#soapghost x reader

[vanderilnde]

bury me beneath the basswood tree

pairing: ghost/soap/reader [12k]

rating: 18+ only. minors don’t interact.

tags: non-con sex, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, size kink, forced fellatio, forced cunnilingus, impact play, brief watersports, double penetration in two holes, forced breeding, implied hybrid/shifter au

Needing time away from her humdrum life at home, she ventures into the woodland for respite. Little does she know, straying into that cabin in the woods will be the worst—or best—decision she’ll ever make. Depending on who you ask.

all my thanks to @/ohbo-ohno! thank you for being the best beta reader and sitting through my abhorrent typos <3

AO3 MIRROR

The mountain’s breadth of trees and foliage are written with prose. 

It’s repetitive. Mind-numbing. She’s already passed this necrosed tree stump five times before. On the sixth circle, she treks through the undergrowth like it’s curdled milk, the tiny scythes of branches whispering against her arms and slicing her open the same way thumbs tear into oranges. 

Dehydration crystallises like sediment in her mouth. It makes her bones heavy, bending against her flesh as if they’re groceries about to tear through a plastic bag. The balls of her feet are calcified, her thighs chafed. They rub against her threadbare jeans the same way a match reacts with red phosphorus to produce a flame. It burns, and so do her muscles. They feel moth-eaten and spent. Hung out to dry. 

The stench of damp soil and sugar maple impairs her like an opiate. The peal of idle birdsongs grate against her ears. She’s sick of it—she’s been here for three days—and already, she’s sick of it. 

She tries her phone again. It’s unresponsive, no signal. She unfurls her map but it’s mottled with rainwater and mud. Her lungs feel dry, pruney, as the dew drops slipping off fern plants seem to replicate the tears thawing in her eyes. 

Evening mist hangs over the ground, and the sky turns red-bottomed as it progresses into nightfall. It’s as if the mountain is sentient. Nocturnal. Stirring from a torpor once the sun sets and awakening all that lives within it. 

A sob wracks her ribs. It has the same effect of a bullet, ricocheting. She keeps moving even though she doesn’t know where she’s going. She believes that should she continue walking, nothing will be able to catch her. Not the spindly tree branches that take the shape of arms or serpentine shrubbery. She won’t give the mountain any time to fossilise her, if only she keeps moving.  

Her movements are clumsy though. Her eyesight is hindered by panicked tears, turning everything shapeless and blurry. She keeps tripping and skinning her knees like the hide of a pomegranate, her flesh peeling back to show the red pulp of her innards. 

It was a rashly undertaken lapse of judgement that brought her here. To a conscious mountain that lives and breathes and feels her fear. It was her heart, empty, carved out and replaced by brutal loneliness. Her friends back home are heedless and her parents are never satisfied with what she does. She figured that if none of them would listen, the woodlands would. 

And listen, they did.

When she cries out, the wind howls. When she changes her direction, pivoting on her heel, the soil rumbles. She sees things—a shadow spotting her vision, not composed of matter—peeking from behind a tree trunk before quickly slipping away. She witlessly calls out, asking if anyone’s there, and is met with the forest's silent presentiment. She feels the stark pressure of piercing eyes sprawling down her dewy neck, sweeping over her body. 

The longer she spends lost, the more she sinks into Appalachia.

It pulls her down like molasses. Like she’s an innocent fly trapped in glue. Soon, she knows there’s no hope. She knows her scent is written into the bark of trees—supple, sugary. A treat for whichever predator finds her first. 

A brown bear, swinging its claws at her until her entrails are threadbare and striated. A snake, injecting venom in her blood. A bobcat if she’s lucky. It would be a quick death—sinking its loose jowls into either side of her neck until it snaps and she goes slack. 

She’s apt to let go. She’s keen to yield to the alluring call of the woodland to let go, to fall to the forest floor and sit there until she rots. Until the roots worm into her breathing wounds and branches start growing out of her mouth. The urge to stop moving and become one with the mountain is suddenly cogent, leaves no margin of doubt. It comes with the promise of eternal respite and divine mercy. She’s about to find a cliff to jump off of, but before she can, something catches her attention. 

A plume of smoke curling in the air. 

Whorls of slate-grey soot thinning and disappearing into the sky. She looks for the source and follows it blindly, shouldering past pine needles and hawthorn and all but sobbing as a cabin comes into view. It’s made of wood and the tufts of wildflower that sprout from its thin fissures. It looks neglected and eaten by the elements. Its vaulted roof is stained by the off-white assault of bird droppings, discoloured by acid rain. Some of the windows look covered with dewy newspaper, but still, she knows it can’t be vacant. The smoke undulating from the chimney tells her that.

She staggers onto the porch. Her fist rasps against the door, clippings of wood burying itself into her skinned knuckles as she wildly knocks. Silence. Not even the leaves flutter against each other. Fleetingly, a stint of panic seizes her. What if nobody’s home? But she’s twisting the knob and pushing herself inside anyway, dropping her bag to the floor with a thump, stepping inside.

The cabin makes for a liminal space, smelling of sawdust and pine. There’s a layer of dust on every surface, making the air thick. All the furniture is carved from wood and a couple taxidermied deers are mantled above the stone fireplace, looking more like warnings than decoration. The pelt of a black bear is unfurled across the floor, and a few trinkets are strewn around—a bookshelf of spine-cracked novels, dead plants hanging from the ceiling beams. A mountain of used cigarettes, but strangely, no ashtray. 

There’s everything but picture frames. Nothing she can use to humanise the cabin nor the people supposedly living in it.

She guides herself to the kitchen by feeling the walls. There’s a piped stove in the corner and cast iron tools hanging above the counter. Her stomach bubbles, and immediately, she starts scouring for food. 

There’s three barrels by the door, and upon popping them open, the stench of brine sprays her in the face. It’s fish with a crust of salt, preserved. In the other barrel is meat buried in shelled corn, and fermented poultry in the last barrel. 

It’s all raw and bloody. She steps back, gagging, turning her attention to the shelves that line the faraway wall. Jars of pickled cucumber and carrots. Garlic braids hanging from the edge. Rusty milk churns nestled in the corner. 

There’s a galvanised tub full of ice on the floor. She digs through it and almost moans at the jars of jam. She untwists one, sticks her fingers in it, and wipes it clean with her tongue and teeth. It’s tart and tangy but it’s food, sticking to the walls of her stomach, satiating her. And once she starts she can’t stop. She goes back to the wall and finds a stained jar, fishing out a handful of fermented cabbage, stuffing it in her mouth, her face tightly puckering at the sharp sourness.

The juice of the food goes spilling past her lips, sluicing down her chest. It sticks to the chasm between her tits and mixes with sweat, making her shirt cling to her skin, revealing the barest outline of her nipples. She’s so engrossed in keeling over the counter and stuffing her face that she doesn’t even notice the pointed shift in atmosphere. The deer outside stopping their rutting, the trill of birds ceasing. The leaves stilling, as if holding their breaths to hide. Thick, silvery clouds nestling together and eclipsing the sun, casting a thin overcast over the woodland, darkening the already-dim surroundings. 

She’s too preoccupied to recognise the tell-tale croak of the door swinging open. It’s tinny, but bullied by the sound of her smacking on marinated cabbage. She doesn’t notice the dull, throbbing footfalls. Pays no heed to the stench of blood invading her senses because she believes it’s coming from her dry, leathery lips that split open as she widens her mouth to fit the cabbage inside.

It’s only when the room darkens, a box-shaped shadow sweeping over her vision, does her blood run cold. She freezes with a handful of vegetable raised halfway to her lips, the brine rolling off a cabbage leaf like it’s an awning, dropping to the floor—drip, drip, drip—the rapid succession of shedding liquid hitting the floor sounds similar to the beating of her heart against her fickle, feeble ribs. 

The saline spray in her mouth gets soaked up by her tongue, making it puffy, too big for her mouth. She turns around clemently—treating the shadow like a wild animal—no sudden movements. She goes rigid. 

It can’t be human. 

It’s huge. Bigger than anything she’s ever seen before. Sweeping shoulders, broad thighs. Its neck is bent uncannily because it’s too big to fit in the doorway. Its chest rises heavily like a bull.

She tries to find a face, and when she does, the blood is drained from her.

It just makes her feel… uncomfortable. Its face is the poor imitation of a human, as if someone tried drawing one from memory but scarcely failed. Failed to capture the humanity, the animation, leaving it looking like a half-convincing resemblance. Its tapetum lucidum glows yellow, burning in the thin mist of moonlight that penetrates the newspaper sticking to the windows. 

It stares blankly at her. The hair on her arms stick up, a bead of sweat slices down her neck. 

“I’m sorry…”

The creature raises an arm and pulls on a hanging bead-chain, tugging on the light, which is simply a naked bulb in the middle of the kitchen. The kindle is weak but does more than the delicate moonlight. Just barely illuminates its face. His face.

She tries not to let her fear show. Tries not to preen under his depthless eyes, the mean twine of his lips. His hair that seems to have been shaved too closely to his scalp, if the nicks and small cuts on the shells of his ears are anything to go by. 

He grumbles an idle prusten. He rolls his elbows back—his shoulder blades unfurling like folded wings—and twists his thick neck.

“What’re you doin’ in my home?”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeats, her words stifled around a wad of cabbage. “I– I’ve been lost for three days. I came up for a hike but lost my way and I saw your cabin and I’m sorry, but I’m just so hungry and–”

A deep, guttural voice peals from the living room. 

“Simon!” It says. “Where should I chuck the deer? It’s too big for the livin’ room.”

The aforementioned Simon, she presumes, doesn’t answer the unobserved voice. He keeps his eyes on her, face twisted into a puckered, mean mug.

A string of footsteps precede the face that appears behind Simon’s shoulder. A rounder, ruddier face. A salt-and-pepper stubble and eyes so blue they glow like bioluminescence. 

Johnny acts surprised as if Simon hadn’t smelled her from miles away. Her honeyed scent roiling off of her, curling into the air and thinning between the trees. Her sweat pooling in the gusset of her panties, raw and pungent. 

He’s purposely coy. It’s written into the furrow of his brows and the caper of his cupid lips but the girl is too disoriented to catch on. She looks at him and beseeches, but almost faints at the deer hanging limply over his shoulder. He holds it like it weighs nothing—a sack of sprouting potatoes.

He coos. “Who’s this?”

“Lost bird,” Simon grunts. “Found her diggin’ through our food.”

“Oh, poor lassie,” Johnny hums. More so to Simon than the girl, which makes her squirm. “She didnae mean any harm, Simon. She’s just hungry… tha’ right, lass? Are ye hurt?”

She stutters out a nod, gesturing to how her jeans cling to her knees, sun-bleached and darkened with blood. She rolls her shirt over her ribcage, showing them her wounded torso. How her skin sticks to her bones.

Johnny bristles. 

“The lass needs a place to stay, Simon,” he whispers. “And she’s hurt. Bleeding.”

They talk of her as if she’s advertised merchandise in a magazine catalogue. She squirms.

Simon turns to look at her. The depression in her cheeks due to her hunger and the split skin of her mouth. The pert curve of her breasts. The desperate look in her eyes. 

He grumbles, looks over his shoulder at Johnny. “I’ll start the fire. You take the deer out back and drain it ‘fore it hardens.”

“Aye,” Johnny says. He thumps away in clunky boots and a thin t-shirt and jeans. The deer sways with his gait and disappears behind the screen door when he steps outside. 

She redirects her attention to Simon, who’s already looking at her. More specifically, at her pulsing neck. His jowls are slightly unfastened, his pupils blown out and eclipsing his irises. 

Presentiment settles in her stomach. She blanches. 

Suddenly, Simon is grunting and gripping her arm, heedless towards her whimper of fear and fleeting stint of resistance. His nails are sharp, digging sickle-shaped impressions into her arm. He drags her down the hallway and into another room—a bathroom—and tugs the flickering light on. It lacks sheen, barely illuminates the room from its moss-covered nooks to the tiled floor caked with crusted dirt. 

(The lightbulb is so dull. It doesn’t reach the farthest corner of the bathroom where the radiator is placed. The radiator bathed in black, hidden beneath the lip of shadows, so she isn’t able to see the forgotten handcuff hanging limply from one of the pipes.)

Simon works his heavy body around the bathroom. He leans over the clawfoot tub—which he dwarfs—and twists open the spigot, watching as brown-coloured water slowly ripens into something clear, gushing out of the faucet. He stuffs a plastic plug into the rust-ringed drain. 

He straightens back into his full height. All-encompassing, panoramic. Simon is so impossibly large that it’s a wonder he has so much muscle packed under his skin. Rustic, hard thighs. A shirt that bends against his arms, about to snap. 

“Take a bath,” he commands. “Get y’rself cleaned up.”

Simon shoulders past her and ducks to exit the bathroom. There’s no door separating it from the rest of the house, but a multitude of beads hanging above the threshold to imitate one. She keeps her eyes trailed on it while she strips—peeling off her jeans, pulling her shirt over her head. Rolling down her panties and consciously hiding them beneath her other clothes. 

She clutches the lip of the bathtub for leverage and dips her toes into the water. Immediately, she melts. The hot water swallows her foot and travels like a spool of thread to the rest of her, weaving itself into her wounds, licking her open like the first thaw of spring. 

She submerges herself fully, bringing her knees to her chest. Her neck hoists backward and into the water, soaking all the grit and dirt knotted into her hair. It’s like plying through syrup as she lifts an arm, retrieving a homespun bar of soap, clutching it to test her grip. There’s coily hair knotted into it and sticking to the dried bubbles. She brings it up to her nose, sniffing. Hesitates before rubbing it into her skin and around her throbbing wounds. 

The water idly sloshes as she cleans herself. It’s a hollow sound, amplified by the echoey room. She trails her hand below her waist, slipping her sudsy fingers between her lips and stroking, rubbing herself clean. 

Beneath the tinny sounds of water surrounding her like a petticoat, something else peals out. Something like a whine. Her fingers cramp above her warm cunt and she goes taut. She turns her head to the threshold of the bathroom and nearly screams but her throat puckers before she can, blocking it, her mouth hanging open in a soundless screech instead.

It’s Johnny. He stands in the middle of the hallway, peering into the bathroom and staring at her, half-obscured by the bead curtains. He looks like a sit-and-wait predator like this—silent and unassuming, if not for his blindingly-white smile shining through the curtain like strobes of sunlight breaking past trees. He steps inside now that he’s been spotted, and that causes ice to lick her organs—she sinks her breasts below the water’s surface, squeezing her thighs together. She bristles as Johnny strides impossibly close, the lip of the tub cutting into his thighs.

He stinks of sweat and iron and wood. His t-shirt clings to his skin, darkened with deer blood, outlining the barest hint of his bulky chest.

He grins. “Brought ye some clean clothes.” 

“Oh. I… thank you,” she mumbles. “You can leave it on the toilet if you don’t mind?”

Johnny sets it down. A folded flannel and a pair of sweatpants. He idles a little longer, still smiling, before leaving the bathroom. She counts the minutes in her head and tries to find the right time to leave the tub, outstretching her hand for the towel once it comes to her. But the towel is just scarcely out of reach. The terrycloth grazes her fingertips, teasing her. It’s like it was methodically placed there. Bait at the end of a fish hook to ply her out of the water and stick her ass in the air, reaching over to grip the cloth and tug it over her breasts, stepping out of the tub.

Her eyes stay locked on the crude door while she changes. She buttons the flannel up to her neck and takes heed of the pointed absence of any undergarments, slipping her legs into the gauzy sweatpants, tying them at her waist.

Johnny bursts in as if on cue. He’s still slick with blood, his mohawk odd-angled, spun-thread and matted to his head with sweat. His cheeks bulge around another grin.

“Too big for ye, is it?” He pants. “Might as well take it off. Might trip and hurt yerself again. Wouldn’t want that happenin’, right honey?”

Johnny shortens the space between them in one stride. His fingers, thick and jaded, are already fumbling around the knot she tied, pulling it out of its bow and letting the sweatpants fall, pooling into a crimp around her ankles. 

The flannel is big enough to reach her thighs. Still, she clenches her fingers around the hem and tugs it lower, preening under Johnny’s smouldering gaze. It’s almost paradoxical how it works—his eyes are icy blue, yet they have the same effect as basaltic molten. Burning hot. He’s fixated on her skinned knees, gnawing on his bottom lip.

“Simon’s got the fire goin’,” he says. “Let’s go get yer wounds cleaned too, aye?”

Johnny’s walking out before she can blink. She follows after him, flustered, stumbling into the living room lit by a dulcet fire. Simon’s kneeled beside it, sticking his hand in to adjust a lopsided stock of wood, unaffected by the flames that eat away his arm hair. Johnny takes the girl by the scruff of her neck, guiding her to a hand-crafted chair placed conscientiously in front of the fireplace. He presses on her—the sensitive divot between her shoulder and her neck—and pushes her into the seat, unzipping a first-aid kit. 

Johnny takes her feet and pulls them into his lap. The angle makes her flannel hitch up, exposing her bare cunt to the hot embers of the fireplace, and the equally hot embers of Simon’s prying eyes. She squeaks and covers herself, averting her gaze as Simon’s stare darkens into the colour of midnight splash hanging over the sky.

“You’ll feel a wee sting,” Johnny warns. He rips the corner off a rag and drenches it in vodka, poising it over her flayed knees. “Should probably give my hand a squeeze or somethin’, ye ken? To lessen the burn, o’ course.”

She hesitates but slips her hand around Johnny’s all-encompassing one, her fingers barely meeting whilst wrapped around his palm. She winces when the ethanol meets her wound, shooting through her veins, and tries recoiling into herself. 

But the amplitude of her pain swells, and her muscles girdle. 

It’s Simon’s massive hand splitting itself across her thigh that keeps her pinned to the chair. His fingers bite rivets into her skin, the pinch overriding the sting of her tissue soaking up the alcohol.

“Stay still when he tells you to,” he grumbles. “Otherwise it’ll hurt.”

She wriggles uncomfortably. Tries not to flinch when the rag meets her knees again and burns her wound. Simon’s hand doesn’t leave her thigh until he’s throwing another block of wood into the fireplace.

Johnny hums. “So, what’re you doin’ up here? Religious retreat? Mental health?”

She smacks her lips, unsure if she should answer that. She chances a glance towards Simon and bristles because for some reason, she just knows that if she lies, somehow, he’d tell.

“Um. Just stepping away from home, I suppose,” she mumbles. “Friends. Family.”

“Oh. They dinnae care about you?”

She flinches. Not because of the vodka against her skin, but Johnny’s implications. 

“No,” she says. Her words are so fickle, so distorted by misery that not even she believes it. “They do care about me. I just needed space.”

He nods. Slowly, his eyebrows press together. “I don’t remember much of my family. It’s a wee bit odd. Can’t say if they liked me or not…”

Simon squeezes the back of his neck. “Enough of tha’. Pay attention.”

Johnny makes a sound like he’s humiliated. It’s only when he unrolls a spool of gauze, wrapping it around her kneecaps, is he afforded mercy when Simon changes the topic.

“Where’s the bird gonna sleep?”

“We’ve still got a cot in the root cellar, aye?” Johnny replies. “For hurricanes and tha’. Figured she wouldn’t mind it there. Wouldn’t ye, lass?”

Clemently, she shakes her head.

Simon grunts. He stands up, towering over them both. “The deer’s there, Johnny. What kind of hosts would tha’ make us? Puttin’ her up with a corpse?”

Johnny blushes as if he’s been scolded. His bottom lip curls out, petulant, a waspish colour flooding his cheeks. 

“Aye…” he grumbles. “Tha’s right. The livin’ room, then?”

The girl is sitting, her head oscillating between the two men like a pendulum as they talk. 

“No,” Simon says. “We’ll move the cot to our room.”

Johnny nods. He scratches his stubble, pretending to think. “It’s important we keep an eye on her wounds, too.”

“Exactly,” Simon says, petting Johnny’s head. “Smart boy.”

He clicks his tongue and Johnny shoots up, scurrying out of the living room to retrieve the aforementioned cot. Muffled sounds peal out from the root cellar below them. Johnny comes stumbling back up in mere minutes with a rickety cot fitted under his armpit and disappears into a dark room.

“Best get to sleep before it’s too late,” Simon splays his hand over the small of her back. “Y’must be tired.”

She submits to Simon’s touch, letting him guide her through the cabin and into the darkest room lit only by a lone oil lamp. 

Johnny is finishing up the cot when Simon releases her. He drapes a cable-knit blanket over the surface, fluffing up a pillow. She doesn’t point out how close it is to their bed, the lip of her cot almost touching their rickety mattress.

“Fair warnin’ lass,” Johnny begins, peeling off his shirt, kittening into bed. “Simon snores quite a bit. Dinnae be feart to smack his gob if he gets too loud, aye?”

She stiffly nods. She climbs into the cot and bunches the blanket around her, making a conscious effort to hide her bare legs. Simon crawls between them, the mattress sinking with his weight, and throws their whisper-thin blanket over his legs. 

Darkness penetrates the room when he blows the lamp out. The only smoulder is the silvery glow of moonlight invading the curtains and the reflective light in Simon’s eyes. 

He sits up impossibly straight, staring at her like a cryptid caught on a trail cam. It causes discomfort to congeal under her flesh, but slowly, the longer she looks, a bristle of sleepiness lays hold of her. She closes her eyes and falls into limbo. Her breaths thinning into a short, even pattern.

———

She’s between the threshold of awake and sleep when she hears it.

She can’t tell if it’s a dream or the amplified sounds of Appalachia. She feels as if she’s underwater or stuck in syrup, able to hear the rushing brook of her blood against her ears but unable to distinguish the sounds around her.

There’s a grunt. And a moan. The wail of the bed next to her snapping then creasing. Heavy breathing. Sprinting hearts. 

Her head is so muddled she can’t register anything. Her mind tells her that the violent slapping of skin against skin is the crack of thunder. That the strangled whimpers are the call of a cottontail. 

“Right there, Johnny?” A voice asks. “Takin’ my big cock so fuckin’ well. Greedy lil’ bitch, you are.”

A long, drawn-out whine chases after it. A choked-out scream as if something hurts, succeeded by a wet squelch. 

“Look at ‘er,” that voice jeers. “Think she’d take it? Better than you? Think she’d bleed all over it like– fuck… how I smelt it on her?”

The other voice—broken in, wispy—chokes on a response. It sounds a little stifled, as if speaking through something shoved in its mouth.

“No… nae better than me,” it mumbles. “Nae better than me…”

It’s like she’s drowning in purgatory. She can’t move, can’t speak. She’s caught in a phantasmagorical limbo between reality and fantasy. She can feel the serpentine hands of something with no material existence wrap around her and stain her slick with sweat, sweeping over the space between her legs, licking a wetness up her pussy. 

A dewy sound peals out. It’s a predator loosening its jowls, stringy and frothy, flaying its lips to bare its teeth. A rumbling roar rips out of its throat, animalistic. She can hear the popping of teeth sinking into flesh. The dull sound of skin breaking.

“Ah!” A squeal. “Simon, tha’– it hurts.”

She feels a vortex in her belly, an ache in her clit.

It’s like she resurfaces the water. All at once, she hears clearly. It’s a lone word whispered in a guttural cadence so close that she swears it’s mumbled against the hot hull of her ear.

“Good.”

———

She wakes the next morning with her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth and a damp heat between her legs.

Sunlight filters through the gauzy curtains, hitting the bed next to her. The bed is starkly empty she notes, as she crawls out of her cot and pops the stiff muscles in her back, stretching. 

She pokes her head out of the bedroom and tiptoes around the cabin as if avoiding a barrage of landmines. There’s a downward force in her bladder that tells her she’s been in torpor for the better half of the morning, and a heavy crust in her eyes that shifts when she blinks. She finds her way to the bathroom and shucks the flannel over her hips, lowering herself on the toilet seat, emptying herself.

It’s the only stint of respite. The closest thing she can get to calm since losing her way in the mountain three days ago. She relishes in the idle birdsongs outside and the sound of overnight frost melting into the dew that slips off tree leaves, pitter-pattering to the ground. Listens to the stream of her pee peter out, and the ruffle of folding fabric as she tosses the flannel back over her thighs. She listens to the–

“How’d ye sleep, pretty girl?”

She flinches at the gruff voice. It’s written with sleep, barely lucid under a Scottish lilt. Her hands freeze under the running water of the tap as she watches Johnny waltz inside the bathroom, shucking his pants to his thighs and pulling out his cock, pissing in the toilet. 

She’s stiff. Fixed to the cold clay tiles of the floor, unable to be bent. She tries not to let her eyes wander, tries to block out the chubby mass of muscle swinging between his legs. 

“Oh…” her words are stifled by shock. “F-fine. I slept fine. Thank you again for opening your house to me.” She thinks back to last night—the whimpering, the croaking—and rashly decides to tack on, “But I did hear some weird noises. I could have been dreaming though.”

Johnny chuckles. “...Aye, it’s almost matin’ season ‘round these parts. I think you’ll be hearin’ more of that. It’s best to ignore it.”

Her body girdles when he sways his cock, shaking away the liquid on the tip. He stuffs himself back into his pants and pulls the flush, grinning. 

“Bet you’re still hungry. Simon’s wrappin’ up breakfast. Let’s go.”

He pats her bum and makes her squeak. He grips the hem of her flannel and reels it around his knuckles like a leash, tugging her into the dining area—which is more of a nook nestled into the living room—and pulls out a seat.

“Hope ye fancy porridge,” Johnny chuckles. He splits his palm across the top of her head, pushing her into the chair. 

She huffs and hoists her neck up, grimacing at the acrid scent of animal hide burning against the base of a cast iron pan. It takes a conscious effort to not crinkle her nose in disgust.

Simon ducks as he emerges from the kitchen threshold. He wields two bowls of food. One for her and the other for Johnny. She takes heed of how—despite his stature—Simon doesn’t have anything to eat.

However it’s a cursory thought, because she’s quickly pulling her lips into a weak smile and examining the bowl in front of her. Food is a generous word, since it looks more like coagulated milk than porridge and smells sour. Simon places a chipped plate of bacon alongside it. It’s curled because it’s overcooked, crusted with charcoal.

She swallows as Simon takes a seat next to her. Johnny, on the other side of her. 

“Looks delicious,” she hums. She turns to Simon, “Are you… not eating?”

He picks an off-white tendon from his canine tooth, flicking it away. 

He answers in a rigid tenor. “Don’t hurt your head over me. You eat your food.” 

She marginally shrinks into herself, embarrassment licking up her spine. She feels like a chided puppy, but perhaps that’s the sentiment. 

When she opens her lips and raises the spoon to her mouth, her flannel curls like a wisp of hair off her shoulder, baring her bruised albeit supple skin. She hastily pulls the sleeve back up. 

She speaks around the stale porridge and her rising apprehension. “Uh, do you have my clothes from yesterday?” She asks, squirming as her sweat glues the back of her thighs to the chair, sticky. “It’s just, uh, they fit me better.”

“Oh,” Johnny blinks, “o’ course.” 

She watches him stand up and slip through the backdoor. He walks towards a clothesline hitched between two trees and retrieves her clothes, returning with them tucked under his arm.

“Here ye go sweetheart,” he grins, setting them on her lap. Petting her head.

She slowly peels through her clothes. Her fingertips drag against her threadbare jeans, her overripe shirt, but never touch the sweat-imbued gauze of something more… intimate. Her maw tenses around the hot porridge. 

“Where are my… um…” she lowers her voice even though it’s redundant—Johnny is leaned in close, practically huffing against her ear, sniffing her neck. “... Undergarments?”

Johnny tilts his head, puckering his lips in confusion. He’s written with the innocence of a puppy—whether it’s real or fabricated, she can’t tell. The words have begun bleeding together, blotchy and unintelligible. 

“Panties, ye mean?” He laughs. “Ye never had any of those.”

She swallows thickly. 

“No, I… I did. I wouldn’t go hiking without–”

“Ye must be goin’ crazy, lass,” Johnny says. “This was all you gave me. Nae panties.”

He stares at her with large, intercosmic, unassuming eyes. His gaze flickers towards Simon. It’s so fleeting that she almost misses it. The sweep of his blue irises widening, eclipsed by his pupils. She tenses. Omniscience hits her like a brick.

Her tongue goes heavy in her mouth, melting her words. The porridge turns frothy in her gut, nausea sticking to her organs and presentiment curdling in the air. She tightens her throat around a gag.

“... When can you drive me into town?”

Johnny reaches over and grips her thigh. He digs divots into her flesh like a fish hook caught in a flayed gill.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as ye want, pretty. There’s nae rush.”

She feels bile crawl up her throat.

“Oh, well, I just don’t want to overstay my welc–”

“He’s excited to play host,” Simon growls. His words are marked by firm determination, leaving no room for objection. He leans over the table, his wifebeater clinging to his muscle, his wiry chest hair pressing against the soft cotton. “We rarely get visitors ‘round here and he’ll be upset if you leave. Y’wanna make him upset?” 

Finally, warnings blare like strobe lights in her mind. She fidgets in her seat, sweating, shooting a cursory glance to the backdoor. Calculating her chances of survival should she break through the mesh and make a run for it. 

“O-of course not. Not after everything you’ve done for me,” she stutters, feeling a bead of sweat travel down her neck. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for asking.”

Simon settles back in his seat. Johnny, too, frowning around his porridge. 

“Good,” Simon grunts meanly. “Now shut your gob an’ eat.”

She clemently chews away at her breakfast, preening under their smouldering gazes. Throughout her polishing off her bowl, she’s reminded Simon doesn’t have one. It’s unseemly for a man so sturdy to not be eating, but as Simon’s lips peel back, sated while he watches her take her final bite, she spots a spray of red liquid washing the spire of his fang tooth, glistening in the sunlight. 

“How’d you like tha’, pretty?” Johnny asks. He collapses whatever thoughts—whatever inklings—begin to seize her about Simon as he smiles and their bowls, disappearing into the kitchen.

Right away, Simon is hooking his foot behind a leg of her chair, using it to pull her closer. 

He’s centimetres away from her face when he says, “How ‘bout you start pullin’ your weight?”

Her eyes flicker up to see Simon hovering over her. He’s dewy with sweat, big and burly and drifting above her like the closet-dwelling monster from everyone’s childhood.

“You’ve caused enough trouble in my home,” he continues. “Ate a lot of our produce. It’s time you make up for tha’.”

She resists the urge to snarl. She doesn’t even want to be here yet Simon is insisting she fill her role—whatever that role may be. 

But as she hoists her neck up at him, she gets skittish and looks away, her tongue knotting. She knows it isn’t smart to upset Simon again. He’s a beefy man with sharp canines and vertical pupils, with more hair sprouting from his forearms than what’s considered normal. A man who expels deep tonal flutters instead of regular breaths. Who—despite his size—can’t ever be heard approaching.

So she smiles instead, asking, “What is it you need help with?”

“Floors need scrubbin’.”

He shoves a rag in her hand and holds out a bucket of sudsy water she hadn’t noticed before.

“Kitchen, livin’ room… just get to work.”

The water sloshes over the lip of the bucket when he sets it down. Simon stands to his full height and stalks out of the room, leaving her alone with her multitude of thoughts. 

Slowly, she stands up. She hauls the water bucket to the middle of the living room and is starkly reminded of her strength—or lack thereof. Simon had picked the bucket up so naturally, but with the weak tendons lacing her arms, she struggles. It doesn’t help that her vision is still spotty. 

She lowers to her knees, wincing at the chord of pain beneath her bandages. She awkwardly drenches the rag in the water and wrings it dry, poising herself above the floor, working the rag into the floorboards. 

She tenses when Johnny walks back in. He’s behind her. Unlike with Simon, she can feel him creeping up. She can feel his eyes on the lips of her pussy where her flannel hitches up while she’s bent over, scrubbing the floors. 

Her cheeks burn. She blindly reaches behind her to tug the hem down, covering her warm cunt. 

Johnny chuckles. “This is wha’ Simon has you doin’ out here?” 

She looks over her shoulder, her skin prickling when she sees an axe in his hand. 

“We’re goin’ to the yard to chop some wood,” he says, “but I see you’re already busy bein’ our bonnie housewife.” 

She stutters. That operative word, housewife, burns a hole in the snail-shaped cochlea of her ear. “No, Simon j-just asked me to. He asked me to.”

“I know, sweetie,” Johnny replies. He squats next to her and rubs her back in slow circles, trying to hike up her flannel again. “Simon’s just takin’ the piss. He’s a meanie like tha’.”

She tries shouldering him away but Johnny only holds her tighter. Simon reappears in the doorway, watching with his arms crossed. 

Johnny clears his throat. “Thought we’d spend time in the yard today. Doesn’t tha’ sound sweet?”

She looks at Simon who’s already looking at her through hooded, brutish eyes. She realizes that her autonomy is divested—that she has no choice but to follow what they say because something is very, very wrong here. 

Perhaps this is what the mountain had warned her of. In all of its howling and breathing, the branches gripping her and the delirium written into her psyche, maybe, it was all a warning. 

She hangs her head. “Mhm… sounds great.”

She has no time to process what’s happening before he’s folding his hand into the cavity of her armpit and dragging her up and out of the door, into the backyard. 

It’s more of a cleared grove than a yard. Dead tree stumps litter the small expanse, grass the colour of ripe lemons because it’s been seared down. There’s a block of wood sitting on a stump, split down the middle. Sun-bleached clothes hanging over the clothesline.

“Y’can watch here,” Johnny says, gesturing to one of the tree stumps. “We’ve got to chop wood for dinner tonight.”

He pulls her down on the makeshift seat, finally letting her go. And just as Johnny pivots, slamming the spire of the axe into the block of wood, she sees him scrunch his nose as he sniffs his hand, drinking in the sweat from her armpit. It goes up his nose and through his nasal cavity, making him quiver as if her sweat is an opiate. Disgust slams into her, sinking in her stomach and settling there like sediment. She doesn’t even notice Simon walking out of the cabin and reaching for the axe, raising it over his head, until the resounding sound of wood snapping peals out, and she’s jumping in her skin.

“No need to be feart,” Johnny laughs. “Just his usual routine.”

She watches Simon work. He looks like a beast on its hind legs like this—impossibly large and splayed out with his arms over his head, growling whenever he brings the axe down on the tree stump, splitting it in two. Sweat burns through his wifebeater and turns the fabric translucent, revealing the barest outline of his chest. His chest hairs are matted with sweat, his sinews straining with each chop of wood. His face is curled meanly into itself, his trimmed hair nicked in different places from at-home shaving and washed with sweat.

Every time he brings the axe down on the wood, expelling a guttural groan, something stirs in her. He does it with such force, such strength, it makes her wary. He fractures the wood along the grain without so much of a blink, without any stifling in his muscle.

All those horror films she watches alone—when her friends say they’re too busy to join, when they lead her on after planning a get-together that doesn’t come to fruition—finally catch up to her, sowing the thought in her head that if she stays, she’ll become the tree stump. Impotent beneath Simon’s hacking and eclipsed by his behemoth-like body. 

Her missing panties. Johnny’s sticky hands. Simon’s less-than-human behaviour. It all slams into her like whiplash. 

Her fear rears its head as a rashly undertaken announcement tumbling out of her mouth.

“I have to pee.”

She ignores the way Johnny perks up, as if that activated something in his brain. His ocular vein goes large, rapt, his pupils blowing out as he looks at her and then her navel where her bladder sits, suddenly grinning. 

“I can come with–”

“I’ll go in the woods,” she says. “Behind a bush or something, okay?”

Simon grunts. It’s a deep prusten sound as he splits another block of wood. Johnny pouts but lets her go, watching with those imploring eyes as she disappears behind some foliage. 

It’s now or never, she decides. 

She makes sure she’s concealed by the flowering of a tree before speeding up her walk. She moves like an unoiled machine, rusty, as her walk ripens into a run.

She doesn’t know where she’s running. She doesn’t know how far the nearest town is or how to find the trail she lost herself on, but she knows she needs to get far away from here. 

The woodland is labyrinthine. Everything looks the same. She hopes she isn’t sprinting deeper into the heart of Appalachia and straight into her new grave, but still, she doesn’t stop running. Not until her lungs wilt into themselves and turn pruney, not until her heartbeat plateaus. 

It’s as if she’s working against a rip current. She feels as if a part of herself is already woven into the woodland soil, feels herself written into the rotting, wet trees. It’s like she’s treading water instead of sprinting. And it’s like a supernova has erupted in her ankle as it gets caught under a root, sending her face first into the dirt. 

She reorients as quickly as she can. She raises to her feet but winces at the flaring nerves in her foot, and looks around for a stick she can use as a crutch. 

But something else catches her attention. 

A dog-eared paper taped to a Basswood tree. It’s been eaten by the elements, mottled, barely hanging on. She steps closer and reads the blocky letters across the front, her blood running cold in her engorged vessels.

MISSING PERSON

Fleetingly, hope seizes her, but she soon remembers nobody back home is heedful enough to report her missing, let alone realize she’s missing in the first place. Additionally, the year suggests that the flyer is three years old. Her eyes slink down, trailing over what’s still intact.

LAST SEEN: CLIFF TRAIL

$3,000 REWARD FOR INFORMATION

Foreboding clings to her flesh. She quivers, her knees weakening.

FIRST NAME: J-

The tail-end of it is smeared, the ink bleeding and thinning into the paper. It’s unintelligible, so she trails her gaze lower, heeding the victim’s last name instead.

MACTAVISH.

“Sweetie!” Peals out from behind her before she can read any more. “What’re you doin’ all the way here? Had me and Simon thinkin’ ye ran away or something. Hah.”

Johnny hurries close and swallows her flinch with a tight hug. He frowns at the flyer. 

“Why’re you readin’ this silly stuff?” He asks. He tears it off the tree and crumples it up, tossing it away. “That shite gives y’nightmares.”

“Johnny, I–”

“You went pee?” Johnny asks. Nearly makes her screech when he dips his hand low and cups her cunt, feeling around for any dregs of liquid. He buries his fingers unnecessarily deep between her puffy lips, blindly massaging.

“No…” he clicks his tongue. “No. You didn’t. Did ye lie to us? It dinnae matter, sweetie. Here. Do it here, pretty. I’ll wait.”

She musters whatever pluck she has left to shake her head.

However her spine is fickle. All it takes is Johnny glowering, his eyes darkening, his pout upending and curling into something meaner, to force her back into submission.

“Simon’s already angry ye pulled this stunt, sweetie,” he says. “I’m helpin’ you out.”

A tear escapes her. It rolls down her gaunt cheek like the dew that dribbles down trees. She’s quickly crying, expelling howls that burn her energy. She trembles as she squats to the forest floor and pushes pee out of her. She sniffles as she stands back up and lets the liquid sluice down her thighs. 

“Good girl,” Johnny hums. “You’re so much sweeter when ye listen, ye ken?” 

She sobs into her palms, her ribs so brittle they rattle together. Johnny coos vacantly at her, rubbing her all over the same way one rubs stone fruit to test their ripeness, and croons at her swelling ankle.

“See what happens when you’re naughty?” He asks, picking her up, carrying her close to his chest. “Let’s get you home, honey. These woods are no place for a bird like you.”

She hates how she curls into him. It’s her repressed underbelly fighting its way to the surface because the accumulation of neglectful family and friends has soured her, carving a chasm in her heart that forces her body to respond to Johnny’s affections. He’s a warm body for her, a pair of listening ears. It’s scraps, but it’s more than she’s ever gotten.

They make it back to the cabin in what feels like minutes. Simon’s waiting next to the door with his arms tightly crossed, his face meanly pinched. He growls like a provoked animal. He hovers like an executioner. He’s the living antonym of light at the end of the tunnel, huffing like a bull as Johnny carries her inside. 

“How about you rest?” Johnny asks. He sets her down on her cot and pulls the blanket to her quivering chin, tucking her in. “Want some tea? What kind do you fancy?”

She purses her lips, trembling. Johnny sentimentally hums as if he’s sorry. As if he isn’t a part of her plight. Her piercing fear and deep-seated fatigue.

“Garden mint…” he says to himself. “I’ll be right back, bonnie.”

He disappears and returns a few minutes later with a cup dwarfed in his hand. Steam curls over the rim, thinning into the barren bedroom. He tilts it into her mouth, nursing her. 

With every sip she feels herself slip more and more back into the familiar territory of limbo. Her eyelids become heavy, her cognizance slackening.

She peels her tongue off her gums to muster a whisper. It’s so weak. Barely audible. 

“I wanna go… home…”

Johnny croons. He cups her cheek. “Honey, those people dinnae care about you. Not how me and Simon do. This can be your home.”

He raises the cup to her mouth again, stifling any protests on her tongue.

She hiccups around the drink, her eyes warm and wet.

That’s how she falls asleep. 

With hypnotic tea invading her bloodstream, turning her eyelids heavy. Turning her helpless.

———

She wakes with a start. 

It’s a crack of thunder that had stirred her, she realizes, instead of the enigmatic sounds of bed springs snapping.

The bedroom is dark and bathed in midnight light. She can barely see anything, save for the barest outline of Johnny in the bed next to her. When lightning strikes, illuminating the sky with a blinding impact crack, she’s able to see the swell of his body beneath his sheets and the shadow of his spun-thread hair. His chest rising and falling steadily. 

She’s caked with sweat. Her perspiration soaks her flannel and makes it cling to her flesh, which is flared up as if she rolled in a pile of poison ivy. Her mind is so cluttered she almost folds over as she stands up, testing the grip of her toes on the wooden floor, testing her ability to balance herself. 

She’s in limbo. A border space between heaven and hell, awaiting her execution. That’s how it feels as she tiptoes her way out of the room, reaching for an oil lamp, holding it out in front of her. 

It’s almost worse like this. A weak flame that barely illuminates her peripheral. She fears that should she turn too fast, an aberration will materialize from the margins of her view and tear her to ribbons. 

At this point, she supposes that’s a kinder fate. 

She slips into a pair of large boots because she can’t find her hiking shoes anywhere. She opens the door and pokes her head out, immediately met with the spray of rainwater on her face, the wind running through her ropes of neglected hair.

Sheets of heavy rain fall from the awning, creating another divide that keeps her trapped inside the cabin. She steps onto the porch, listening for any incongruous noises. Even if there were any, they would be bullied under the assault of rainfall. She can’t hear her own thoughts like this, can’t formulate a plan to get away from here once and for all.

So of course she doesn’t hear the floorboards settle behind her. Of course, she doesn’t hear the heavy drumming of feet closing in on her.

She doesn’t heed the body behind her until Johnny is sniffing up her neck and snuffing out the oil lamp, laying hold of her in a grudging grip. 

“You just dinnae listen, do you?”

He takes her by the scruff of her neck and pulls her back into the cabin, knocking the lamp out of her grip. It falls to the floor and flares into a crash, louder than the rain. Almost louder than her sprinting heart and the blood rushing to her ears.

She wrestles against his grip. “Fuck you both—you sick fucks!”

She almost vomits when her insults make Johnny moan, his cock fattening against her back in a crude Pavlovian response. Each time she struggles against him, his grip tightens. It reminds her of the mountain itself. The more she tries escaping its soporific arms, the deeper it drags her down. It’s fruitless for her to fight it—the whistle of the branches, the tight sinews of Johnny’s grip. 

He swings his arm around her neck, pinning her against his chest in a headlock. Her lungs stutter and her eyes turn dewy, her deep-seated fear ripening into paralyzing terror.

A web of lightning shatters the sky, and she almost dies right there.

It’s Simon but worse. A mutation gone wrong. A changeling, perhaps. He’s squeezed inside the threshold, breathing wildly. His wifebeater is torn in different places across his body, split around tufts of fur. Fur that is matted with thick ichor, wiry and sprouting from the spot behind his ears.

Another flash of lightning ignites the cabin, revealing the shaggy coat of hair on his chest. The sheet of fat over his stomach that flutters when he puffs, growling under his breath. He clenches his jaw because he can’t clench his hands, because his thick fingers have turned into claws, sharp spires covered in gore.

Simon snarls. Blood and spit drip from his bloodied teeth as if he’s a rabid animal with a limp maw. He rolls his shoulders and cracks the cartilage in his neck, the sound pealing out so loudly, it’s more like the popping of bubble wrap in rapid succession. 

She can barely see him through her tear-filled eyes. It’s the epilogue to her life as he strides in close, biting his talons into her hips and drawing out blood. A snarl of satisfaction escapes him when he smells it—her blood, sweet, albeit stale due to her dehydration. 

“Anyone ever told you you’re an ungrateful mutt?” He growls. “I give you food to eat an’ clothes on your back but here you are, tryin’ to sod off.”

Her cheeks dimple when he grabs her jaw. She opens her mouth to protest, but her grievances get smothered beneath Simon’s claws. He stuffs his fingers down her mouth, stunting her complaints. She gags and coughs around the taste of metal and mire crusted under his claws, bile shooting up her throat.

“Dogs don’t talk,” he tuts. 

He hoists his arm back and she puckers, preparing for an attack. However, instead of her cheek, Simon’s hand slices against her shirt. He tears her flannel into ribbons, making the fabric slide off her like water from a milk bath.

She stands naked, her skin pocked with fear. She shivers despite being pressed between Simon’s furry chest and Johnny’s warm arms. 

“‘Bout time someone taught you some manners,” Simon mumbles. “I was in the middle of my dinner you know? Fuckin’ rude to interrupt.”

She blanches when she sees a limp coyote behind him, splayed out on the porch. She recognizes it as the orpiment-coloured fur to the hair flossed between Simon’s teeth.

She screams as he wrestles her from Johnny’s grip, pulling her towards the bedroom. Simon throws her onto the stiff mattress, her spine shuddering from the impact. She tries covering herself, tries wrapping her arms around her body, but Simon is having none of that. 

He pounces, taking her hips and pinning them to the bed. He hovers over her, rainwater dripping from his broken nose, impossibly large as he makes up her whole world. Simon swallows her entire view, leaving her with no chances of escape. 

Her gaze flutters down to the chub outlined by his sweatpants and decides she’s left with no chances of survival, either.

She flails her legs as Simon slithers low, flattening his nose against her cunt. She lets out a protracted cry as he hitches his lungs and inhales, breathing in the musk of her bare cunt. The sweat stuck between her fuzzy hair, the sticky arousal that spreads as he forces her legs open. 

Simon hisses. It rides the ruck of his throat, expelled from his nose. It’s not in any capacity a human sound. It seems more like a bear flaring its nostrils, poised for attack.

Johnny notices the confusion between her eyebrows because he’s leaning in and murmuring against the shell of her ear, licking it.

“Remember wha’ I said about matin’ season, kitty?”

Johnny leans away, leaving it at that. Equivocal and cryptic and calcified into the furrows of her brain. She isn’t allowed to wade in her confusion though because Simon’s tongue is lolling out, sweeping a fat stripe over her pussy.

It’s like the first thaw of spring. Simon licks her open, spreads her out on his tongue. She can’t help the immediate warmth that courses through her, swathing her in silk. 

She cries out. Her back bends off the mattress when Simon pulls her lips into his mouth to suck. 

She looks to Johnny for help. She twists herself and tries reaching out, tries crawling off the mattress, but Simon is gripping her ankle and popping the gauze of her bandage with his claws, pulling her back down, wrapping his lips around her engorged clit.

Johnny’s face doesn’t show contrition, but is pinched in jealousy. He watches with a fat mass growing in his sweatpants.

She splits her hand over Simon’s shaved head, using the cauliflowered shell of his ear to try pulling him off of her. That only makes him growl, the vibrations quavering up her spine, his claws digging into her flesh. 

She folds her arms over her face, sobbing. Simon’s tongue is wet and hot against her pussy, lapping between her soft folds, slurping her juices. She flushes at how wet she is. At how pleasure leaks through the cracks in her resolve and spreads all over her, reducing her to a panting mess. 

Simon releases her clit with a pop. He raises to his knees, towering over her, and now she’s unsure if his glistening chin is because of the rainwater outside or her arousal. 

“Hold her down, Johnny.”

Her heart drums against her chest. Johnny crawls onto the bed and kneels behind her head. He pins her wrists down with his kneecaps, keeping her from squirming.

“Will ye let me put my cock in ‘er mouth?” Johnny asks. “Simon, will you–”

“Shut it,” Simon snaps. He shoves down his sweatpants, his cock springing out. All of her nerves bristle like rope, her heart sputtering to a stop.

Simon’s cock is fat and heavy. It droops between his thighs, drooling with precum. It’s stiff but hangs because he’s so large, the engorged tip angling downward, his balls plump, ruddy.

He chokes his hand around it, tugging it. Her throat closes in on itself but her legs instinctively peel apart. Her puffy lips spread open and she flushes at the sticky sound, hoisting her neck back to look at Johnny.

He has his cock out too, pumping it. He grins when they lock eyes and smacks his dick against her cheek. Johnny presses his cockhead into the corner of her mouth, using it to tilt her lips into a repugnant curl. It’s reminiscent of a smile, but it isn’t one. 

She wails.

They both make up her beginning and end. They trap her between themselves, leaving her with no escape. Simon at her feet, Johnny at her head. Each of the men are more intimidating than the other, both inspiring fear in her feeble heart. Both inspiring unwanted arousal between her legs. 

Simon slaps his flaring tip against her clit. She mewls and hates herself for bucking her hips into him. She’s dew-skinned as Simon pushes her knees to her ears, thumbing her clit.

He deeply inhales.

His chest expands, tugging at the steel-wool hair felted against his big chest. He quivers as he expels his breath, his mating call, and finally feeds her his cock, pushing past her first ring of muscle.

Her body tries curling in on itself like a Venus flytrap, but Johnny is quicker. He bites his fingers into her wrists and pins her to the mattress, keeping her still while Simon stuffs himself deeper. Johnny kisses her tears away while he does it. It’s oxymoronic and it’s betrayal—a Judas kiss—while he wraps his lips around sweet encouragement against her cheeks.

“Got so much fight in ye, sweetie,” he whispers. “Just stop strugglin’ and it’ll feel good.”

Simon leans over her, his cock slipping deeper into her warm cunt. The blood and saliva from his maw drips onto her chest, the blood is so fresh there’s still steam, hitting her like scythes.

Johnny’s getting restless. He watches raptly as Simon starts slamming his hips into her. Johnny ruts against the chafe of her brittle hair and hopes it will give him satisfaction by proxy, but it does little to offset the ache in his balls. His lip warbles.

“Simon, please,” a voice crack, “can I put my cock in ‘er mouth?”

“Fine,” Simon growls. His hips are piston-paced against the girl’s skin, unrelenting and uncaring to how her nails scratch striated lines down his chest in her struggle. “Just stop interruptin’ us.”

Her jaw cramps when Johnny cups her chin. He puppets it open and forces his fingers down. They’re caked with dirt as he swirls them over her tongue, coaxing up the warm spit from the furrow of her throat to be used as a natural lube. 

The only mercy she gets is the stint of time between Johnny pulling his fingers out and gripping his dick, laying it on her tongue. He forces her lips apart with the tip of his cock, smearing himself all over her. 

“So pretty like this sweetheart,” he hums. “Simon smelt it on ye. Hundreds of klicks away. How sweet y’are.” 

She doesn’t have the energy to decipher that. Most of it is being wrung on trying to fight the two men off, but it’s fruitless. Johnny is already slipping into her mouth, and her cunt is already stretched around Simon’s plump cock. 

Johnny starts pumping in and out, his cock embroidering a burn in the hinges of her jaw.

She lies there limply, but as Johnny’s wiry hair meets her nose, she realizes there’s one thing she can do. In her thrashing, she undertakes the lapse of judgement to clamp her teeth together, sinking them into Johnny.

He yells and pulls himself out. Johnny wraps a hand around himself, squeezing, placating the sting. A warm wash of tears twine his eyelashes together, long and babydoll-like. He looks to Simon, preening, imploring. 

“She bit me.” 

Simon slows his hips, only scarcely so. Only enough for her to fill her lungs halfway before he’s dragging himself out agonizingly slow, burying himself back inside. 

His eyes, hungry, flutter down to her. His lips wind back, revealing his sharp fangs. He snickers. 

“Now you’ve pissed him off, hm? Dumb girl. This is why puppies need owners.”

He pinches her clit, softly tweaking it between the pads of his fingers. He looks at Johnny and condescendingly smirks. 

“C’mere, boy. If she won’t suck you off, why not take a go at her other hole?”

She tenses. Fear washes over her like a rip current, all the way down to her ass that squeezes in protest. Her heart feels too big for her chest suddenly. She can’t even see Johnny’s blinding grin through her cloudy eyes as brine tracks down her cheeks, mixing with her sweat. 

She whimpers. “No–“

A palm whistles through the air, exploding into a crack of thunder as it breaks against the skin of her cheek. 

She lapses into silence. Little hiccups escape her while she peers up at Simon, sniffling. 

“Yes,” he says. 

He grips her by her hips and flips her over. This way, Simon’s on his back and she’s on top of him, his cock digging deeper. The position is etched with a degree of intimacy that causes heat to pool in her belly—she can feel his hot breath fanning over her face, she can see his feline-like eyes better.  

She almost jumps out of her skin when Johnny presses his fingers into her ass, trying to break her in. He thumbs at the puckered muscle, chuckling when it tries squirming away from him. 

“Cute little thing,” he says. “She ever been fucked?”

The way she sobs when Johnny forces his forefinger inside gives him his answer. He almost comes right there. At the sound of her slick lubing her up, at the sound of her being torn open like a stone fruit and her pitiful cries for mercy. 

“Stop…” 

“Stop?” Johnny repeats, “Sweetie, if I stop it’ll hurt when I fuck you. Ye need prep, silly.”

That only wracks her ribs harder. The patrionizing lilt in his voice, the way he pats her bum like she’s nothing but a dumb puppy. Johnny sinks another finger in, knuckle-deep, and curls himself into the walls of her ass, massaging it.

Simon starts thrusting again. He takes one of her tits in his mouth and tongues at her nipple, snapping his hips into her. It only adds more pressure to her other hole, the one being fingered open by Johnny.

“Y’think she’s ready, sweetie?” Johnny asks. He slaps his cock against her hole, teasing her. “I think she’s fuckin’ hungry. Look at ‘er winkin’ back at me.”

Johnny collects the saliva moulded into his gums and sputters out a wad of spit, wetting her tight asshole. He presses his cockhead against her opening, pushing himself inside.

She buckles, doubling over. Her cheek falls on Simon’s chest, chafing against his coarse hair. She’s never felt so full. Folded between the men and being fed two big cocks, left with no space to breathe. She isn’t given respite. No mercy. No time for her to stretch around their cocks.

Johnny splits his hand across the divot where her spine begins and shoves her into Simon. Her jaw hangs loose, her lips parted dumbly, her drool trickling onto Simon’s chest. She’s limp. Letting them have her way with her. Letting them brand her with their fingers digging sickle-shaped scratches into her skin. Letting them break her open with each of their jackhammering thrusts, letting their pants of encouragement and degradation swirl around her like whistles from the woodland, causing goosebumps to arise and her head to pound.

“Do ye feel it, Simon?” Johnny pants. “Is it comin’ on?”

His words sprawl by like a lazy river in her mind. Desultory, like lukewarm water. They don’t click into the empty chasm of her cognizance until something else happens. Something inhuman. Something that has her choking on the raw bile that scratches her throat and the spit coaxed into the rivets of her tongue by Johnny’s assaulting fingers.

Simon’s ramming gets shaved into stunted thrusts. It isn’t due to a loss of energy, but is due to something else keeping him from slipping out. A balloon pushing against the walls of her pussy, swelling inside her. It isn’t fat but is chubby enough for her to feel it, flutter around it.

The knot snarled into Simon’s cock plugs her up. She can’t pull herself off him because it’s puffed up past her cunt, keeping her stuck on top of him. It doesn’t help that Johnny keeps slamming his hips into her, riling the thin skin that separates her cunt from her ass, bending it to the shape of Simon’s cock.

Johnny gasps. “I’m close– shite, I’m close.”

She doesn’t want to admit it, but she is too. She feels her nerves begin to fray at their edges, her stomach wearing thin. Johnny slips his hand low and blindly sweeps at her clit, nibbling on the husk of her ear.

He only gets three more pumps in until he’s emptying his balls in her ass. He grabs her hair when he comes, puppetting her head back so her mouth falls open and he can spit inside. His thrusts are slow and deep and peter into something calm, his cock softening inside her. Johnny grins.

“Say thank you, kitty.”

It crosses her tongue as an unintelligible mumble. She can’t speak properly with Simon’s cock still in her.

Johnny chuckles at that. He wraps his arms around her and pinches her nipples. Twisting them, pulling them.

Simon’s so big beneath her, lounging like a bear. He fucks into her, his thrusts curtailing into sloppy snaps of his hips.

“He’s close, bonnie,” Johnny says. “Kiss ‘im when he comes. It’s what he likes.”

Finally, Simon’s knot unravels, his thick ropes of come sticking to her walls. He makes sure that the warm come dressing her is so deep, it’ll have no choice but to take. 

Her body betrays her when it crests and crashes into her orgasm. She’s flashbanged with blinding light, gushing out an off-white liquid that coats Simon’s thighs. It seizes her so deeply it hurts, the panoramic pleasure. An orgasm that makes her brain melt, makes her feel otherworldly.

Belatedly, she remembers Johnny’s order. She leans down to kiss Simon, her lips leathery against his. She only wants a modest peck—something to sate Johnny—but she can’t pull away because her bottom lip is caught between Simon’s teeth, pinched, and being sapped of its blood.

He laps it up before letting her go. 

He slips his softening cock out but keeps his come inside her with two fingers, his claws having retracted.

He huffs like a bull. He presses his heavy paw into her abused cunt, palming it. He reeks with a carnal musk, the aftertaste of his rut heavy in the air.

Suddenly, it all makes sense to her.

Simon is the crux of all cautionary tales. The mountains aren’t sworn off because of rabid raccoons or feral fishers but because of something eldritch, whose reputation and folklore precedes any proof of its existence. Whatever Simon is, it can’t be put into words or into anything material, so he’s condensed into the urban legends that have haunted the woods for centuries. The stories that keep hikers off needle-covered paths and unmarked trees and make them carry crucifixes in lieu of bear spray.

She doesn’t even realize she’s softly sobbing. It feels like that’s all she does these days.

Johnny hugs her as if he hadn’t taken a part of her dignity. 

He kisses her, kittening into her so that Simon is able to wrap his arms around them both, hugging them. 

The calm that lolls after the storm only bruises her further. They act so normal after they’ve stripped her of everything. Johnny massaging her thighs, Simon igniting a cigarette between his lips. 

“Will you ever let me go?” She mumbles against Simon’s chest. 

He exhales the smoke. “Go where, love? You came into my house, remember?”

Johnny won’t stop kissing her. He’s a pest that’s attached itself to her dewy flesh, trying to lick her clean. Simon curls his fingers in her and makes sure that’s where his come stays.

Simon takes another drag of his cigarette. “Not like anyone back home would miss you, anyhow.”

———

She watches with a smile on her face as Johnny roasts the flank of a moose on a homemade grill and as Simon chops some more firewood.

She lounges in a chair, swathed in her caribou-hide coat. Winter is at its height, laying a skin of pillowy snow across the mountain.

The cubs wriggle in her lap, pawing at the loose tendrils of her hair and trying to pinch her nose.

“Lookin’ so pretty today, mama,” Johnny hums. She giggles when he kisses her, scratching at the cubs’ bellies. 

“Ain’t she bonnie?” Johnny turns around and prompts Simon, “Our wee looker.”

Simon pauses his wood chopping and nods. He grips the hem of his lumberman’s jacket and raises it to his forehead to wipe his sweat away, revealing his chest and his hair that disappears into the waistband of his jeans. The cubs yip when he resumes his chopping, splitting a tree stump in two. 

She grins. 

She loves her family. Her providers and the offspring of their seed. She loves the cubs’ fine hair rubbing against her cheek when they jump on the bed to wake them up in the mornings, their blunt fangs biting her when they’re hungry, and the tiny chines on their back where their sharp spine will eventually grow in, just like Simon’s.

Briefly, she tries to remember her other family. The one that came before this one. But all that encompasses her mind is a supermassive black hole in place of memories. For some reason she can’t delineate them. The face of her father is blurry and the features of her mother fit together like a crudely sewn patchwork quilt.

She doesn’t remember much of her family. It’s kind of weird. She can’t remember if they liked her or not.

But she knows that doesn’t matter. Not when she has doting men around her and their litter hanging off her hips, another one currently swelling under her belly.

She pays no heed to the missing person posters taped to the fringes of the mountain that look eerily similar to her. Not to the K-9’s that try tracking scents but fail because she’s written with Simon and Johnny’s musk. She ignores the odd helicopter passing through each month, scarcely flying past their ramshackle cabin.

None of it matters because she knows she’s where she needs to be.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #soap/reader #soap mactavish x reader #soapghost x reader #ghost/reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mw2 #simon ghost x reader #soap x reader #ghoap x reader #writing

[swordsandholly]

Across the Way

Ch.3: The New Normal

Retired!Ghoap x Fem!Plus Size!Reader

MDNI

Ao3 | Previous - Next

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: You go to Scotland with high hopes for your future. After all, you have the bakery you always dreamed of and a whole new life to live. Plus, the men who own the butcher’s shop across the street seem nice.

Sometimes Simon still feels like he’s in a dream. The world around him seems effervescent - so ready to slip through his fingers at a moments notice. He expects to pass through Johnny, as though the man was never there, that this house and home and world will crumble and he’ll wake to that grey, cracked ceiling above his bunk in the basic training barracks again.

But then Johnny grumbles something under his breath - because the man cannot shut up, even in deep REM - and turns over, hand resting on Simon’s chest. Even in his sleep the Scot knows how to ground him like nothing else. Like a sixth sense.

He can see discomfort in his husband’s furrowed brow. The hand on his chest twitches.

Ah. He’s going to wake up to a bad day.

Simon figures he won’t be going back to sleep anytime soon, so he may as well prepare. Even he isn’t sure exactly how he knows what will be in store when Johnny opens his eyes but he knows. Every twinge and wince expertly memorized with the same precision that made him do so well in the SAS.

Speaking of, Simon checks his phone while he lines up Johnny’s pain medication. Today’s his call with Price. A monthly reoccurrence. Every third Thursday. The old man and his control issues could never let him or Johnny fully go - he insisted to keep in touch. Even if it is just a monthly call. Simon knows the real reason - that Price was worried about how two gung-ho soldiers would settle into civilian life but the man would never admit to such sentiment.

Johnny stirs, a low groan passing his lips as he tries to hoist himself up. Simon presses his hand to his husband’s back, stilling him with a gentle touch.

“Lay back. Let me ‘elp you up.” He murmurs, rearranging the pillows slowly before wrapping an arm around Johnny’s waist to pull him into a sitting position.

Johnny presses his forehead into his palm, screwing his eyes shut. A small whimper escapes his throat - the sound breaks Simon’s heart every time.

“Rate it.”

Johnny sighs, thinking for a moment. Taking stock of it all. “…Three…?”

“Love.” Simon levels a look at Johnny. One he knows will get the man cut the bullshit.

“…five.”

“Thank you.” Simon nods, turning on his heel to get the proper medication. It’s a particularly bad day, if Johnny is willing to admit to anything above a two or three. For anyone else that’s a seven easy. Stubborn bastard. Simon opens the cabinet to grab the stronger stuff - their on hand back up.

Johnny tries to take it sparingly. He doesn’t want to grow too much of a tolerance - doesn't want to get addicted. Simon isn’t too worried about that, but Johnny insists.

“‘Ere.” Simon holds out two little pills and a cup of water. “Need ‘elp takin’ it?”

Johnny grimaces but nods. Simon’s gut churns with worry. It’s rare for the man to put aside his pride. To allow Simon to carefully tip his head back, cradling it with tender care as Johnny slowly sips at the glass.

“Thanks…” He seems almost bashful despite this being easily the least compromising position Simon has seen Johnny in.

“We’ll take it easy today. Get some take out...” Simon mumbles, reaching under the bed for the heated blanket. On the worst days Johnny’s circulation in his limbs seems to nearly freeze up. How that happens because of a brain injury the doctors have never been able to say.

“Simon?” Johnny murmurs.

“Hm?”

“Kiss me?”

Simon barks out a laugh. The way he still blushes when he asks after all these years is too cute for words. Johnny can say the most salacious shit with a perfectly straight face and then when he asks for such a simple touch he’s flustered like a schoolgirl.

Of course, Simon would never deny him. It’s impossible to say no to those big baby blues.

“I’m going to let Riley out into the yard. Want t’ take a bath when I get back?” Simon offers as he pulls back, running a thumb over Johnny’s lip and hoping the medication will have kicked in by then.

”Tryin’ tae get my clothes off, Mr. Riley?”

Simon rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t ‘ave to scheme t’do that.”

Johnny clicks his tongue. “I’m no’ tha’ easy.”

“Tell that to the maintenance closet in Hereford.”

“Yer no better.” Johnny grins. “Brazil?”

“Shut it.” He makes a playful cutting motion by his neck. Johnny just laughs at him. Simon wishes, like every time before, that he could have the sound carved into his very marrow.

He clicks his tongue and Riley follows dutifully. They got her an automatic feeder long ago so she’s already had her breakfast. Really it was a necessity - back when Johnny was in too much pain the majority of the time for Simon to step away too long. She’s been so patient with them. She runs around the yard excitedly while he throws the ball a few times to get her energy out. Some outside time will tie her over until he can take her for a proper walk.

The weather’s nice today. Johnny will be disappointed he missed out on so much sun.

Simon turns on his heel to go up and get the water started. They installed an extra large tub not long after moving in. Baths together were a small luxury back in the day - cramming both of themselves into shitty hotel tubs and the base housing showers. They never quite fit - usually Simon’s leg would end up hooked over the side of the bath. Or Johnny’s. Working the man open and loose after a long, hard mission-

He stops that thought I’m it’s tracks. That’s not the line of thinking for today.

Simon settles Johnny in first thing. He’s lighter than he used to be. That extra layer of muscle worn down and away over all that time in hospital and in physical therapy. That scared Simon, at first. The idea that Johnny had become another fragile thing for him to ruin. Something he could break.

It was a selfish thought.

The water is hotter than Simon would usually like as he climbs in, but it’s based on Johnny’s preference. Plus it relaxes his muscles - the stinging in his nerves from misfires in his brain. The tremble in his hands.

Simon takes it all in, gently dragging his knuckles over Johnny’s perfect cheekbone. The tender motion no longer feels foreign, which is strange in and of itself.

“Comfortable?” He asks.

Johnny hums and nods.

They stay quiet while they sit. Johnny always seems to glow in the morning light. Angelic. If Simon were better with words he’d write poems. He tried a few times, though he’d never admit that out loud.

The closest he got were his vows (still not good enough). Nothing can encapsulate what it is to love John MacTavish.

“I worry.” Johnny sighs, pulling Simon from his thoughts.

“Bout what?” Simon turns toward him, lowering his reading glasses.

“The baker. She’s all alone over there y’know?” Johnny sighs.

Simon hums. His big hearted boy. “Y’should be worried about yourself.”

Johnny scoffs. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, cause you’re ‘opped up on goofberries.”

“Oh shut the fuck up.” Johnny laughs.

“C’mere.” Simon turns him so that Johnny’s back is against his chest, grabbing one of the extra shampoo bottles to scrub down his hair.

“Thinkin’ about getting’ rid of the mo-hawk…” He murmurs.

“Don’t you dare.” Simon blurts before he realizes, face heating at the admission. Johnny just laughs at him again.

“It’s no’ very dignified. Doesnnae scream grown-man-in-his-thirties.”

“No. But it screams Johnny MacTavish. ‘ow else am I goin’ t’find you in a crowd?”

“Fair point.” Johnny tilts his head back to look up at his husband, grinning. “More hair fer ye tae grab, though. Proper handle.”

Simon huffs. “See, now that’s just playin’ dirty.”

“Simon Jr. likes it.”

“Please stop callin’ it that. It’s been bloody fuckin’ years.”

“Never.”

Simon rolls his eyes. By the end of their exchange the water has started to get cold. He gives himself a very bare minimum scrub down - the perks of having buzzed hair - before climbing out to grab them towels and fresh pajamas.

Before all of this he’d never considered the importance of comfortable clothes. Layer-able. Soft. Breathable. Easy to maneuver in on a bad day when Johnny can hardly walk - though it hasn’t been that bad for a long while. Strange how needs change and fluctuate.

“D’you want to go downstairs or stay up ‘ere?” He asks, patting Johnny dry while he sits on the side of the tub.

“Definitely down.” Johnny nods decisively, wincing at the motion.

“A’right.” Simon scoops the man up bridal style. Back in the day he would’ve thrown Johnny over his shoulder with ease. These days he has to move slower, keeping Johnny steady so as not to jostle his head and irritate his pain. It’s been good, he thinks, to practice gentile touches for the first time in his life.

It’s easy to settle Johnny onto their large, L-shaped couch. To set him up on a throne of blankets and pillows that envelope his frame entirely. They throw on some rom-com as low background noise. It’s not long before he falls asleep, the medication finally fully taking effect and sending him into one of those deep sleeps that will last until his next dose around lunch.

Simon glances over to Johnny’s peacefully sleeping face. Lips parted, quietly snoring.

Might as well get his call done now while the man’s well and truly passed out.

“The prodigal son returns.” Price announces loudly on the other end of the phone.

“Y’talked t’ me last month.” Simon scoffs.

“Ach, well, have t’ give you some shite here an’ there. Gotta tap down that ego.” He sighs. There’s an edge to his voice despite the attempt at a playful tone.

“Y’sound tired, Cap.” Simon settles into the couch, keeping his voice low.

“You’re no better.” The old man grouses. His voice has only gotten grittier over time, though he won’t admit it to be the cigars’ doing “How’s he doin’?”

There’s always a hint of guilt in his voice when he asks. Even four years later, he can’t let it go - can’t forgive the damage done to Johnny. The best of them. None of them could ever blame him for it. There isn’t any blame to be had.

“Alright.” Simon shrugs to no one. “Bad day today but he’s been better on the whole.”

“Good.” Price sighs. There’s a creaking noise - like he’s settling back into an office chair. “You solid?”

Simon huffs out a laugh. “Yeah. Got a new bakery in town. That was enough to have the area properly twitterpated all week.”

“Any good?”

“Actually, yes. Johnny’s taken a shine to the owner.”

“That boy would take a shine to a black hole.”

“Ah, you’d like ‘er. Soft little thing - that’s your whole deal innit?”

Price splutters, Simon laughs. It’s the only thing that can get the Captain off kilter. Throw a live grenade at the man and he’s steady as a rock; mention anything about his love life and he’s no better than a flustered teenager.

There’s a pause.

“Kyle is up for Lieutenant.” Price says.

Simon freezes, swallowing roughly. It’s not that he’s not happy for Gaz - hell the boy deserves it more than anyone - but his thoughts go to Johnny. How he’ll react. He’s been doing so well, these past several months. The news could make him spiral… or he could take it perfectly fine.

It’s a fifty-fifty.

“Yeah, I was worried about how Soap would take it, too.” Price sighs. “Figured I should tell you first.”

“He’ll be fine…He’ll be fine.” The repetition is more to convince himself, really. Simon shakes his head. “Might wait to tell ‘im until ‘e feels better, though.”

“Probably for the best.”

Simon hums.

“How are you doing, Riley?”

“Fine.”

“Y’sure?” Price knows him too well, Simon thinks. Knows how much the military meant to him - how much he needed it.

“I’ve got Johnny.” Simon looks wistfully at his husband, still snoring on the couch in his mass of pillows and blankets. “What else could I ever need?”

Price laughs - loud and full bodied. “You’ve become a sap in your old age, eh?”

“Who’s callin’ who old, here? You’re practically a bloody fossil.”

“Oi, watch it.”

“S’good to talk t’you, Cap.” Simon sighs, sinking further into the couch.

“You too, kid.” Price sighs as well. “I’ve got to go but… do you want me to let you know when Kyle’s ceremony is?”

Simon clicks his tongue. “Yeah. As much as I hate the pomp and circumstance.”

“We all do.”

“Yeah.”

“Take care of each other.” Simon can practically see the way Price is most likely nodding along to the words.

“Always.” Simon nods. He rests his head on the back of the couch, tossing his phone off to the side and staring up at the ceiling.

If he thinks about it too hard - about the SAS and Price and Gaz… that whole life - his chest begins to ache. The military saved him, in many ways. The military gave him his greatest love despite all the fear and strangeness that came with that.

Simon looks over at Johnny’s sleeping form.

He’s worth it.

He’s always been worth it.

Between the three month long coma - the even longer physical therapy - Johnny’s been through hell, to say the least. Truly came back from the dead. What is it, in the grand scheme, for Simon to have to make a career change in order to grasp onto this second chance?

Who knows if he would have even been able to stay in the military if Johnny died. He’d break, surely. He broke the first time Johnny crashed. Fractured upon the second. Died with him on the third.

His therapist says it’s not good for him to romanticize and aggrandize that kind of trauma. She’s probably right but there are worse ways to frame it.

They’re both broken. They’re both healing.

His thoughts drift to you as all things seem to recently. Why do you always seem so sad? Your eyes a far more tired than your age would suggest - the eyes of a woman on her deathbed and ready to go. He’s seen that look too many times in his own reflection not to know it by heart.

He’ll check on you when he goes to the shop tomorrow. For Johnny’s sake.

~~~

“Simon! How are you?” You smile wide. Always smiling. It’s not bright, like Johnny’s, though. There’s a pull at the edges. It doesn’t always reach your eyes.

“Fine.” Simon says more gruffly than he means to.

You swallow nervously. He can tell he makes you uncomfortable. Squirrelly. You don’t shrink away, though. Brave little thing, he thinks. “Uh, Johnny stay home today?”

He nods solemnly. “Migraine started up yesterday.”

“Oh, I hate that.” You frown. So genuine. “I’ve got some extra white bread. Easy on the stomach. I could-“

“That’s kind, but not why I’m ‘ere.” He cuts you off. It’s rude, yeah, but he’s seen the way you can chatter and has a point to get to.

“O-oh?” You squeak.

He steps closer, setting a little sticky note on your counter with two numbers messily scrawled across it, each labeled as his and Johnny’s. Maybe he should’ve gotten Johnny to write it. At least his twos and sevens don’t look alike. “Johnny mentioned you were woozy, when you first met. Said you have a thing.”

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head. “And?”

It’s defensive. Your shoulders are more square than before, lips slightly pursed and arms crossing over yourself involuntarily. It looks wrong on you, if he’s honest.

“And you don’t seem t’ ‘ave anyone around to look after you.” Simon continues bluntly. “If you need anythin’ you give us a call.”

Your expression morphs into surprise, then bashfulness. He takes it in categorically just like everything else. “Th-that’s really sweet… you don’t have to-“

“It’s only right.” He cuts you off again.

It is. You’re a young woman all alone in a new country with some sort of illness. Something chronic based on Riley’s alert. Simon might be cold but he isn’t heartless - not anymore, at least. Johnny saw to that. Even if he doesn’t know what it is, even if you’re obviously smart and independent, there are too many variables for his or Johnny’s liking.

Simon doesn’t know how to interpret the look you give him. It’s grateful. Soft in the same way as when he gave you that little cut of beef. There’s something else on the edges - not quite desperation. Not quite fear. Something that furrows your brow minutely and has your eyes flicking wildly between his.

You’re afraid of an ulterior motive.

“Take care.” Simon nods once, turning on his heel to leave.

“W-wait-“ He feels a tug on the sleeve of his hoodie. When he turns your eyes are wide, shining. “I… uh…”

“Yes?”

You bite your lip, a consistent habit if the chapped skin is anything to go by. You pull your hand back quickly, pressing it to your chest. “S-sorry, never mind…”

Simon doesn’t press. He never does. Far be it for a man like him to try to force secrets out of someone. So, with another good-bye and a nod, he makes his way out of the shop and starts toward the car to go home. At least, he should.

Instead he stops a little way down the street. Far enough he can still see into your shop without you noticing him. He watches the way you pick up the paper carefully, cradling it in your soft fingers. The way you frown at it, taking a deep breath before pocketing it and disappearing into the back of the shop. He can’t place what compels him to watch you. What keeps pulling them both in.

When he pushes the door open, he expects a quiet house. Dark and silent as Johnny sleeps his pain away upstairs. Instead, he’s greeted with the sounds of pots and pans and Johnny’s voice echoing down the hall - singing along to Celine Dion (though he’d never admit to it if asked).

“Johnny?” Simon turns to corner.

“Och, welcome home!” The Scot shoots him a grin over his shoulder.

“You should be in bed.” Simon kicks off his boots and meanders to the kitchen.

“A man cannae cook fer his husband?”

“Johnny.”

Johnny turns, grinning wide. “I’m fine, Si. Really. Trust me.”

Simon sighs, stepping forward and resting his hands on Johnny’s waist. “I trust you. Y’know that. I just worry.”

“I ken, I ken.” Johnny chuckles, planting a series of kisses across Simon’s face.

Simon sighs, leaning against the kitchen counter while Johnny gets back to cooking. So domestic. Still so strange that this is their normal.

“Kyle is up for Lieutenant.” It comes out in a jumble - more uncertain than Simon is used to.

Johnny pauses, hand flexing around the spatula in his grip. It’s so brief you could almost miss it before going back to sautéing the vegetables in the pan. “Good. He deserves it.”

Simon hums, watching, waiting for a reaction. Eyeing his husband with all the scrutiny he can muster. “Price invited us to the ceremony.”

“Aye.” Johnny nods. “We should go.”

“Are… you alright with that?”

Johnny turns, a slight furrow in his perfect brow. “Why wouldnnae I be?”

Simon searches his face - tries to gather any evidence to the contrary. He finds none. Just a genuine look of confusion at what he said.

Good lad.

“We’ll go, then.”

“Hope there’s an open bar.” Johnny chuckles and turns back to dinner. Normal, casual, comfortable.

They’re both healing.

A/N: I’m not totally in love with how this chapter turned out but I’d rather get it out and get to the next than lose motivation bc I got stuck.

#simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty #cod #ghost cod #cod x reader #ghoap #ghost x reader #ghoap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #simon x reader #ghost x you #soapghost x reader #john mactavish x reader #fem reader #plus size reader #fat reader #fanfic #across the way

[sprout-fics]

This is one of my nastier thoughts-

Hide and seek gangbang. Reader (bottom) hides somewhere on base and the first one to find her gets to fuck her while everyone else watches (or joins in 👀)

This was so much fun, I may have to do a matching one for Price and Gaz!

“Ohh songbird…”

You feel your heart hammer against the cage of your ribs, hands planted across your face to prevent even a single sound from escaping at the tenor of Johnny’s voice floating through the unused warehouse, sing-song, teasing, hungry.

It’s been the better part of an hour since you were chased in here, sneaking through the dusty aisles of upended crates and empty shelves. The flickering dimness of this space seems to only add to the rapid thump of your heartbeat, muscles coiled in preparation to run, to flee should you be discovered.

“I know you’re in here.”

He’s close. Too close. You can hear his footsteps from where you press yourself inside the shadows of a doorway, his heavy boots a purposeful, slow echo throughout the empty space. It’s almost like he wants you to know exactly where he is, advertises his presence with every noise. What his strategy is, you aren’t sure, but you’re certain that if he gets any close he’ll find you for sure, claim his prize only to set you free once more.

“Come out come out, wherever ye are…” He chuckles, and you rise slowly from where you crouch, tip-toe to the door and see the profile of him vanish just beyond the edge of the hallway. It gives you the chance you need, and you quickly but quietly move down the other direction, keeping eyes on where he’s disappeared to. 

Yet then your foot crunches against something fragile and you freeze, hear his pleased little noise of realization a split second before you bolt, shoes hitting the floor harshly as you sprint away from the sound of his pursuit. 

“There you are!” Johnny calls gleefully from behind you, and christ- how did he close the distance so fast?!

You skid around the next corner, nearly stumble, and launch yourself forward past a darkened doorway yawning into a pitch black room-

Skeletal hands reach out, snatch you mid-step and drag you backwards. You yell from behind the palm covering your mouth, adrenaline spiking in your blood and trying to thrash away from Ghost as he hauls you further into the darkness. 

“Caught you.” He murmurs in your ear as your hands are dragged behind him, back flush with the rigid surface of his tac vest. It sends a jolt of something through you, dark and thrilling as he overwhelms you with his adamantium strength, smears charcoal across the inside of your skull with his mere presence. 

It only grows when the zip-ties fasten around your wrists, and you again try to squirm free with no success. 

“You’re a fast little bugger.” Johnny pants as he leans on the doorway, his gloved fist planted on the frame. Yet his eyes dance with delight as he witnesses you caught in Ghost’s grasp, dragging his lip between his teeth at the conflict of outrage and desire in your gaze. 

“Hells bells.” The Scotsman breathes, and he steps forward, his hand falling to the bulge in his pants, which he idly strokes through his pants. Yet then his eyes catch that of Ghost’s behind you and he grins, untamed and starved. “Teamwork makes the dream work, eh LT?”

You fuckers.

“Get in here Johnny.” Ghost offers instead, and you clamp your thighs together as his hand abruptly descends into your pants, your wetness soaking through his gloved fingertips. 

“Looks like our pet likes to be chased.” He observes, and if you didn’t know him better you’d swear he sounds detached, playing the villain. It only ratchets the excitement inside you higher, and you answer it with a muffled yell that only summons a chuckle from the sergeant before you, now pressing against your front and sandwiching you between the two men. 

“Tough luck, us finding you first.” He tuts, and his hand raises your shirt and presses flat against the softness of your stomach appreciatively, suggestively. “Won’t be much left for Price and Gaz once we’re done with you, hen.”

You stare defiantly up at him, and it only seems to please Johnny, who’s eyes dance bright in the dimness and his fingers rise to tug a nipple. It makes you falter for a moment, the sudden sharp sensation making your expression shift into something wanting, a little mewl escaping you at the pleasure that rises inside you between his fingers and Ghost’s digits stroking against your folds. 

“Fuck, we’re going to ruin you.” He promises, and Ghost hums a dark, pleased assent in response. “Fill you up and send you scampering so the others can hunt you down and have their fun too, aye?”

Ghost presses down on your clit and you mewl, nod frantically in an effort to get them to really touch you, giving into temptation and erasing this farce of pursuit that’s led you here. Ghost notices and huffs a laugh, low and dark in your ear. 

“So needy, pet.” He murmurs, and you shift so you can grind yourself down onto his hand, eyes fluttering as it stokes the pleasure burning inside you. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you.” Johnny promises, and gently pulls Simon’s gloved hand away, tilts your head so his lips descend to meet your own. “Just need to ask us for it.”

You consider escape once more, but between Johnny’s decadent touch and Ghost’s unyielding grasp, you find yourself with few other places you want to be. 

You surrender, gasp out your reply in a wanting sigh that spills across his tongue. 

“Please.”

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #soapghost x reader #john soap mctavish x you #thursday night thots

[konigsblog]

owner!simon who trains mutt!soap to fuck mutt!reader. he just wants to see the hybrid, human-dog babies, and tend to your pregnancy cravings. :(

#reader and soap are dog-hybrids #more pup!soap and pup!reader... i say? 🤭 #tw: pet play #orla speaks #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #ghostsoap #soapghost #soapghost x reader #ghostsoap x reader

[loveindefinitely]

ghost and soap who don't know what to do with a sweet, innocent barista like you. [nsfw]

it starts when you first start working at the café a town over. just a shy, quiet-spoken girl, making coffee for the mysterious soldiers who come from the local military base.

when soap walks in one morning, expecting to find the kind old lady who runs the shop, imagine his surprise when he sees you bent over the counter, wiping it over with a damp rag. he damn near trips over his own feet when you look up at the sound of the bell, soft smile directed towards him. just for him.

when you ask for his order, it takes all of his focus to get the words out -- his own iced latte, and ghost's long black. all he can even think of is how your glossy lips would taste, or how your soft tits would feel against his bare chest. how your body would feel between him and simon, if the two of them were to ravage you in such a way.

that same night, when soap sneaks into ghost's room, he tells the man all about you between needy gasps. with johnny in simon's tight grip, the older man forces him to tell him everything, about what pervy things he had imagined. what he wanted.

when johnny finally spills over, it's with your name on his lips -- he's been playing it over and over in his mind since he first laid his eyes on your nametag.

it's two days later that an estranged man with a skull balaclava strides into your cafe, hands in his pockets. funnily enough, he makes the same order that the highly attractive scot had just a few days before.

when you hand him the two drinks with a bright smile, his gloved fingers brush yours, his voice low as he thanks you.

if your hand falls between your thighs later that night, thinking about your two new customers, then that's between you and your bedroom walls.

sometimes, weeks go by where you don't see either man. when that happens, you find yourself yearning to talk to them again -- to have their softened expressions filled with gratitude and... something else focused on you as you hand them their coffees.

even when they go, they always come back.

it's one thursday morning when, for the first time, both of them come in at the same time.

johnny's gesturing something wildly to his partner, while simon's hands remain in his pockets, patient expression solely directed at the shorter man.

and when both of them stop, to look at you?

if you were a weaker woman, you'd have fainted. you just ask them for their orders. you've already readied their cups.

after making their drinks, you move to hand them to the two, but a roughened hand around your wrist stops you in your tracks.

battering your lashes, you look up to find simon gazing down at you, something heated in his deep, brown eyes. when he leans down and offers you a day with them?

who are you to decline?

#⌨️ : love's writing #need them in a GUTTURAL way #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #soap x reader #ghost x reader #ghost call of duty #soap mw2 #soap cod #soapghost #soap x ghost #ghoap #ghoap x reader #soapghost x reader #poly cod

[inkbybambi]

simon "ghost" riley/john "soap" mactavish/f!reader words: 4.2k warnings: mmf, threesome, fingering, anal fingering, finger sucking, riding, creampie, doggy style, pet names (kitten, bonnie, angel, etc), dirty talk, breeding kink notes: this was written as part of the valentine's exchange from @bunnyreaper ♡ this is a gift for @auspicioustidings ♡ this is my first time writing a threesome, but i loved every moment of it ♡ header image is coral charm peony ii by mia tarney

The light of the dying sun slowly drains from the horizon, hues of blues, pinks, and purples following in its wake. There’s a gentle breeze coming through the open windows of the cottage; a little haven tucked away for you and yours. A smile plays at your lips as a small cow-shaped timer trills from its perch on the kitchen counter. You slip on a pair of oven mitts decorated with highland cattle, taking out your shortbread from the oven lest it bake for even a moment too long. 

Your boys were due to be home soon and this sweet treat was the last on your to-do list. 

They had left you earlier that week with a messy amount of kisses pressed to your cheeks and forehead and lips and anywhere they could reach, really. You had similarly returned the favor, finding your favorite lipstick to press marks onto Simon’s mask and Johnny’s glove before pressing other faded marks elsewhere. 

Before letting them cross the threshold back into the world — one that had tried to take them from you more times than you could count — you spritzed your favorite perfume on their wrists, sealing it with a kiss. The scent may fade with the mark, but they’ll know. 

Your heart ached the moment they left and its felt more numb in the days since, waiting dormant for them to return, to let you breathe fully knowing they’re there, that they hadn’t been taken from you. 

You inhale sharply to disperse your lingering worries. They’ve always, always come home to you. Today will be no different.

You leave the shortbread to cool on a rack as you gather your sugar and butter for the caramel next. 

The one perk of solitude means the abundance of time you had to practice. Johnny isn’t necessarily known for his patience — not when it comes to you or Simon — and he would’ve been quite the distraction. You burnt enough caramel without him, thank you very much. 

The soft, warm lights of the kitchen accompany you humming Simon’s favorite song, staring patiently at your pan as your sugar melts slowly, pulling you into a sugary-sweet trance. 

You lose yourself to your very serious task of making sure your caramel doesn’t burn, the melody of the song lost in your throat as your humming softens, concentration on anything outside your little kitchen waning. 

The click of the front door doesn’t phase you, and neither does the muffled thump of boots and bags. The sugar has started to dissolve and you can’t bear to lose your concentration now. 

“Bonnie!” 

You barely have time to register Johnny’s excited shout, head snapping up only moments before strong arms wrap around your waist, hauling you up to spin you in a hug. 

“Johnny!” you laugh through your startled yelp, squirming in equal parts because you want to hug him properly and to get back to your caramel. 

“Johnny, the caramel!” you exclaim when his grip on you only tightens, his face pressed between your shoulder blades. 

“Ach, we dinnae caramel,” he says almost petulantly, voice lost against the fabric of your shirt. He does put you down — albeit reluctantly — but all you do is turn in his hold to lace your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer than before. 

“Missed ye,” he says as a soft kiss is pressed to your temple and you bury further into the crook of his neck. You’ve missed his warmth, and his scent, and the comfort of him and being his. 

You feel like you miss him all the time, but it’s the moments when they’re first back when you realize just how much, and the knot of worry slowly unfurls the longer you spend in his arms. 

He cradles the nape of your neck gently and you can hear the angry bubbling of your sugar — too far gone now to save — but you wouldn’t be able to pull yourself away from him for even a moment. 

“Where’s Si?” you ask against his skin when there’s a very distinct lack of your other half from the kitchen, craving his touch just as badly. 

It’s not real until you’ve seen them both, until you’ve touched them both, to know that they aren’t the phantoms that will sometimes accompany your dreams, your memories. 

“Think he went to the shower, hen,” comes Johnny’s soothing reply, pulling you back from your hiding spot to cradle your face in his hands. 

You used to hate how small you felt with them; how it felt like you were an accessory to them rather than part of them. 

Now you feel nothing but protected, cradled carefully in their hold, their own way of keeping you safe. 

You pout, glancing over his shoulder, down the hall to where the bedroom lay, seeing the faint hint of light from the bathroom spilling out. Johnny’s calloused thumb rubs over your bottom lip, before he crowds in close enough to give you  a soft kiss. 

“Without us?” you ask, and he snorts in reply. 

“Go on, then,” he says as he herds you towards the bedroom, a gentle pat to your ass to urge you along. “Go join ‘im.” 

Your pout deepens, holding out your hand for him. 

“Come with me,” you don’t whine, but you wiggle your fingers enticingly. You’ve been without them for so long, you don’t want to go another second without either of them. 

You’re selfish in very few ways, but are unapologetically so when it comes to your boys. 

Johnny steps into your space, a soft kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth, before nudging your cheek with his nose. 

“I’ll be right behind you,” he promises with another lingering kiss, and you nuzzle into him momentarily before nodding and releasing his hold. Like a moth to a flame, you follow the path to the bedroom, seeing Simon’s clothes already tucked into the basket that’s specifically meant for their work clothes. Anything to separate who they are out there to who they are with you. 

You shed your own clothes, placing them in the empty hamper before stepping into the bathroom, the tile cold on your feet. 

He stands just beyond the glass, new scratches and bruises littering his skin. You’re going to kiss each and every one before you fall asleep tonight. You take a few moments to appreciate him; the broad expanse of his back, the slight layer of fat that surrounds his tummy, thick thighs that you love to bury yourself between, muscles moving like water. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” comes his teasing lilt as he turns to face you, a smirk plastered on his lips as he tilts his head in invitation. You bite your lip to hide your excitement, hurrying over to join him in the shower, taking his hand as he reaches for you, drawing you under the spray of the water.

“I have plenty of photos, actually,” you tease back. He tilts your chin up with a tattooed finger, leaning down to kiss you, before he moves to hold your throat delicately, keeping you in place. You inch up on your toes to press even closer, nipples pressed against his broad chest. 

“Not nearly enough, love,” he replies, not giving you a moment to answer before he draws you back into his mouth, licking into you and swallowing your gasps. You hum and lean into him, lacing your arms around his shoulders. One of his large hands splays against the middle of your back, the other trailing down your spine to the curve of your ass, pulling you in close. 

“Missed you,” you breathe out between kisses, as you cup his face to kiss him deeper, desperation thickening in your veins the longer you’re in his hold. “Missed you so much,” and your nails dig into his skin, adding a collection of your own marks to the others on his body. 

A warm body at your back makes you shiver, pulling away from your kiss to lean your head back on his shoulder. Simon cradles the back of Johnny’s head, kissing him softly. 

“You two need to clean up,” you murmur into Johnny’s jaw, lips grazing the stubble that’s been growing for a few days. It burns your lips, but you’re thankful for any reminder of them. 

“But you’re so comfortable,” Johnny practically whines as he leans further into you, arms tight around your waist, thankful Simon was there to provide stability or else you absolutely would’ve lost balance. 

“Johnny,” Simon admonishes gently, a bite to his ear in reprimand. Johnny squeezes your tummy tighter in reply, but turns to brush his nose gently over Simon’s. 

You wriggle from his grip, a hand on each of their forearms for balance, pressing a kiss to the corner of Johnny’s mouth before pressing one to Simon’s. 

“The quicker you get clean, the quicker you can join me on the bed,” is your parting words as you grab a fluffy towel from the rack, drying yourself before sauntering to the bedroom, diving into fresh sheets. 

You hear the soft murmurs of their conversation curtained by the fall of the water, rolling onto your back and arching up as you stretch, feeling as the tension seeps from your body, relaxing further into the mattress. 

“MacTavish!” comes Simon’s warning bark before a very excited, very wet Johnny launches himself into the bed at you, burrowing his face into your neck as you giggle, feeling the bubbles of body wash that he hadn’t bothered to rinse all the way off. 

He peppers your throat and jaw with kisses, teeth scraping every now and then before he reaches your mouth for a breathless kiss, and you cradle his head gently, nails grazing along the nape of his neck, feeling how his shaved sides have grown just a little since they went away. You’re sure he’ll let you clean him up proper tomorrow, but you don’t want you or either of your boys to leave the bed for the foreseeable future. 

“Simon’s grumpy,” he says against your cheek, and you can’t help but snort. 

“Can’t possibly imagine why,” you tease in return, gripping a longer part of his mohawk and giving a harsh tug, hoping Simon brings an extra towel or two with him because the bed is damn near drenched — and not in the fun way. 

“Absolute menace, that one,” Simon says as he comes from the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips showing the tantalizing line of his tummy that you love so much. 

“Aye,” Johnny agrees with a cheeky smile, removing himself from you and sitting on his heels, settling himself over you to turn back and look at Simon. “But ye love me.” 

Simon comes forward with a fresh towel in hand, motioning for Johnny so he can dry him off. 

Simon doesn’t say anything in reply — he doesn’t have to, and both you and Johnny know that your declarations of love will never go unrequited — instead stopping at the edge of the bed and reaching for him. 

“Be a good pup,” you say as  you push him back with your foot, pressing him back into Simon’s hold so he can dry him off, ruffling his mohawk and wiping away the lingering drops that cling to his tanned skin, Johnny’s own marks and scars adorning his body. The intensity of the blue of his eyes feels like a shock of electricity, his gaze unwavering from yours as Simon tilts his head to the side to press a gentle kiss to his jaw, a soft I love you pressed to his skin. Simon’s lips graze over to his ear, murmuring something too low for you to hear. 

Johnny turns enough to catch Simon’s mouth in a rough, dirty kiss, teeth nipping his bottom lip before a tap to his ass pushes him into motion, crawling his way over the bed back to you. 

You arch up into his body as he slinks closer, a hand on your jaw pulling you into for a filthy kiss of your own. You whine against his mouth as Johnny pulls you up from where you lay on the bed, moving to take your place. 

Johnny settles you over his hips, blue eyes sparkling in the lingering light of the bathroom, a fond smile painting his lips. As cute as he looks — and he looks adorable — the thick heat of his cock resting between your legs makes you ache, makes you want him to take what he wants. His nails dig into your calves as he anchors you against him, rocking his hips against yours, cock moving through your slick and catching on your clit. 

“God, we missed ye,” Johnny sighs out as he digs his nails into your skin, and you bite your lip against the sting of his possession. 

“Never heard the end of it,” Simon says as he comes around the side of the bed, one leg braced on the mattress, the towel parting enough to show his aching cock. 

“Did you take good care of our pup?” you ask through a gasp as you turn to the blonde, eyes fluttering as Johnny’s cock catches at your entrance. 

“Always, love,” he promises, Simon crowding in close as you pull his towel loose, blindly tossing it from the bed as he kneels on the bed at your side, swallowing your next gasp as he presses his lips to yours. 

“Don’t like it when you leave,” you pout against his lips as he moves to kiss down your jaw and throat, trailing his lips over your shoulder. Your head tilts to the side, wanting his teeth in your skin. 

“We’re here, darlin’,” Johnny soothes as a hand grazes up your side to grip your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple until it hardens under his touch. You lay above him, arms braced by his head as you catch him in a kiss, happily letting him take control as his tongue licks deep into your mouth. “We’re not going anywhere,” is his whispered promise and you just nod in agreement as you press your mouth back against his, unable to get enough of his touch, of his taste. 

“Missed your cock,” you whimper with a sharp roll of your hips, Simon settling behind you, hands on your waist as his chin tucks over your shoulder, watching your slick soak Johnny’s cock. 

“Gorgeous thing,” is Simon’s soft purr of praise, one of his hands slipping down the line of your tummy until he can press two fingers against your clit, his other hand grazing up to hold your throat, tilting your head back against his shoulder. 

“Dreamed of your cunt, bonnie,” Johnny pants from beneath you, feeling his cock pulse with each of your thrusts. His fingers grip your hips tight, and Simon tuts at him from his perch over your shoulder. 

“Don’t cum, pup,” and Johnny only whines in reply, nails biting into your skin. “Wanna see your cum spill from her pretty pussy.” 

You’re breathless, need and want coursing through your blood, desperate for something more. 

“Please,” you mewl as you try to paw for Johnny’s chest, but Simon’s hold on your throat keeps you in place. 

One of Johnny’s hands grip you hard enough to lift you from his lap, his other fisting the root of his cock so he can guide you down onto him slowly, your pussy fluttering as you sink deeper in his lap until he’s completely sheathed. 

“Fuck,” he bites out, and you feel the way his legs shake as he holds off his release. He looks gorgeous beneath you, head thrown back against the pillows, the line of his throat exposed and mournfully free of marks from either you or Simon. 

“How’s she feel?” Simon asks, dipping his fingers lower to feel for himself  where you and Johnny are connected. 

“L-like a fuckin’ dream,” comes his panted reply. 

“You wanna fuck ‘er?” he asks, like you aren’t even here. 

You feel like you aren’t, lost in the pleasure of Johnny’s cock nestled deep inside you, stuffing you full. You don’t think Johnny is capable of words after a week without you and your touch, but soon he starts a slow grind of his hips up into you, the crown of his cock pressing against your cervix. 

You cry out in pleasure as he continues the slow roll of his hips, fighting the urge to beg him to fuck you rough. This is for him just as much as it is for you. 

Simon’s grip on your throat remains, thick fingers collaring you, keeping you safe. The two fingers he used to rub your clit, to feel where Johnny was plugged into you, grazes your lips. You willingly open your mouth, swallowing down his fingers as best you can with him behind you. 

“Did you miss me too, darling?” he asks, though you can feel his smirk pressed against your skin, knowing you can only gurgle your answer around his fingers, spit spilling out from the corner of your mouth. 

“I know, kitten,” he says with a kiss to your shoulder, pressing his fingers even deeper, causing you to choke, your throat working around his digits. “I missed you too.” 

He withdraws his fingers as you gasp for breath, losing it the next second when Johnny snaps his hips up hard against you. His soaked fingers trail down your spine to your other hole, the tight ring of muscle fluttering as he circles it, just pressing the tips of his fingers against it. 

“Johnny couldn’t stop talking about your ass,” Simon says against your skin. Your eyes flash to Johnny’s, glazed and dark, but his eyes are locked to Simon’s. “Told me how warm it is,” he continues, very carefully pressing one of his thick fingers against your rim as you beg yourself to relax. “How every single inch of you,” he says as he slowly begins to pump his finger deeper and deeper with each word, “is meant for us.” 

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus, Simon,” comes Johnny’s choked moan, “she’s squeezin’ me so tight.” 

Simon hums in reply as he continues his leisurely pace of fucking his finger into you. “Wonder what my cock would feel like in here,” he muses, continuing a line of kisses across your shoulders. He digs his teeth in deep into your shoulder, a shaky moan rising in your throat as he wiggles a second finger into the tight ring of muscle. 

“T-too much,” you whine out, asshole fluttering desperately around his fingers. Johnny’s cock was bigger than Simon’s two fingers — but it had been well over a week since either of them had touched you there. 

He stills as Johnny leans up to kiss along your collar and chest, tongue licking across your nipples. 

“Give me a color, love,” he asks gently, the fingers around your throat loosening so it’s easier for you to breathe. Johnny’s soft pants ghost against your skin as he holds your waist gently, ever so patient with you. 

“Bonnie?” comes Johnny’s soft prompting, laced with concern when you didn’t answer. 

“Green,” you whisper out after another moment of pause, and Simon’s answering good girl makes you melt further into their touch. 

Sweet, precious girl Johnny whispers against your collar, one arm laced around your waist as his other hand reaches for Simon’s hip. 

You bite your lip as tears thicken your throat. Your head is muddy with pleasure and love for your two boys, not realizing how much you’ve missed them until now, their soft praise spoken against your skin, kisses and devotion pressed to each exposed inch that they can reach. 

Simon carefully begins to thrust his fingers into you, sinking deeper each time until he’s able to curl and thrust without any resistance. Heat licks deep in your belly, broken moans catching in your throat with each expert thrust of his fingers. 

You vaguely hear him ask Johnny for the lube, hearing the pop of the cap as he squirts a generous amount into his hand, coating his length before smearing whatever is left over your hole, empty now without his fingers. 

He drags the tip of his cock over your hole, teasing the relaxed ring of muscle, watching as it looks like your hole is trying to draw him in, desperate. 

“Think you can take me, love?” comes his question pressed against your cheek, and you lace one arm back around to hold the nape of his neck, a soft yes falling from your lips. 

One thing you’ve learned from your boys is they always want to hear you. They love how vocal you are — Johnny especially — but hearing how badly you crave them, need them makes something primal in them snap, wanting to give you everything you beg for and more. 

“Slowly now,” he says as he pushes the crown past your ring of muscle, and you swallow thickly, nails digging into any part of Johnny you can reach. Johnny does his best to distract you with soft praises as Simon slowly sinks into you, pausing halfway when he feels you trembling under his touch. 

“Fuckin’ hell, darlin’,” he groans out, forehead resting on your shoulder. 

“Feels good, don’t she, Si?” 

Simon inhales sharply, raising his head enough to pull Johnny in for a kiss as your nails scratch at the base of Simon’s neck, leaning back against him as you watch your boys indulge in each other. 

“Incredible, just like you said,” he agrees with one more kiss, teeth nipping sharply at Johnny’s bottom lip. 

Johnny leans back down against the sheets, pulling you forward. Simon follows carefully, allowing Johnny to adjust your hips so it’s easier for him to sink the rest of the way into your hole. 

“Angel of our lives, ah swear,” Johnny says as he begins to carefully thrust up into you, knocking the wind from your lungs when his sharp thrust catches that squishy spot deep inside you that makes you keen and clench around them, Simon’s moan reverberating against your back. 

Simon carefully ruts into you, timing himself with Johnny’s thrusts, until you can’t think of anything more than the heat coursing through you, sparking and igniting like a wildfire. 

You can’t think of anything other than their names, but after a few minutes, Simon braces one of his feet on the bed so he can thrust in harder, rougher, and your voice cracks with how hard you cry out, lost to the pleasure. 

“Wanna stuff you full,” Johnny babbles beneath you, his thick thumb moving down to rub your clit, touch electric and causing you to moan and shudder in his hold. “Watch our cum drip from you until you’re full of our babe.” 

Simon’s free hand settles over your tummy, thumb stroking in surprising gentleness compared to the absolute filthy mess they’re making of you. 

“You want that, lovie?” Simon asks from behind you, his question punctuated with a sharp thrust, the obscene sound of his balls slapping against your ass accompanying the sounds of Johnny’s cock drenched in your slick. 

You’re helpless and reduced to nodding and whimpering, clenching hard around them as you whine out about giving them a baby. 

“Christ, love,” Johnny grits out before he’s spilling deep inside you, thick ropes of cum painting your insides. He grips the nape of your neck to bring you in for a kiss, a mixture of panting his moans against your mouth and swallowing your own. 

Simon’s fingers are back on your clit, your nub hard and sensitive, sensitive to his touch. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you pant out as you reach your peak, Simon buried deep inside you as his grinds, cock pressed deep inside you. 

Johnny’s cock pulses with your orgasm, walls fluttering and spilling your release over him, the force of it causing his cum to spill out from where Johnny’s still plugged deep. 

“Atta girl,” Simon snarls as he buries his teeth in your shoulder with his own release, your eyes rolling back as you feel each thick pulse of his cum. He growls as he minutely thrusts into you, his own cum spilling from where his cock is nestled in your ass, making a mess of Johnny beneath you two. 

Simon draws his teeth from your shoulder, soothing  over the wound with his tongue as it pulses with your heartbeat. Soft kisses are placed along the line of your shoulders and close to your throat as you settle into their touch. 

He gently draws you to him, pressing a significantly softer kiss to your lips as your breathing evens out. You press your forehead to his to bask in his warmth, his nose pressed to your cheek as his nuzzles into your skin before carefully pulling out, his cum slipping from your hole. He helps keep you in place for Johnny to pull out as well, before Johnny is gathering you into his arms, cradling you against his chest and running his fingers delicately along the line of your back. 

You hate how empty you feel without them, but they’re right there, close enough for you to touch, for you to know they’re here with you, home, finally. 

You nuzzle into Johnny’s hold, already the edges of sleep drawing you deep. Simon settles behind you, a thick arm around your waist, anchoring you to him, to them. You murmur something about ruined caramel, but the press of their lips across your cheeks and forehead are all you need, finally allowing you to rest in the comfort of their arms. 

#ink by bambi #auspicioustidings #valentine's writing #sweeter than sugar #ghoap x reader #ghostsoap x reader #soapghost x reader #ghost x soap x reader #ghoap x you #ghostsoap x you #soapghost x you #ghost x soap x you #ghost x soap x you smut #simon riley #simon “ghost” riley #john mactavish #john “soap” mactavish #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #john mactavish imagine #john mactavish smut #modern warfare imagine #modern warfare smut

[cosmicck]

☁️soapghost x male reader(sfw)

☁️genre: fluff

☁️warning(s): your in a hospital(?)

☁️a/n: mmmm look at me giving yall content yall prolly don't want

your eyes slowly start to open, the bright lights around you shining almost blinding you even. a groan slips from your lips as you try to look away and close your eyes from the light.

after a few seconds you start moving your body, or small portions of it moving your toes slightly, scrunching your nose, and lastly moving and squeezing your hands and fingers.

it wasn't until later you realise your felt both of your hands occupied by someone else's hands. "see? i told you he'd wake." a scottish like voice rings through your ears causing you to wince as everything felt sensitive.

"shut it johnny, let him gain his consciousness more." a british sounding voice came along with the other. the light that shined through your eyes started to adjust to your vision as you slowly started to see the two 'voices' more clearly.

the one on your left was a man, he was tan skinned with a mohawk like hair style. you guessed he must have been the one wit the scottish voice. you could just tell. the one on your right had a type of mask on like a skull mask on, you could see that his eyes were somewhat cold but had a softened look of worry when he gazed at you.

besides you being in the hospital the only thing you could think of was; 'wow...these guys are really hot.' for now, you weren't sure who these men really were because of the side effects of the medicine, it would wear off soon though.

"oh my.." you mumble. both of their hands tighten as you speak. "you alright love?" the man with the skull mask spoke to you slightly leaning foward.

even though you heard the nickname 'love' clear as day you couldn't help but ask the both of them, "are you single?" you look over to the male at the left of you. "both of ya i mean." your voice sounded lazy and slurred with your eyes hooded.

the scot next to you couldn't help but chuckle a but same as the skull masked man. "no neither of us are single." you slightly whined making an 'aww' sound. the both of the men found it a little funny how clueless your seemed medicine or not they'd be laughing their asses off if they weren't in public.

"the both of us are married as a matter of fact." ghost stated, your face getting a bit more upset. "what do 'ya mean your married? to who?" you said this almost like you were going to fight whoever the person they were both married to.

"ha, look at your fingers lad." you look down at your hands the both of them. "yeah? what about 'em?" you feel soap bring the hand he was holding close to your face. "a little closer." you squint your eyes seeing two rings on your ring finger.

"what is this?" you wiggle your fingers in the hand that held yours, the rings seemed to have some type of diamonds on them, the top one was a little thin, with a diamond in the middle of the holder.

the second one on the bottom had small little rings holders with small little diamonds holding in them. "why are there two of 'em also?" jumping a little at the cold pair of lips on your right hand, seeing that the man with the mask had lifted it up to kiss your fingers.

"we're your husband's." he said still litering small kisses on your fingers. your eyes slightly widened as wide as they could go. these two men were your husband's? like, you married them, had a whole relationship with them?

"what..so..im your husband? to the both of yall? b-both?" you smirk to yourself. "oh my gosh, i'm so damn lucky to have these two really hot dudes to me." you chuckle to yourself then you start to wonder.

"hey hey, did we fuck?" the both of them stop what they were doing to look at you. ghost having fingers to the bridge of his nose while soap tried to not laugh.

"oh lord (m/n) i can't with you."

wooooo more cod cause i literally read all of them out even the cringe ones cause i was desperate @gaybitchfx @reallyromealone / @rome-alone @bloodyfennec (ill bring you leon soon dw but please enjoy these buff military men) @secretivemessenger @vyloy @devilswhore-emrys @lostsomewhereinthegarden

#male reader #x male reader #male y/n #male reader insert #cod x male reader #ghost x reader #ghost x male reader #soap x reader #soap x male reader #cod soap #cod ghost #cod fluff #soap fuff #ghost fluff #soapghost #soapghost x reader #soapghost x male reader

[vanderilnde]

Simon and Johnny help you unwind. ghost/soap/reader warnings: substance use, smut, threesome, double penetration, a lot of ghoap action uwu wc: 1.3k

-

The military has a fickle reputation for the stuff they get up to in private.

Superficially, you're all saints who wear your medals as vestments. Lionhearted patriots fighting in the name of safety. The sacrificial lambs for freedom. But if they saw you now now, the people dedicated to thanking you for your virtuous service, surely, they'd hit the roof.

A glimmer of white powder coats the space below Johnny's nose, some of it caught in the fleece of his five o'clock shadow. Simon is poised behind you, bending you forward and distorting your spine, hoisting himself forward to lick the granules off Johnny’s ruddy face. He swills him in for a kiss and abruptly pulls away, stealing Johnny’s breath and giving it to you.

Johnny’s ratty. Always is when he’s worked up. Grabby and needy with how he ruts his hips up, baring his neck.

“Please,” he hiccups, “Cannae be patient–”

Simon shuts him up with a hand choked around the hinges of his jaw, digging divots into his dewy flesh. 

The gossamer of scars lining Simon’s face distend as he growls. “Pups don’t talk. Be quiet.”

Simon partakes in sanctimony as he pursues what he had barked at Johnny for. He’s a more refined, tenacious, in how he consumes and is consumed, fluidly reaching down to spread your sticky cunt open, hugging you in his thick arms. 

Your head falls back on his shoulder. Your hips swivel with the swish of his fingers on your clit. You deeply inhale, breath hitching on Simon’s name. 

Though his name dies on your tongue as he swats your pussy. Simon swallows your body as you flinch, and eases the burn of your clit with his palm as he cups your cunt, gently massaging your folds.

“What’s the point of havin’ two mutts when none of ‘em wanna listen?” He vacantly asks, hooking his fingers inside of you, spreading you open. “Johnny, get the snow.”

If you weren’t so fucked out, you would have cooed at how eagerly Johnny follows Simon’s orders. He gets caught on his own excitement and trips over himself on the way back, as a dog would trip over its tail, as he clutches a baggy of crystallised pellets. 

“Go ahead,” Simon prompts, “do it off her tits.” 

Simon pivots his forearm around your throat and anchors you to his chest. You can’t see it, but you can feel it, as Johnny shakes a fine strip of dust between your breasts. You’re slick with sweat, roiling with heat, softly dissolving the powder.

Johnny leans in and inhales what he can. He’s febrile when he comes up for air, flushed, tugging his cock that pathetically bobs in place. 

Simon loosens his hold on you and leans forward, licking the rest of it up. It's the first thaw—wetness against what used to be ice, as a burn sizzles your skin. You buck your hips up, and Simon slips his fingers from you. Raises them to his mouth and sucks them clean. Grips Johnny by the scruff of his neck and wrestles him in, swapping your taste with him.

Simon pulls back and, fleetingly, Johnny pathetically chases after him. A wash of saliva coats their lips, and a thin film of dew clouds Johnny’s eyes. It’s tempered with the powder that impairs him, prompts him to begin humping a pillow. 

“Y’reckon she needs a good fuck?” Simon asks.

Johnny vigorously nods. 

Simon pats his cheek. “Bark when you’re told.” 

“Aye.” Johnny's humping is stopped with Simon's peremptory hand. 

“Which hole do ya want?” 

The flinty tone laced in Simon’s question makes you flush. Makes embarrassment pool and congeal in your belly. It's so crass, so inclement as he pets his cock. 

Johnny hangs his head like a kicked dog, embarrassed, and Simon tactfully catches on. He deeply chuckles and grabs him by the jaw, kissing his furrowed lips. 

“You want it, you prep it.”

Johnny excitedly nods. He grabs you by the hips and spins you around, slipping his cock between the fat of your ass. He digs dimples into your shoulders, using them for leverage as he fiercely ruts you. You’re being used, watching as Simon fishes out lube from the bedside table, uncaps it, and squirts it onto the facet of Johnny’s palm. 

The squelch emanating behind you is evident. Johnny pulls you into his lap with one hand, and works the lube around his dick with the other. He softly mewls and moans, pinching his cockhead and kissing your asshole with it. 

Simon grunts, slotting himself before you. He tucks his legs below you, lodging his ankles behind Johnny. You’re slippery and sweet and honey-like between them, breathless and buttery as their wandering hands fondle you. Simon’s fat cock sits throbbing on your pussy as he shakes his thumb around the baggy, coating his finger in the powder. He rocks into you slower, meaner, than Johnny. Tugging down your bottom lip and rubbing powder into your gums. Slipping his thumb away, letting your lip pop back into place. 

“We’ve trained you for this, yeah?” Simon hums. He takes you by the chin and hoists your neck up, presses a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

You rock forward and want to swallow him whole. It’s a violent juxtaposition—Simon winsomely kissing you; Johnny stuffing his big cock in your ass, negligent to how your body tries shying away, insistent on sheathing himself all the way in. 

You’re quivering when Simon starts sliding himself into you. You’re all a mess of limbs—bleeding into one, coagulating into a deity while Simon fucks your dewy cunt, augmenting himself to you and Johnny.

“Get your bone, Pet,” Simon grunts into your neck. “Work for it.”

A wave of relief crests over you. You’re cut from your leash, unfettered and free to chase your orgasm. A manifold of molten builds in your belly, burning you, as you snap your hips back and forth. Swallowing Simon, swallowing Johnny. Sucking them deeper while your rings of muscle try pushing them out. They’re so big, it aches. 

Simon said you could fuck yourself on them, but it’s hard when you’re so full of cock. You’re a pack of dogs in heat, working together. Johnny, fucking brutishly into your ass. Simon jacking his hips balls-deep into you, thumbing your clit. You, ebbing between them. Weightless like water. Selfishly seizing all they have to give you. Wet and sticky, spread open on two dicks.

“‘M close, Simon,” Johnny chokes. He peals Simon’s name for permission. Permission to come, and more importantly, to come in something that’s his. To lapse into sacrilege and taint his pretty, pleasing, pup.

Johnny gets more desperate as he draws close, dissolving into sloppy thrusts and wandering teeth. A pin-headed mess of moans and hiccups. “I needa come.”

“Inside ‘er,” Simon snarls, and you clench down tighter, stifling his thrusts.

Johnny manages two more strokes before emptying his balls inside you. He’s buried to the hilt, releasing his warm and sticky come in you, crying, quivering, kissing your neck. 

His undoing triggers a chain reaction. He fills you up and you overflow, succumbing to your orgasm. It shoots through you like no bullet can, enfeebling you.

Simon follows closely. He takes you by the hind of your skull and shoves your face into his hairy, bare, virile chest. His heartbeat thumps against your ear as he shoots his turbid ropes into you, drawing closer and fucking you through your orgasms. 

They both pull you impossibly close—trying to sink themselves in your skin—and sit there for a while, marinating their softening cocks inside of you. 

Simon is the first to move. Johnny’s too fucked out and heavy-lidded. The former stands up and wipes you both clean, disposes the little bag in a fissure somewhere in his private barrack. The bed sinks under his weight as he climbs back on, and swiftly, like two parasites dead and cold without their host, you and Johnny nuzzle into Simon.

Your sweaty bodies glue you together, rebirthing you. It helps, being fixed with them. Because you, you’re broken in all the right places.

#soap x reader #ghost x reader #soapghost x reader #ghoap x reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut #simon riley x reader #ghost/soap/reader #ghost/reader #soap/reader #soap mactavish smut #simon riley #soap mactavish #cod mw2 #simon writing #johnny writing #ghoap writing #writing

[swordsandholly]

Across the Way

Chapter One: New Places, New Faces

Ao3 | Next

MDNI

Pairing: Ghoap x fem!plus size!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: You go to Scotland with high hopes for your future. After all, you have the bakery you always dreamed of and a whole new life to live. Plus, the men who own the butcher’s shop across the street seem nice.

Johnny stirs awake with a grunt as Riley’s wet nose bumps against his hand. There’s a very slight ache behind his eyes - the kind that marks an oncoming migraine. He groans, not wanting to open them to the invasive sunlight that will inevitably make it worse. Then again, that’s the only way he can get any preemptive pain medication in his system. He still makes a noise of complaint when he finally peels back his lids.

“Feelin’ alright?” Simon rumbles, setting a glass on the nightstand along with two little pain pills. How he’s able to tell what kind of morning Johnny’s having before even he can is a true mystery.

Johnny just grunts back, rolling onto his side to grab his hearing aid out of the nightstand drawer. Normally he wouldn’t bother with putting it on with a possibly impending migraine, but he figures he can chance it. They’ve been lessening in the past few months. Somewhat.

“Plans for the day?” Simon asks as he pulls on one of his work shirts. “Up for coming to the shop?”

The little clock beside him blinks out five in the morning. Even after being retired for nearly three years, neither of them can manage to sleep in late whether they have to be up or not. “Gonnae take Riley out tae the park. Might drop by.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard.”

“Me? Never.” Johnny flashes his husband a grin.

Simon just rolls his eyes in response. The rest of their morning is quiet, as most are when Johnny isn’t up for talking. It’s a comfortable silence, one they both came to appreciate long before this current chapter in their lives. One that developed on cots and in tents and the wreckage of war zones.

It’s just how they are.

Being essentially a stay at home husband was not how Johnny pictures his thirties. Being disabled was not how he pictured… any of it. He thought he’d be up for Lieutenant by now. Thought Simon would have taken over as Captain of the 141. He’s learned not to be bitter about it (with Simon’s and some professional help).

He can’t complain too much. He’s alive. He gets to be with his family. With Simon. With Riley in this run down dog park throwing around a ball that she dutifully chases and brings back with the pride of a great hunter bringing home a prized beast. He gets to go home to a place that is truly his, with a big comfortable bed and a man he fought tooth and nail to fill it with.

It’s a small life but he’s learned that small doesn’t mean unimportant.

Christ who knew turning thirty would make him a damn philosopher.

“Alright, lassie, time tae go.” Johnny crouches to shuffle Riley’s harness and leash back on. He knees pop and his back protests the movement. It’s a mercy that they were able to get such a lovely service dog. She’s such a good pup, always at the ready and happy to obey.

Except now, as she begins to tug insistently at her leash with her full weight - or at least as much as she can use without hurting him. It isn’t like her. He clicks and commands her to heel. She tugs harder and whines. It isn’t an alert that he knows - maybe it’s one that they don’t need often? He lets go of the leash, following as she quickly jogs away.

He circles a few bushes in pursuit, coming to face one of the large trees on the outer edge of the park. There’s a girl leaned on it, breath coming in and out heavy. She starts to slip forward a bit before Riley props her up, stabalizing the girl in much the same way she does Johnny when he gets faint. He speeds up his steps, holding out his hands on either side of the girl in case she falls.

“Aren’t you a good girl?” She coos at Riley quietly. American. Huh. He watches the girl dig in her pocket for something, eventually pulling out what looks like a to-go salt packet. She tears it open, throwing it back like a shot.

“Ye a’right?” Johnny asks, tilting his head.

She nods and takes a long, deep breath. “Sorry, I have a…thing.” She waves her hand around her head, straightening up and turning to face him. She’s cute. Insanely cute - with big eyes and soft body. Lovely curves from head to toe. Johnny may be a married man but that doesn’t mean he can’t apprecaite a little, right?

“Donnae apologize. I’ve got a thing, tae.” Johnny grins and points to the scar on his head where his hair never quite grew back.

She gives him a soft smile. “Well, you’ve got a good dog. I’ve never had one alert like that.”

“Aye, she was tuggin’ hard. Must’ve been a pretty bad spell. Ye sure yer okay?”

“Yeah.” Her braided hair falls about her shoulders. “Just didn’t eat enough before I went for a walk and then I stood up too quickly…”

“Och, standin’, my age old enemy.”

She giggles quietly, pressing her fingers over her lips to cover them. It’s pretty, the way her round face gets even rounder with her smile.

“Johnny.” He holds out a hand, flashing his most charming smile he can muster. It’s a little more tired these days - the corners of his eyes crinkle more than they used to. The girl takes his hand, so soft and warm and small in his, and breathes out her name quietly. Almost bashfully. So cute.

Unfortunately his phone chimes, interrupting the moment before he can ask her more.

“I should be off, ye sure yer okay?” Johnny lets his eyes take over her, not just her body but also checking that she is, in fact, okay. Her eyes seem clear, stance steady, not too pale or too flushed. He’s no medic but he’d say she’s going to be fine.

“Yeah, yeah. Thank you.” She crouches slightly, slowly moving to look at Riley. “And thank *you* ma’am.”

Johnny watches her walk away, pausing to make sure she doesn’t stumble. He’s not sure what compels him - maybe it’s the solider in him still wanting to watch for the safety of those around him. It definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the way her wide hips sway as she makes her way down the path.

Johnny can’t stop smiling as he makes his way to the shop for some reason. It wasn’t even all that impressive of an interaction, but something about it really warmed his heart. Maybe it was just meeting someone else with a *thing*, as she put it. There really isn’t anyone else in his life who needs as much support as him - certainly not many adults in this small town who need assistance on the whole. It’s rare to meet someone who gets it, however briefly.

“Wot’s got you so chipper?” Simon quirks an eyebrow as he enters.

The door bell chimes above his head. Riley trots off from Johnny’s side to her designated bed in the corner of the shop. Away from the food but close enough that she could easily get wherever Johnny might be. One of the regulars even made a plaque for her that his Da screwed on the wall.

“Met a nice lass today in the park.” He shrugs. “Pretty little thing.”

“Ah, your great-aunt’s prayin’ finally do you in?” Simon chuckles as Johnny ducks behind the counter to rest a hand on the small of his back.

“Aye, finally realized I should turn tae a life of lassies an’ biarns. Yer great arse has no power over me now, foul demon.”

Simon chuckles. There’s something about it that always does Johnny in. A low rumble he can feel in his very bones. “Glad to see you’re feelin’ better.”

Johnny hums. “The warm weather helps, fer whatever reason.”

“Good. You see the shop across the street?”

Johnny turns, looking out their front window. The construction has been going on for a few months - various workers milling in and out. Neither he nor Simon could figure out what they were putting in until small signs were put across the windows announcing the new location to be The Honey Bun Bakery with an opening date at the bottom. A bit cutesy for their taste, but a new bakery in town is exciting. The last one closed because the owners got too old and had no one to take over. His mother has been buzzing about it since the signs were first put up.

The biggest mystery is the owner. No one has seen hide nor hair of whoever owns the place. There were movers taking things into the attached apartment on the floor above about a week ago, but no one has actually seen the resident. He or she is a ghost. Gossip has filled the town, of course. Especially among the older folks. That’s another thing his mother has been fluttering about.

“Already opening day, eh?”

“Yep.”

“We should check it out, then.”

Simon hums. “We’ll go after the morning rush if you’re up for it, hm?”

“Aye.”

“Johnny?” The shorter man jumps as Simon’s hands rest on his waist. He’ll never get over the intensity of Simon’s eyes. For a man who keeps his emotions locked in the deepest parts of him, he sure carries a lot of it in those pretty dark pools.

“Aye?” The word comes out breathier than he means it to.

“You look sunburnt.”

Johnny barks out a laugh, half-heartedly shoving his husband off. “An’ here I thought ye were gonnae say somethin’ romantic.”

“You know me better than that.” Simon’s eyes crinkle in the corners with a smile as he pulls the mask to the side, pressing a kiss to Johnny’s lips.

You may or may not have slept exactly 3.46 hours last night. It’s not your fault, really. Today’s your first day. Your first real day of your new life and your new career. Years of prayers and months upon months of planning, waiting, crying, and straining have finally come to a head. You’re in Scotland, your bakery is constructed, all that’s left is to actually bake.

And sell, of course, but you try your hardest not to think about that part or you might throw up. Again.

You curse the time it takes you to shower, carefully acclimating to the heat of the shower and sitting in your little plastic seat. You want to run, to act like the a whirlwind you feel in your head. You can’t, though, it’s not worth possibly ruining the most important day in your life just because you were impatient and passed out. At least you finally got your medication situation figured out before coming over here - the perfect little cocktail sitting on the corner of your dresser.

Your hands tremble a bit as you open up one of the cardboard boxes still sitting in your living room. You’d picked out a special outfit for your first real day of owning your own business months ago - one you made sure would be here with you on opening day. Really, it isn’t anything special - just a pair of black gingham trousers and a black cotton t-shirt along with your well-loved non-slip shoes. It’s yours though, and it perfectly matches your specially embroidered apron with your little logo on the front, center pocket. It’s yours. All yours. It’s a reminder that you’re here. You made it out.

You had already done a good bit of the work the day before - putting together your doughs and shaping up pastries to proof overnight in the fridge. Now all that’s left is to actually bake them and put them out. The smell wafts through the building, covering any left over scents of paint or construction work. It feels real. Grounding. You’re here and you can feel, smell, even taste it.

You expected a few customers. Not much. High hopes and low expectations. Just a couple people here and there that noticed the new shop coming to town and were curious about it. You’d advertised as well as you could from across the pond. Maybe a little rush around the late morning when people are usually out for brunch and shopping at most.

You did not expect a constant stream from the moment you propped the door open until the late afternoon. These Scots run you fucking ragged. A constant flux of in and out, all day. All them wanting to chat, as well.

“Oh, American! Whit part are ye from?”

“Yer sae young! Just a wee bairn!”

“So nice havin’ a bakery again, aye?”

“Urr ye merrit? Ah hae a son-“

You regret not buying that coffee machine for the back room.

Just as you’re stacking display baskets to take to the back to wash up the door chimes behind you. Here you thought you were finally done for the day. You sigh. “Sorry, hun, I’m pretty much out of everyth-”

“Ye!” You whirl, only to meet those same bright blue eyes from the day before.

“Johnny!” You squeak, eyes wide.

“Why dinnae ye mention the shop?” The man grins wide - the same as the day before. Sparkling and bright and far, far more pretty than you’re prepared to deal with. His hair is neater today - not ragged from exercise with his service dog who currently sits politely by his feet.

“Ah, was little light headed. Wasn’t thinking straight.” You shrug.

“Speaking of, how’s yer thing?” He waves a hand about his head the same way you did the day prior. It’s cute how invested he seems to be, genuinely asking if you’re alright. The man looming behind him watches silently.

“Oh, I’m alright. Finer than the hair on a toad split four ways.” You grin.

The man behind him furrows his brow slightly at the expression, but doesn’t offer a word. He’s tall. Wide too and dressed in all black with long sleeves despite the warm, spring weather. His hair is buzzed neatly. There’s a severity to him only emphasized by the scar splitting his brow and the small chip missing from his ear.

“Och, this is my husband Simon.” Jihnny steps to the side and gestures toward the brooding figure behind him. “We own the butcher shop across the street.”

“No shit!” You can’t help but smile ear to ear, holding out your hand. They seem so sweet. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you. Glad to have such nice neighbors.”

Simon shakes your hand a single time curtly before stepping back behind Johnny. The severity in his dark eyes softens whenever he glances toward the other man. Cute.

“We wanted tae come see whit ye’ve got.”

“I haven’t got much left…” You tap your chin and rest a hand on your hip, wanting to rectify the dip of disappointment in the pretty man’s brow. “Oh! I’ve got a sourdough in the back. One sec!”

You skitter off, paying little mind to how silly you must look practically prancing toward the back room. Originally, you’d planned to save this for yourself tonight as a job-well-done treat but it feels more gratifying to give it to your new neighbors. Hopefully they like it - maybe you can finally make some friends for the first time in… ever really.

“How much fer it?”

“On the house. We’re neighbors now, yeah? First ones free.” You grin, wrapping it extra nicely in some brown paper packaging.

“Thank ye, bonnie.” Johnny cradles the loaf so carefully you almost laugh - as if he’s afraid too much pressure will completely ruin it. Like he’s holding a precious treasure. “We’ll leave ye alone tae close but we’ll see ye around, aye?”

“Course.” You nod, waving after them and they exit. You can see the big blonde, Simon, turn to Johnny to say something but it’s impossible to hear them or tell from their lips as they cross the street back to their butcher shop. They link hands, fingers intertwining with long practiced grace, and something in your throat constricts.

What’s it like, you wonder, to have a love like that?

#simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty #ghost cod #cod x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #ghost x reader #cod #ghoap x reader #ghoap #soapghost x reader #plus size reader #fat reader #simon riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #slice of life #holly writes #john soap mctavish x reader

[sprout-fics]

Poly TF141 x Omega!

(Poly TF14 x F! Omega Reader)

(Part Fourteen: Shared)

Tags: Omegaverse, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Hidden designations, Alpha! John Price, Alpha! Simon 'Ghost' Riley, Beta! Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick, Omega! John 'Soap' MacTavish, Omega F! Reader, Group dynamics, Poly TF141, Slow burn, Cuddling, Brat! John 'Soap' Mactavish, Bottom! Soap MacTavish, Soap x Reader, Omega! Soap x Omega! Reader, Accidental voyeurism, Simon Ghost Riley x Reader, Alpha! Simon Ghost Riley x Omega! Reader, Cunnilingus, Face riding, Dom Simon Ghost Riley, Alpha traits, Handjobs, Praise kink, Threesome, Making out while getting railed, General debauchery

Masterlist

You’re sitting on Soap’s face when it happens

The other omega has coaxed you into his room after hours, slinging an arm around your shoulder in the mess at dinner and playfully nipped at your ear when the others weren’t looking. It hadn’t taken much convincing on his part, and like a schoolgirl you had been led off hand in hand with him, giggling girlishly to hide your hammering heartbeat

Hands roaming over clothes, sloppy kisses and teasing little jabs that left you hazy eyed and pouting, tangling your fingers in his mohawk to drag him closer to your parted lips. You taste his laugh there, feel his fingers tickle your sides until you squirm and smack at him playfully

He’s in a good mood tonight, you think. You’re not sure what it is, but Soap’s leering grin speaks of mischief, secrets untold that are stifled by his panting little breaths when he rolls his groin between your thighs

You’re flushed, damp with arousal by the time you’re both undressed. He hauls you up onto his chest, and you feel the smear of your slick catch against the coarse hair between his pectorals. He grazes it with lazy fingers, dips them to flick your clit in a way that makes you jerk and bend to bite at his neck in retribution 

Eventually he encourages you upwards, so you hover over his face, gripping the headboard with uncertainty. 

“A can take it.” He moans under you, hands fastening to your thighs as he prepares himself. “Bloody hell, hen, go on, please.”

You hesitate just a little longer to hear him whine, see his pupils dilate and eclipse his baby blue irises before lowering yourself down

It takes a few moments for you both to settle into a rhythm, and eventually you’re holding the headboard in a steel grip, chin tucked to your chest and moaning openly at Johnny’s skilled tongue

You’re so caught it in you almost don’t hear the door open

It’s only when the fluorescent light of the hallway slants across your naked form that you suck in a startled gasp, freeze atop the omega under you

Ghost.

Ghost stands in the doorway, his hand still on the knob, eyes wide under the simpler balaclava he’s wearing. He’s startled, unsure, frozen to the spot, and in his eyes you imagine your own aghast expression

It’s only then that Johnny lifts you up far enough he can peek over your thigh

“Bleedin’ Christ, Ghost. Come in an’ close the door.”

Ghost moves automatically, albeit slowly, but nevertheless obeys the other omega’s instructions. The door clicks shut behind him, and he stands a little stiffly just before it

Yet his eyes are different now. They stare, long and hard, dark pupils weighing against your skin, drinking it down greedily, silent and hungry

There’s silence for a few moments before Johnny pipes up again

“Well don’t just stand there, ya big numpty.”

Ghost moves at last, and you watch transfixed as he sheds his jacket, his boots, his gloves that reveal his bare hands. With every inch of flesh revealed to you his scent becomes thicker, washing over you in waves that makes your eyes flutter and your skin shiver

He smells like charcoal, like gun oil, like thick smoke acrid and somehow sweet against your senses. His eyes, pitched dark with desire, watch as you suck in a ragged breath and drink in the undeniable scent of alpha

“Look at you, pet.” He rumbles as he approaches the bed, not touching. Not yet. Instead his hands land on Johnny first, bare palms grazing up the thick meat of his thighs. The omega shivers under you, and as you glance over your shoulder you see the tell-tale bead of precum betraying his lust to his mate

It should feel like you’re intruding, somehow. You should excuse yourself, hasten to dress and leave. But Johnny’s hands are clenched around your thighs where you perched atop his broad chest, and when you glance at him you see a lovely rosy flush creep up his neck and towards his ears

“Johnny been treating you well, love?” Ghost asks, and you raise your eyebrows at the touch of cockiness in his tone, a pride at his mate being able to satisfy the needs of those he chooses. The suggestion of it makes your skin erupt in goosebumps, and it’s hard to speak around the sudden tightness in your throat

“Course I am.” Johnny snips when you don’t speak. “Been getting a facial on mah-”

He cuts off with a choked, surprised little groan, and when you glance back you see Ghost has his hand wrapped around the omega’s length, a thumb neatly slotted against the head.

“I wasn’t asking you, pretty boy.”

Soap whines

“Ghost…” He tries, squirming. A firm hand on his thigh keeps him still. 

“Are you going to behave, Johnny?” Ghost acts, low and sinful, and you bite your lip at the sudden trickle of arousal that pools between your legs at his tone

“A-aye. I’ll be good.” Soap manages, and his hands grip your thighs a little harder when Ghost hums and drags a hand up his length in appreciation

“Good boy.”

Soap makes a little sound, and you neatly file that note away in your brain for later

Ghost moves, and then pauses, and you glance over his shoulder to see him hesitating, eyes tracing from the small of your spine up to your face

It’s electrifying, it’s breathless, it’s enough to make your thighs close a little tighter around Soap’s form under you

“You can touch me, Ghost.” You offer in a hoarse whisper, watching as his eyes focus on yours, his coal-dark stare burning into your veins. “Please.”

It seems like that was what Ghost was waiting for, was the permission he needed to touch you, unravel you

“Sweet thing.” He purrs, and you barely swallow down a noise not unsimilar to the one Johnny just made. His scent floods your senses, has your limbs loosening on instinct, heeding to the strong, capable alpha before you

His hands cup your waist, and you shiver under his touch, leaning back as he settles himself on the bed. You feel his reach to ruck up his mask to his nose, and somehow it thickens his scent even further

Broad palms splay across your skin, and you reach back to drag his face against your neck, arching submissively so he can nose at your scent gland

Ghost moans, low in his chest, and the sound is primal, hungry, absorbed in the slow, sure process of defiling you

Yet then Ghost moves, turns your head with one broad palm at an angle to press a kiss askew to your mouth, one that has you shuddering an exhale against his lips

It’s after the first contact that he moves in earnest, suckling at your lip, swiping his tongue into your mouth, a little clumsy but enthusiastic, dizzying with desire, tilting you at an angle so he can delve deeper

“Hells bells.” Soap groans, watching the display from under you. You feel his cock twitch against your ass, one hand reaching up to grope appreciatively at your breast, teasing a nipple between his fingers. When you moan into Ghost’s mouth, the alpha growls faintly, possessive, carnal, his teeth bared for just a moment against your lips

You think if you get any wetter it might start leaking off Johnny’s chest

“Bend over for me, love.” Ghost murmurs into your shoulder, and you do, pressing yourself flat so your chest squishes up against Soap’s torso. You catch sight of the omega’s eyes, a wicked, knowing smile creeping up his face. Silent. Eager.

“Just you wait.” It seems to say

His hand settles at your nape. A reassuring squeeze, and your eyes flutter in relief

Thick fingers probe at your entrance, and when you mewl Ghost lays a hand against your hip. Grounding, tender

“”Little omega.” He croons, amused, and it’s startling, the amount of affection in his tone. “Look at all this.”

Two fingers easily slip inside you, and you bury your face against Johnny’s neck in embarrassment when they squelch

“Pretty thing, isn’t she, LT?” Soap asks smugly, stroking a hand across your curved spine as you settle into presentation atop the other omega. Ghost hums an affirmative. A little dark, a touch of a growl reverberating low in his chest

Soap huffs a laugh, and gently shifts you so he can press a slow, languid kiss to your lips

“Alpha is going to take care of you now, sweetheart.” He tells you huskily, and you cling to him a touch shyly, glancing over your shoulder at Ghost with half-lidded eyes

“A-alpha…” You try weakly, feeling him spread you open curiously on his fingers. “Please…please fuck me.”

Ghost stiffens as a shudder rolls bodily through him, and swiftly you watch as he manages to fish himself out of the pants he never took off

Gods above you think, eyes widening. How is that supposed to fit?

Ghost must sense your apprehensiveness, because the hand at your hip circles in slow, gentle circles

“You can take it, pup.” Johnny murmurs into your neck, caught in rapt fascination as Ghost drags a hand up his length so precum beads at the tip “Nice and easy.”

You force yourself to relax as Ghost presses the head between your folds, steadying yourself as he slowly pushes forward

“Eyes here, love.” Ghost murmurs softly, and Johnny presses a kiss to your cheek as he braces you against his collarbone. It’s warm. Ghost can see your hazy-eyed stare as he pushes home inside you just as you let out a shuddering little gasp, eyes rolling back

“F-fuck, Ghost-” You managed, fingers digging into Johnny’s shoulders as you breathe through the electrifying sensation of fullness inside you

“Simon.” Ghost grunts, fingers on your hips, one hand pressing the small of your spine to arch you to him. “Call me Simon.”

“Simon.” You mewl, gasping wetly when he drags just the tiniest bit back before rolling his hips forward experimentally

“Doing well, sweetheart.” Soap tells you huskily, and you can only imagine how turned on he is by this, by the sight of his alpha fucking you while you splay across his chest. The mere thought of it has a pulse of arousal thundering through you, once that escapes as a lecherous groan muffled by his neck. You press yourself there, drinking in his scent with panting little breaths as Simon begins to pull back and fuck forward with firm, rolling presses

“How’s she feel, Si?” Johnny asks, and even though you don’t look you can imagine his cheeky grin at the way Simon is huffing little grunts as he sheathes himself inside you over and over

“Good.” Simon growls, and despite the curt answer you can hear how he’s becoming undone by the velvety grip of your walls, grinding you open so there’s a place for him there

The slow, sensuous rolls of his hips quickly become not enough, and soon you find yourself presses back against him, trying to fuck yourself onto his cock with gasping little whimpers

“Simon.” You manage again. “More, please, a-alpha-”

Simon’s voice is caught somewhere between a groan and a growl, but he seems happy to oblige to your request, picking up his pace with firm, precise thrusts that have you melting into Johnny beneath you

“Oh, pup, look at you.” The other omega croons, and raises you so he can press fluttering kisses against the planes of your face as your voice is reduced to mewling, keening noises with every thrust. “Taking alpha’s cock like a good little omega. So good for him.”

You whine at that, trying to find the words but finding yourself empty, puddling across his torso as Simon begins to fuck into you in earnest. One hand holds you up by your hips, presenting you to him, the other flat on your back, splayed so you can feel each finger pressing into your flesh. With every thrust he drags you to him, skin slapping skin as he ruts into you with huffing, growling little noises

You jerk with a little cry as he finally grazes that sensitive bundle of nerves inside you, and Simon pauses long enough to gently rub against it again with the head of his cock

You moan again, shivering with wrecked arousal as he hones in on it, feeling weakness pulse across your hips and the full pressure of your impending orgasm loom in the distance. Your fangs have poked out, and you try not to teeth your lip to shreds as Simon resumes his pace, aiming for your g-spot

“Oh good, good girl.” He groans as your walls flutter around him, and when you look back you see his fangs are out too, head leaning back as he loses himself, fucking forward with ragged inhales, drawing you closer to your climax

“Gonna cum, pup?” Johnny asks you, and you nod feverishly against his skin, moans stuttering as you near the peak of your desire

“S-Simon-'' You chant, trying to press back, trying to force him further inside. “I- ah, hah, I’m gonna cum, hah, hmmmng- wanna cum, please alpha-”

Simon leans over you then, presses himself to your spine so his nose presses into your nape with a deep inhale. His voice is a low, commanding growl that speaks of alpha authority, of demand and desire and carnal instinct rolled all into one

“Cum. Cum for me, little omega.”

It takes a few more thrusts but you do, you open your mouth and feel a punched-out, wrecked sound spill forth as your orgasm explodes inside you, fracturing outwards along every nerve ending, centering itself in the pulsing grip of your cunt as it ripples down the length of his cock

“Fuck, fuck-” Simon grunts above and behind you, one arm snaking under your stomach to hold you up as your legs give out, hips thrusting wildly forward before he finally presses himself deeply inside and lets himself go

Warm ropes of cum pulse inside you, and the warmth of it settles below your stomach, spilling out around his cock and he seems to cum endlessly, alpha genetics forcing himself to fill you far beyond what omegas or betas are capable of

You feel him growl, long and dark against your shoulder as you milk him dry, teething your skin in an imitation of a claiming bite

He waits until you’ve settled before pulling out, and you feel the remnants of him drip lewdly between your thighs as you shiver

“Fuck me.” Soap groans under you, and it’s only then that you realize how tight he’s holding you. “Fucking hell, LT, you’ve ruined her.”

“Only in the best of ways.” Simon chuckles with a rasp, soothing a hand up your spine. “You alright, pup?”

You roll your head so you can look at him, smiling dolly, body heavy and sated. “I’m good, I’m really good.” You tell him hoarsely, before sighing into Johnny’s chest

 “We’re not done.”

You blink at that, brow scrunching as you try to ask him what he means, before Soap jerks under you with a sharp cry

“B-bloody hell, Simon, give a man some warning before you- oh, shite-”

You watch, entranced as Simon drags his hand up Soap’s flushed cock with little preamble, pausing long enough to collect slick from the other omega’s dripping hole before resuming his ministrations. 

Any other wry comment Soap has to offer quickly erases to nothing as the alpha quickly fists his mate’s cock. Soap squirms under you, offering keening little whines and pleas as Ghost quickly draws him towards a fast paced, unstoppable orgasm

“S-Si please, yes, fuck-” He groans. “Fuck, feels good, oh God-”

The schlick schlick schlick of Simon’s hand pulses low within you, somehow reignites the flame of desire that had burned to embers. You press it into Johnny’s lips with a kiss, feeling how he pants into your open mouth, fangs gently scraping against your flesh

“C-close-” He rasps, arching under you so his hips buck up into Simon’s hand. “J-just a little more- God, God-”

“That’s it, Johnny.” Simon purrs, pleased. “Go on and cum for me.”

Soap lets loose with a muffled shout, his head bent forward into you as he arches and shoots himself all across Simon’s hand and your lower back, cock twitching as his orgasm punches through him. You can tell it’s intense by the way his voice trails off to a long, lingering whine, hips stuttering as Simon works him through it

“Beautiful, Johnny.” You smile, happy to return the favor of his mild teasing, and Johnny manages something between a gasp and a laugh, raising you enough to throw an arm over his face

Simon moves his weight off the bed then, and when you glance up you see he’s vanished in the direction of the bathroom, returning shortly with a washcloth to wipe the mess of fluids from your forms

Before he can finish you gently reach for him, coax him into the bed with you. He obliges, shuffles so you’re all laying on your sides pressed together. Him, his two precious omegas, and you between the men who have decided to keep you

You think you should say something, should speak a few words of thanks, of endearments, of something to show your affection and appreciation for these two men, but no words seem to be quite right for the fluttering happiness in your chest, safely ensconced in their embraces

Instead you find Simon’s hand, raise it so you press a kiss into his knuckles, listen to him release a breath before fully sinking into you. Johnny grazes your face, smiles tenderly with his beautiful blue eyes before lifting himself to kiss your forehead

You’re safe here, protected, comforted by these two men who will someday become your mates. You think you know how the story ends, in this moment, know someday you’ll see it unfurl in all of its stunning, prismatic color

Taglist:

(Please have an 18+ or similar age disclaimer in your bio to be tagged in this fic)

@alicesfracturedmirror @emrzennn @scatter-mind001 @josieguts @angryvengeful @ramadiiiisme @mutuallimbenclosure @waves-against-a-cliff @sunnynomoar @miyabilicious @piratesfromspace @sofasoap @soapskneebrace @writeforfandoms @waltzthegenderfluidpan @ghosts-goldendoodle @cherrycoloredfunk86 @lostagoodcigar @tbrfic @appleschloss @tizylish @misshoneypaper @kkinky @reaper-chan666 @kenma-izhu @shinebright2000 @zalyluvvs @neoarchipelago @essencse @dankest-farrik @mirthlxss @bi-witch-bxtch @tallmanlover @vinithechocolatevampire @blackcat9091 @tiredmetalenthusiast @tizylish @miyabilicious @secretliteradite @ghosts-goldendoodle @angryvengeful @miraclesabound @lostagoodcigar @wolfyland07 @beebeechaos @kait-is-always-late @rv3rblog @cr3ampuffed @lazyninjaphilosopher @capawtine @sofasoap @cathnoneofyourbusiness @whynotbad @fake-id-69 @mememe7147 @thriving-n-jiving @urfavsunkissedleo

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#soapghost x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #Simon ghost riley x reader #cod omegaverse #omegaverse #my fic #my writing

[gaycragula]

hii! saw your post so im here to request some fluff :3 how about some sleepy morning cuddles w poly soapghost x m!reader?? thank you!

Warmth of the Sun and a Ghost

Pairing: Poly!SoapGhost x Male Reader Word Count: 550 Masterlist

The sun pouring through the curtains forced you out of your sleep. You groaned, trying to force your face further into the back of the neck of the man in front of you, arms squeezing around his waist tighter than they were before. You heard a mirrored groan from in front of you and an annoyed sigh followed.

“Would you two let me up?” Ghost grumbles. He’d been stuck in between yourself and Soap last night. You got to sleep behind him, wrapped against his body while Soap nestled under Ghost’s chin. It was a strange position for him to be in, since he was generally the first one up out of the three of you while yourself and Soap liked to stay in bed for just a moment longer. 

“C’mon, Si. Give us a few more minutes,” Soap’s voice was muffled as he buried his face back into the front of Ghost’s neck. “Yer warm.”

Ghost huffed but didn’t try to move to get out from in between the two of you. You pressed your lips against the back of Ghost’s neck, pressing a short kiss to it. “Do you want up?” You ask, ignoring the whine of protest Soap gave.

You heard Ghost let out another breath before me mumbled out a no. He felt you smile against the back of his neck and Soap smirk against the front of it. A grumble vibrated in his throat as you and Soap wrapped back around him. 

Soap was right, Ghost was warm. He felt like a furnace even through the fabric of his shirt. It was something you'd grown to adore and on cold nights, you found yourself almost engulfing the man in bed.

Your hand slipped under the tshirt Ghost was wearing to rest on his skin. You heard him sigh quietly as you rubbed into the skin just above his hip. “Johnny’s right,” you murmur, slipping your hand over his side to rest on his stomach. “You’re warm.”

Soap’s hand joined yours on Ghost’s tummy and you heard his giggle catch in his throat. Ghost’s tummy twitched under your fingers and he let out a sigh when you trailed it further up his shirt to rest on his chest. Soap wrapped his arm around Ghost’s waist to rest his hand on the lieutenant’s back  with a quiet hum of content. 

You’d be hard pressed to get Ghost to admit he enjoyed being squished between both of his two boyfriends. He loved having you pressed against his back, your legs tangled with his and your arm wrapped around his waist. Loved feeling Soap curled up against his front, hands fisted into Ghost’s shirt with his head tucked comfortably under the man’s chin. 

Ghost let out a quiet breath as you peppered soft kisses along the back of his neck before he rolled over enough to press a few short kisses to your lips with a low hum. When Ghost pulled back, Soap sat up to kiss you, cupping your face to bring you closer to him.

These lazy mornings were rare, even rarer for Ghost to stay with the both of you. The three of you let the early morning sun warm your bodies for a long while, simply enjoying the presence of the other two in bed. 

#cod mw2 x male reader #cod mw2 x reader #soapghost x male reader #poly relationship #soapghost x reader #cod mwii x reader #cod mwii x male reader #soap x male reader #ghost x male reader #fluff #morning cuddles #grahhh i love men

[cod-fishing]

Okay I’ve never really been inspired to write y/n fic, as much as I love to read it sometimes, so someone else please take this idea and run, but…

Soap who has a girl he goes to, when he’s on leave. It’s not a relationship, nothing so solid as that, but they have a sort of agreement and enjoy each others company. It scratches an itch, for the both of them. But as Soap and Ghost get closer, Ghost confides in Soap that he hasn’t been with anyone in a while, has always struggled to find anyone he can trust enough to do so.

‘Would you trust me?’ Soap says, and has to dodge a punch before he stutters out an explanation.

‘Not like that, man! I just mean I know someone, and if I’m there, maybe you can relax enough to have a good time.’

Ghost reluctantly agrees. Soap swears his girl is trustworthy, and a fantastic lay as well, and if Johnny’s gonna be there…

So, ghost finds himself awkwardly being introduced to you, and hell, soap was right, you are gorgeous, and have a sharp wit about you, and he likes the carefully concealed knife under your skirt. ‘Not military, she’s just been around.’ Johnny had explained, and when the night wears on and he suddenly finds you, bare and gasping for it underneath him, Johnny’s cock splayed across your face like it’s a dinner plate, he’s not mad in the slightest.

He has a good time. The problem is, you’re too god damn observant.

You start to notice how much ghost is looking at your John just as much as he’s looking at you. At first you think it must be a security thing, John explained the situation, a bit, but no, you think as you keep watching in between mind-blowing orgasms. No, the big bad masked man shredding your walls into next Tuesday has got it bad for your Scottish lad.

You don’t blame him, Johnny would be a real catch if he was ever in one place for more than a week. But god, the way he’s looking at him with those big brown eyes, it’s like he’s not wearing a mask at all. You don’t quite understand how John doesn’t see it, until you look up and over John’s frankly ridiculous cock and see him looking back at Ghost with the same dopey expression.

What a pair of idiots. Guess you’ll just have to give them a push.

Etc etc, y/n makes them realize their love and they are eternally grateful to her! Give her the fuck of her life every now and again when they’re in town :) she’s in soap’s wedding party when they get married, and gives a speech that has even the green berets blushing crimson. everyone wins!

#this is free reign just tag me so I can read it if you do anything like this #cause I would LOVE to read it #soapghost #ghostsoap #fic suggestions #my writing #ghost x soap #ghoap x reader #ghoap #soapghost x reader #cod mwii #codmw2

[writeforfandoms]

Trying very hard to finish this last chapter of Listening In to post this weekend. I may faint

#listening in #soapghost x reader #I'm at the spicy bit

[cosmicck]

☆soapghost x male reader(sfw)

☆genre: fluff

☆warning(s): mentions of self harm, drawing on sh scars(for comfort), ooc ghost(?)

☆a/n: lemme have fluff i thought of this cute short story please take it there's not enough cod fluff, also thanks to @gaybitchfx readers code name will be noodles(you have no choice i just need to hear ghost say noodles)

"gaz, you seen soap or noodles?" gaz looked from behind the counter swallowing remaining food pointing with his head to a room in the hallway. "should be in noodles' room, if not than i don't know." ghost simply nodded, heading to your room in the hallway knocking on the door but just being left in silence.

he sighs knocking once again before hearing shuffling and small hushes before a muffled voice from behind the door allowing him to step inside. "why didn't you answer me the first time i-" ghost stopped in his tracks before closing the door all the way,

the sight of your face almost made his heart sink, your eyes red with dried tear stains on your face. sure ghost was tough guy but he isn't just an emotionless piece of metal, he had people he cared for wether they knew it or not.

soap was on his knees one hand on your thigh and the other having some color of a marker. "hey ghost.." you slightly chuckle out. "we're just..hangin' out you could say," ghost stayed there standing for sme time before taking off his mask setting it on a nearby dresser. "what happned." it sounded demanding but the both of ya'll knew he really cared.

you slightly laugh before speaking, "just started thinkin' about stuff and soap caught me cryin' a little." though you had the dry tear stains on your face, some 'extra tears' making way down your face the man who was sitting on his knees made you feel a whole lot better wit the method he chose to do,

which was to draw on the part which made you feel bad about yourself. in that case which was your thighs that your self harm scars laid. most of them healed, some of them half way healed. others were too deep that no matter how much time passed by they would stay put.

"you can come over here si, your no stranger to me." you move your hand in a motion allowing him to come closer. he makes his way closer to you, grabbing your hand and sitting next to you his other hand resting on your thigh.

"you alright love?" you smile kissing his cheek, "yes si, i'll be fine you don't have to worry." he lays his head on your shoulder, some of his hair tickling your neck. "but i do worry.." he mumbles. "i know simon, i know." ghost gets his head off of your shoulder after feeling a light tap to his knee.

it was soap handing him a marker, a really pretty shade of blue. "wanna draw some stuff with me?" ghost lets out a small laugh, taking the marker in his hand and kneeling down next to you to draw some silly things as well.

he takes a look at the drawings that were already littered across your thigh area. some of them being hearts, stars, smiley faces, and one of them being ghosts' mask.

"thank you guys..really."

sorry for the lame ass ending but it's 10 pm and i have school tommorow😔 @gaybitchfx @reallyromealone / @rome-alone @bloodyfennec @vyloy @devilswhore-emrys @secretivemessenger @lostsomewhereinthegarden

#male reader #x male reader #male y/n #male reader insert #cod x male reader #cod x male reader fluff #cod x reader #cod ghost #ghost x reader #ghost x male reader #ghost cod x reader #ghot cod x male reader #soap fuff #cod soap #soap x male reader #soap x reader #soapghost x male reader #soapghost x reader #soapghost

[bunnys-kisses]

vegetable patch (pt.2)

hybrid!simon 'ghost' riley & hybrid!john 'soap' mactavish

cw: hybrid!au, guard dog!simon, guard dog!john, bunny!reader, pregnancy/breeding, oral sex (femme & masc receiving), threesome, outdoor sex, cum eating (brief), exhibitionism

read pt. 1 | read pt. 3

being the bunny on the farm was… different. farmer price only had guard dogs, but he never had a bunny. especially a pregnant bunny. he did the awkward task of making you take a pregnancy test after simon bred you amongst the lettuce.  which involved simon squishing on your middle until you peed on the test. it was embarrassing, but it got the results the farmer needed. 

you were pregnant with puppies. or bunnies. or puppy-bunnies. farmer price wasn't too sure. he never EXPECTED to look into how hybrids breed when he bought two MALE dogs. it was just one of them got into a wild bunny. but price was a bleeding heart and couldn't send you back into the woods. you'd be too vulnerable. so as your belly got a bit of baby fat, he made sure you were taken care of. 

but you were still a wild animal.

  “hey, hey! bunny relax!” farmer price had you in his arms as you kicked at john. you had a scowl on your face at the other guard dog, soap as he was called. price held you in his arms so you'd stop kicking his other dog in the face. he practically held you with your arms above your head and slightly above the ground, “relax, baby girl. relax. soap's not gonna hurt ya.”

you frowned, “i want simon.” you struggled against the farmer. 

price sighed, “then stop kickin', put your legs down, sweetheart. you're too pregnant to be doin' this.” he hushed you and then slowly put you down once you were relaxed enough to not cause problems. you sat on the ground, your ears close to your head. or as price called them ‘airplane ears’.

john came closer and you furrowed your brow, he reached out for you and petted your face. you winced, you had to protect your children. you didn't need another mutt invading your pussy. he let out a small noise as he got closer to you. you whined and price sighed. 

  “alright.” the farmer said, “i'll see what simon is doing.” he left you alone with the other guard out the back door. 

you and john looked at one another. his blue eyes seemed to gaze through you to your very soul. his ears were flat against his head as he sat down across from you. he licked his lips, “why won't you let me fuck you?”

you frowned, “i'm not a whore.”

he chuckled, “well you whoring yourself out let you into my home. i know simon adores you, but i have my eye on you bunny.” he got a little closer, “i want to know what makes you so special.” you held your gaze with him. he smirked, “simon liked something about you and i want to know what he liked about you. bunnies give it away for free so, why are you hiding?” 

you whimpered and before john could do anything, simon was hauled back into the house. the large guard dog saw how close you were with john and instantly was to your side. he threw an arm over you as he gazed at his pack brother, “what are ya lookin' at?”

the farmer looked at the three of you. two guard dogs, and a pregnant bunny. quite a mix. he sighed and walked away, he had a farm to tend to. he couldn't deal with the affairs of his hybrids, he'd go even more grey if he thought about it too hard.

  “she carryin' my pups, johnny. why are ya sniffin' around?” simon asked. 

john smiled, “you never wanted a mate, but here you are with this little bunny.” he tilted his head to the side, “i want to know what makes her so… enticing."  

simon got closer to his pack brother and looked in his eyes, “i got a bunny pregnant, i ain't abandoning her.”

john got close into simon's personal space, “then let me have a taste. as your pack brother, through thick and thin.” he licked his lips, “we won't be sharin' pups anyway.” he looked to you, “will the bunny give me a taste?”

you frowned, "shut up, john." you stuck your tongue out at the other man and simon pulled you close. he tucked your head into his chest, you held onto the t-shirt he wore. you noticeably relaxed.

"i don't think you'd know how to even fuck a bunny." simon said as he looked down at you then to his pack brother.

john narrowed his eyes, "i know a fair bit, you don't know what i was up to before i ended up here."

simon lifted your chin, "maybe we have to do a little bondin' or else price is goin' have our heads."

you looked up at your mate, "and if he gets too aggressive."

"then his throat will go between my incisors."

your ears twitched a little at the sound of john's laugh as he got closer. he reached out for you. soon you were in both men's arms. your belly kept you from being too close to simon but your plump ass was right up against john's cock.

"what do you say, bunny?"

you looked to both men and sighed, "you're lucky my hormones are out of wack, soap." you made a noise as you were pulled into john's arms.

he rested his chin on your shoulder and smiled at simon, "maybe if i'm lucky, the next pups will be mine." but his ears when back and he stepped off when simon got closer.

"in your dreams, johnny."

price had a thing about the hybrids of the house having sex in common areas. he had already caught you and simon giving each other pleasure over the kitchen island. he has seen more than enough of your pregnant belly. he didn't need to see anymore.

the farmer had promised himself that after you had simon's pups then he'd get you one some kind of birth control. he didn't need more hybrids in the house. it was bad enough you were pregnant with another one.

he had left for the day to go into town to go to the store and do other affairs. which left you and the two guard dogs alone. this was when your plan went into action.

on the warm porch you were rested up against simon, the man's strong arms held you close and john was between your legs. ears flat to his head as he lapped at your cunt like the dog he was.

you whimpered, it was hard to see him over the slope of your belly, but you could feel his ears and head up against your taunt skin. your pups shifted in your belly and you held onto your lover.

"you're not too bad, johnny."

"i told ya i knew what i was doin'. you just didn't trust me, didn't ya?" john chuckled as he held your thighs open, his blunt nails dug into the muscle of your thighs. the skin was soft and he found it so alluring.

he had no idea someone like you was living in those woods. part of him wished that he was patrolling the farm that day. then maybe you'd be having his pups. but hey, there was always next time.

you squirmed a little and simon held you firmly. he said in your ear, "careful now." then looked back to his pack brother and added, "you can go a little faster, bunnies fuck quick to avoid predators."

you frowned and kicked your legs out a little as you felt his licks become quickly. you let go of your lover and grabbed his hair. you made an 'eep' noise and closed your legs around his head.

the softness of your skin around his head almost made him cum in his shorts. soon his hands were on your large belly. he said something but was muffled. his hands roamed the skin and you felt pleasure flutter in your stomach.

simon held you down on the porch and pulled his cock out of his sweat shorts. he tilted your head back so he could have easy access to your throat. soon you were giving pleasure to simon while john was pleasuring you.

three hybrids on the porch on a summer's day fucking the way their nature intended. your moaned loudly but was muffled by simon's cock in your mouth. you held onto your belly over top of john's hands.

your eyes went wide when you heard a yapping from the fence. the three of you looked over, simon's cock still in your mouth. you all saw a coyote hybrid with light brown hair and piercing blue eyes.

both guard dogs got closer to you, folding you into yourself, which was made hard by the bump. simon kept eye contact with the man and hunched over you while he held onto your jaw.

if your hunches were right, you knew that coyote. the knowledge made a flash of embarrassment flow through you, but you couldn't wiggle out of their grasp. you made a sharp noise as you felt john's tongue graze across your clit.

he chuckled and simon pushed his cock further into your mouth. you were a whorish display for phillip graves. you looked away but simon turned your head to face the coyote. the guard dogs were showing that they had staked claim on your little bunny pussy.

and you hated you kind of liked it.

graves made a face before he turned around and headed back into the woods. he wasn't going after the chickens today.

john pulled away from your thighs and looked up at you and simon. he beamed, "i don't think that fuckin' dog is comin' back." he sat up on his knees and leaned back on his heels. he wiped the wetness from his face, "good thing too."

simon was continuing to rock his cock and out of you, his grip had loosened on your jaw. he looked to his pack brother and said, "yeah, hate to scare the bunny."

john chuckled and patted your swollen middle, "still mad at me, bonnie?"

you looked at him and tried to shake your head in a no, but it hard to with your lover's cock in your throat. your eyes did go wide however when john pulled his cock out of his threadbare shorts and rubbed it up against your soaked cunt.

soon you were being fucked by both men from two different angles. simon was in your throat while john was in your cervix. you were caught between them.

"how ya feelin' mama." simon asked as he looked down at you. those dark eyes gazed into yours.

you reached for his arms and held onto them as you gazed up at him as you took his cock out of your mouth, "never been better." then gave him a smile. your nipples were hard in the afternoon air as you were rocked back and forth between both men.

simon slipped his cock back into your mouth and continued to seek pleasure from your mouth. the sex wasn't what you expected from two guard dogs, you expected it to like you first time with simon.

but both were gentle as they could be. it made your heart swell a little. it was endearing that they were treating you so nicely, even if their large cocks seemed like they were meeting in your intestines.

you felt the pleasure come over you, your heightened hormones made orgasm come quickly. made john wasn't a bad fuck after all. simon could be possessive, but mostly towards those outside the house. he seemed to be fine with john fucking you.

you moaned around your lover's cock as you felt drunk off the intense feeling. it wasn't long before you kicked out your legs and you tightened around both men's cocks. you tensed up before you relaxed with a loud moan.

simon held your face while john held your hips. both men started to move a little faster, they were going to climax as well. they both looked at one another with pleasure in their eyes. simon gave a curt nod and john gave a more enthusiastic one in return.

you looked like a dream, a pregnant little bunny allowing herself to be fucked on the porch of her new home. the men wondered if any other hybrids would come by before they finished.

but their wish wasn't fulfilled because both men soon pulled with and stroked their cocks over your naked, pregnant body. within moments of one another, both men came all over your body.

you whimpered at the feeling of their hot seed across your face and belly. john even chuckled and picked up some of it off your chest and fed it to you.

"dirty bunny." he snickered.

"be nice, johnny. or you're not gettin' her again."

john exhaled contently, "i get why you got to keep her." he looked at your wet pussy and then back at simon, "i guess bunnies fuck better."

"yeah get 'em pregnant and they'll stay out of the garden."

john started to stroke his cock to get it hard once more. he spoke like you weren't even in front of him. he said to simon, "you take her pussy and i'll take her throat?"

simon took a quick look at you before he looked back to john, "sounds like a plan." he then looked back at you, "hands and knees, doll. i want to see that cottontail shake." <3

xoxo, bunny

#bunny writes #call of duty #reader insert #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #call of duty smut #soap call of duty #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap x reader #john soap mctavish smut #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap x reader #john soap mctavish x you #soapghost x reader #ghostsoap x reader #cod hybrid au #bunny!reader

[karliiiis]

ok but

being a part of the 141 (+konig) and having to dress up in disguise for a mission in some rich, fancy casino. the boys are waiting on you, talking amongst themselves.

you walk out wearing a slim black dress, low neckline exposing the top of your cleavage. the dress is fitted to your curves and loose at the bottom to hide the pistol strapped around your thigh. you’re looking down, smoothing out your dress, you don’t notice how every head snaps up at the first sound of your heels on the hard floor.

you don’t notice the way ghost straightens up from leaning on the table, arms still crossed and mask hiding the red creeping up to his cheeks. you don’t notice the way konig shifts awkwardly on his feet, blue eyes darting up and down not knowing where to look. you don’t notice the way gaz bites his lip, almost hard enough to break through the soft flesh and draw blood. you hear soap let out an exaggerated breath, a quick “godda-“ before he’s cut off by a smack to the back of the head from price.

you whip your head up at price’s chuckle, seeing soap rubbing the back of his head. “does this look alright? you can’t see my gun, can you?” you ask turning around to show them the back of your thigh where it’s strapped tightly. you miss the way ghost bites his fist, eyes rolling to the back of his head as soap nudges his shoulder giggling like a school boy.

#call of duty #ghost cod #cod #simon ghost riley #konig #john soap mactavish #john price #simon riley x reader #konig x reader #soapghost #soap cod #task force 141 #kyle gaz garrick