picky. It doesn’t have to be-“
“Hey,” Simon murmurs, warm palm resting on your knee, “that’s perfect. We both like that one.”
“Dracula musical.” Johnny smiles, finding it easily and clicking play. Your breath catches at the ease of it all, of picking a movie and that being that, no anxiety about a reaction or something triggering popping up on screen.
You can just… enjoy it.
The light in their bathroom is a little too bright.
Your toes stretch across the tile, nerves thrashing in the pit of your stomach as you stare in the mirror.
You don’t know who it is looking back at you.
You don’t recognize the girl getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth, wearing a pair of pajama pants and Simon’s shirt.
There’s a disconnect, some semblance of wires crossing, some phantom of someone else, living in your skin.
Because it can’t be you, getting ready to crawl into bed between them. It can’t be you, who fell asleep with her head on Simon’s stomach during the movie, can’t be you who stole a kiss from Johnny as Simon propped his leg up on the stack of pillows.
You’re playing house. Playing a game.
It won’t last.
It can’t.
You wrap a finger up in the hem of Simon’s shirt, frayed and torn edges pulling apart below the seam. It’s an old one, something he tugged out of a drawer and tossed on the bed, faded graphic turned from white to grey against a rusted black backdrop. It’s soft, and worn, and comfortable, an article of clothing well loved, and you wonder if Johnny’s worn it too. If it’s been passed around, washed, and dried a hundred times.
“Everything alright?” Simon leans into the bathroom, Johnny in view just past his shoulder. He’s not wearing a shirt, just soft, flannel pants, and you stare at the scars dotting his torso before dragging your gaze away.
“Yeah, sorry… I got distracted.” You turn the tap, rinsing your toothbrush before placing it by itself on the edge of the sink, out of place next to the cup holding theirs, and Penny’s.
You blink slow, allowing your eyes to close for a fraction of second.
“Ready for bed?” Johnny beams at you, lush and sleepy, hand outstretched, reaching.
You take a deep breath. “Yeah.”
Simon’s bedside lamp is still on, barely illuminating the dark. It’s quiet, and warm, and you bask in the space between their bodies, fingers playing idly with the hem of your shirt.
When Johnny’s fingers graze the skin under the fabric, your chest tightens. He strokes back and forth, over your navel, blazing heat from his palm tingling into your skin. You’re being torn in two, swallowed by the ocean, tugged in different directions.
You struggle to regulate your breathing, small draws coming in quicker, and Simon covers Johnny’s hand with his own, stopping the movement.
“Will you show us?” He murmurs.
“Sh-show you?”
“The scars.” Oh.
Will you?
Even though Simon’s already seen them, this feels different. This feels like a choice. Like you’re peeling something back, baring yourself.
You close your eyes and pull the bottom of your shirt to the top of your ribcage, cool air ghosting over your exposed skin. Johnny makes a sound, a twisted whisper of something pained, and you shiver.
A thumb slides over the raised skin on the left side of your belly. “These are from cigarettes?”
“Yes.” You almost want to look, want to see, but can’t bring yourself to do it, to witness their disgust, their shock. You’re hollow. Drifting. Falling away from them. Someone shifts, the bed moves, jostles slightly, but you block it out. Every muscle in your body is taut, jaw locked, and fists clenched.
This morning was intimate but this… this is something else. Something more.
“Can ye feel them, still? Do they hurt?” Two hands roam, rubbing gently, skimming.
“No but… they’re hideous.”
“No.” Simon croaks, voice thick. “There isn’t a single part of you that isn’t perfect.” Your heart cracks, and the light touch of fingertips disappears, replaced with a swath of breath and then-
Lips.
He’s kissing them.
It stops your heart, dries your mouth. Robs you of your breath, your head spinning into an enormous vortex of disbelief. Simon’s mouth travels, dotting your skin between each ugly, raised bump, carefully pressing a kiss to each one, gradually. He takes his time, and with your eyes closed, you can feel his body hovering above you, holding steady just over your frame. Johnny’s forehead rests against yours, and he cups your face, thumb rubbing the apple of your cheek, sweet and slow.
“Will ye tell us… about how you got them? Who gave them to ye?” Simon cradles your hips, firm pressure folding into your skin, the curve there, and he squeezes, prompting you, expecting. You don’t know how he does it, how he’s so easily able to guide you, and Johnny. It’s seamless.
“I…” You don’t know what to say, if you were to say anything at all. How to answer. How to begin to explain. How to confirm what you know they already suspect, how to start this story. This nightmare.
Are you really doing this? Could you really do this?
There’s a sliver of sun, begging. Pleading. It rails against the cracks in your heart, desperate.
So, you spit out the only thing you know for sure.
“He liked to hurt me.”
“Who?” Simon’s question is immediate, and your ribs expand with a long breath.
“My… ex.” Stop talking. Stop this, stop it, stop- “He’s a monster.”
“The healed breaks on your x-rays…” He trails off, and you reach blindly, searching for an anchor. Johnny gives it to you, clutching your hand in his, thumb soothing over your knuckles.
“Yes.”
“And more.” Simon whispers, and Johnny draws a sharp breath. You nod.
“And more.”
“Your neck, and shoulder?” There’s a long silence, as you sit atop the wall. As you wait and try to decide if you want to jump off or continue to sit here… trapped at the top, teetering on the edge while they wait below.
You’re in their life now. You said you’d try. They should know.
You trust them.
Don’t you?
“He found me.” You confess, cracked and bleeding and hung out to dry. Three words barely scratching the surface of the truth, saying almost nothing at all and still so much. You stumble, and panic, fear bubbling up to the surface. “I’m sorry, I told you before- I said-“
“And we told ye; nothing is going to get ye while ye’re with us. Ye’re safe, bunny.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about!” you blurt, a near snap, and Johnny freezes. “It’s you guys, and Penny, and your friends, you- you don’t know what he’s capable of. You don’t understand. He’s chased me across the world, he always finds me, no matter what, no matter what I do, o-or where I go-” You’re rambling, nearly hyperventilating, and slipping away, succumbing to the rolling black clouds overtaking your mouth and mind, stuttering and falling, drowning in an endless darkness.
They don’t know. They don’t understand. They can’t.
You’re weak. You’re stupid. You’re nothing.
You’re a child again. A lost girl. Alone and scared. Trapped in the dark.
“Open your eyes, sweetheart.” You shake your head, and Simon catches it between his palms, holding you still. You can fight and flail and run, but he’s still there. Strong and safe and beautiful in every way, a foundation of love, of trust. “It’s just us, we’re here. With you. Look.” Johnny tightens his hold, and your bones rattle inside your skin, aching and splintering, shredding you from the inside out.
“I can’t.” You hiss, trying to curl away. You can’t face them, or this. The reality. The truth.
It’s easier to run. Who were you kidding? You can’t do this. You should have already been gone.
But they won’t let you go. Not now. Not when they have you so close to the light. So close to the sun.
And maybe it’s time to accept it.
“Look at me, pretty girl.” Johnny murmurs. “Ye can do it.” The pull of his voice drags you closer, comforts you, and you long for him, long to see his blue eyes, overgrown mohawk and gorgeous smile. You long to relax into him, to hear the thump of his heart, steady and strong. He’s a lighthouse in the pitch-black night, a guiding light. It’s enough to lessen pressure building in the back of your skull, and you slowly blink, both of their concerned faces coming into view.
The three of you linger silence, holding each other, decompressing from your confession, your fear that feels too much sometimes. It all fades, night turning long, and eventually you yawn, blinking away the sleepy stars in your eyes.
“There’s our bunny.” Simon kisses your cheek. “My good girl.” My good girl. Turning it over in your mind makes you squirm, allowing it ricochet back and forth with his accent, and you wish you could latch onto it, memorize it, hear it every day. Johnny gives you a bemused smile.
“Ye liked that?” He raises an eyebrow at Simon, and then presses his lips to your ear, whispering. “Ye want to be a good girl for daddy, little bunny?” Daddy. You choke. You anticipate disgust, revulsion, but none of it comes.
Only… intrigue. Warmth.
“I think that’s enough for tonight.” Simon interrupts gently. “Thank you, sweetheart. For trusting us. I know it’s hard.” You turn into Johnny, and Simon rolls to flick out the light, pulling up tight behind you, sliding an arm under the pillows. You burrow deeper into the blankets, snuggling between them to find the warmest spots, and sigh.
“You both… make it easier. You make it easy.”
The world from yesterday is forgotten the next day when Penny wakes up with a fever.
The house is thrown into confined, regulated chaos, but chaos all the same. She wails almost the entirety of the morning, miserable, and you ache for both her, and her dads, who are unmoored and anxious. You don’t even balk when Simon asks you to hold her, explaining he has to call her pediatrician.
“Hey, you’re okay.” You coo, rubbing her back. She’s warm to the touch, but not scorching, and it gives you some comfort, even with what little you know about peds. You rock her, pacing, as Johnny watches uneasily from the couch, typing unending questions into a web search about babies and fevers. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I know you don’t feel good.”
“It’s 38.1… that’s fine, right? As long as it’s under 39?”
“I think so.” You try to reassure him. “I’m not a little human nurse though, so I can’t be sure. But it hasn’t been that long, Johnny. We don’t need to worry until at least twenty-four hours.” He nods, lips quirking into a small smile. “What?”
“Ye said we.”
“Well… yeah…” you trail off, and he shakes his head.
“Jus’ like the sound of it, is all. Like how ye look, holdin’ our baby.” You give him a look, half exasperated, half doe eyed, as always, because you can’t help but feel a little lovestruck or dazed whenever you glance his way, always taken by him, no matter the moment.
Simon steps back inside from the patio, swooping to rub his nose in Johnny’s hair and squeeze his shoulder affectionately. “The pediatrician says if she gets worse, or doesn’t improve by tomorrow, to bring her in.”
“Good.” You bounce her, propping her up on your shoulder. “That’s good.” She gurgles, croaking through her miserable fever. “Poor baby girl, I’m sorry.” You pat her again, trying to help settle her-
She coughs, and something warm runs down your back.
“Shite.” Johnny curses, Simon immediately trying to pull her from your arms, but you shake your head.
“There’s no sense in her throwing up on you too.” You explain.
“I’ll go grab a towel, and some clothes. Do you want to change your shirt?”
“Yeah, that’s fine.” You keep your hand steady on her back. You’ll both need a thorough wipe down now, maybe even a shower.
“Sorry, bun.” Johnny frowns, but you reassure him, still rocking Penny in your arms.
“It’s fine, really. I’ve been through way worse with bodily fluids, trust me.” The bottom stair creaks, in the way that it only does for Simon, his mass too much for one of the wooden slats.
When you look up, you realize he’s not moving, only standing shock still, clothes and towel and a baby blanket in one hand,
and the contents of the little black bag in the other.
You left it on the dresser. You left it out in the open, unzipped, on the dresser.
Your blood freezes. Johnny frowns, looking between his partner and you, trying to desperately draw a conclusion that doesn’t come.
Simon holds the little navy-blue book up, the one with your picture in it, but with a name they won’t recognize. A person they wouldn’t know.
A person you don’t even know, yet. A new life. A new identity.
“What’s that?” Johnny’s quizzical, intrigued.
“Bunny.” Simon breathes, and you shake your head. It’s all you can do, just shake your head back and forth until your brain is rattling around in your skull.
You can’t stop it.
They’ll never love you. They won’t accept you. They won’t understand.
“It’s- it’s j-just in case,” you stammer, panicked and tongue tied. “you… you don’t understand, I have to have it… just in case.”
“What is it?” Johnny demands, and Simon flips the front of the booklet around-
revealing the cover of a brand-new American passport.
#peaches writes#simple math#ghoap x reader#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#ghost x soap x reader#soap x reader#john soap mctavish x reader#ghost x reader x soap#johnny mactavish x reader#ghost x reader
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Cod fanfics r so popular on here, but theres hardly any poly fics which surprises me like, who doesnt want to imagine themselves getting gangbanged by like 5 beefy gruff moody cod men 😭 cmon guys :(
#i love poly fics there should be more#maybe i should just start writing again#cod#call of duty#call of duty x reader#cod x reader#cod smut#call of duty smut#ghost call of duty#john soap mactavish#ghost x reader x soap#soap cod#gaz cod#captain john price#captain john price smut#ghost smut#simon ghost riley#simon ghost x reader#soap x reader#johnny soap mctavish x reader#kyle gaz garrick#cod keegan#cod hesh#cod konig#ghost x reader x konig#könig x reader#könig cod#call of duty konig#konig smut#gaz garrick smut
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puppy! soap & reader and owner! simon will always have me in a chokehold.
so what if it was the day of simon adopting us and he brought us home? how would soap react to a new female puppy in the house? we all know he basically uses ghost as a fucktoy by grinding on his thigh and leg, but he absolutely looses all common sense when he sees us. if you thought he was horny before, it’s a whole other LEVEL now!
tw: dubcon (coercion), hybrid (dog-human), pet play
at first, pup!soap didn't appreciate this one bit. he took it as simon saying he was fed up getting humped, leaving johnny to whine and whimper. i mean- yes, simon didn't like having to buy new pairs of jeans often because johnny kept cumming all over them, but he wasn't sick of that dumb pup yet...
when simon trained you, it made things worse. with johnny purposely making himself a bad influence on you because of jealousy about the attention you were getting. you cowered away from johnny when simon locked you two together in a cage at nighttime, knowing that johnny didn't appreciate your presence at all...
he spat on you, tugged on your collar with his shape canines and made sure he had you crying. this wasn't a good method, as simon would coddle and pet you like he would with johnny, glaring at the other dog in the cage for making you upset. ruffling your ears and tail so you could sleep peacefully between his thighs.
eventually, simon denied johnny to hump him, or use him as a fucktoy. saying that it was punishment for being horrible. and the longer his orgasm was denied, the more horny he got — the more depraved. he'd sob for simon's help, lying about you hurting him in the hopes that maybe simon would fuck the sadness out of him.
did it work? well, of course, it didn't. so johnny, being desperate, fucked you instead. he told you it was a learning thing, that you had to do it. coercing you so that you were on your back and sliding into your cunt. god, he absolutely lost himself. ploughing and rutting into you while you mewled and whined.
now you were his new fucktoy...
simon was so disappointed, deciding that he'd fuck you infront of johnny to punish and torture him. crouched down over your figure that was bent into doggy style. he fucked you, gripping your collar from behind. slow, hard thrusts driving you crazy. his dick was huge, leaving you moaning for more as johnny weeped and mounted his blankets for friction as his dick only got harder and his tip only got wetter...
“tha’s what ya’ get for bein’ a bad dog, johnny...”
#orla speaks#mw2 ghost#ghost mw2#ghost#ghost call of duty#soap mactavish#john soap mactavish#cod soap#soap call of duty#soap x reader smut#soap x reader x ghost#ghoap x reader#ghoap#ghost x reader x soap#simon ghost x reader
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I’m thinking of Johnny having his nipples pierced years ago, squirming and moaning like a bitch when Simon pulls at them, pinching and pulling his red and engorged nipples. It’s the catalyst to him making you pierce your nipples for him to fondle while they’re fresh and swollen, still so, so sensitive to touch after the procedure.
Simon makes sure that every piercing Johnny has, you have, both pets for him to play and coddle with when he’s home.
#x reader#cod mw2#cod mw2 x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost mw2#simon riley x reader#Ghoap x reader#ghost x reader x soap#ghost x soap x reader#soap mw2#john soap mactavish#soap x reader#soap x reader x ghost
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ghoap x reader pet!au where simon keeps johnny as a pet, but can't keep up with his high sex drive and antics. in order to satiate him, simon decides to go looking for another pet to keep the silly pup entertained. sort of an introductory work bound to become a series of one shots like my mafia!au
cw: simon is a freak, non-con photography, a little dark content, nsfw, slight bdsm dynamics, owner/pet dynamics
Simon wasn’t a photographer, not a good one anyway, but he wasn’t to blame. His large hands were better fit for shredding meat than creating art, but he figured all art was good when the muses were beautiful.
He had been on the hunt for nearly three hours by that point, wandering throughout the city where the population was thickest. Armed with nothing but his phone, Simon captured photos of various specimens that meandered throughout the streets as they went about their lives. There were roughly twenty pictures he had saved in his gallery of unsuspecting women he figured would be Johnny’s type. Pretty blondes in flowery dresses, alluring doe eyes looking out at the streets; he stole photos of any soft and sweet thing that he figured Johnny would have fun sinking his teeth into.
A black mask and dark clothes wasn’t the most unsuspecting thing for him to wear on such an outing, yet it was to his advantage at the same time. Several women had caught the slight glint of the camera lens on his phone as he stole eternal glimpses of them. Many of them had even opened their mouths to protest his intrusion, until they looked at him, anyway. Not many people had the bravery or fortitude needed to stand up to a creature as wild and brutish as him. Their mouths shut with such promptness he nearly chuckled at how bashful they were.
Hunting got more difficult as the sky grew darker. Fresh meat hid behind locked doors that Simon could have easily torn down if he had so desired, but that wasn’t the time. As the lights started to illuminate the street, he dived down into the depths underneath London where tunnels spanned for miles, spider-webbing just below the skin of the city. The stench underground grew more acrid the further he pushed and Simon couldn’t help but huff at it. This was why he enjoyed living out of town, off in some secluded home nestled in the cold embrace of trees and lavish fields.
Made it harder for his pet to wander off, too.
The sharp clicking of heels caught his attention as he waited just beyond the yellow line on the platform. Dark eyes flickered to the newest prey that approached, and Simon found himself drinking in the sight of her. Proper clothes covered her body with a simple blouse and a pencil skirt. Dark tights covered the expanse of her legs with its sheer fabric where it was beautifully topped off by a classic pair of heels. The sway of her hips was dramatized by the steps she traversed, her pace slow and careful lest she roll an ankle walking in those heels.
She was dressed professionally, and if Simon had to guess it was for an interview. By the look on her face, it didn’t go very well. Distracted eyes stared down at the phone in her hand as her lips pressed into a frown. Anxious fingers tapped away as she typed out a message to someone — perhaps a lover? Someone would be crazy not to snatch up a specimen such as that — as she stepped down onto the platform.
Before she could get too close, Simon quickly dug his phone out before stealing a photo of her. He had gotten so used to the motions he didn’t even have to think about it; not that it was difficult anyway. With her attention still focused elsewhere, he found he was able to snap a few more before she finally put her phone into her bag and began to pay mind to where she walked. She continued further into the platform, well past Simon, and vanished into the crowd as if she had never been there at all.
Cute.
It didn’t take long for the tube to take Simon to his stop, and it was even shorter before he seated himself in his car to head back home. The drive itself was the longest part of everything. Annoying traffic, bad drivers; he didn’t feel like he could untense his body until he approached the familiar sight of home. The old and dilapidated building wasn’t much more than an heirloom passed down in the Riley family, but it had quickly become his sanctuary. Seclusion meant he was safe. Seclusion meant he could love in peace.
Warm lights poured through the sheer curtains that covered the windows and were only disturbed by a figure pacing around just beyond them. Simon’s car died off with a sputter as he pocketed his keys before approaching the door. A thick deadbolt kept the house latched tight and secure, though he was confident Johnny knew better than to attempt to dash out by that point. Especially not that day when he had the prospect of such a good treat.
Johnny was there to greet him at the door with a toothy grin, and the damn pup nearly knocked Simon over as he bounded up to him. His hands pawed at Simon’s chest as if he couldn’t get enough of him, and he didn’t calm down until the man grabbed hold of the collar around his throat. Blue eyes widened as he looked up at his owner, lips twitching with all the words he wanted to exclaim.
“Down,” Simon warned.
“Did ya get the pictures? Like you said you would?” Johnny questioned, his body still unable to retain his buzzing excitement.
Instead of answering him verbally, Simon gave a sharp tug on his collar before directing him further into the house. Ancient wood floorboards creaked underneath their weight as they entered the living room. It was devoid of all decor, unless cracks in the paint could be considered art. A rusted lamp was the sole source of light in the room, and the only thing even worth looking at was the glorious stone fireplace that sat against the far wall, but it was much too warm out to light.
Simon pulled Johnny down onto the old sofa next to him, and the man instantly burrowed into his side, eagerly waiting to see the pretty pups. The phone screen illuminated both of their faces in sync as it blossomed to life, and Johnny almost salivated at just the prospect of what he would see. It didn’t take Simon long to pull up his gallery, and he scrolled to the first photos he had taken that day before angling it so that his excited pup could see it too.
Twitching fingers reached out to swipe along the screen, and Simon watched as Johnny’s eyes dilated at every piece of meat he looked at. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he shifted on the couch, and all it took was a simple glance to see how worked up the poor pup was. A hardened bulge strained against the zipper of his jeans, and a groan reverberated in his throat as he continued to swipe through the countless choices put in front of him.
“Si, they’re all so beautiful. Can’t I have them all?” Johnny whined.
“Only one,” Simon countered.
“I’ll be good,” Johnny said with a pout.
“Just one, Johnny,” Simon repeated, voice more firm.
Sighing, he continued to swipe through Simon’s phone as his eyes glossed over beautiful legs and delicious hips. It had been so long since he had last seen a woman it was nearly impossible to hold himself back. His body craved them in a way he couldn’t put into words, and he felt like the only thing that would offer him solace would be to burst out of his skin.
His restless buzzing suddenly ceased when he caught sight of the last group of photos in the gallery. A beautiful woman had him utterly transfixed as she appeared to have descended down a long set of concrete steps. There was something about the troubled look on her face that had his mouth watering. Like he knew he would be able to fix it. Like he could bully the worry out of her with his cock alone.
“This one,” Johnny said, his decision definite as he held the phone up for Simon to see. “I want this one.”
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GhostReaderSoap:
Two jacked boyfriends=you will get scooped at the funniest moments. Standing in front of a shelf they want access to? Scooped. Trying to start an argument? Scooped. You weigh nothing. You’re a bunch of grapes. Yes, even you. They know how to lift with their knees.
Soap is likely closer to you in size so his clothes are the ones you steal most often. Ghost isn’t miffed about it, no he isn’t, pet, don’t be daft. He wasn’t daydreaming about watching you sleep in his shirt. Don’t be ridiculous.
A lot of two-timing jokes, mostly made by Soap, but Ghost will play along. “What do you MEAN you have a boyfriend?” he’ll ask you, with Ghost standing right there. Ghost, immediately choosing violence, “As if you could fuck them better than I could.”
Soap is the designated pastry chef of the polycule. He can be caught in gray sweat pants and a tight white tank top, flour coating his forearms, kneading bread dough at stupid hours in the morning. You and Ghost have to race each other to suck him off, because Johnny baking is peak Johnny.
Johnny is also the cuddliest. If he catches you or Ghost on the couch he will belly flop on top of either of you and bury his face right between the titties.
Two big boys means soft snuggly sleeping arrangements, right? WRONG. It’s a fucking furnace between them. Ghost is the designated middle sleeper until winter, because Soap absolutely runs the hottest.
If you ever had any reason to be afraid of going out drinking, you don’t once you’re with them. You have double scary dog privilege in their company, and it doesn’t go away when they’re deployed. If you frequent the same pubs while they’re gone, the other regulars know not to fuck with you if they value their lives—and genitals—intact and unharmed.
Having two military partners has other benefits. You can trust them to be as keen to keep a tidy home as you are.
Soap is the one most eager to decorate when the three of you move in together. Ghost is…not enthused. Some part of him is always ready to burn home down if he has to. He’ll indulge you and Soap, though.
Another benefit to being with the both of them is that you’re alone a bit less than you otherwise might be with a SpecOp partner. Their deployments don’t always intersect, although it does happen pretty often.
It’s Soap’s idea to write you letters only to be opened after they’ve left. Ghost isn’t good at it, but his notes can always be found with Soap’s. They’re simple, short—it’s hard for him to be vulnerable still. He doesn’t promise anything. But he does always tell you he’ll try to get Soap home to you if he can.
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so.. simon and johnny stopping by a seedy 24/7 roadhouse on their way back home post-op
featuring: established ghostsoap. pregnant fem!reader. alluded kidnapping, extremely toxic attitudes. they’re literally delusional. mentioned death. this verges on dark so please beware!
They’ve driven past it about a hundred times, never having given it more than a passing glance. Who would, really? Nothing about it seemed appealing – in all its sun-bleached paint job and flickering neon signage glory – but circumstances lent themselves to its consideration. What was supposed to be a half-day mission ended up taking two, meaning they haven’t had time to sleep let alone eat. On top of that, a delayed exfil made it so they touched down on base at an ungodly hour. By the time Price waived their paperwork and they got into their car, they were famished.
“Could eat the scabby heid aff a dog,” Johnny eventually groans. He’d tried his best to hang in there, mindful not to be a pest during the hours it takes his partner to decompress after a rough operation, but his stomach kills and he knows Simon’s does too. He only receives a grunt for a response, though the man abruptly steers into the leftmost lane, catching the nearest exit towards the place in his periphery. Cleary meant to model an American diner with it’s fading blue exterior and obnoxious banner: The Dahlia
But they’ve been in worse. They hardly take note of the coffee rings staining their table, or the homeless man who’s taken residence in a corner booth (besides the brief once-over in their threat assessment upon entering). No; they just slot themselves by the nearest exit, scan over the menu and decide to order the quickest meal possible.
Only for things to take a sudden turn when their waitress stops by.
Christ alive, Johnny wonders how you manage to glow under the harshest of fluorescents. Dewy skin. Bright eyes, if not a little sunken at the late hour. Still, you smile and do so genuinely as you waddle to their station, clicking a pen before asking: “And what can I do you for, gentlemen?”
Simon doesn’t look at you immediately, not even when you speak up. He’s too fixed on Johnny, replaying the past days’ events in his head. Revisits the hour where their comms malfunctioned, when he lost touch with his boy and had to fight not knowing whether he was holding up okay. He has trust in him, of course, more bleedin’ trust than he has in earth to keep rotating. Still–
You clear your throat.
His pupils shift to pin you under their scrutiny, only he can’t bring it in him to be as severe as he wants to be. Because, while the first thing Johnny notices about you is your beauty, the first thing Simon sees is your bump.
Obscured by your apron, but still there. Round. Full. 6 months along, by the looks of it.
He’s forced to recall Beth, Tommy by extension. An old working knowledge that comes back to haunt him. At 23 weeks, his sister in law’s pregnancy began to weigh on her. Heartburn. Backaches. Hot flashes that resulted in bouts of dizziness. She couldn’t be up for more than 2 hours at a time, and yet here you are.
What the fuck were you doing in a place like this?
“Need more time to decide?” You ask. Patient. Lovely. If Johnny weren’t so sleep-deprived, so in over his head, he would perhaps realise the subtle hints you were dropping. They’ve been staring too long now, unsettling no doubt. Grimy, each with a tell-tale bump on their waistbands that point to their armament. Simon sans hard-shell mask, but still in a balaclava and eyeblack. Both larger than life and practically alone with you in this isolated place.
It’s Simon who speaks up first. “Fish and chips for the both of us. To-go. Cheers.”
You scribble the order down, pausing to consider. “Coffee? Gotta inform you, it’s drip, bottom of the carafe so it might taste burnt too. Hotplate’s all out of sorts.”
“Aye, just the one. Gae head an’ dip yer finger in it too. Might benefit from a little sweetener.” It takes you a second to process Johnny’s flirt. When you do, though, you visibly blanch, ducking your head to hide your face as you pretend to jot what he said down.
“I’ll have that right out for you.”
And then you scurry off, glancing over your shoulder once you think you’re out of sight. Curious. Flustered.
Simon’s attention refocuses on the scotsman once you’re gone, an eyebrow raised under his mask. His partner is able to read the expressed question well enough: what do you think you’re doing? Strict, but not so much angry as it a press for him to think before he speaks, to balance the scales before he asks something of Ghost that he can’t refuse.
“Dinnae look at me like tha’.” Johnny whispers. “Bonnie lass, isn’t she?”
Simon blinks. “Expecting, too.”
“We cannae leave her here.”
Memories occur in rapid succession. Tommy. Beth. The cherubic face they had brought into the world – little Joseph, who was the first he found dead upon returning home.
He considers Johnny, Soap, this force of nature that wormed his way into his life and sunk his teeth into the rot of his heart, fastened before Simon could even think of brushing him off.
“And here’s that coffee! Your meals should be coming out soon, thank you for being patient.”
It’s a bad idea. Horrible. You could have a partner, a cozy home waiting for you. Nursery already painted. Names already chosen.
What good partner would let you work this shitty job?
It’s a bad, horrible idea. No good for anyone. They’re on constant deployment. They risk their lives on every run. You’d be put in harm’s way yourself.
Not if they hide you well enough. Their house is secluded for a reason.
It’s a bad, horrible, no good idea – but Johnny accepts the mug with a gracious smile and you bloom all pretty, hand inadvertently cradling your belly. Little flower, persisting against all odds. Growing from the fissures of broken concrete. Dignified still. Kind. Strong.
So what if they pluck you from your place? They’ve got somewhere much better for you to thrive.
next part
#this was supposed to be a lil thing#oops#simon ‘ghost’ riley#johnny ‘soap’ mactavish#ghostsoap x reader#ghoap x reader#simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader x johnny ‘soap’ mactavish#ghost x reader x soap#ghost x read#soap x reader#ghost x soap#x reader#x female reader#ghostsoap#ghoap#cod#call of duty
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Simple Math / Part Ten
Simple Math masterlist
Ghost/Soap/female reader
5.4k words - AO3
Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Masturbation, dirty (self) talk, brief daddy kink. This fic contains mature themes. Domestic violence. Grooming. Feelings of fear and anxiety. Nurse!reader. Kissing. Lots of dialogue. Bun considers making a friend. Penny is cute. Flirting. Touching. Comfort. Bun refers to herself as "heavy". Simon is Simon. POV switch.
Dinner date.
“I’m Philip.”
The handsome brunette smiles, grabbing onto your hand. You blink, trying to understand, trying to make it make sense, when he prompts you with a teasing grin. “This is the part where you tell me your name, sweet thing.”
Oh. You stumble over it, tongue tied into a million knots, sweat from the Texas sun beating down your back, sweat slicking your shirt to your skin.
He’s still holding your hand, and you’re standing there with wide, doe eyes, shell shocked.
He’s… so handsome. And older. Older, and handsome. Polished type, with good teeth and good hair. He looks like he just stepped off the golf course.
Why is he talking to you?
He glances down at your drink.
“You even old enough to be drinkin’ that?”
“I-“ You’re terrible at lying, and like he can read it on your face, he chuckles.
“You live around here?”
“I go to Rice.”
“A bit young for college, aren’t you?”
“I just turned eighteen!” You’ve heard it a million times. You’re too young to understand something, or know something, or do something. You don’t get the way the world works yet. You’re not an adult.
He holds his hands up. “I’m sorry. I bet you’re one of the really smart girls that make all us men look like Neanderthals.” Your face heats.
“N-no. I just… I graduated early. I’m not a know it all.” You defend yourself, desperate to create distance from the usual stereotype, the way most people see you. The way boys see you.
Too smart. Face buried in a book. Awkward and stiff. Uncool.
He traces you from head to toe, appreciative gaze grazing over the swell of your hips, the generous curve of your ass. “I didn’t think you were. Too mature for that, I bet.” He croons, and your knees go weak.
“Y-yeah. A lot of people say I’m really mature.”
Two things compete for your attention when you open your eyes.
One: there is a soft, lovely song playing downstairs, something spring-like and sweet, vibrant without being too loud.
Two: the house smells like pancakes.
You check your phone, shocked to see you’ve slept for yet another 12 hours. There’s a text from Nia, and a text from your boss.
>You have a lot of time accrued. Take as much as you need.
That settles that, you guess.
There are also text messages in the group chat, one from Simon, and one from Johnny, coming in only a few minutes ago.
Simon: >Penny gets pancakes on Saturday mornings. They’ll be plenty, come down and eat when you’re ready.
Johnny: >I’m missing all the good stuff.
You stretch, cautiously, wiggling fingers and toes, spreading your limbs as far as you can without pushing it too much. You’re sore, uncomfortably so, and still exhausted, but if you stay in bed any longer, you’ll rot.
In the kitchen, Simon holds Penny and a mixing bowl, alternating hands to get a whisk through the batter while humming to his daughter on her hip.
You stop dead in your tracks.
He’s… he’s not wearing the mask.
You stare at his face, his whole, naked face for the first time, taking in the broad jaw, every shiny white scar, and his (twice, if you had to guess) healed broken nose. He’s handsome, differently from Johnny but no less striking, and you can’t look away, stunned by his raw, depthless and rugged beauty. Penny’s leg has kicked up the hem of his shirt, exposing his midsection, and the flash of skin there feels like a scandal, something you shouldn’t be seeing but cannot get enough of. He looks nothing like you expected and yet… everything you hoped for.
“Morning.” Pen tucks her face into his chest shyly, peeking out from the corner of her eye, curious and cute. “Can you say good morning to bunny?” He bounces her a little, and she giggles.
"Bunny." She says quietly, and Simon laughs.
“That’s right. Good job.” After a second of silence, you try to ask him about the missing mask, but the question gets confused on your tongue, and what comes out instead is clumsy and stunted.
“Your mask.” You cringe, immediately. It’s the first thing that slips loose, insensitive, and uncouth. “I uh, I’m sorry, I’m just… surprised?” you falter, and makes it worse. You think about trying to run back upstairs, hightailing it for the hills when he smiles, and points to the empty stool at the kitchen counter with a batter covered whisk.
“Sit.” There’s already a stack piled high, plain, and ones with big, juicy blueberries. Your favorite.
“So, pancakes every Saturday?”
“Mhmm.” He settles Penny in her highchair to your left, and pulls an already cooled pancake from the stack, cutting it up into little, tiny pieces with a child’s knife and fork. “Pen and her Da,” he pads some butter across the top of his handiwork, grabbing her sippy cup and filling it with milk. “Have pancakes every Saturday when he’s home. It’s their favorite. Right?” He points at her, “your favorite?” and taps his middle finger to his chin, others outward, straight up. “Your favorite?” Signing?
“Are you teaching her sign?”
“Trying to. Pen’s birth mum is deaf. It’s important to us, that she’s able to connect with her when the time comes. Plus, my hearing is shot. So is Johnny’s. It’s a great way for her to communicate with us.” He strokes some fingers through her curls, and she doesn’t even look up, too busy shoveling as much pancake into her mouth as she can. You have a million questions now, curiosities bubbling to the surface, about Pen’s mum, about her life, about how she came to be their child. All too rude, and too invasive to ask. “Or, to use when she’s feeling sassy and can’t find the words. That happens, too.”
“She’s what…sixteen months?” You watch her intently, unable to not smile when she cheeses at her dad with a mouthful of food, even though your tender skin stings with the movement.
“Yeah. Top percentiles in a lot of things for her age. Said her first word before she was one.” He’s rich with pride, a deep well of love shining in his eyes, and you force your own down to the plate, stifling the ache bleeding from your heart.
“Of course she is.” Penny holds pieces of sticky, syrupy pancake with both hands, attacking them with vigor, smearing her cheeks purple with the squished blueberries.
You need to eat something, but your brain is buzzing, unnatural discomfort stretching long in the back of your mind.
What’re you doing? Sitting here eating pancakes like everything is normal? Like everything’s okay?
Everything is not okay.
You drift, back to your apartment, back the venom of Phillip, the hands around your neck, the twist of your shoulder, back slamming into the wall. You can still feel him, still hear him, these memories like all the others, your body beaten on the floor, mind nearly broken. Trying to shift away from the hot end of a cigarette, screaming for help, running through a-
A hand covers yours.
He coaxes the fork from your fingers, metal vibrating within flesh.
“I think… I think I should go back to bed.” You whisper.
“Are you tired?”
“No… yeah. I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to run away, you know.” He flips a pancake onto your plate from the stack. “Just because you were somewhere else for a little bit.” Your cheeks burn. “We’ve got a pretty nice couch in the living room though, if you want some time alone and don’t feel too keen on the stairs.” Saturday morning pancakes and curling up on the couch? It sounds so nice, so normal, and must show on your face, because he chuckles. “Help yourself. You might have to share the TV though, in a bit. We watch baby Einstein on Saturdays, and she’ll need some entertaining for a minute while I get ready.” Your lips twist, an entire hearth lighting up in the bottom of your heart.
“Alright.”
Baby Einstein is as enthralling as you thought it would be, though Penny disagrees. She stares at the screen, wide eyed, open mouthed, sippy cup long forgotten, and even Simon struggles to get her attention after returning from getting dressed.
You force your eyes away from the strain of his thighs in blue jeans.
“We’re goin’ down to the hospital.” He tells you, pulling her upward over the back of the couch and rubbing his nose through her curls. It’s still… weird, to see his whole face. To clearly watch his expressions, sublime bliss pushing his mouth upward whenever he looks at his daughter. “Want to come?”
“I can’t, not if I’m taking time off. It… looks bad to admin. I can probably go in at night but, during the day is just a recipe for disaster.”
“Of course.” He looks around, for what you don’t know, shoulders tensing, then relaxing. “Well, you’ve got the remote. And my number. Are you… going to be, okay? Alone?”
Say yes.
You can’t. All you can do… is nod.
“Okay well if you’re not. Just call.” You nod again, getting to your feet. Once you’re standing, you’re out of place, flailing in their living room, about to be here alone, with your memories, your poisoned mind.
What’re you doing? You’ve ruined everything. Broken all your rules.
“We can stay.” Simon steps close, hand grazing the middle of your back, and you shake your head.
“No, no- I… I’m sorry.”
“You don’t-“
“Yes, I do.” Your voice shakes, and you slam your eyes shut. You can’t do this. “I shouldn’t be here. I’m putting you in danger, and I… I’m putting myself in danger and I’m being so- so stupid, Simon.” His gaze is heavy, serious, and he steps around you, sliding Penny into her bounce seat, turning it to face baby Einstein.
“Listen to me.” As he returns, he reaches, carefully pulling you close, close enough you’re nearly in his chest, timing the rise and fall of his diaphragm. “We are safe, you are safe, sweetheart. ‘m not going to let anything happen to you, or Penny, or any of us. Alright?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Tell me.” You almost laugh, but something comes over you instead, something delirious and desperate. You lean into him, letting him hold you, hand smoothing over the back of your head. “You can tell me. You can trust us. We’ll take care of you.”
God, you want to. You want to so bad it aches, burns a ravenous fire in your heart. You want tell him, let them in. Tell them everything.
“Bun.” He murmurs, bringing you back, a finger under your chin.
“I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t. It’s… it’s too much.”
“It’s alright.” He soothes, but doesn’t pull away, and you’re drawn in like a magnet, rising to the balls of your feet, stuck in a trance, luring you closer.
He meets your halfway.
And then-
He’s kissing you, plush lips on yours, pancakes and fresh laundry and stained-glass windows of sanctuary on his tongue.
You’re standing in the sun, in the trance of another spell.
It’s a mouthful of butterscotch and maple. Sweet, delicious breakfast in bed, lazy Saturday mornings and whispered, tender words. It’s life unlike your own, a home, the promise of a love not fractioned, chipped away, or strangled… but multiplied, magnified. His touch is painfully gentle, slow and easy, encouraging you to follow his lead, carefully constructing a tiny universe to disappear to, where shadow cannot touch. A fantasy, cocoon of stars, ambrosial and sacrosanct, an escape from the hell nipping at your heels, the hell chasing you through your dreaming and waking hours.
The anxious hum radiating through every cell in your body flatlines.
The girl in the mirror weeps.
Everything goes silent. Your breathing slows. Your hands fall to the side, listless and stunned.
Penny grunts. The moment shatters.
You can only stare with wide, terrified eyes.
“Johnny.” It’s the first word out of your mouth, the only thing you can conjure. “I’m sorry, I don’t know… I’m sorry.” Johnny. Johnny’s not here. How can he kiss you when his partner isn’t here? His heart will be broken, you’re destroying their family, you’re-
“I kissed you, bunny. Nothin’ to be sorry about.” Simon hums, still holding your face. “Johnny’s okay. He’ll be a bit jealous he didn’t get one too, but he won’t be upset.”
“How?” the question squeaks, and he takes your hand, tugging you towards the couch, settling you back into the cushions, easily guiding you with deft hands. He's so careful, so gentle, the touch of a man who raises a daughter, who loves his partner, adroit and nimble, anticipating movement before it happens.
“After Penny goes down tonight, let’s have a drink. Or some late dinner. We can talk, and I’ll answer as many of your questions as I can. How’s that sound?” He strokes a thumb across the apple of your cheek. Talking can’t hurt, can it?
“O-okay. Yeah.” You try to shrug, pain lancing through your shoulder, and you try to smother your wince. He frowns.
“I want you to get some rest today.” A small grin creeps across your face.
“You always tell people what to do?” He nods, solemn.
“It’s my job. Takin’ care of you lot is an added bonus.” He breezes by the grouping of you with his family, like it’s a normal thing, rubbing circles in your palm. “Let’s get you comfortable.”
“I can-“
“I’m here. Let me help.” You don’t say anything at first. Can’t say anything, can’t formulate a response that encompasses everything you’re thinking and feeling, stuck on the mile high wall that is your fear and denial, afraid to jump. Afraid to fall.
He doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask you to respond, He just… settles you, cautiously arranging the pillows to support your injuries, lets you sit there atop the wall, staring down at the ground where they wait. Patiently. He rubs your back and your good shoulder until you’re drifting away in heady, hazy dream world, unable to stir when he slips free, tucking the blankets in around you, and pressing another long, lingering kiss to your brow.
You wake in a panic to the doorbell ringing. Your heart races, and you’re up off the couch, tucked around a corner of the hall, hiding, in a blink, even though your shoulder and neck scream at the sudden change of position.
Breathe. You’re losing it. Philip wouldn’t ring a doorbell.
The door clicks open.
“Hello?” A woman’s voice echoes to where you’re still curled around the hallway, back pressed flat, eyes closed. “Hello? Anyone home?” Who is that?
You peek, like a child. Peering around to see a familiar woman with grocery bags in her hands, depositing them on the kitchen counter.
She spots you immediately.
“Hi!” She’s grinning, pretty and bright, pulling a carton of milk from a brown paper bag and putting it in the fridge. “I’m Lou. Sorry, did I scare you? I tried to ‘announce’ myself.” She makes bunny ears with her fingers before and after the word announce, with half of an eye roll. “John’s always telling me I have to when I come over. Can’t be giving anyone surprises, and I knew you were here. Just wasn’t sure if you’d be up for visitors. Sorry if I gave you a fright.”
“No, I…” you trail off, readjusting, giving her your name. She nods and smiles again. “I remember you. In front of the elevator that day.”
“Yeah, that was me.” She’s earnest in her focus, beaming at you, almost like she’s excited.
“You look a little different out of your cute scrubs.” That gives you a small laugh, and you smile honestly at her, flattered.
“Thanks.”
“Sorry if I’m disturbing you.”
“Oh no, you’re not. I was just… I’m fine.” She pulls a flat of eggs free and stacks them next to a colorful pile of produce.
“I do the store runs for Simon right now. It’s too much, with Johnny in hospital and taking care of Pen. We’ve been trying to lighten his load.” Guilt twists. And here you are, adding onto it.
“That’s very nice of you.” She waves it off.
“They’ve kept my husband alive a million times over. It’s the least I can do.”
“Right… they… work together?”
“Simon is semi-retired but yeah. They’re in a global task force. It’s the four of them. Have you met Kyle yet?”
“Oh, yeah. At the hospital one day.”
“Best guy, really.” Her clothes swish, warm and sweet aura practically glowing.
“Yeah, he was really nice.” She rests her hands on her hips and looks you over.
“You okay?” This woman is direct. She's got a no nonsense approach, and through intense, there's true ardor in her, passion and care.
“Yeah, I’m just… still recovering.” You don’t know what she knows, not sure what they’ve told her or John, so you’re not sure how much, or what even, to say.
“Simon told us, about you being mugged. I’m so sorry, it’s just awful.” She’s sincere in her sympathy, big brown eyes sad and considerate.
“It’s okay, thank you. I’m okay.”
“If you need anything, I’m always around. Or if you want to talk to another girl that isn’t a toddler.” It’s an olive branch of friendship, you realize, or the beginnings of, and you’re startled, considering it, wondering if it would be so bad… to have a friend.
“Thank you.” She gives you her number, and you tap it in, shooting her a text with your name.
“You should sit.”
“I can help with these.”
“No, no. No offense, but you look half asleep. I’ve got it.” You laugh even though it hurts, awkward half shrug with good shoulder, and agree.
“Yeah, I’m still recovering. It’s been slow.”
“I’m sure.” You sit at the counter, watching her organize the fridge with scary efficiency. “I’ll be out of your hair in a minute. Just had to drop these off.”
“Oh, you’re fine.” It’s nice. You’re nice. She feels safe, the proximity to Simon and Johnny naturally leading you to feel comfortable, knowing she’s welcomed by them, she’s a part of their life. It makes you feel more at ease, and you try to convey it without getting tangled up in awkward words.
You don’t know how. Not really sure how to make genuine friends anymore, so you just sit there and watch, listening to her talk, enjoying how she rambles a little bit, laughing at herself.
When she says goodbye at the door, she promises to text you the next time she’s coming by, so you’re not surprised, and you linger there, watching her go, wondering if it’s real, surprisingly mourning the loss of companionship already.
“Johnny misses you.” The ice in Simon’s rocks glass clinks together as he sips his bourbon, corner of his mouth lifting in a partial smirk. “Not too fond of his new nurse, I’m afraid. Think he’s spoiled now.”
“How is he?” You’re on the edge of your seat for an update, but not wanting to pry too much. It’s a delicate line, one where you don’t know on which side to stand.
“Good. Wrist fracture is nearly healed, so he’ll be able to start on crutches soon. Once he does, he’ll be doing physical therapy for most of his day, and ready to come home. Should be soon.” He really smiles now, and you mirror it, unable to deny the infectious bloom of happiness spreading from him to you.
“And his liver?”
“No complications. Grafts for his burn are in great shape. Hip is the trickiest part.”
“Yeah, they take a lot longer to heal, but I’m sure he’ll do a great job of it, just like everything else.”
“Thanks to you.” You sip your wine, citrusy peach and passionfruit coating your tongue. It’s a nice bottle, and you were surprised when Simon brought it home, bag of takeaway in one arm, Penny in the other.
“No.” Your cheeks heat. “I was just there. You guys did the hard work.”
“Wouldn’t have made it without you though. Think I would’ve lost it. Him too.”
“You would’ve been fine.” You brush it off, and he shakes his head.
“You’re too modest.” He drains his pour, uncapping the bottle on the coffee table between you and refilling it halfway. Glass on glass chimes, and you sink deeper into the couch, relaxing, tucking your knees up until you’re half curled into a ball, wine glass cradled between your palms.
“So…”
“I told you; you can ask me whatever you like.” You knew this was the case, but hesitance is still brimming in your heart, uneasy feelings festering beneath your skin, burning question shoving to the surface.
“Did you tell Johnny we kissed?”
“I did.”
“Was he upset?”
“Only because he feels like he’s missing out. I told him we’d make it up to him.” Fire enflames your skin. We?
“And by we you mean… us. Together. Like… the three of us.”
“I do.” The girl in the mirror screams. She doesn’t understand, why you continue to act against her better judgement. Why you’re entertaining something so, so dangerous, something so stupid.
“Simon, I… I can’t.”
“You keep saying that but look where you are, bun.” He motions to the table, takeaway cartons scattered across the top, half empty bottle of wine, his bourbon, and a baby monitor. It looks like a nice night in, a simple, sweet life, not even close to being your own.
Still, the girl in mirror combats. Still.
“This isn’t… this isn’t a thing it’s just… we’re hanging out. I’m not going to be here forever, I’m looking for a place and I-“ His face changes, flicker of shadow fading across his brow before being chased away by the sunlight in his eyes. You thought he'd be easier to read, without the mask, imagined you'd be able to place his expressions but you're just as confused and lost as ever.
“Slow down. There’s no need to look for a place to live.”
“W-what?” The wine has made you a little slow, a little sleepy, and you blink through the stupor.
“You’re still healing, sweetheart, and I know you're scared. I’ve known since the first day you stepped into Johnny’s room.”
“No.” You shake your head. Pain fizzles, numbed by alcohol, and your head swims.
“I know you weren’t mugged.” How? “I know you’re running from someone.” Oh god. The urge to get to your feet and bolt washes over you like a wave.
“I- I’m not.” The lie is bare-boned, pathetically unconvincing, and you know it. He knows it too; you can tell by the look on his face.
“You’re not ready to tell me, that’s fine. I’m patient. But you won’t be going anywhere if I don’t know you’re safe. And right now, to me, it doesn’t seem like you’re safe.” The pale yellow of your wine shines in the low lights of the living room, and you get lost in it, swirling around in his words, trying to put them together and pick them apart, desperate to understand what he means.
“Are you… are you saying you won’t let me leave?” You gulp. It’s a ridiculous conclusion, but the first one you jump to.
And in that, you know you’re giving too much away.
His face softens, and he reaches, pulling your free hand into his own, petting some sort of sequence into your skin.
“Of course not, sweetheart. I’d never, ever force you to do something you didn’t want to do. But I do want you to stay, here with us. Where we can keep you safe, take care of you.”
“I don’t need-“
“I know you don’t. I know you take care of yourself just fine.” The indignant roar in the back of your mind settles. “But I’d love an opportunity to do it instead.”
“Simon…”
“Did you know the cells in our body hold onto trauma? They carry imprints of traumatic events. It can change your biology, the way you function.” He squeezes your hand. “It’s hard to realize… that it’s not normal, the way you might be, the way you think, or do things, when you’re carrying the physical memory of terrible things.” He’s not talking about you. There’s a fleeting flash of sadness in his eyes, ghosts circling the drain around his irises, and your heart aches. “We can help you. I don’t know who you’re hiding from, but I can guess what they’ve done- look at me.” You force your eyes back to him, and he cups your cheek. “You do not have to be afraid here. You are safe with me, with us. I know you don’t believe it, and I’ll tell you as many times you need, but it will never not be true. We can help you.”
“You don’t know… you don’t know what you’re saying.” Your denial is steadfast. They cannot possibly understand.
A small seed of light blooms under darkness. It’s the sun, struggling to break free, trying to drag you into its warm, golden rays. It tugs and tugs, clawing towards you, illuminating the path forward.
The words come out before the girl in the mirror can stop them.
“You don’t know him. He’s sick and… powerful. He’s a monster but he’s smart, has connections, has ways of doing things that… I don’t even know. He’d kill you.” You clap your hand over your mouth in shock, surprised at yourself. It’s the most you’ve said about Philip in years.
You expect pushback. Expect Simon to flinch, or cower, or have good sense… a rational reaction to being told someone might try to hurt him.
He smiles instead, settling back on his side of the couch.
“I’d just have to get to him first, then.” Is he… is he? Simon watches you, reaches into your brains to peer inside, rooting around in your head. The way he looks at you, like he knows everything you’re feeling, can see what you're thinking, makes you shiver, makes you feel like you’re a tiny mouse in the shadow of a mountain. He sighs. “Give us a chance.”
“A chance?”
“A chance, to know you. Let us in, let us try. Stay here, with us, spend time with me and Johnny and Pen. No strings attached. If you decide it’s not for you… we’ll understand.”
No strings attached.
You could pick up and leave if you wanted. If you had to.
What’re you doing?
“How does it work? Would we all…” you trail off, confused.
“Date?” Simon finishes gently. “Yes.”
“So, you guys are… bi?” He chuckles.
“Yes, sweetheart. We’re bi.”
“Is this… a thing? Something you guys do?”
“We’ve never taken another partner before, no.” Your eyes widen. “You’re our first.” You don’t know why, but knowing is exhilarating and terrifying, all at the same time. You’re their first.
He’s talking about it like it’s already happened.
Fatigue settles in around you, thick fog of it draping over your shoulders and clouding your head.
“I… I don’t know.” You stifle a yawn. “I need to think.” He abandons his perch for one next to you, pulling your wine glass free and setting it on the table.
“Tired?” His fingers sweep over your cheek, skin warming under his touch.
“Mhmm.” You mumble, sleepily. Your head is very heavy, suddenly, hard to hold up.
“Alright.” He stands, bending to slide an arm under your knees, the other supporting your back in one fluid movement.
“What are you doing?” You squeak, grabbing onto him as he rises, lifting you into his chest at full height. Panic floods your nervous system, fevered tone pitching into a plea. “Put me down! I’m too heavy. Please, I’m too heavy, you can’t-“
“I’ve lifted a car off a teammate before.” He tells you, the thick of his body beneath your ear vibrating. “And I’ve dug Johnny out of a collapsed concrete wall. I’m made to pick things up, bunny. Heavy or not.” He holds you right there, all the way up the stairs, down the hall to the guest room, before settling you back on your feet, big hands around your waist for balance. Your back is to his chest now, and his nose drifts across the top of your head, slow path of his fingers stroking down your hip. “Alright?” He asks, and you nod, throat too dry to speak.
He squeezes. You stifle a gasp, resist the urge to press your thighs together.
It’s been so long since you’ve been touched, since anyone has handled you with reverence, with affection. You almost don’t recognize it.
His hand drifts, slipping between your thigh and cheek. “This okay?” He murmurs, and you manage a rough yes, word sticky and thick in your throat. Yes. Yes, don’t stop. A fingertip strokes along the crease there, back and forth, before trailing upward. He takes as much of your flesh in his palm as he can, squeezing again, caressing, mouth skimming along your neck.
“Oh.” you breathe. The room is warm, barely lit by the bedside lamp, and you burn in the dark, sensations sparking alive that have long laid dormant.
The girl in the mirror curses you.
“Need help getting to bed?”
“N-no.” Yes! “I’m… fine.” His lips touch your cheek, then your ear, breath blowing over you, firm, solid warm mass at your back exhaling shakily.
“Get some sleep.” He steps away, but not before he swings, slowly, softly, into the pillow plush of your ass. It’s a gentle tap, but the fire between your legs roars. “Goodnight, bun.”
“G-goodnight.”
Simon's got his sweatpants and boxers off before he's even fully in the bathroom, running right into the shower, hand wrapped around his throbbing cock as the water flicks on. It's not hot enough, but he doesn't even notice, cock heavy in his grip, tip already smeared wet with pre-come.
"Fuck, bunny." He grits, trying to stay quiet but unable to hold his tongue.
He's awful, for this. Awful for doing this after you've had such an emotional night. Awful for touching you when you're still healing, awful for grabbing a handful of your ass and imagining sliding his dick through the space between those cheeks. He can't stop, strokes himself long, squeezing the base and pulling up and back as he imagines you on all fours, perfect globe perked up in the air for him, his cock sinking into your soaking wet pussy as you moan. He knows you would make the prettiest sounds for them, sweet gasps and cries, bouncing on Johnny's cock in his lap.
"Hop like a bunny." He'd coo, and you'd whine, riding Johnny as Simon coached you until you were so close, almost there on the edge. "Show daddy how bad you want to come, little bunny."
He jerks himself harder, eyes closed, imagining the ripple of your flesh, the way you'd bounce so perfectly, how Johnny would be gripping your hips with his head tipped back, throat exposed for Simon to nip and suck a mark into.
His bunny. His boy.
His toes curl. Water streams down his back, slicking his skin, forearm burning with each stroke, imagination running wild as he gets closer and closer, thinking about you and Johnny and him together, finally, your legs spread wide in front of their faces, perfect pussy on display. He can almost hear the way you'd whisper their names, and it blinds him, fills his head with white light. He knows you're beautiful when you come, as beautiful as you are when you let your guard down and give him a real smile, as beautiful as you are everyday, so pretty and perfect, kind, even as a ghost. He imagines it, pictures it, the sight of his and Johnny's come leaking out of your hole, fingers shoving it back inside, marking you as theirs.
He comes with your name on his lips, a strangled whisper, painting the tile with himself.
He falls asleep with a new addition in their bed, on top of Johny's t shirt and the baby monitor... there's now a long sleeved tee, plucked from your dirty laundry this morning as he was getting ready to leave. It smells like you, something he wishes he could bottle, and he holds it close, tied in tandem with Johnny's, curled in his arms on top of the pillow.
#simple math#peaches writes#ghoap x reader#ghost x reader x soap#simon riley#john mactavish#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#john soap mactavish#soap x reader#ghost x soap#if you saw my technical difficulty earlier no you didn't!
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Incorrect COD quotes
Gummy worms
Canary, pouting while writing down her reports: ...
Gaz, to Ghost: why does she look so sad?
Ghost: Price found her secret stash of gummy worms.
Gaz: Ah...
Ghost: ...
Gaz, looking around: ... Where is Soap?
*distant sound of an explosion and an angry Price, with stomps down the hallway*
Ghost, smirking under his mask: went to get them back.
#cod mw2 incorrect quotes#cod incorrect quotes#incorrect quotes cod#incorrect cod quotes#ghost x reader x soap#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish#ghost x soap#john soap mactavish#john soap mctavish x reader#soap x reader#cod mw2#cod mw2 x reader#cod mwii#cod mwii x reader
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Johnny x reader x Ghost ???? Making out with each other
something about johnny sat in the middle between you and simon, turning his head and gripping your jaw so firmly, holding you so close while making out with you. he can feel simon's lips on his thick nape, sucking hickeys along his skin, pressing sloppy kisses against his collarbone. he watches you two make out; your hands nestled in his messy, tangled mohawk while he grips and holds your jaw, cupping your face tightly, your tongues intertwined.
johnny will grind against you, while feeling simon's fat cock through his tight boxers, the outline of his hard shaft pressed against johnny's muscular thigh. you pull away, breathless and panting, an exhausted yet needy mess, your slicken hole drooling and soaking your panties, your eyes glistening as you gaze up at him through heavy eyelids. johnny's large hands grip simon's face, fingers gripping his hair, while johnny slides two thick and calloused fingers into your panties, sliding them into your sopping wet cunt !!
you grip johnny's wrist as he thrusts them into you, chuckling against simon's lips as you rub and grind against his palm. you moan out, euphoria building up inside your body, your other hand toying with your nipples as you feel him thrust his fingers deeper into your wet, little hole. :(
since you're so needy, johnny and simon will both eat you out, tongues touching against each other, your hole pulsating around nothing...
maybe even, making out with johnny over simon's hard, lengthy dick !! sucking on each other's tongues, moaning while simon groans hoarsely, impatiently guiding your head with a tight grasp.
sucking simon off while johnny licks and suckles his heavy, tight and full balls... :(
#orla speaks#johnny mactavish x reader#johnny mactavish#soap x reader#soap x reader smut#soap x ghost#soap mactavish smut#soap mactavish fanfic#ghostsoap#cod soap#ghost headcanon#ghost cod#reader x ghost#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost mwii#simon riley x reader#simon riley smut#simon riley x you#ghost simon riley#simon ghost x reader#simon riley#soap x reader x ghost#ghost x reader x soap
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poly!soapghost with an adhd reader PLS 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷
YES BITCH!!!! Hardcore me af (pls sandwich me between those men I beg-)
Let’s be honest here, Ghost is on top of everything, Johnny, god bless him, but he’s lucky he’s cute and that’s all I’m gonna say
If you tend to be forgetful, don’t even sweat it because Ghost remembers it
You guys are doing groceries and before you left your house, you heavily emphasized getting more salt since you ran out
The three of you went up and down the aisles collecting everything you needed with along with some treats
You’re standing at the register making idle chitchat with the cashier while Soap helps bagger load everything in the cart, you barely noticed Ghost had disappeared
Until he showed up at the last second with a box of salt and that’s when it hit you
You could barely get the thank you out before he cut you off with a laugh, “You’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached.”
On the other hand, Johnny makes sure you’re taking care of yourself
When you’re nose deep in your books, games, paperwork whatever it is, it’s a rare moment of laser focus
It’s so intense, you lose track of time and the world falls away
You’re taking notes when all of a sudden a plate with a sandwich on it is on your notebook, it takes all your willpower not to snap at your momentum getting interrupted
Then you look up and see Johnny’s face with an apologetic smile, he knows how you get and he feels bad for interrupting you like that but can you blame him?
“Thanks babe, but I ate a few minutes ago.” You sighed giving his hand a supportive squeeze,
“A few minutes and 6 hours ago, yes.” He chuckled, he felt a little bad seeing the shock on your face but it was a cute look
“Fuck, are you serious?”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, come on, let’s eat and you can get back to it, yeah?” When you look around him, Simon is sitting at the couch with a plate in front of him and the tv remote in his hand, already turning to your favorite show
All in all, don’t sweat the small stuff, they’ve got you babe.
#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#soap x reader#john mactavish x reader#soap x reader x ghost#ghost x reader x soap#mw2 x reader#cod x reader#cod mw2#cod mwii
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Hello! I've got a little writing idea if you want to do it. Reader and the rest of 141 are at a bar and reader keeps getting hit on throughout the night. Ghost/Soap getting jealous and feeling protective/possessive over reader and intervene. Just a little bit of a guard dog trope really. Scary man privileges. Hope this sounds a little interesting to do, have a good day :)
hello!!! thank you sm for the idea 💖🫶🏻 please enjoy this humble writing, i love the idea 💛 i wasn't sure if i want to do it with ghost or soap so i did both lol have a good day yourself!
scary dog privilege — ghost/reader/soap
warnings: creepy guy being pushy, alcohol mention, swearing
your little outing at the bar tonight seems to be quite unsuccessful.
actually, no, someone else would argue that you had a very successful day at the bar, since you're currently being hit on left and right by the other patrons. that's the purpose of a bar, right? to maybe find someone to kiss or hook up with one night, and hopefully not catch anything along the way.
but no, you're actually getting quite annoyed right now, as you want nothing more than to sit back, relax, and just get a few drinks with your friends from work. that's all. you want nothing to do with these people who want to get into your pants, or even ask you what's under it.
after a job well done, your captain had wanted to treat the team a few drinks to celebrate. this gets everyone excited, especially because he's not giving any price limits, and he's quite generous. besides, who would miss out on getting free drinks?
maybe you, because you're actually thinking if it was better if you'd just stayed behind, maybe read a book or watch some movies. hell, you could've even spent time at the shooting range, which you actually hated! (because ghost would nitpick at every single thing you did wrong when shooting, and he won't leave you alone until you get it right)
poor you, being such a people pleaser, not wanting to offend the person trying to hit on you, giving them a chance to speak and you'd listen attentively before turning them down because you're not here to hook up, you're here for some drinks and maybe to catch up with your friends. work has been so awful lately that the five of you haven't had the chance to even speak about anything other than mission, work, training... it's slowly getting annoying.
unfortunately, it seems like the others are not so interested in catching up, seemingly leaving to do their own thing. gaz went to the bathroom after downing a few pints, captain went out for a smoke as it is a non-smoking bar, and ghost and soap were somewhere near the billiard table, competing for something stupid again likely. and you? you're left alone in the booth the team always sat in, alone, taking sips of your drink waiting for kyle to come back from his pee break.
you've turned down two men so far, who fortunately was smart enough to sense that you're uninterested in their idea of a good time. you have to admit, you felt quite bad turning them down, especially since they seem to be quite courteous.
this fucking bloke, however...
he was very drunk, very pushy when talking to you. you could literally smell the alcohol off of his breath, it was a surprise that no one has tried to kick him out yet. he kept pestering you, trying to sit beside you and touching you, and your politeness is growing thin everytime he tried to get you to drink with him. you tried to tell him you're not interested, but he was too drunk to even register a "no", apparently.
seriously, where the hell is kyle? why does he need to piss out his two pints of beer immediately after drinking them?
you cursed at kyle, wondering which bathroom he went to for his pee break. did he go to the bathroom in the fucking philippines or something, what's taking him so long?
quickly, someone else scooted over beside you, leaning against your shoulder. soap.
"aye, this lad bothering yer, hen?" he asked you, arms slung behind your shoulder. you thanked whatever gods sent him your way.
the man who tried to hit on you seemed offended, was about to give soap a piece of his mind, before he was yanked out of the way by ghost, thrown aside down on the floor. it made a huge commotion, people were now looking at you.
ghost sat down quietly in front of you — where the man just sat after he tried to touch you, "reckon we should give him 'piece o' our mind, johnny?" he asked the scot.
"mmmaybe. what yer think, lt?"
now the man was fuming, being humiliated in front of the bar when he was trying to flirt with someone?
to make matters worse, now soap decided to kiss you!
he gently held your face, pressing his lips against yours, and to make it believable, even slipped his tongue in-between your lips, his eyes glaring at the drunk bloke. the man who tried to flirt with you was dumbfounded, too surprised to even say anything.
soap pulled away from you for a moment, letting you catch your breath. but before you could say anything, ghost pulled you over the table, his hands gripping your collar as he kissed you too, following what soap did, but much more intense. you didn't even see him pulling his mask up.
"see? lass's taken. shoo." soap held you close after you kissed ghost, basically telling the guy to fuck off. somehow, he left, still fuming though at the two guys who claimed you just like that.
you? you were a little dazed. confused. whatever. your two work mates kissed you after saving you from a random bloke who did not know what no means because he was too drunk off his arse. and strangely enough you didn't mind, they were the best kisses you've ever gotten in your life.
"why'd you two kiss me?" you asked, somehow. you felt stupid right after asking, clearly the answer was to help you get away from that creep!
ghost let out a sigh, taking a sip of his own glass of bourbon. "think we did ya a favor there, love."
you thanked both of them, but you still feel soap's hand squeezing your size, pulling you close to him.
"ye see, lass, can't have 'nother blether hittin' on ye."
you didn't seem to mind, you were getting tired and too drunk to even care. at least you're safe with them.
soap lets you lay your head on his shoulder, talking to ghost about something as you three waited for price and gaz to return.
#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty headcanon#cod headcanon#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#cod ghost x reader#john soap mactavish#john soap mctavish x reader#soap x reader#cod soap x reader#cod ghost#soap cod#ghost cod#cod soap#cod mw2#cod x reader#cod#cod mwii#ghost x reader x soap#ghost x reader#egg ask#letmelickyoureyeballs#i messed up the scottish mb i had to edit it out
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I Know You Like Her Too [Series Masterlist]
Poly!141 x fem!Reader
Content:
On-Going Series, Military!Reader, Polyamorous Relationship
No use of Y/N, Reader's callsign is 'Rabbit', Very Minimal Physical Character Descriptions, Canon-Typical Violence, Mentions of Abuse, Semi-Graphic Torture Scene, Happy Ending :D
This story was written pre-MW3 and has been modified to fit the timeline and some parts of that campaign. With that said, the campaign is a nice suggestion, not a rule. Major canon-divergence here.
Pairings:
Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (pre-established)
Simon “Ghost” Riley
Kyle “Gaz” Garrick
Captain Jonathan Price
Bonus Chapter Pairings:
poly!141 x Alejandro Vargas + Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra
and possibly more ;)
NSFW [18+]:
SoftDom!Ghost, SoftDom!Price, Switch!Gaz, Switch!Soap, Switch!Reader, Threesomes, Group Sex, Hair Pulling, Bondage (Ghost gets tied up heh), Lots of Praise, Body Worship, Oral (giving and receiving), Overstimulation, Aftercare
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Pre-Story Headcanons and General Information:
Personnel Files
141 & Rabbit Headcanons
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Main Story Chapters:
Chapter One | 3.5k Words
Chapter Two | 2.9k Words
Chapter Three | 5.3k Words
Chapter Four | 3.3k Words
Chapter Five | 2.4k Words - PLEASE NOTE
Chapter Six | 2.5k Words
Chapter Seven | Coming Soon
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TAGLIST:
Please interact with this post to be added to the taglist for this story!
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<3
#cod modern warfare#cod mw2#cod mw3#johnny soap mactavish#johnny mactavish x reader#johnny mactavish#john soap mactavish#ghost x reader x soap#soap x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon riley x reader#john price#john price x reader#captain john price#captain price x reader#captain john price x reader#jonathan price#jonathan price x reader#gaz x reader#kyle garrick#kyle gaz garrick#kyle garrick x reader#poly141#poly141 x reader#poly!141 x reader#soap x gaz x reader#ghost cod#soap cod
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