idorkish

[idorkish]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 5; ghoap x reader) part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

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Give him blood and he’ll give you something new to chew on.

Except that isn’t the way it goes. Not this time at least.

He tries to talk Ghost out of it, but it falls on deaf ears. Blatantly ignored. The car barrels down the motorway under the cloak of night, a swell of stars overhead as the city falls farther behind. Radio shut off. Johnny thinks if Ghost had his way, the radio would’ve been pulled out entirely, just wires and an empty, black cavity in the dashboard, but it’s a rental. 

And no one wants to deal with the paperwork involved in damaging military property. Not even Ghost.

Ghost won’t so much as glance over at him. Unaffected as ever, as if they didn’t just fuck. Johnny’s stomach hurts when he thinks about it. Even without her knowing, he’s broken his girl’s trust. Not for the first time; maybe not even the last. His guilt echoes not only that he let Ghost make him come, but that he liked it—that the buzz in his bones says do it again, please god, again, please let me come, I need to come, touch me, please—

He thinks about his girl, then turns to Ghost again.

In the pit of his stomach, Johnny knows this is wrong. In his rational mind, he knows it. If he were in a better place, he wants to think that he’d make a real attempt to change Ghost’s mind, maybe get him to turn around at the next gas station, but he can’t deny the excitement bubbling in his belly at the prospect of seeing his girl again after a week of nothing. 

The silence has been eating away at him. Bits of his brain flaking away, moth-eaten. Checking his phone again and again to no new messages, getting the same voicemail message whenever he calls. Something flutters high in his chest, an itch he can’t scratch; it tells him to take off in the middle of the night, drive all the way back home and pound on her door until she’s forced to answer it, forced to talk to him face to face.

Again and again, he tries looking at it from her perspective—tries to empathize with her. What he would’ve done in her shoes had she allowed a coworker to grab his dick in front of a crowd of strangers. It’s more than fair, he thinks. His own shame leaks out of his pores in the middle of the night, sleeping on top of the covers because he sweats right through the sheets. 

And yet, he keeps butting up against his own anger. Talk it out with me, yell at me, he growls into her voicemail, anger growing as the days pass one by one. 

It’s the road that alerts him to their arrival into the city more than anything. More cracks in the asphalt, the car rattling over sewer depressions and potholes in a way that says home sweet home. Usually it’s a source of comfort, like seeing the silver lining on grey clouds or the iridescence in an oil spill, purples and greens catching the light. Not now. Now the road winds like descending into the underworld, each turn coming with a sinking feeling. 

They park down the road from the flower shop, tucked just out of sight. A cool breeze wafts over his hot face when he steps out of the car. It nearly rocks him back. When he glances up, his heart stutters at the sight of her bedroom window, sealed tight now. Only cracked open during their sleepovers, when Johnny runs a bit too hot at night for them to sleep comfortably with the window closed. 

“Should I…do ye want me to give her a call to wake her up?” Johnny asks tentatively, shutting the car door softly so as not to make a noise. 

Ghost shakes his head. “We’ll let ourselves in.”

Johnny’s picked hundreds of locks in his time; he’s jimmied open doors with crowbars, set up explosive charges, used a good old fashioned ram from time to time—no stranger to the trade—but it feels decidedly uncomfortable with Ghost at his back, staring down at him as he breaks into his own girlfriend’s apartment. 

“This is a bad idea,” he grumbles, turning the pick in the lock until he hears a familiar click inside. 

Ghost doesn’t answer, just raps his knuckles against the back of Johnny’s head. A silent get a move on. 

Her apartment looks the same but different when they enter it. His muscles remember the layout though. The pink couch in the living room with two dimpled pillows on either side, the footstool by the door, the stand with her shoes all piled in neat little rows, the vase on her kitchen island with a fresh new bundle of flowers, fragrant when he dips his head to take a whiff. He’s loved flowers ever since meeting his girl. 

Ghost doesn’t try to muffle his footsteps for once. He rummages through her cabinets and drawers with all the finesse of a first time burglar looking to get caught. It smacks of intentionality. Johnny’s worked with him too many times in the field to know that if Ghost wanted to disappear into the darkness, he would. He’d be the thing creeping silently through the shadows, tread lighter than air, close enough to touch but never see. 

So it’s more than deliberate when he noisily shuts a drawer. Baiting her out. 

It’s no surprise when Johnny hears her creep around the corner from out of her bedroom. He’s tucked in the shadows of the living room, just out of the light, so he sees her first when she comes silently down the hall, whole body trembling with fear, the bat she keeps beside her bed drawn over a shoulder. Even her hands shake around the grip.

Of course she yelps when Johnny says her name, stepping out of the shadows, swinging wild. He winces when the bat smashes into a lamp, shattering it on impact. 

“Fuck!” she screams, scurrying backwards into the wall behind her. Several framed pictures rattle against the wall, nearly knocked off their hooks. 

“Noisy, isn’t she?” Ghost grumbles from the kitchen, tossing a bored glance over, unbothered by the commotion. He undoubtedly heard her creeping down the hall as well. 

“What the fuck?” she gasps, chest heaving when she breathes. Her eyes dart from Johnny to Ghost’s massive form in the other room. Poor nervous thing. She must recognize Johnny’s voice saying her name even through the panic because her lips droop in a frown, more confused than petrified.

“Hen, it’s jus’ us—nothing to worry about,” Johnny coos, hands stretched out in front of him to show he means no harm. 

It gets her to lower the bat, but only just, the slightest dip that has him darting forward to pry it gently from her hands. The ceramic shards on the floor will have to be swept up later, but he’s relieved that at least she didn’t step on any of them. 

Up close, she’s just as pretty as he remembers. Pretty as pie. How could she not be? In the glow of youth still, not like it's been a decade since they last spoke face to face—only a little over a week. A sight for sore eyes, even though Johnny’s narrow when he stares down at her and thinks about the week of his texts and calls going unanswered. His jaw undulates, rage held back by the thin thread of her scent that wafts under his nose, making him lean into her. 

Breathe in and out. 

“Us?” she repeats, brow furrowing.

She glances over at Ghost again, the man still ambling around the kitchen, at home in her little one bedroom apartment like he visits her frequently. Like it’s his as well. 

“Aye…Ghost wanted to come—Simon wanted to apologize…for the other day,” Johnny explains. 

“You broke into my apartment in the middle of the night…so Simon could apologize for sexually harassing me?” she says, the disbelief smacking in her words. 

“Hen, it's no' nice to say it like that—” 

“No time like the present,” Ghost says, not ashamed in the slightest. “Heard you weren’t taking Johnny’s calls. Might not’ve had to do this if you’d picked up.” 

Johnny doesn’t believe a word of that, but there’s no reason to call him out on it now. 

He can see her wrestle with a trifecta of emotions competing for first place. Anger, embarrassment, and then, a smidge of worry holding up the rear. Aware of the fact that she woke up to two grown men, one practically a stranger, breaking into her apartment under the guise of having a conversation. His heart aches at the thought. The lion’s share of the blame rests with him, but still it’s her that suffers for it. 

“You…you shouldn’t be here,” she rasps, flinching when Johnny lays a hand on her waist, towering over where she’s still cowered against the wall. Bat gone now, defenceless. Her pupils narrow to a pinprick. He almost tuts, poor thing. Scared out of her wits. 

It feels so good to touch her though. Soft and yielding. 

“‘Was Simon’s idea, hen, but, ah—” his breathing picks up when his fingers tighten on her waist and she squirms “—I was goin’ crazy thinkin’ ye were pissed for what happened last week. Couldnae get a wink of sleep—kept closin’ my eyes and seein’ your face. Nearly broke me.”

“I am pissed at you,” she snaps, temper getting the better of her.

“I ken, I ken,” Johnny coos, ducking his head until his lips graze her temple. “Simon’s sorry—we came all the way here so he could tell ye to your face, but fuck, hen, I’m sorry too—shoulda said something instead of standin’ there like a fuckin’ dolt—”

“You should’ve,” she interrupts, still fuming mad, an iceberg melting right in front of them. It makes his cock pulse.

“—Aye, hen, I’ve no excuse, none at all. Shoulda told Simon to fuck off and keep his hands to himself—”

“Careful, Johnny,” Ghost says warningly, finally stepping into the living room. He fills out the archway imposingly, almost forced to twist his body on an angle to step in. 

Her eyes cut over to Ghost, narrowing, lips pursing. Johnny’s heart jumps in his chest. It’s one thing to see his girl again in the flesh, but to see her all righteous and on the verge of an argument—he could bend her over the back of the couch now, sink into the plush, delicate folds of her pussy, reacquaint himself with deep, languid thrusts. Heaven after not getting his cock wet in a week.

He flinches when he thinks about the last person to touch his dick. 

“So you’re sorry?” she says to Ghost, her disbelief clear. Difficult to see why she wouldn’t find it hard to believe that the man that shamelessly grabbed her ass in broad daylight in front of a group of his colleagues and her boyfriend would now choose to apologize. 

Johnny knows the answer is no when he sees the way Ghost’s eyes rove over her body, taking stock of her little cotton pajamas and her bare feet curling against the cold floor. Ghost tilts his head to the side, eyes travelling back up to meet hers. “Sure I am, bird. Don’t I look sorry?”

Neither of them answer that. Arguing with Ghost feels different, like inviting in danger. Moving too suddenly in front of a hungry dog, jowls loose and salivating for a bite. 

He takes a step closer. “Complete pillock, wasn’t I? And now Johnny’s getting the silent treatment ‘cause of it. Just couldn’t bear another second of him moping around base on the verge of tears.” 

Johnny frowns at that. His girl frowns too, but there’s something more to it. He wouldn’t blame her for not accepting Simon’s apology, if he could even call it that—nothing about it rings sincere, more like words spoken softly to call a kitty over—but questioning it feels worse somehow. Like detonating a bomb at two thousand feet above ground. 

“…Okay,” she says instead, voice trembling a little. “Apology accepted. You guys can go home now.”

“Bird’s forgiving, huh, Johnny?” 

Johnny preens despite himself. “Aye. She’s a good girl, Lt. Told ye so.”

Ghost nods. “That’s right. A good girl who’s gonna let us make it up to her ‘til we have to report back in forty-eight hours.”

“Wait, you can’t—” she starts, then cuts herself off when Ghost’s eyes flash.

He can’t help the way he shudders at the helpless look on her face. Downturned eyebrows, pretty lips slack with disbelief, just the slightest hint of a whine building in her throat that dies when it dawns on her that nothing short of calling the cops will make the two of them leave. 

And she’s a good girl—would never call the cops on him. His perfect girl. Sweet as pie. 

Johnny falls in love a little bit more when she presses her squeezed fists against her eyes and exhales. “Fine. I’m too—I’m going back to bed. We can talk about this in the morning.”

Ghost doesn’t react to her acceptance. It’s taken as a simple fact of nature—he says something and it happens. He speaks the world into being. 

“I’ll take the couch,” he grunts, finally sitting down to unlace his boots. He looks comically large on her little couch—it’s more than likely that his feet will hang off the end, if not everything from the knee down. 

Johnny already figured as much. No point in them driving all the way back to base when they both have the next two days off duty and there’s a perfectly serviceable couch for Ghost and the other half of her bed for him. He thought they’d have to convince her a bit more or strong arm her into it (a putrid thought; he’d rather have sweet talked her into the idea), but his girl always manages to surprise him in the best way. 

On that thought, he looks over his shoulder towards the bedroom door, cock throbbing again at the thought of getting to hold his girl’s body against his. Touch starved dog. Mangy mutt, tongue lolling out at even the possibility of a pet. 

Ghost must notice the object of his gaze because he sets him straight. “You can take the floor, Johnny.” 

His tone brooks no argument. When Johnny whirls around, the words already on his tongue, she’s my girl, I’ve already slept in that bed ten times over, the sight of Ghost’s bare face, the mask now off, dangling in his hand like some scrap of fabric, makes him lose his train of thought. It’s not often he’s granted the luxury of seeing Ghost’s face—wide, clean shaven jaw, buzzed blond hair, old burn marks like a half-moon around his eye, nasty old scar slicing through his lips—and to see it now, here, makes something in him give. 

Saturnine man with a wolf’s appetite. Ravenous. 

It burns him that his girl looks slightly relieved at having the bed to herself. Irks him. Makes his jaw clench on a mean remark, half tempted to spit out something cross. Just because things have gotten complicated, now he’s not welcome in her bed? After the week he’s spent toiling, trying to make amends? Pleading desperately over the phone, stewing in guilt and heartache—Johnny knows she’s a good girl, but if he finds out that she’s replaced him with someone else in the week since they last saw each other—

Even the thought makes him see red.

He watches her as she turns around to retreat back to bed, more than a little displeased. 

“Give Johnny a little kiss before bed, why don’t you, bird?” Ghost lightly suggests. Not a suggestion. 

She freezes mid-turn. His expression dares her to put up a fuss. Johnny again nearly clucks his tongue, troubled on her behalf. Her spitfire nature is snuffed out easily under that stare. Grown men with experience in the field wither under Ghost’s stare. It’s no weakness of hers that she acquiesces time and again to his demands, glancing up at Johnny from under her eyelashes before shuffling over, pressing the lightest of kisses to his cheek. 

“Better than that,” Ghost grunts, unimpressed. 

His poor darling. Humiliated now. No skin off his back though. Johnny’s heart pumps double time when she presses her lips to his; soft petals that spread when he slips his tongue into her mouth, too eager after a week of nothing. Touch starved. Desperate to sink into her, lap his tongue over her lips and the roof of her mouth and press her jaw open to spit messily in her mouth. Take it, hen, every piece of me.

She rips her lips from his and dances away when he tries to get his hands on her, eyes wide, casting one last glance over at Ghost before hightailing it back to her room. 

He barely resists going after her. Only Ghost’s stare roots him in place; his voice in Johnny’s head that rumbles, heel. I’ll tell you when to go.

He still doesn’t know what it says about him that he angles himself towards it. Bows his head to it. Moth to a flame that shocks him to the bone when he touches it.

Ghost tosses him the second pillow from the other end of the couch and takes the only blanket for himself. No matter. Johnny’s bivouacked on snowy cliff sides, chilblains blistering his toes for weeks; nights spent camped in torrential downpours, his tent on the verge of collapsing; windswept baysides chilling him to the bone. He can handle a pillow on a hardwood floor. 

The ebb and flux of an ocean in his ear, and then Ghost’s voice from the couch: “I’ll take first watch.”

Whole body falling loose as if snipping a cord tethering him to the world. 

“I’ll clean up the lamp in the morning,” he mumbles, vision already blurring. Ghost hums low in his throat.

He falls asleep with Ghost’s voice in his head, his girl’s taste still in his mouth.

[idorkish]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 4; ghoap x reader) part 1, part 2, part 3 tags: dubcon/noncon, nsfw

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Much of Ghost’s behaviour is reactive. Oddly passive for the assumptions people often make of him. He doesn’t run from trouble, but certainly he doesn’t seek it out. Aside from a few rare deviations from the norm (running his father out of the city at eighteen, not breaking enough bones to count as restitution, and finally leaving home to enlist), that remains the rule. 

The way Johnny mopes for days after parading his bird around base has Ghost nearly rolling his eyes, already exasperated. He should’ve known his puppy wouldn’t share well. 

It’s worse than he expected though. Johnny mopes for a week straight after the fact, hardly able to meet Ghost’s eyes in briefings. He stares straight down at the floor pathetically, dragging his feet behind him when he’s dismissed. Price notices it right away, raising an eyebrow at Ghost after Johnny leaves the room. 

“Trouble in paradise?” he asks, leaning back in his chair, hands folded over his stomach.

“In the dog house, I reckon. His girl’s pissed at him.”

“Your doing?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Ghost replies smoothly, face giving away nothing.

Price is hardly convinced. “I’m sure. Nothing to do with you.”

Ghost doesn’t answer that. He waits until he’s dismissed and then takes off down the same hall Johnny just left, curious about wherever his boy’s slunk off to. 

He can’t help the latent sadistic streak in him that curls up in pleasure at the sight of Johnny pouting and squirming whenever he walks into the room. Still, his attitude will need to be rectified soon enough—there’s only so much Ghost will tolerate, only so much disrespect he’ll turn a blind eye to. One day Johnny will look back and reflect on this, and appreciate the extent of Ghost’s magnanimity. 

Still, he doesn’t enjoy being ignored. One week bleeds into the beating heart of the next and Ghost realizes that he’s had enough of the silent treatment. He’s given Johnny more than enough time to come to terms with their new situation. 

He tracks him down to the armoury on a Monday evening after most of the other soldiers have already left for the day, back home or eating supper in the mess hall. It’s empty apart from the two of them, and when Johnny finally notices his presence in the room, his eyes widen almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t flinch at least. Good boy. He’s gotten better at being less reactive, less shaky about being caught off guard. 

“Done for the day, sergeant?” He keeps it light to start, taking a step closer. 

Johnny tenses at the approach. “Yes, sir.” The title would usually satisfy on its own, but it comes strained, polite but removed. 

“Where’d you come from?”

“Layouts and gunners training, sir.”

On any other day, Johnny’s deference might come as a lovely note to end the day on, but not today. It rankles now, the edge of his voice sweetened by a kind of silent dismissal, not giving any more information than what’s required of him. Nothing like the boy who used to open his mouth and sing the world back to him. Ghost has earned his every thought. 

“We have a problem, Soap?”

“No, sir,” Johnny grumbles, still not meeting his eyes. His mouth barely moves when he says the words, teeth all but grit. 

No dealing with this temper tantrum like adults then. For all Johnny must carp and bitch to himself about the hardships that Ghost has put him through, he seems to have no desire to actually deal with the problem. That’s too bad. It would’ve been easy enough to talk it out like grown men.

They’ll have to come to terms some other way.

“Come. We’re fixing this attitude of yours now,” Ghost grunts, turning before Johnny has the opportunity to complain and marching down the hall towards the gym. 

He hears Johnny make a sound like an angry bull before following him down the hall. The loud footfalls against the tile floor betray his simmering anger; it reveals to Ghost what he already knew intuitively. His boy still needs to learn to play well with others. 

In time, this anger will fade into the ether, replaced by Johnny’s old doggish need to please Ghost, but it’s causing too many problems now to be tolerated. He hasn’t gotten to see the bird since the week before. Doesn’t even have a photo of his own to look at when he rubs one out. It would be less aggravating if Johnny were willing to spread his legs and let Ghost rut between his thighs, but they aren’t there yet.

The gym is empty as it usually is around early evening when Ghost opens the door, the lights off from whoever last used it. Johnny follows him sullenly, dragging his feet about it. Ghost’s eye ticks at the show of attitude persisting into this space.

“Lock it behind you,” Ghost says without looking back at him, crossing to where the mats are on the other side of the gym. 

Neither of them are dressed to spar, still clad in their fatigues, but his blood cranks up to boiling when he turns around to watch as Johnny crosses the room angrily, picking up steam now as well. He comes in hot, not even bothering to suss out Ghost’s first move before launching himself at him. 

Ghost staggers back a step at the hit, but he takes it in stride, shifting his weight and using Johnny’s momentum to throw him off, sending him sprawling. He’s quick to get back to his feet, but that moment of carelessness gives Ghost everything he needs. The next time Johnny throws himself at him, Ghost lets him get an arm around his leg and nearly grins to himself when he feels Johnny put all his weight into trying to flip him. 

He knows strength isn’t everything, but there’s something to be said about the several inches and even more kilos he has on Johnny. That plus a decade’s worth of experience. Sparring devolves into a sweat-slicked grapple, Johnny’s shirt coming untucked and rucked up, his hair mussed. He tries to go for the mask, eyes gleaming with a wet, savage glint—forgetting decorum or tact, and just going for the most underhanded maneuver. 

He pays for it when Ghost takes him hard to the floor, catching him with a leg sweep that he might’ve been able to avoid if he were fighting with a clear mind. Anger makes him sloppy though. 

“Fuckin’ bastard—” Johnny grunts when he hits the floor, narrowly avoiding clipping his chin against the mat. 

“Folks never married, so guess you’re right,” Ghost remarks, unbothered. Hardly winded even, only the lightest sheen of sweat on his brow, obscured by the mask. 

His sudden divulgence makes Johnny falter. So rarely does Ghost open even a crack that the momentary honesty catches him off guard, giving Ghost the opportunity to wrangle him into a tight hold. 

Pinning Johnny isn’t an easy task because the kid fights dirty when he feels cornered. Lashes out wildly with his fists when Ghost gets an arm around his neck and holds him in place, less precise than when he’s coolheaded, but still brutal, all raw strength packed behind his punches. He twists Johnny over onto his stomach when the boy tries to buck him off, slamming him down hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

“Gonna tell me what’s got you all riled up now?” Ghost asks, twisting Johnny’s arms behind his back to pin him in place. 

He struggles in Ghost’s hold, trying to find a weak point. The search is fruitless. Ghost’s body weighs him down like a boulder pinning him flush to a dirt-streaked mountainside, forcing the air out of his lungs when he presses down harder. 

“Ye cannae just take her from me—” he spits out, face flushed. He kicks out a foot, trying to free himself, but all Ghost does is shift slightly to press his shin to Johnny’s calf, holding it down. “I told ye she was different and ye had to—and now she willnae even fuckin’ talk to me. Barely texts me, willnae answer my calls. I cannae—I can’…” 

His voice trails off on a hitch. Not quite a sob, but a frustrated, wretched sound. 

“Held that in for a while, didn’t ya?” Ghost murmurs, holding Johnny down with ease when he struggles again, trying to wrench his arms out of Ghost’s hold. 

“I almost fuckin’—almost just fuckin’ gave her to ye,” Johnny says, shame thick in his voice. “Thought maybe it wouldnae be worth…jus’ dinnae want a girl coming between us. But she’s—I told ye, Lt, she’s special, I cannae jus’—I cannae jus’ let her go. And now she doesnae want anythin’ to do with me.”

Ghost doesn’t bother pointing out the absurdity of that statement. As if Johnny could give him something that’s already his. 

“Not trying to steal your bird, Johnny.” He taps Johnny’s cheek, a little reprimand. It makes him blink and scrunch up his nose. “What’d be the point of that?”

He forgets how young Johnny is sometimes, just now nearing the end of his twenties. Still wet behind the ears, all blood flushed and pink cheeked. Green still to the realities of the world and Ghost’s presence in his life (permanent, fixed; unchanging). 

There isn’t a version of him that wants someone who doesn’t also want Johnny. Inconceivable. After everything that they’ve been through together, the root of him and what he wants is inextricably tied with what Johnny wants—at times, Ghost almost wishes he could live inside his head, just a constant stream of Johnny’s thoughts into his. 

Johnny twists his head enough to glare over his shoulder at Ghost. “The fuck are ye on about? Ye grabbed her ass in front of God ‘n everyone, for Christ’s sake. Said your intentions loud ‘n clear.”

“‘Course I did. She’s got a nice arse, doesn’t she?”

“You’re really startin’ to fuck with my head, Ghost, I dinnae understand what ye—”

“You keep running your mouth off about trying to take the girl from you—I don’t need to take anything.” He stresses the word to be clear, forcing Johnny back down when he tries to buck Ghost off again. This time he stays in place, both calves pinned down to the mat, cheek pressed into the fabric when Ghost slots a hand into the scruff of his mohawk, forcing his head down. “Quit struggling—you’re not getting back up. We’re sorting this shit out now so you quit moping around base and giving me a fuckin’ headache.”

“Stop exaggerating—I havenae even opened my mouth around ye in days. I’m no’ doing anything to your head—”

“How the fuck am I supposed to think when you keep running away?”

The air hangs heavy in the wake of his words, the oxygen all but sucked out of the room. 

“The two of you are mine,” Ghost says in a low, harsh voice, the sound making Johnny flinch against the mat. “I’m not asking for just one of you. You’re out of your fuckin’ mind if you think I’d leave you out of this, mutt.”

He’d sooner lose them both, but that’s another scenario that he’d never tolerate. 

With some effort, Ghost tips Johnny over onto his back, holding him down before he can start to struggle again. He keeps his wrists trapped behind his back, forcing Johnny to arch his back off the floor, presenting himself. From his vantage point, it’s easy for Ghost to flick his gaze down and find Johnny’s dick pressed hard against the zipper of his pants, all plumped up from being pinned to the ground. 

“Good, you’re already hard,” Ghost grunts approvingly, rolling his hips down to alleviate some of the pressure building up in his groin. “Haven’t come since she left the other week, I bet.”

Panic flares red hot in Johnny’s eyes, widening when Ghost settles deeper between his legs, his own hard cock unmistakable. “Wait—wait, Ghost—I’m no’—I’m no’—”

It would be a stretch to say that anything softens in him, but a part of Ghost does feel for the boy. He’s been around Johnny long enough to know his persuasion—strictly women with the occasional appreciative glances towards some men. An appreciation he relegates to furtive, guilty glances, holding it inside of him like a nasty secret that he’ll never part with. Too riddled with Catholic guilt and the ease of just playing it straight. 

Ghost has no intention of making it easy on him though. 

He tries to imagine what it might be like if he were on the other end, but for him it’s only ever been cunts and Johnny and the bird. Now just the latter two hold any weight. 

His protests only last as long as it takes Ghost to unfasten their belts and zippers, fishing Johnny’s cock out first. The second his rough hand wraps around Johnny’s length, the words die on the boy’s lips, replaced by a choked off grunt. His balls are full enough to corroborate Ghost’s words—he probably hasn’t come since seeing his girl off the other day, too frustrated and upset to jack off, the ducts shut, working himself up into a frothy mess only for it to slip right out of his hands at the last second. 

Johnny’s eyes roll back when Ghost grips both their cocks in his fist, slicking his hand up with Johnny’s precome. Sweat sluices down the sides of his neck. He looks good with his tongue tied up in knots, thoughts emptying out through his ears in rivulets. 

Even with Ghost’s hand as big as it is, he can’t wrap it all the way around the two of them. Johnny’s come provides a nice glide though, lubricating the underside of his shaft when Ghost grinds up into his fist. 

It spurs him into a kind of ​​protolithic fervour, desperate only to come. The iron rich scent of blood and sweat makes Ghost salivate, eyes drawn to the tender skin of his neck, the flush now riding high, up and over his cheekbones. Lips bitten red, also swollen with blood. In a better mood, Ghost might indulge him, might roll up his mask and lick into the wet mouth hanging open deliciously, teasing him, but there’ll be time for that later. 

He slurs out Ghost’s name when he comes, Simon ripped from his lips like it was dug clean out of his soul. His come splatters across his belly and shirt in thin, watery spurts, the wind knocked out of him again. 

Johnny squirms when Ghost doesn’t let go of their cocks, hand still dragging up and down, mumbling that he’s too sensitive, fuck, lemme go, I cannae—

“I’ll stroke your cock and grab the bird’s ass whenever I feel like it,” Ghost growls down at him, at the end of his patience now. He pants out a ragged breath when his cock throbs at a particularly whorish moan dropping broken from Johnny’s mouth. “I’ll nut in her cunt and make you lick it out if I want. And you’ll fuckin’ thank me for giving you a taste.”

Johnny almost goes nonverbal at that, a leg trying to kick out weakly even though it’s still pinned down under Ghost’s heavy thigh. His dick twitches against Ghost’s, a valiant effort. 

When Ghost comes, it settles in a thick, viscous mess across Johnny’s stomach, pooling around his belly button. It radiates hot down his back, the ache in his lower spine abating momentarily. Can only imagine how much better it would feel balls deep in Johnny’s ass or the bird’s pussy, a wet warmth clutching him tight, legs wrapped around his waist to drag him closer. 

He’ll have that soon enough.

A ragged wheeze is pulled from Johnny’s chest when Ghost drags his cock through it, spreading it over his stomach. It’s worse when Ghost dips his fingers into the mess, a sticky blend of both their come, before bringing his fingers up to Johnny’s mouth, forcing them past his lips and over his teeth and gums. Johnny sputters at the taste, going cross-eyed to look down at Ghost’s hand. 

There’s no time for pillowtalk or soft words though. Even if there were, niceties come out of Ghost’s mouth like a ring of smoke. Still, the thought of the bird not returning Johnny’s calls or texts makes him bristle, his annoyance renewed. His own disinclination to communicate aside—a waste of words as far as Ghost’s concerned, he says more with his actions anyway—none of this works if the girl won’t talk it out. 

Probably pent up, the stubborn thing. He’ll have to sort that out too. It keeps him young at least. 

“C’mon, Johnny,” Ghost says, rising to his feet. He dusts his hands off on his fatigues as if nothing happened, then holds out a hand for Johnny to grab. “Let’s go see our bird.”

[idorkish]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 3; ghoap x reader) part 1, part 2

-

“What is this anyway—‘bring your girlfriend to work’ day?”

She’s snarky as ever, but with an agitated edge. Nerves prickling when Johnny holds her jacket out for her to slip her arms into. Even that makes her snap—something about not being a toddler that Johnny needs to help dress, but by then his head is in the clouds. In another place altogether. 

The prospect of getting to parade his new girl around leaves him giddy, fox-like grin hard to squash. He doesn’t suppress anything, finds it hard to push things down. When he does, it’s often unconscious. 

She doesn’t like the way he savours her anxiety like a fine wine, sniffs it from the top of her head and groans out his breath, cackling when she tries to stomp on his foot to make him go away. He dances away with her coat, light and nimble on his feet because he’s used to ducking and weaving for her affection. 

“The guys wanna meet ye,” he repeats for the umpteenth time. It’s surprising how many times he’s had to say it. 

“Why? Haven’t they ever met a girl before?” she gripes, swallowing now, her stomach probably cramping and poor bonnie lass, Johnny thinks. His poor, pretty girl is trying to put on a brave face when he knows she prefers being in the backroom of her little flower shop, snipping off stalks and tying pretty bows around pretty bouquets. He wishes he could keep her back there forever—put a lock on the door and come only to smother her in kisses and gorge himself on every inch of her—but there’s a whole wide world demanding his attention. 

“Aye, hen, never a lass as cute and sweet as ye,” he crows, ducking a hand that punches through the sleeve of her jacket in his direction. 

In the car, he drops the facade. Loses his teasing edge. It’s a violent removal, like jolting awake to the sound of someone sawing away at a catalytic converter. If his smile is saccharine, it’s really only a smokescreen concealing the apprehension bubbling away in his belly. 

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel on the drive back to base. Heart in his throat, choking his words and rendering him quiet for once in his life. He hears Ghost’s voice in his head, a low rumbling laugh, tectonic plates shifting beneath his feet. These days, his voice acts as a lodestar, the thing steering Johnny home. 

Months ago, it was the only thing between him and annihilation, the ice cold maelstrom dragging him deeper into its maw. Guiding him through the valley of death. The wound in his arm still aches in the first light of day. His sleep is still wracked by dreams of running down alleys and ducking into houses, the rain pattering against the window panes ominous, a ticking clock, each step having to be precise, calculated, each movement quieter than quiet, fading into the shadows, a cool heart and mind bested by agony from the bulletwound in his shoulder.

And then—Ghost’s voice, low and soothing in his ear, shattering the pain. Ghost’s voice in his ear telling him where to go, how to survive. 

It’s hard to explain. Johnny’s tried. It’s like talking in circles when he opens his mouth and tries to get it out. I trust him with everything in me. He could do anything to me, anything. 

He is no less capable, no less competent. His rank demands respect, and he takes what’s due to him. Since Las Almas, he’s worked across a medley of other teams, even solo a time or two. It changes nothing. He still wakes in a sweat, chasing that voice. It takes him back into the real world. The days burn into the fringes of a memory that he is always living.

“Should I know anyone’s name before we get there?”

Her voice breaks through the noise in his head this time. It’s every bit as precious. 

“What d’ye mean, hen?” he asks, clucking his tongue. Sweats a bit when he realizes how far down the motorway they are now, how long it’s been since he checked out, lost in his thoughts. One hand rests loose on her leg, fingers spread wide and thumb gliding up and down her outer thigh, the other still holding the wheel. 

The pinched look has mostly fallen off from her face, but there’s still a tremble in her lower lip when she says, “Well, I don’t know any of your friends. I wouldn’t introduce you to my friends without telling you their names first.”

“No’ my friends, hen—we’re coworkers.”

She looks over at him from the corner of her eye. “I’m friends with my coworkers.”

Johnny shrugs. “It’s no’ the same with guys. Couldnae tell you fuck all about any of them except their names, to be honest.”

“Oh, don’t give me that—you’re not friends with a single one of them? No one?”

No hunger without resistance. His mouth goes bone dry. He’d be wise to learn that. 

He swallows. “Maybe a few.”

No transaction without accountability. Ghost saves his life and now Johnny has to pay that debt back tenfold. Sinking into the crease of Simon’s voice late at night, clutching it to his chest. Breathing it out. Maybe they are friends. 

He’s a bit show-offy at the base gates, dangling his ID card out the window pinched between two fingers. The civilian guard on duty just waves him on, scanning it only for the sake of the logs. His tires spin in the dirt when he guns it down the stretch of road leading into the base, windows still all the way down. Her hair whips around in the wind until she gathers it all up in her fist and shrieks at him to roll the windows up. 

Johnny enjoys showing off. That’s a core aspect of who he is, his charm. Braggadocious, confident in the way he looks, his physical prowess, his lot in life—so why would that change with his girl? He holds her close with an arm around her waist when he drags her through the rec centre, the building closest to where they parked. 

He gets lost in conversation for longer than expected. Pure gloating about the girl he’s managed to bag. Cooing in her ear when he feels her get a bit uneasy, still timid around the other guys despite having him at her side. He supposes that’s fair. She’s more comfortable around the women on base, a bit freer with her greeting and questions, but there’s still a pinch in her brow that never smooths all the way over.

It takes a while to find anyone that he knows. There are plenty of sergeants and corporals that he’s worked with before, familiar faces and names, but Johnny still glances around the room while they make light conversation with his girl, searching. Looking for something familiar, something that’ll reel him in, make him perk up like a dog catching a scent. 

They cross Gaz in a random hallway on the way to the comm centre, hardly recognizable at first with the darker stubble of his beard grown out. He must’ve just come back from wherever he’d been shipped off to the month previous, no time to shave or clean up. He even smells of old sweat when Johnny leans in for a hug. 

“Is this—?” Gaz glances over at her just once while the question dangles in the air. He looks back over at Johnny. 

They lock eyes. A silent exchange of meaning. 

“Aye,” Johnny nods, steering her in front of him with both hands on her shoulders, showing his girl off like a kid with a new toy. Eyes glinting like, don’t say a word. “Brought her in to meet everyone.”

A molasses slow smile spreads across Gaz’s face. It’s clear why men like him always get the girl. Johnny’s hands tighten on her shoulders. “Nice to meet you—thought John would hide you away forever.”

She glances up at him through her lashes. “You talked about me?”

Gaz shakes his head. “Not as much as you’d think. Took Ghost ages to get it out of him.”

Johnny flushes. “Did no’. Jus’ ‘cause I don’ blab about everything under the fuckin’ sun doesnae mean—”

“John says you’re a florist,” Gaz interrupts, turning the conversation back to her. Her lips split up into a mischievous little grin, delighted at the turnabout, probably delighted at seeing Johnny stumble over his words.

Something about her teasing grin gets his dick hard. More points to the rapidly disintegrating belief that he doesn’t have a humiliation kink. He leans forward, pressing it into her ass, delighted himself when she shoots him a dirty look over her shoulder but doesn’t pull away. 

“So, where’s everybody?” Johnny asks casually, trying not to make it too obvious who he’s referring to. The look Gaz gives him is unimpressed. He keeps running into that brick wall, his thoughts written out on his forehead, obvious to everyone around him. 

“Everyone?” Gaz repeats sceptically. 

“Aye.” His voice is tight, warning. “Everyone.”

“Ghost’s actually on his way here now, I think. We got called over to HQ—s’where I was headed, actually.”

“I dinnae say anything about Ghost, now did I—,” Johnny grumbles, but the words dissolve in his mouth when the man in question comes into the room. 

Sometimes, Johnny has the pleasure of seeing Ghost round a corner. The split second pleasure of being the observer, of dragging his eyes up and over, his chest bursting with a light like dawn cresting behind mountains and splitting the sky. In the field, he’s often deprived of that; becomes used to experiencing the phenomenon of Ghost melting out of the shadows, sometimes scaring the daylights out of him. 

It’s what happens now though. Glancing up on a whim only to see a man round the corner of the hallway leading out of the rec centre, shirt stretched out maddeningly over his arms and chest, muscles bulging like he just came from the gym, still pumped. The shirt’s a little threadbare, something old and worn, and Johnny’s seen it a million and a half times he figures; it leaves so little to the imagination that he’s joked about Ghost busting it at the seams from time to time, only to be met with a steady, aloof stare. 

There’s something to be said about how he’s drawn to people who refuse to scratch him behind the ears until he’s more than proven himself. He works tirelessly for Ghost’s approval, for his girl’s approval. Dogs with their bones, tigers with their stripes. 

He has a balaclava pulled over his face, just a simple black one this time, the underside of his eyes darkened by eyeblack hastily scrubbed off the night before, probably. His eyes scan the crowd, locking on Johnny and Gaz almost instantly. It’s the mark of a good soldier—he doesn’t flounder in the dark. Always finds his target, like a sixth sense for knowing when he’s being watched. 

Ghost course-corrects upon noticing them, crossing the room in a handful of seconds. The curt, “Johnny,” he gets is a bounty, a treasure. He grins back when Ghost glances down at the girl at his side. “That your bird?” 

“Told ye I’d bring her in—s’long as everyone’s on their best behaviour, of course.”

Gaz snorts. “Good luck with that.”

Ghost must cock an eyebrow because he can see the fabric of his mask shift. “Pretty.”

He can’t help the way he preens at that. Tucked away by his side again, Johnny can feel his girl squirm, but he pays it no mind. She’s shy—he’s known that from day one, from the first time she stumbled out from the back of the flower shop and scrunched her nose up at his attempts at flirting. 

Admiration is a smooth, buttery feeling. It keeps him aloft while another couple of servicemen take interest in their conversation and come over, Johnny’s girl at the centre of everyone’s attention. He’d be pricklier about it if he didn’t have a firm hand on her waist, keeping her pressed to his side. 

He soaks up the attention. Drinks it up when someone asks his girl a question and Johnny answers for her or pinches her cheek when she manages to pipe up before him. He knows he’ll get read the riot act when he takes her back home later, but he might be able to convince her to ride him while berating him for talking over her. Might beg her to slap him and spit in his mouth—say it’s the only way he’ll learn his lesson.

Dirty dog.

It strikes him that maybe he’s picked up some bad habits in recent months. He’s never been one to overthink, to worry and fret. Yet, he toils in it now, shovels coals into the furnace of it and gives it life. 

His shoulders go slack, the tension finally ebbing out of him. No longer dogged by the incessant fear that his girl is going to run away, bolt at the first loud noise, or that someone’s going to pluck her up out of his arms. She seems comfortable if anything. 

He’s been overthinking all of this, wrapped up in his head. He can breathe out, unclench. 

When Ghost shifts to stand closer to them, he glances over because that’s where his gaze always goes these days. Seeking Ghost out, finding him in a crowd; looking for his North Star wherever he is, wherever he goes. 

Only to watch in mute horror as, in plain sight, not trying to be discreet or hide it from anyone, Ghost gropes his girlfriend’s ass in front of everyone on base. Just reaches out a big hand and fondles her ass, digging his fingers into the cheek. She freezes, back ramrod straight as she stares ahead, eyes going a bit blank. 

He fails whatever test this is, mouth too dry for any words to come out. Humiliation burns him from the inside out. Another sergeant that he’s worked with before frowns, glancing over at Johnny. Neither of them say a word. 

Ghost tilts his head, staring down at his hand on her ass like he’s contemplating its plushness. Admiring it. With how Johnny stands on one side and Ghost the other, the two of them bracket her, like the soft centre of their trio; nowhere for her to go, a handler on either side. That’s wrong though. Ghost is not her handler—Johnny hardly is, more of a self-appointed one. 

Still he—

He lets it happen.

Contention dies a bloody death in his mouth, massacred. Mangled. He lets Ghost sink his fingers into his girlfriend’s backside and hum a little under his breath before finally pulling his hand away. The others look at him, waiting for Johnny’s reaction with bated breath. A reaction that never comes because it gets strangled in Johnny’s throat. 

“Nice meeting the bird,” Ghost finally says, voice a decibel lower, rough enough to scrape. “Gaz and I’ve got shit to do now. Be ready on the tarmac by oh-seven-hundred tomorrow, Johnny.” 

He grips Johnny by the shoulder before heading off, like he didn’t just grope Johnny’s girlfriend. Like he didn’t just reach down and grab a handful of her ass like it was his to feel up. And Johnny just nods. A placid, docile thing under Ghost’s hand, bobbing his head like a doll. 

Then Ghost leaves, Gaz trailing after him, looking back about a half dozen times to see if Johnny will suddenly follow them until he’s forced to job to catch up to Ghost, the man already yards away, longer legs carrying him fast out of the building. 

They don’t talk on the drive back to her apartment, the inside of the car tense and uncertain. Johnny walks her to the door when he lets her off, but it’s a formality, a chaste kiss at the door instead of the rough fuck that he’d envisioned to send her off. Despite the hard set of her jaw, she doesn’t lambast him like Johnny expected. The silence is worse though, haunting when she shuts the door in his face. 

The drive back to base after the drop off is agonizing in a whole new way. Still pent up, cock heavy in his pants, and fingers drumming over the steering wheel twice as fast now. What do I do, what do I do, what do I do? What he wants to do is turn around at the closest gap between both sides of the motorway and speed all the way back, knock on her door until his knuckles blister and bleed, until she opens the door and lets him in, lets Johnny push her to the floor in the entryway and spread her legs, welcoming him in. 

Until she lets him fit his fingers into the marks left behind by Ghost’s hand. 

Cold fire rising up off his bones, and then something hot. And wet. 

The next day at breakfast in the mess, one of the guys says something like, “If Ghost was into my girl, that’s the last you’d see of me and her,” and his mind goes blank and he goes over the table.

[idorkish]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 2; ghoap x reader) part 1

-

The hard part is admitting to himself that he doesn’t know how to function on leave without Ghost’s voice in his ear.

Johnny’s two days into his annual leave when that stray thought crosses his brain. Out with chums even, packed into the booth of an old pub in his hometown, the leather well-worn and a match on the telly that he half watches while one of his mates goes up to the bar to order another round for them. In between his third and fourth pint of lukewarm mild, he thinks something like, wonder what Simon’s up to.

The thought comes and then keeps coming. Keeps cropping up when he least expects. At the pub (wonder what Simon’s up to), in line at the grocery store (wonder how Ghost takes his steak), drowsily puttering around the kitchen while making breakfast (no way he wears the mask at home), listening to some guy in front of him hack up a lung at the dry cleaner (Lt’d do his fuckin’ head in if he was here), and even in the shower with his head tipped back, rinsing out the suds (wonder if he’s got a girl tucked away at home). 

Is it so unusual? Johnny can’t remember a time in his life when someone lived in his head night and day, but Ghost’s presence feels like an extension of his own these days. He’s cycled through girlfriends without a care in the world, without contemplating their existence for half as long, but they never cradled his life like a small bird in the palm of their hands and returned it safe and sound, did they?

Still, he feels it like a knot in his chest. Dreams about Ghost even; wakes up hot and hard, and scrubs his hand down the side of his face when he sits up in bed. Phantom memories of a body heavier than his weighing him down (just the duvet) and a thick hand curling around his dick (his own hand wrapped around his shaft, rubbing one out in his sleep). 

He shakes it off, but it follows him out into the real world. Looking at the door of a coffee shop and thinking absentmindedly, Ghost would have to duck under that. 

Johnny puts it out of his mind. As much as he’s able to, that is. Chalks it up to some kind of hero worship. He’s worked with superior officers before—plenty of times, hundreds of times—but there are few men of Ghost’s calibre, both in skillset and mystique. Not to mention the sheer size of the guy. And what is Johnny if not a moth to a flame?

Better not to ruminate. He casts the memory of seeing Ghost’s dick in the showers after their last mission (monstrous thing, uncut, pubes darker than the hair on his head, more than a mouthful—it’d give him lockjaw) out of his head. Doesn’t think about it. Laughs at a mate’s joke at the pub when he didn’t catch a word of it to mask the way he perked up at the sight of a wide-shoulder man until he turned around, giving Johnny a proper look at his face.

He’s not ready to think about it. Might never be able to really look at why he eats it up, why he struts around with his chin cocked just a bit higher than usual because he knows everyone else is watching him with equal parts envy and curiosity for being Ghost’s favourite. 

Then, one day, he meets a girl.

Johnny’s not winning an award any time soon for world’s best son, but he knows a thing or two. The first thing being chocolates and the second being flowers. His sisters handle the rest; they fuss about the party, get a gift certificate to the spa, send out the invites—all that fun stuff. He’s sent off for the bare essentials. Practically kicked out of the house by his oldest sister—nearly brains himself on the asphalt and tugs his windbreaker on when it’s thrown out the door after him a second later, grumbling about being the errand boy.

He picks up a box of chocolates from the corner shop (not fancy enough, his sisters will probably bitch, but that’s a problem for later) before heading down the road to the florist. There’s a bench out front stacked with tin flower vases, the only spot of colour on a dreary spring morning. He spends a couple minutes chatting with the cashier and flirting a bit halfheartedly (he thinks maybe it’ll be worth it if it gets him a discount, even five percent off) until the florist comes out from the back. 

“Jesus, who gave ye the right?” Johnny breathes, horse blinders on, vision narrowing on the object of desire coming out of the back in a linen apron and simple t-shirt underneath, scissors poking out of the front pocket. 

“The right?” she repeats back, blinking.

“To leave the house lookin’ so fuckin’ gorgeous. Glad I wasn’t driving when I passed you by—woulda been in a twenty car pile up.”

She’s not impressed in the slightest. It’s thrilling. By that point, the cashier is long forgotten. Probably not the best impression he’s ever made, but he’s made worse ones. It’s not every day he comes across an angel. Hard to be polite in front of a real life miracle. 

He wears her down over the week though, showing up each day for a new bouquet. His mam’s never liked him more, so at least there’s that. His sisters side-eye him whenever he ducks out of the house to head down the road to the florist’s, but even they know better than to bring it up and risk pissing off their mam. He interrogates her about flowers and her job, makes his presence unavoidable, a week long siege that ends with Johnny taking her out to dinner and then letting her take him to bed. 

He wakes up nestled in her cozy apartment above the flower shop, stretching out and making himself right at home. When she trades in her linen apron for a terry cloth robe and stands expectantly by the door, Johnny just grins. Shows all of his teeth. 

“Are ye just gonna use me and kick me out?” he pouts. Folds his hands behind his head and digs a foot into the sheets, trying to sink into the mattress. Little king in his castle. 

“You know, you don’t have to pussyfoot around with me. Weren’t you just trying to get laid?” she asks, brow arched. The disbelief thick in her voice makes it clear what she thinks of him. 

“No’ just some playboy, hen,” he scoffs. “I have feelings too.”

Her other eyebrow lifts. He’s tickled pink.

He plays the part well, he supposes. Lounges in bed and eats grapes all morning while she stares at him from the kitchen like he might dissipate at any moment. He’s used to leaving a false impression, like a lake that someone builds their house next to until years go by and someone says I think this was once a meteor. 

When she comes back to bed around mid morning, Johnny wastes no time pulling her up onto the bed until she plants her cunt over his mouth and sinks down onto his waiting tongue. 

Candy sweet pussy, he thinks blissfully, then says it out loud because he can never keep his mouth shut. It must tickle because she yelps and nearly pulls away from his face altogether, but he wrenches her back down, fingers digging into her ass cheeks a bit too forcefully. He’ll pay for that later. 

In the aftermath, when she collapses beside him in bed and rests her head on his chest while he plays with her hair, he itches in his skin to message Ghost. It perplexes him. They never text, he and Ghost; they don’t call, they don’t write, they don’t email. For all intents and purposes, their relationship ends at the perimeter around base, dissolves to nothing. It’s not Ghost’s fault he trickles into Johnny’s dreams sometimes. 

A week goes by. Calm the mind. He thinks of Ghost and his fingers tremble and the phone stays silent and he lets the thought go. Steady. Breathe in and out. His caryatid girl slips in and out of his sheets, hesitant always like he might leave. Johnny doesn’t know if she wants him to, wants to feel vindicated in her assumption, but of all her wants, that ranks the lowest in his mind. 

He spirals deeper into it, infatuated. She’s sweet but snippy, candy sweet with a sour kick—everything he’s ever wanted in a girl. Ever unimpressed, watching him with a small, hidden smile, amused despite herself. 

Johnny wonders if this is the universe waving its hand in front of his face. Yoohoo, missing something?

He looks pointedly away. 

It’s new, but maybe he’s like every other military man in the world, unable to go with the flow, dissatisfied with seeing where things go. He needs instant gratification, everything now-now-now, the certainty of commitment—he spills blood with everyone he knows, so why would his girl be any different?

Returning back to base is harder this time around. The last day of his leave is an exercise in restraint, tempered only by her smile when he sees her off at the door to her apartment, reluctant to leave. 

“C’mon, promise me you’ll call, hen,” Johnny mumbles into her mouth, catching her answer with a languid swipe of his tongue. His arms press her tight to his chest, digging his hands into her back pockets and giving a good squeeze, relishing in the way she squeaks. “How’m I gonna survive without ye, huh? They’re gonna have to jumpstart my heart after it gives out from missing ye so bad.”

“So dramatic. You have my number,” she says when he finally pulls back enough to let her speak.

“No, please, baby, please—promise me—”

“Oh my god, alright, fine—I’ll call. Now get going already.”

The drive back to base leaves him feeling bedraggled, lost. When he gets in, it’s straight to the barracks, an hour long nap before reporting to Price, dragging his feet the whole way over. Moping, for lack of a better word, until he rounds a corner and nearly collides with someone that stops him with a single hand on his shoulder. 

When he looks up to eyes rimmed in black paint, the world lightens. His shoulders lift. 

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Johnny.”

It takes Johnny awhile to bring her up with Ghost. Something keeps holding him back, choking him when he tries to say it outloud. He blames it on uncertainty (had to be sure she was the one, Lt, ye ken?) but he feels the truth at the core of him. When he does finally muster up the nerve to pass his phone to Ghost where her photo is front and centre, no mistaking his intentions, he waits on tenterhooks for a reaction. 

Only breathes out when Ghost asks to meet her. He can do that. 

“Aye, Lt. Just for you.”

[idorkish]

Well hello...yes I'm still alive 🤣

Fair warning, all my obsessions are currently melting into my brain into one giant Au and I don't know how to deal with it... this includes Slashers, Marvel, DC, SoA, CoD, Criminal Minds, AND SPN... someone help me 😫

[idorkish]

@vezavelaryon no no, Chucky is at the head of the bed, right next to Gremlin's pillow and sitting right between Freddie & Chica and then Poppy & Eva...he's like the mediator of the toddler room 🤣

It’d be funny if she was into something completely off the wall, like maybe chucky? baby girl loves it so much that Aaron buys her a chucky doll and she take it everywhere

PLEASE can you imagine 😭😭😭

chucky literally becomes a part of the family. baby girl finds him at spirit halloween one autumn and falls in love immediately. she's grabbing and pulling onto aaron's leg all, "daddy i have to have him🥺🥺🥺🥺 please" aaron's looking at her like, 'are you fr💀'. he quickly finds your eyes, yours widen and you shake your head, basically saying- 'you're dealing with this one have fun'

aaron tries to brush the doll off because one, it's scary. two, it'll be forgotten quickly (plus its expensive) and three, he's sure she's bound to find it scary at home amongst all her other, happy, toys. but he complies, after a small meltdown and because he'll do anything to make his little girl happy 🥺 AND if his suspicions are correct, chucky will just be halloween decor and be put away in november, so it's not a total waste

but no, he's wrong; chucky has a spot at the table, is in the middle seat in the car, baby girl INSISTS he's snug under her arm as she sleeps 😭 and will NOT sleep without him. carries him all over the house and everywhere in between

both you and aaron find it HILARIOUS but also slightly terrifying at the same time 😭 there's the rare instance chucky is on the couch at night, so while doing his rounds before bed, aaron is jumpscared by chucky chilling in the dark 😭 in the car, aaron peers back in the rearview mirror, only to see chucky sandwiched between baby girl and jack just staring at him. just, how can someone so sweet love something so scary 😭 but he loves it because she does 🥹<3

and can you imagine the first bau family get together at rossi's, post-buying chucky. one by one, the hotchners all come in as normal, everyone's saying hello, giving hugs, and then everyone sees chucky cradled in the littlest hotchner's arms, as happy as ever 😭 LMAO

OR when she visits aaron at work 😭 same thing, chucky piques the interest of everyone within the bullpen

[idorkish]

Promises - Happy Lowman

Requested by @chaosmieu

List#9: 7, 9, & 10 - Happy♡

7. “Please stop getting my hopes up. Just stop!”

9. “I’m not a fantasy. If you want me, earn me!”

10. “Sit there, watch me choose you. Watch me earn you.”

Tag List:

@sarcastic-lunatic  @redwoodog@soafanficluvr1@fortheloveofthesoa @one-charming-life@khyharah@samcrolivesforever @ineedthesons @chaosmieu @thegoodthebadandtheempty@soaoriginal @jade770 @supernaturalanarchy @mrstellerwinston

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[idorkish]

a wake-up call

Pairing: John Price x f!Reader Rating: Mature Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: References to masturbation. References to sexual fantasy. More than likely far too many references to eye contact. Author’s Notes: I'm slowly recovering. This story will continue. Please enjoy. MASTERLIST Now on Ao3!

Three knocks on your front door wake you up.

The sound feels at first like the thump of your own throbbing brain against the inside of your skull. Awareness comes back to you slowly, in gradiated shades of stiff joints and greasy skin. You shift, and find you’re still on your couch, still in your clothes from last night. Your eyes are filmy, sticky with dehydration—you blink several times to clear them, to little effect.

The knocking, a three-beat staccato, comes again.

“One second,” you croak irritably, cupping your forehead with your hand. Your skull might come apart, you think, if you move too much.

Your entire body feels like it is suspended from loose, tangled marionette strings as you struggle to sit up on the couch, and you wobble to that effect as you stand. Somehow, your flat has tilted at thirty degree angle, likely sometime in your sleep. You make it to the door at an oblique, having to lean on the jamb as you open it, and to add insult to injury John is standing on your doorstep like a clean, shining beacon of sobriety.

He’s in a dark shirt and jeans. His hair is casually neat, as if he’d styled it with his fingers. He looks fresh-faced, as if he’s been awake for hours already.

“That’s not fair,” you groan. 

His brows draw together over cool blue eyes. “Jesus, love,” he says, looking you up and down.

You think you should say something back. But your head is too full of ache and interrupted sleep—and the bright shock of his presence—to produce anything intelligent.

“John,” is all you say, and you sound absolutely pathetic.

“Was gonna accuse you of standing me up,” he says ruefully, “but I see that’s not the case.”

“No,” you say dumbly. The fact that he’s come to seek you out gets tangled up in the strings. “Um.”

It is so far out of the ordinary as to be dreamlike. John’s knocking belongs on the other side of your wall, not your door. His boots belong on his own doorstep, making room for your house slippers at the time of your choosing, not his.

“Am I still drunk?” you wonder aloud.

John gives that little huff-laugh of his. “I doubt it.”

You rub your face. “Have I overslept?”

“Just a bit,” he replies. “I’ll admit, when I didn’t hear you move around this morning, I got worried.”

“I fell asleep on the couch,” you confess. You put a hand to your forehead as your brain throbs again. “Oh, I shouldn’t have drank that much.”

“Love,” says John, gentle and soft, “why don’t you let me in, and I’ll make you some breakfast?”

You blink, and you’re sure now that you’re still drunk. 

John. In your flat. Cooking?

“I’m not fancy in the kitchen, but I manage alright,” he suggests further. His gaze is warm on yours, brows lifted encouragingly.

“…Sure,” you say, and shuffle to the side to let him in. If this morning is determined to be strange, you might as well not get in its way.

He gives you a small smile and crosses the threshold. 

Your flat shifts again; as he enters your living room, it seems to shrink, or maybe it’s just that John fills your home in a way no one ever has. His body, his presence, casts new light on the interior that throws its existence into unfamiliar repose. Details—the softness of your furniture, the cozy clutter of books and knickknacks spread across every available flat surface—offer unmeasured insight into who you are, more than you might ever have intended to reveal to John.

It’s only when he’s halfway to your kitchen that you realize one detail—the bright fucking pink of your vibrator, still on your coffee table—is glowing like a neon sign.

And your previous night’s activities come flooding back. 

Your body, draped over his. The scrape of his beard on your hand, your face. 

The furious grind of your mons against that toy as you pictured him taking you, drenched in hot shower water and pressed bare to the tile wall.

You are fully, painfully awake now. You stare, frozen in shocked terror, waiting for him to catch sight of it, but his head does not turn in its direction. He passes by it with no indication that he even noticed.

You dart over and snatch it behind his back, shoving it deep into your dress pocket, and grab up the empty water glass for an excuse. Then you have to put a hand to your head as your vision swims from the sudden movement.

“Have eggs?” John asks over his shoulder. He enters your kitchen. “I can make ‘em any way you like. Fried, over easy, sunny side…”

“Um,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut, “scrambled.”

You follow after him, and lean against the wall to watch as he opens your fridge. His hand engulfs more of its handle than yours ever has; the musculature of his powerful body visibly shifts beneath his clothes as he has to bend down to root around the shelves.

He is broad in your kitchen. As broad as he’d been between your legs, in memory and in fantasy.

You don’t realize you’re staring until he straightens and puts the eggs, butter, and milk on the counter. Your breath hangs suspended in the shallows of your lungs when he catches your gaze.

His brows crease again. “You look like you’re about to fall over.” 

“Um,” you say, again, because it’s the only sound your brain will reliably supply.

To your horror, he comes to you, and—oh, god—takes your face in both hands.

“You’re warm,” he says. “Do you feel sick, love?”

Your brain supplies nothing now. It is so unfair, how good he looks the morning after drinking nearly half a bottle of scotch. His features are velvet-soft, so easy and wonderful to look at that you stop feeling your headache entirely.

“I really think I might still be drunk,” you admit, sounding pathetic.

His thumbs rub into your temples as he smiles at you. “Hell of a hangover, then.”

The pressure of his fingers is an incredible relief, and you close your eyes as you give into it. You feel, if your knees suddenly gave out, that he would easily be able to hold you up like this, as if you weighed nothing. His hands are a little cool from rooting around in your fridge, and the rest of him is warm, standing close enough that his body heat reaches out to you with the freshness of a recent shower. You want to fall into that warmth, bury your face in his chest…

Your eyes fly open. You hear your own voice again—I wanted to touch you, and I wanted you to hold me. You feel, again, the echo of his body between your thighs. Your heart starts beating wildly in your chest as embarrassment, hot and acidic, pumps through you.

“I think I need to sit down,” you whisper.

He strokes your temples, and surveys your face with a gentle gaze. “Sure, love. Go ahead.”

And then he releases you, and you try to remember how to walk as you return to your living room. There is no relief to be found as you sit down on your couch, which is indented by the dissatisfied night.

“How’d you sleep?” John asks from the counter. You hear him crack a few eggs into a bowl. This is the first time cooking has happened in your kitchen with you outside of it, and the cognitive dissonance of it does not help to steady you.

“Like the dead,” you say, rubbing your sore neck. Then, you decide to lie to him. “I—I think I passed out before the door even closed last night.”

John looks over his shoulder at you, and he smiles. The vibrator sits cold in your pocket. Are you imagining that glimmer in his eyes? “Wouldn’t be surprised. You were pretty out of it.”

“I didn’t end up drinking the whole bottle, did I?”

A chuckle. “Not quite.”

“Didn’t you drink as much as me?” You try to recall, and think you can remember him matching you glass for glass. “Why aren’t you out of commission?”

“The army never cares if you’re hungover, I’ve found,” says John. “Guess I learned to stop caring too.”

You hear the sizzle of whisked eggs spreading over a hot pan, and for a while there’s only the sound of John moving a spatula around.

You watch him in your kitchen, his back to you as he stands at the stove. His long-sleeved shirt clings to the breadth of his shoulders, planes of shifting muscle underneath casting shadows through the soft cotton. The collar hangs a little low down his neck, leaving enough room for the dark hair at his nape to curl as it dries.

It makes something in your stomach twist, twinning your nervous hunger with unstable desire. It’s something that wants to walk back into the kitchen and wrap your arms around his trim waist, press your cheek between his shoulder blades.

“Want anything else?” John asks. “Could make some toast.”

“Eggs are fine!” you say too quickly.

The spatula scrapes softly against the pan again. As he turns to open your fridge, you swear you see him grinning. 

Heat blooms across your face. SAS. Of course he could feel you looking at him.

It does not take him very long to finish cooking. Space bends once again as he leaves your kitchen, as he comes to you with a plate balanced on one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. You feel smaller than you ever have as he approaches, and sets the meal in front of you on the coffee table. 

“Hope it tastes alright,” he says, sitting down beside you. He sinks into your couch cushions, far more dense than you are, and looks quite comfortable doing so. “I made ‘em how I like ‘em, but no guarantee you’ll feel the same.”

You look from him to the eggs, which are golden yellow and steaming pleasantly. “You didn’t make yourself anything?”

There is a softness in his eyes when you look back to him. You’ve seen it before—it’s there every time you hand him a new book. “Don’t worry ‘bout me. Just eat.”

You can’t protest when he’s looking at you like that, so you obey, suddenly ravenous once a forkful is between your teeth. The eggs are whipped to a wonderfully soft fluff, salted perfectly, and you think you can taste the barest hint of butter. You can’t help shutting your eyes to savor the taste.

“Good?” John asks. “I’ll admit, I’m not much of a cook, but I think I’m all right at eggs.”

Usually you like to add things when you make the same dish—potato chips, broken up into little crumbs, or a dollop of sour cream and salsa. For once though, right now you’d be disappointed by all that. 

They wouldn’t be the eggs John made for you.

The thought makes your stomach twist again. “Delicious,” you say. “Thank you.”

He watches you eat, and you try not to feel self-conscious. He seems almost—satisfied by this, by feeding you, more than you would expect him to be. But then, this has always been the case with John. You have never understood why the smallest of things you do have such an impact on him, but they do nonetheless.

“John,” you say. “About last night…I wanted to apologize.”

Dark brows crease as you set the empty plate down. “What for?”

“I got so drunk,” you say. You won’t look at him, face heating, strangling your own fingers in your lap. “You—you had to carry me home, and I’m so embarrassed by the things I said, I was so inconsiderate.”

“That’s not—”

“You must have felt so uncomfortable,” you continue, “you were so nice to take me out, and there I was acting like a lush with no self-control—”

“Darling, it’s fine—”

“And then after, the way I—I pawed at you—”

He says your name—fully and clearly, firmly—and it catches you so off guard that your words halt in your throat. You finally meet his gaze.

John’s eyes have always been windows. Portals into the truth of him, freely offered, without hesitance or fear. You think John knows himself in ways few men do—knows every corner, every crack and crevice, and refuses to hide any of it from himself or anyone else. As if he is not afraid of being seen for what and who he is; as if he has seen it all already, and cannot be daunted by it.

What you see now is undisguised. Untempered. John Price wants you. And he has no fear that you can see it.

“Did you mean any of it?” he asks, voice low and deep in his chest.

The question catches you off guard, throwing you with its directness. The only thing keeping you upright is his gaze, the steady certainty of its own intention. Strong even under the weight of suspense. 

You swallow, and take a shaky breath. “John,” you say, “I was so drunk...”

His eyes flash. John moves, leans forward, and you are speared, held in place much the same way you had been at dinner, by his presence alone. “I know. But did you mean it?”

The breath trapped in your lungs calcifies, solidifies into hard, pressing nodules of catalyzed fear and desire that trap the seeds of any response in your chest. You tear your gaze away from him, finally, stare at the empty plate on your table. He does not touch you, but you feel the phantom weight of his hand on your knee. The warmth of his body against yours.

“We hardly know each other,” you whisper shakily. It is a flimsy scrap of an excuse, even to you. “We—we barely know each other at all.”

“Love,” John says, low and soft. You turn to look at him again. His lips part—

Your phone rings.

You exhale hard, strings suddenly cut. John closes his eyes, breathes out, and then leans back again.

You retrieve your phone from where you’d flung your purse last night, off the couch and to the opposite wall where it lays on the floor. When you see the caller ID, you want to throw the phone back across the room, but you take a deep breath and answer anyway.

“Ben,” you sigh, and to your furious embarrassment it comes out as a croak.

“Hey, sweets, Liv is—wait. You sound awful,” comes your coworker—and ex-boyfriend’s—voice through the earpiece.

“Rough night,” you say, closing your eyes against sweets. You then look at John. His gaze is fixed on you.

“Oh, sorry,” Ben says. “Anything I can do?”

He could have not called. “Tell me about Liv,” you prompt him.

“Right! She’s out. Flu.”

“Oh.” You blink, and watch John retrieve your plate and glass. He takes them to the kitchen and runs the faucet low, so the sound won’t interfere with your call. 

You’re not sure how you know that that’s his intention, but you do. 

“That’s awful.”

“And inconvenient. We need another instructor for the trip.”

Can John hear what Ben is saying? He looks up from the sink, lifts one brow when you meet his eyes. There’s humor there, a kind of rueful empathy for dealing with the nonsense of coworkers.

You want to hang up. You want to answer his question right then and there. 

“When?” you ask.

“Two hours. I know! I know it’s short notice,” he says, animatedly contrite. “Sorry. But we’d love to have you, it’ll be fun! I can even pick you up, if you like.”

“No, that’s alright,” you sigh. “But okay, I’ll start packing. Just send me the details, yeah?”

“Sure, sweets,” Ben replies, “can’t wait to see you! I’ve missed hanging out, you know? Even after…everything.”

The gravitational force of John’s presence—the shift and bend of your flat around him—snaps in half. Reality asserts itself like a recurring headache. 

Suddenly you’re in your flat, phone to your ear, unshowered from last night and coated in a layer of grease. The vibrator is a useless weight in your pocket. You are a useless girl hungover in day-old clothes.

“I’ll see you soon,” you say noncommittally, and hang up.

John gazes at you expectantly from over the sink.

“Work trip,” you say, and you wonder if you sound as dazed as you feel. “Last minute, I…I need to get ready.”

John blinks, and then grins, amused. Crow’s feet gather in the corners of his eyes. “You know, I’m usually the one in that situation.”

Suddenly he is too much to look at. You tear your gaze away, look at your phone in your hands. You feel very exposed, ashamed somehow. “I’m sorry,” you say.

You hear the easy drum of John’s boots out of your kitchen, across the room, and then he’s in front of you. His hands are in his pockets, arms slung loose at his sides. “What for?”

“For…”

He steps closer to you. Your heart leaps in your chest, and you have to look up at him, unable to resist the pull he has on you.

The line of his mouth is gentle, and you stare too long at the divot of his Cupid’s bow. Beneath the soft lines of his brows, his gaze is soft, fond. More so than you deserve.

“I don’t really know.”

The long muscle in his neck shifts as he tilts his head. You swallow, unconsciously mirroring the gesture.

“John…I…”

His gaze drops—rests on your lips, and returns to yours.

“Love,” he murmurs, low and humming. “Did you mean it?”

His voice slides across you like physical touch, and every hair feels like it’s standing on end.

Yes. Yes, of course you meant it, every word. It feels so obvious to you, so blatant, and the shame of it holds you by the throat. You are not important enough to inflict upon John Price. You are trembling, meek, afraid of stepping outside your own door sometimes. What is that in comparison to him? Him, who comes home shaking off the dust of places you’ve only ever heard of. Him, who you’ve learned can swear in six different languages. Him, who has stuffed more life than you thought possible into only a handful more years of living than yours.

Of course you want him. Moths are always drawn toward flame. How could you not?

“John,” you say in your smallest voice. You hate the way it sounds—like an admission of guilt. “What if I did?”

He doesn’t move, but you see the shift in him anyway. A coiling, almost,  energy banking as he studies you, searches your face. His hands remain in his pockets. He watches you for a long moment, and you can’t possibly imagine what he might like in what he sees.

“Ball’s in your court, then,” he finally says, soft and low in his chest. “Whatever you want from me, love, you can have.”

You want too much. You can’t give enough back.

“I don’t want to ruin this,” you say on a shallow breath. “Our—us. What we already have.”

He steps closer to you. Close enough that his shirt brushes the front of your dress. Close enough that his clean, soft warmth near-envelops you, the exact same way you’d been wishing for earlier. He does not reach out, like he did when he thought you were sick. You cannot decide if this disappoints you or not. You feel shaky without his hands on you, feverish and embarrassed, and you fear desperately that he can see that as he holds your gaze, that you are completely open to him in a way that leaves no space for the truth to hide. 

“You won’t,” he says, steady and solid.  

You take a trembling breath, swallow to clear your throat. “I…”

He withdraws one hand from his pocket, slowly, and brings it upward. Feather-light, he curls his index finger under your chin, caressing his thumb so terribly gently beneath your bottom lip. You cannot help flinching, anticipatory want recoiling from the very thing it was aching for in surprise, and for a split second you are newly scared that he’ll take his touch away.

But he doesn’t. The windows of John’s eyes stay open, and there is nothing but intent behind them. You realize he knows. He knows that you’re reluctant, that you’re unsure, that you are pulled to him like a falling star to earth and also terrified of burning up in the process. 

He understands.

“I’m a patient man, love,” he purrs, and you realize too that he is excited by this, by you. “I can wait. As long as you need.”

PSA: For my own sanity this will be the last chapter I utilize the taglist. If you would like to know when this story is updated you may follow me, turn on my post notifications, or subscribe to the series on ao3. Thank you.

Taglist: @yeyinde @guyfieriii @aduckinpain @jaimiespn @aconstructofamind @trashy-panda777 @lich1 @smoggyfogbottom @antigonusyuki @bubble-dream-inc @itsthetiredstudent @misshoneypaper @wasteland-babe @jxvipike @deadbranch @yes-music-is-my-religion @hailstrum18 @ramadiiiisme @glassgulls @wiserebelpartypie @stripeycatt @staymetalmacie @capt-soaps-bbg @rdeville @diorstarr

[idorkish]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 1; ghoap x reader)

-

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately.

Ghost listens because the periods between missions are long and colourless—he fills the time with paperwork, PT, exhausting his muscles in the gym, and dissociating in a booth at the only good pub on base when Johnny drags him along—and it’s better to tune out the thoughts in his head and replace them with something else. Besides, for as much as he gripes about poorly trained dogs barking too much, he enjoys the sound of Johnny’s voice. It quiets the faint ringing that follows him wherever he goes, an agitated humming that leaves him, on his best days, on the brink of rage.

“Tinnitus,” a doctor says when he brings it up during a routine check-up. Can you shut that fucking noise up?

“Best we can do is get you hearing aids.” Apologetic, sincere even. Stained, as always though, by a trembling, noxious unease. It emanates off the doctor in waves. 

Hard not to feel uneasy around a man in a mask, Ghost assumes. That’s all part of it though. He doesn’t cultivate comfort, doesn’t attempt to engender soft feelings or put the mind at ease. His body and persona are designed to put the body and mind on the knife’s edge of fear, and then tip it over. He leaves the sweet talking and charming to men like Johnny, who babbles red language in a tongue like larkspur. 

Ghost’s first language is oil slick. It stains and it covers and it darkens everything it touches. 

And now, Johnny’s talking about a bird.

A couple months after Las Almas, the first picture comes out. Not a folded up keepsake tucked away in the pocket of a bag or a wallet or the inside of his jacket, but right on Johnny’s lockscreen on his phone. He disapproves at first glance. Not of the girl, but at the thought of keeping something so valuable on display for anyone to see. It’s not how he functions. Everything sacred is burned, destroyed, or—if precious enough—buried so deep underground that salt miners might greet it on the way down.

“Pretty, eh?” Johnny goads, nudging Ghost with his shoulder. He’s all wide grin, eyes electric-blue like the flames of Kawah Ijen. 

She is pretty. Pretty as pie. Not a speck of grit or blood on her; if there’s any edge to her at all, it’s tempered by her smile in the photo on Johnny’s phone. A sugar sweet cunt, by the looks of it, sure it’d taste like candy if he got his mouth on it. He angles his eyes with Johnny’s lips and wonders how many times he’s eaten her out, if hers was the last cunt he ate. Likely. His boy’s the loyal kind, hard to shake off once he’s got his teeth in. Swapping spit or blood, he doesn’t leave once he’s got a taste. 

“Where’d you find her?” he asks instead of agreeing, and takes a swig from the bottle in front of him. The bar’s hardly filled out yet; the two of them come early because Ghost’s an old man—that’s what Johnny would say—and doesn’t like to be around people once the sun’s set. It’s a burnished gold now, sun hovering low in the sky when Ghost turns an eye to it. 

“Florist. Met her when I picked up flowers for mam’s birthday.”

Nearly a month then. “And I’m just hearin’ about this now?”

Not in this same pub three times a week since then. Not on the tarmac, suited up and sweating already beneath two layers of gear. Not in the shower beside Ghost’s, fingers reaching over the side for a bar of soap because Johnny can’t be arsed to get his own. Not with his head slumped to let Ghost shave the sides of his head nice and neat, thick fingers splayed over the delicate bone of his skull that Ghost knows would take nothing to break. 

It rankles him until he looks back down at the phone in his hands—the one he’d plucked from Johnny’s fingers even while he whined about Ghost always stealing his shit—and feels his heartbeat slow. It levels out like staring into the scope of a rifle, the molecules of his breath melding with the molecules of the air until even the sound of his heartbeat dulls to the insects around him. 

Johnny purses his lips. “…Wasn’t sure then. Am now.”

“Cunt’s a cunt. What’s there to be sure about?”

“No.” Johnny shakes his head vehemently. “She’s no’ like that. She’s special—I’m telling ye, Lt—” he stresses when Ghost snorts, the sound thick with scepticism, “—she’s a good egg. Smart one. Sweet as pie.”

Sweet as pie. Mutt half-shares his thoughts these days. They must have brought more home than just shellshock and keloids. 

Johnny squawks when Ghost unlocks his phone and thumbs through his photos, trying to wrench it out of Ghost’s hand to no avail. He’s easy to hold back. All he has to do is put down his beer for a second and get a handful of hair and jerk, and there it is. Peace and quiet. A wince bleeding into his peripheral vision while Johnny mumbles something under his breath about him being a mean bastard. 

He snorts again. Even from Johnny, he’s heard worse. 

There isn’t much left of him these days. A tired husk and a taste for Guinness. He bleeds and shaves and wipes it off, smells the viscera still staining his mask that he hardly ever washes, can’t bear to honestly. Waste of fucking time, as far as he’s concerned. Just going to get dirtied again, soaked in blood again within the week. Shaves his head too just to have less to deal with, less to distract him from the single-minded intensity he brings to the job. He’d dematerialize if he could, become a ghost in name and shape, if only the laws of physics allowed. 

Instead he’s saddled with a body that echoes back his age in creaking joints and low back pain. Scar tissue that aches when it gets cold. 

In the months he’s known Johnny, he’s never let himself think about the world outside their bubble. His rank demands a certain level of socialising, and while he doesn’t schmooze with the brass like other lieutenants might, Ghost hardly has the privilege of isolating himself all the time, but still he can count the people he considers close on one hand. 

Not family, but close. The thought of family is sheathed within him; he knows to leave the knife in lest he bleed. Still, Johnny’s fought his way onto the list and now he has to pay with his pound of flesh. 

There’s a switch that’s been off for years, closer to a couple decades, and it flips back on when he finds this man that trusts him without question, that follows his orders and looks up at him with these big, puppy blue eyes. It twists something in his chest. It turns him into a thing that says maybe it’s better to take than just covet. 

There are other photos of the girl in Johnny’s phone, some likely not meant for present company (Johnny flushes red when Ghost flips to a picture of his bird in a pretty little number, lace cupping her tits and ass, sitting on Johnny’s bed back home and looking back at him over her shoulder with a little grin). Still, it interests him to see this side of his boy; he’s maybe thought of it before in abstract terms. He knows that Johnny’s no stranger to a wandering eye, not with the way he’s built and his pretty boy face. He’s well acquainted with Johnny’s dick, hard not to be in such close quarters; it’s a nice, pretty thing, just like him, a good handful. Nothing like the ruddy battering ram in between Ghost’s legs. The one Johnny once got a glimpse of in the showers after a two week long stint in Kyrgyzstan and paled, mouth gaping open while he stared until he could finally laugh it off. 

Ghost remembers thinking detachedly about how lovely that little gaped open mouth would feel around his cock. 

Surprising that it took this long for him to cotton on to his own desires. 

“Bring ‘er around then. I’ll see for myself how sweet she is.”

Johnny scowls at the sudden uproar from a nearby table. “No’ a chance in hell. Dinnae trust any of these fuckers to behave around her.”

Ghost hums. He’s not wrong to be wary; under the table, Ghost runs a hand over his bulge and gives it a squeeze, lifting his thigh to readjust. She has a lovely mouth too. 

He’s been breathing fire and brimstone recently. Hungering to hear something break. It takes Johnny’s hand on his arm to hold him back, every cigarette puffed down to the filter. The pictures on Johnny’s phone make it seem easy though. 

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately, preening at every opportunity to show her off. He doesn’t know that it takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost’s brain to file the girl in Johnny’s phone under mine, slotting her right under Johnny in that category and isn’t that just perfect because it also takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost to imagine what she might look like under Johnny. 

He hands Johnny back the phone, face down. “You get one week. Then I wanna meet your bird.”

[idorkish]

confessional ; lester sinclair

Lester Sinclair x GN!Reader

WORD COUNT: 2280

WARNINGS: nsfw, no sex, priest kink, blasphemy, perverting the catholic faith etc, hands free orgasm, some nasty stuffs going down in the confessional, cumming in his pants, talk about sacreligious fantasies, corrupting lester teehee. not really proofread, based off of this thing i wrote

The confessional booth is dark and quiet. As Lester sits in the small wooden seat, his hands clasped loosely in his lap, resting on his robes, he ponders for just a moment if this is his true calling. He wonders if the other priests, all older, more experienced and devout, struggle with the thoughts he does. Lester has no time to think about it as he hears the confessional curtain slide open, the clinking of the eyelet rings against the pole having him sit up a bit straighter. 

His thumb runs over the rosary as he listens to the person settle into their side of the booth. Lester swallows heavily as he stares forwards into the wooden door, at the carved wooden statue of his Lord and Savior nailed to the cross, shifting in his seat. He knows the penitent cannot see him, that he is shrouded in darkness and separated by the old wood and lattice, but he knows God can see him and he must be careful. Careful with his thoughts, careful with his actions, careful with leading the flock to the path of righteousness. A hush falls over the booth.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.” Lester’s eyes widen slightly and he can feel his pulse in his throat. He knew that voice, knew who it belonged to, and though he shouldn’t, he couldn’t help but put a face to the voice. Your image manifests in front of him, translucent, a mirage against the grain of the door. “This is my first confessional.”

Lester nods, forgetting for a moment the image of you is purely in his mind. He clears his throat, which was suddenly dry, and smooths the purple stole. “That’s alright. This is one of my first confessions too, y'know.” He says quietly, a lie, and he can’t help but feel the corner of his lips twitch at the sigh of relief he hears you let out. He wonders what you look like right now, if you’re in your usual attire or something different. It was later in the day, warmer than usual, and he has to clear his throat again to rid his thoughts of what that might entail. “Just… confess your sins and I'll do my best to help lead ya to absolution.”

“Thank you, Father.” You take a deep breath and Lester waits with bated breath, unsure of why he is so interested in what you will confess. The sins have always blended together. Adultery, drinking, gossiping, materialism, jealousy, lying; he’s heard every sin a thousand times over and not once did he ever feel invested past his holy duty. But this is you, the young lamb he was meant to protect. 

No, Lester thinks to himself as you begin to speak, the young lamb God was meant to protect. Not him. “I’ve lied to people before, dozens of times, just to get a better outcome for myself. I’m selfish, greedy, and gluttonous.” Lester hears the waver in your voice as you speak and he wonders for a split second if you knew by his voice that he was the one taking your confession. “I don’t pray everyday, I‘ve missed Mass many times due to laziness…” 

He waits as you trail off to see if you continue speaking. When the awkward silence hangs over the booth like a raincloud he speaks, doing his best to keep his voice calm and even. “Ask for absolution and I can give it to ya.” He says, his accent strong and comforting, his eyes still on the wooden door. He had been sitting on the small wooden seat far past comfort, but the pain and ache in his back was no longer felt.

“Please… can you grant me absolution, Father?” 

You speak right away, as if commanded by him, and your voice sends a shiver down his spine. You were eager to be forgiven, listening to his every word. He realizes that he could steer you wrong, he could push you towards darkness instead of the light, and that you’d follow. He swallows heavily, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. They snap open. The lust for power burned heavy in his heart; he could tell you whatever he wanted and you’d believe him. You would do anything if he said so.

“I can. Say five ‘Our Father’s’ and you'll be forgiven.”

“Thank you, Father.” You say and Lester swears he can hear your relief. 

He keeps his eyes closed as he brings his rosary, an old flashy thing with a red sapphire in the center his mother had passed down to him, to his lips. You begin to murmur the Act of Contrition, Lester whispering along to his part. “Go in peace.” He says, settling back as he waits to hear you stand, for the curtain to be pulled back and for yet another member of the congregation to enter and for him to start the process over again. It doesn’t come. “You alright, sweetheart?”

His voice is etched with concern, his eyes opening and for the first time, he allows himself to look over through the lattice. Your silhouette is there, your head bent down, your hands clasped into prayer, and he nearly gasps at the want that stirs in his stomach. He can’t see you, but now that he faces you, he can see your outline, he can smell your perfume, he can just barely make out the curve of your lips as you whisper hurriedly to yourself. When your head moves up, he sits back as quickly as he can, staring at the door.

“I didn’t confess everything.” 

“That’s alright. Do you wanna confess more?” 

“I do but… I’m afraid it’s sacreligious.” 

The words nearly take his breath away. “Sacreligious?” He says, unable to hide the surprise in his voice. He won’t say it - can't say it - but he wasn’t sure that was possible. Not with you, at least. “I think you should kneel and confess.” It’s out of his mouth before he means to say it, his accent growing stronger, but he hears the sounds of you moving from the creaky wooden bench onto the ground. He keeps his eyes on the door but he can see you there, knelt on the ground with your hands clasped at your face, looking up at the lattice with wide nervous eyes.

“I… I suffer from impure thoughts, Father.”

Lester grins softly, shaking his head. “That’s hardly sacreligious. It’s-”

“It’s about a priest, Father.” Lester stops talking, feeling his cock stir in his pants. He blinks, sure he misheard. But he hears you sniffle and he clears his throat slightly. “I-It’s one of the priests here, at this church.”

“Which priest?”

“I can’t-”

“The only way for ya' to be absolved is if you’re completely honest with me.” Lester says, ignoring the guilt building in his chest. This is wrong. He has a holy duty to steer these people right, to the word of the Lord, and yet now he was ever so slowly moving his hand up his leg to his crotch, pushing his robes up to his hips so he can gently press his palm against his bulge. “The Lord is kind to those who trust him enough to confess their deepest sins.” 

Lester hears you sniffle again before you make an affirming noise. “It’s… it’s Father Sinclair.” Lester bites down harshly onto his bottom lip to hold back a noise. The copper taste of blood fills his mouth as he closes his eyes, humming. “I know it’s wrong… I’ve only been coming here, to church, for a few weeks, and with every other priest I’ve been able to control my thoughts. But… there’s something about Father Sinclair… I know it’s wrong of me, Father.”

“It’s okay.” He reassures you quickly, though his voice is thicker than it was before. “No need to cry. These… thoughts that you’ve been having… can you go into detail?” Lester’s head leans backwards, thunking against the wood. “It's important to be honest, you know? You have to tell the truth if you want to be free.”

“I… do I have to?”

“Are you embarrassed?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Then yeah, ya do. You’re embarrassed because you know it’s wrong. It’s hard to be truthful but it’s important. It’s for the salvation of your soul, sweetheart.”

“Okay…” You take in a slow and deep breath and Lester prepares himself for the filth that would soon be flowing from your sweet lips by ever so slightly rubbing his palm against his bulge. It’s almost impossible for him to hold back his hiss of pleasure, but he does so, God willing. His eyes close though he swears he can still see the accusatory stare of the wooden Jesus in the darkness.

“Take your time and remember; you gotta be honest. The complete and utter truth.” He’s not sure if he’s telling you or if he’s begging you. 

A few moments pass and he holds his breath. You begin to speak quietly, your voice close to him now with your position on your knees closer to the lattice that separates you both, and he briefly wonders if this is how God feels when he hears prayers. He wonders if God feels the swell of pride in his chest at the sheer devotion he has been shown or if he is above that. All Lester knows is that he is not.

“I…I sometimes think about him when I’m alone at night. I.. touch myself.” Lester hums, low in his throat, his hand grinding down just a little harder. “I think about him there with me… touching me, telling me how to touch him.” You let out a choked noise, surely a sob at your sins, but Lester hears it as a moan. “Even when I try to think about something else, my mind drifts.”

“Spirits willin' but the flesh is weak, s'that it?”

“Very weak.” You reply and he can almost see you nod your head. “Sometimes during his sermon I drift off… I start thinking about him bending me over one of the pews,” Lester makes a choked noise, trying to cover it with a cough, his cock aching against his pants. He wants to pull his dick out but he knows he will never, ever, be able to go back once he does that. The punishment God had in store for him was already grand, there was no reason to push it just yet. “And whispering in my ear about how I feel better than any earthly thing he’s ever felt.”

“I-I see…” Lester says, his eyelids heavy as he opens them and looks down at his lap. Even in the dark of the confessional he can see the dark spot that was growing on his pants and he is thankful for the robes he dons so he can shuffle out of here and back to his chambers without someone seeing the physicality of his failure. “Is that all?” 

His voice is strained, his hips bucking against the tight fabric of his pants, chasing friction he shouldn’t find enjoyable. He was so close, had only felt this way twice before, both times in the cloak of the night with his hand wrapped tight around his cock and a sheen of sweat covering his forehead. Both times he had stopped, pulling his hand away from himself with a sharp gasp and a furrowed brow, watching his cock twitch and leak until he forced himself to roll over and go to sleep.

“I… I’ve thought about touching myself even now while talking about it.” You say and Lester bites down so hard onto his lip that he feels the skin break underneath his teeth once again, coating them in red, his pants coated in white as he cums. His nerves are shot, white dots floating in his vision as he comes back down to earth. What he just felt, before the guilt and embarrassment and worry settled in, was the closest to Heaven he knew he’d ever get. “That’s all, Father. That’s the complete and utter truth.”

Lester swallows heavily in an attempt to keep his voice level. He isn’t sure if he had made a noise of pleasure when he came, but you wait patiently for his absolution, so he carries forward. He can feel the heat of embarrassment crawling its way up his spine, his cheeks turning pink as he stares down at the mess he had made of himself. “That’s… a lot.” 

“I told you.”

“You did, you did…” He sucks in another breath and blinks hard, trying to clear his mind. “Five Hail Marys and seven Our Father’s should work…” he plans on leaving it there, hoping to get you out of the confessional booth as quickly as possible, but his lips keep moving. “And I think you should come by weekly for counseling. You can request a specific priest, or whoever is available, and they can give you one on one counselin'.” 

“Will you do the one on one counseling with me, Father? I feel embarrassed about admitting this to someone else.”

“I… yes, if you’d like. But you would have to remind me of what you’ve confessed here; I don’t know your voice.” He says, stumbling over his own words. He turns to look through the lattice as you stand from where you’ve been kneeling, letting out a quiet breath of relief. He had gotten through this by the skin of his teeth.

“Thank you, Father Sinclair.” He can hear the smug smile in your voice and he lets out a low, throaty whine as his cock twitches pathetically. “I’ll see you next week.”

[idorkish]

Lmao I forgot who but I saw someone wanted this meme drawn with Bubba or Thomas so I drew over it with Bubba, hope it looks okay 😂 (ft nubbins and choptop tryin ta be helpful lmao)

[idorkish]

Realm Discoveries While Hangry

Summary: Ife's not herself while hangry, especially on a mission. Luckily, this one worked out for the best.

Pairing: Slight Steve Rogers x Black!Alien Warrior Princess OFC Ifekerenma aka Ife

Characters: Natasha, Steve, Ifekerenma, Nick Fury, OFCs, mentions of Tony Stark and Bruce Banner

Rating: 18 + / Mature

Word Count: 1.9K

Warnings: Dark Comedy Bordering on Absurdity, Ife being a Badass Glutton, Some Violence, Some Fluff

A/N: This is the start of something a little different. I want to make some short stories that will tie back into the main series whenever I'm between chapters. I'm still working on the main series and the next chapter will be published before the end of 2023. Thanks to @firefly-graphics for the dividers!

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

What was with these supposed 'geniuses' always wanting to rule the world?

The amount of hubris one needed to go through with it never ceased to amaze Natasha. This week's version wanted revenge on the science community for calling him 'stupid' and 'crazy' over his theories on creating titan fauna and megaflora.

Someone, please shoot me.

If Nat had a dollar each time she heard some version of the 'Why I must hold the world hostage' speech, she'd be able to bribe Tony to let her control the music for mission trips.

Steve wished they would drop the speeches already. He just hoped Ife was almost done with the power cells so they could drop the charade and go home.

"Now! Watch as I claim what's rightfully mine!" the mad scientist finally finished his speech by pressing the detonation button, but nothing happened.

" What's happening? Why isn't working?!"He pressed the button another three times to no effect, "Why aren't the missiles firing?!"

The mad scientist was about to radio his henchmen outside of the main chamber when he heard bullets pouring like rain outside the hangar followed by frantic shouts from his men.

"SOMEONE STOP HER!!"

"NOTHING'S WORKING!!"

"GET THE TANKS!!"

"FIRE AT WILL!!"

"WHAT THE FUCK IS SHE?!!"

"SHE'S AN ABOMINATION!!"

"What on Earth is going on out there?" He wondered as he carefully made his way to the entrance, only for a downright beastly roar frightening nearly everyone into silence.

"What the" A soft knock at the hangar doors broke his concentration.

Ife was pissed.

She FINALLY had some decent food after not getting a chance to refuel after expending her energy reserves from her last mission, but it was barely a morsel. It took no time to devour all of the titan fauna the henchmen unleashed on her, unaware those were inferior albeit still tasty versions of food from her homeworld. She even found some yummy megaflora.

It was a bummer Ife was famished. She would've prepared them better to bring out their flavors.

Another tank shell bounced off of her.

When will these fools learn that this is pointless? Conventional Earth weapons are nothing to her. Well, at least the energy from their artillery aided with digestion. Also, the power cells were tasty; they had a refreshing tropical fruity taste with notes of mint.

Now the scientist refused to open up, even after she knocked, "Guess I'll have to let myself in."

The scientist tried his best to steel himself, only for the two-meter thick air hangar doors and part of the solid stone walls to rip off like cheap wrapping paper.

His eyes almost bugged out of their sockets at the intruder — a tall woman — casually lifting both doors in one hand and a 250-ton tank in the other. The woman turned to two tied-up Avengers, smiled, and threw both items 1500 meters away with a flick of her wrists.

"Hi, Captain, Black Widow. How's it going?"

"Can't complain," Steve answered.

"Why haven't you escaped yet? It would've taken you two seconds to get out," Ife queried rubbing her growling tummy. Her telltale sign of hunger.

"We were waiting for you," Nat retorted while raising an eyebrow.

This will be fun.

"What happened to your comms link?"

"Well…I was preoccupied."

"With what?"

The woman's eyes brightened, "I found some yummy food not unlike Avlenia, but they barely did anything for me. I ate everything the goons unleashed and then some, but I'm still hungry! Which sucks cuz I wasn't able to properly prepare them-"

That can't be right.

That chamber housed hundreds of exotic beasts and flora with a combined weight of 312.5 THOUSAND TONS!! There was no way a single person could eat one of those behemoths, let alone all of them.

"MONSTER!!"

"Huh?" Ife finally noticed the scientist and his remaining goons.

"Do you have any more? I'm STARVING!"

"No one should eat one of those beasts, let alone all of them!"

Ife raised an annoyed eyebrow. "Maybe not possible for humans, but, "she strolled towards the scientist and started unzipping her combat suit, "that was only a snack for me, and it left me hungry for more."

The scientist cried out in horror when a belly 3x the size of an exercise ball surged forth.

How is she moving?! His eyes darted over to her comrades but found them lightly chuckling with the spy sporting a smirk.

"So, do you have any more food? Don't leave me in suspense."

The monster rolled her eyes at the rude man's silence, "So you still don't believe me. Okay. Let's see. One of the beasts was this large six-legged alligator…"

She started listing the various beasts and megaflora that were now digesting in her rapidly shrinking belly.

Galala Gator: 90 tons each, Ox Chicken: 15 tons each, Giant Turkey: 75 tons each, Volcano Weathercock: 10 tons each, Five-Tailed Giant Eagle: 45 tons each, Demon Devil Serpent:100 tons each, Elephantsaurus: 125 tons each, and so on.

Every 'food item' this monster blithely listed horrified everyone besides her teammates who were trying not to laugh. Each of these specimens took elite teams to capture; several men died in the process.

Yet this Eldritch Being glutted all of their hard-won gains as a 'pitiful snack'!

"How? How is this possible?" The devastated scientist barely choked out a whisper as her enormous belly was nearly flat.

Unfortunately, the monster's sharp ears heard the whisper, "All of those delicious beasts, flora, and the energy from the power cells barely made a dent! Tell me where you got this bounty! I'm Starving!"

As if to make her point, the monster turned her head towards the hole she made and let out a near-deafening roar of a belch demolishing what was left of the wall and pushing back all of the remaining men and tanks outside.

What is this monstrosity?!

"Shit!" Not only did the wimp not answer Ife's question, but now he's slumped on the floor.

"He's out cold, Ife."

"I can see that, Nat. All I wanted was some more food!"

"Some?"

"Fine. But you know he didn't make them from scratch. He had to have gotten from somewhere."

Some of the stronger-nerved goons were able to recover from Ife's Roar, "Damn, that woman's scary!"

"Nah, man. She's a monster in human skin."

"Which is a shame, too. She's fucking hot!"

"I know, right?! Wouldn't mind going a few rounds with her."

Steve scowled as he marched up to six of the trash-talking goons inside one of the still intact tanks, ripped off the tank's hatch, and yanked four of them by their collars."I'm only gonna say this once. Never, and I mean never, say that crap about my team. Especially the 'abomination', got it?" his voice never rising above a calm, measured tone.

"Yes!"

Steve felt he needed to drive this home, "Yes, what?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Good."

Nat rolled her eyes at Ife's bashful body posture at Steve defending her. They weren't fooling anyone.

Ife was able to pick up the scent of more delectable beasts and flew off to satisfy her voracious appetite. The scent came from a fortified bunker not far from the main base. She ripped off the building by the foundation in her haste to fill her hunger void.

It led her to a heavily fortified manmade cavern with a huge portal at the opposite end of the entrance and containment units housing even more of the delectable beasts lining the sides.

She licked her lips in excitement but stopped when she got a good look at the animals. That craven of a scientist is lucky she's too hungry to revisit him.

"I should probably tell Nat and Steve."

Nat peered into the last unlocked containment unit. She found a giant garden snake-like creature that seemed to take a liking to her. Its scales were the color of twilight at its height. She wondered if-

"You should name her."

Nat nearly swiveled her head, "What?"

"She likes you. You should name her."

"How can you tell?"

"I just know," Ife shrugged.

"Hmm. How about сумерки (Sumerki: twilight)?"

The snake affectionately rubbed her head against the reinforced glass containment wall.

"See? She loves it!"

Sumerki was the last beast on this side of the portal and was about to pass through but turned and playfully poked Ife's midsection.

"You want me to come with you?" The snake nodded.

Ife turned back to Steve and Nat, "Umm, can I-" her stomach roared asking the question for her.

"It's alright, Ife. You can go, but don't be long." Steve rubbed his hand behind his head. Neither of them wanted to deal with a hangry Ife.

Ife flew into his warm embrace, "Thank you so much!" She kissed both his cheeks, "I promise to document everything I see!"

When will those lovable dorks admit they love each other?

It wasn't long before Ife and Sumerki came back smiling and sporting enormous food bellies. Ife sped off before she could say anything. The next thing they heard was a five-minute sonic roar of a belch causing mini-tremors and cracks forming on the ground.

Sounds of her epic belch were heard 15km away.

They were glad that the scientist was stationed in the middle of nowhere.

Ife flew back into Steve's arms, "Thanks again!" Ife smiled as Steve returned the hug.

Both Natasha and Sumerki shook their heads wearing the same expression.

Ife pulled out her tablet and personal interface, "Okay, so my hunch was right and this place is incredibly vast. I was only able to explore .25% of the place."

Even Natasha was taken aback by the amount of information Ife had, "Just how big is this place?"

"So this new 'realm' is called Guloxity?"

Fury turned the last page of Ife's extensive report. He had a laugh at her devouring over 300K tons of food and was still famished.

The whole team had a laugh riot. Tony even joked about how much he'd save on grocery bills—even though she provides most of her food. It's the least he could do since he blackmailed her into joining the team.

Thanks to her, SHIELD has access to a new realm. Plus the snake she and Natasha befriended has been a delight. However, he did wonder how Ife and her friends were able to create a habitat and a size modulator so quickly.

"Do you find the terms agreeable?" Aliza looked back at Fury's desk. The deal stipulates that any findings and all findings SHIELD makes involving the new realm must be free and open to the public. This means that all patents and research can not be owned by any single nation or corporation including Stark Industries.

Banner had consoled Stark when he read out the terms.

No matter. Fury had his best people on this new venture. Even managed to rope in Banner and Dr. Cho. Ife was able to recreate the unique energy signature from the mad scientist's power cells as a source of renewable energy.

In the end, he was glad it worked out.

Now what's this about Ife showcasing new dishes based on what she found in Guloxity?

Taglist: @jobean12-blog @lookiamtrying @angrythingstarlight @gotnofucks @saiyanprincessswanie @navybrat817 @plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms @idorkish @sgt-seabass

[idorkish]

GhostSoap AU - Replaced

Cw: angst

They'd been a (secret) thing for almost a year now. Soap was smitten, but respected Ghost's boundaries to keep it private.

But over all these months, Ghost never said he loved him too. He never makes future plans with Soap either.

He keeps turning down invites to go on leave together or meet his family,l. When they're out on missions will always elect share a room with Price over him.

Soap starts to feel like less of a secret lover and more like... Ghost's dirty little secret.

Like he's just being used.

(Read rest below)

It all blows up one night.

The gang had been at a local bar. Some flooze had apparently been making eyes at Ghost and Gaz noticed. Thinking he's being a good friend and wingman, he introduced the two.

Soap had to sit and watch Ghost talk to her at the bar for 20minutes.

Everytime she touched his arm or bought him a drink he wanted to rip her off him.

But what hurt more was that Ghost didn't immediately turn her down, instead entertaining her attention for a drink or two. He didn't tell Gaz he wasn't interested.

Soap was just a spectator.

"So? Get her number?" Gaz eagerly asked when Ghost returned.

"Nah. Not my type. Too chatty."

Gaz rolled his eyes. "Picky bitch. She was pretty. And if you're not into chatty why do you keep him around?" He playfully winked at Soap.

It was a joke. Didn't mean it didn't hurt.

Not when Ghost didn't even reply.

Soap announced he's leaving early. Ghost followed and caught up to him. The cold air did nothing to ease the burning hurt.

"You coming over to mine tonight, Johnny? I doubt they'll be back till after midnight."

Soap grit his teeth and kept walking. "Dunno. Maybe you should go ask your redhead slag."

Ghost glared, voice cold. "That's uncalled for, Johnny. She was just being friendly."

"Friendly, huh? Too bad she's chatty. Apparently that's huge turn off for you."

Ghost grabbed his arm and stopped him. His eyes and tone incredulous. "That's what this hissy fit is about? You're jealous and touchy over that comment? I thought you'd be happy I didn't take her number."

"I would've been happy if you didn't entertain her flirting at all!"

Ghost's eyes turned hard. "And what gives you the right to dictate who I talk to?"

Soap stared for a moment. It hurt. It fucking hurts but he needed to know.

"What am I to you, Simon?"

Ghost was quiet.

"A fling? A partner? A lover? A fucking sex toy? What am I to you!?"

Months of insecurities were bubbling up. The alcohol that loosened his tongue didn't help either as he yelled.

"Don't raise your voice to me, Sargent. I'm still your commanding officer." Ghost said in a tone reserved for intimidating interrogations and reckless recruits.

"...that's it? You're my CO and I'm your Sargent? That's- that's all it is for you?" Soap hated how his voice trembled.

"I didn't make any promises, Soap." (Soap. Not Johnny.) "You have no right to make demands of what I may and may not do, and I won't be chained down!"

"I don't want to chain you down! I just wa-"

"Sounds like you do. Bloody hell, if you didn't want to fuck anymore - fine. There's no need for the tears and the drama, Sargent."

It was only then that Soap realized he was crying.

Ghost cursed and kept walking without him.

Soap feels like he's been punched in the chest, a gaping void left where his heart and lungs should be.

Apparently all the secret kisses Ghost stole, how he held his hand when no one was looking, the way he held him when they were alone were all just what? Drama? In his head?

Soap spends the night sobbing his heart out off base in an empty parking lot with a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

By morning he told himself there's no use crying over spilled milk.

But it wasn't that simple. For either of them. It was the start of the end.

[idorkish]

Kinktober Day 17 - Orgy

Soap x Gaz x Ghost x Price x Rudy x Alejandro x Reader - 5.3k (on ao3)

summary: You have an orgy with your favorite boys. (Reader POV)

cw: double penetration in two holes, double penetration in one hole, spitroasting, sex in front of other people, very light soft degradation, praise, overstimulation

note: this doesn't even have an ATTEMPT at plot alright? we're here to be horny and move on. also i think this is more gangbang than orgy but whatever lol

You’re not sure who you’re making out with. It’s not like you care all that much - laid out on the bed like a queen, Price serving as your throne where he holds you half up with your legs spread - you’re perfectly content to just sit and kiss, for hours on end.

It was Soap first - Soap and his messy kisses, broad stripes licked into your mouth, sucking on your tongue so vehemently you nearly thought he was trying to keep it. He was playful, nipping at your lips, grinning everytime he pulled back enough for you to see.

Then Gaz, who shoved Soap away to have a turn with you. They’d bickered for a moment before Price, from over your shoulder, big hands cupping your chest and massaging, reminded him that he could lick your pussy too. He was more than happy to duck down after that, leaving you with Gaz. 

Gaz was sweet, long slow kisses that matched the way Price groped you but were a sharp contrast to the eagerness Soap had. Kyle peppered your mouth with kisses, layering them one over the other and hardly giving you time to breathe between them, while Soap ate you with a fervor you’ve never felt before. The difference in pace left you squirming, just a bit, but Price kept you still for them.

You’re not sure when Gaz left, but Soap’s work on your cunt felt so good, so overwhelming, that you couldn’t open your eyes even to see who next took a turn.

He’s got scruff on his face, which you feel rubbing against your cheeks and your palms when you reach up to hold him. His kisses are fun - you can feel him smiling and humming into your lips - and he works your mouth slowly, tangling your tongue together. Where Soap and Gaz had wanted to explore, your mystery man wants to play.

You want to look and see who it is, but the pleasure doesn’t let you, Soap’s mouth on your clit, two of his fingers buried deep in your ass, Price giving you sharp little pinches around your areolas - it all keeps you just a little too foggy to work up the energy. You’re content to luxuriate in the sensations, to relax back into Price and just let your body feel.

“There you go, doll,” Price coos from over your shoulder. “Nice and relaxed for us, yeah? Gonna need you to stay like that if you want to take us all.”

“Please,” you breathe between kisses, eyelashes fluttering as you finally manage to look up. “Wanna feel you all.”

It’s Rudy above you, a soft smile turning his lips up and leaving crinkles at the corners of his eyes. You reach up to cup his cheek, but at that exact moment Soap takes your clit between his lips and sucks, and your movement is halted as you moan.

You hear and feel both Rudy and Price laugh, and Rudy leans forward the last few inches to nuzzle his cheek into your palm. The two of you lean foreheads against each other as you moan, hips making small grinding motions into Soap’s face.

“You will,” Rudy says. “You’re a good girl, yes?”

You nod with a small keen as Johnny starts to work a third finger inside of your back hole.

He smiles. “Then you’ll take all of us.”

Alejandro replaces Price behind you at a certain point, his hard muscle a much less comfortable chair compared to the soft layer of fat lining Price. He’s smaller though, which means you can roll your face back into his neck and he only has to duck a few inches to give you the kisses you silently request.

“Out of the way, hermano,” Rudy says, softly shoving Soap away from you by the shoulders. Johnny doesn’t go easily at all, growling a little and hammering his fingers into you just a bit harder, enough to have you gasping and squirming. Ghost grabs Johnny by the nape of his neck before he can get too aggressive, yanking him away with an unimpressed look. 

“Thanks,” Rudy says on a laugh, getting a nod in return from Ghost. “Now, for you,” he turns to you and smiles, settling himself between your widely spread thighs so his hard member rests on your center, shaft pressing against your clit. “You ready to take us both, cariño?”

“Yes,” you sigh, pulling away from Alejandro and his absolutely sinful mouth, shooting both of them your best pleading look. “Please, want to feel you.”

“Shh,” Alejandro soothes, stroking one hand down the center of your chest and the other lining his own head up with your stretched hole. “You’ll get what you want, just relax for us.”

You take a deep breath, let your eyes slide shut. On the exhale they both push in, a slow thrust that leaves you feeling like you might burst. The three of you moan in sync, your head thrown back to Ale’s shoulder, his forehead falling to your temple, Rudy curling over so he can mouth at one of your nipples.

It takes a bit for them to bottom out inside of them at the slow pace, both of them large men. You’ve never had something quite so large in your ass, but the stretch feels exquisite.

The three of you are panting in sync as soon as you’re filled to the brim.

“You first, hermano,” Alejandro says from above you, his voice rough with desire.

Rudy laughs a little breathlessly. “I’m not going to argue with you.” He pulls far enough back to give you a long, sweet kiss, pulling away with a playful nip before holding himself up. He rests his hands on Alejandro’s shoulders to give himself the leverage that he wants.

“Feels so good,” you moan, undulating your hips just enough that they both pull out and sink back in. “C’mon, need it.”

Alejandro laughs, burying his face in your neck and wrapping his arms around you. “Be patient, amor, he’s gonna give it to you.”

You try to shoot Rudy your best you better look, but it’s probably a little dulled by the man sucking hickies into your neck. 

Rudy fucks you deep. On each thrust he pulls out nearly the entire way, and each time he pushes back in he nearly hits your cervix. He’s not slow, but he’s not fucking you like an animal either. He feels perfect inside of you, sliding along that spot inside of you and bumping your clit every time he bottoms out.

The two of you moan loudly as he fucks you, Alejandro grunting at the sensations he’s getting, the way you clench down on him like you never want him to leave. You blink wet eyes open, glancing over to see what the others are up to on the other side of the bed.

You see Gaz with Price’s dick in his mouth - not sucking, just warming him - and Ghost jacking a very wiggly Soap off. They’re all staring at the show you’re putting on, all a little red in the cheeks with heavier breaths.

Price meets your eyes first. “You making them feel good, pet?”

You nod as much as you can manage, breath hitching when you try to answer.

“She’s unimaginable,” Rudy pants from above you, hips working just a bit quicker as he nears the edge. “Tight like you wouldn’t believe.”

Alejandro laughs at that, one hand slipping down your stomach to explore the soaked folds of your cunt. “Won’t be once we’re done with her.”

You moan when he finds your clit, rubbinb you in fast and rhythmic little circles that drag you right to the edge.

“Don’t leave her so loose we can’t have any fun,” Ghost gruffs, nearly drowned out by the moans and slick slapping sounds filling the room.

“Not-” Rudy starts, then stops to catch his breath as he starts to really fuck you, thrusts hard and pounding. “Not selfish, h-hermano.”

There’s a small laugh at that, but you don’t know who it’s from. You’re too focused on arching your back as much as you can, clenching down hard on the cock still stuffing your ass but not doing a thing, the way Alejandro’s fingers are driving you insane with their perfect little motions, and the way Rudy’s hitting every perfect spot inside of you.

“Gonna- gonne come, please, feels so good!” You gasp, moaning and letting your head roll back onto Alejandro’s shoulder, hips moving in a desperate attempt to push yourself off that cliff. Your hands come back to grip Alejandro’s head, and he presses kisses to your shoulder.

Finally, finally, you manage to reach that peak. You moan loudly as your thrown into an orgasm, body going completely limp between the two men, cunt clenching along with the waves of pleasure and milking both of them.

Rudy comes just after you, your inner muscle’s massage triggering his own orgasm. He buries himself to the hilt inside of you when he does, maoning and panting against your skin.

“Fuck,” Rudy hisses over your shoulder, working his fingers and sending both you and Rudy into overstimulation. “Feel so good clenched tight like that, amor, you feel so good for us.”

Rudy lifts his head enough to nudge at Alejandro’s head and you hear the slick sounds of making out as you ride out the rest of your orgasm. Alejandro’s fingers slow as your heartbeat does, working you down from the pleasure in a perfect way. You feel sort of like you’re being caught in a bed of feathers - a sharp fall with a soft fall, wrapped in softness and warmth when you hit the ground.

“Buena niña,” Rudy pants when he pulls apart from Alejandro. “Such a good girl, feel so good when you come around me.”

You can only whine at that, body still a little worked up with both holes filled.

Rudy fixes that problem by pulling out just a moment later, both his and your eyes glued to your hole as he does. There’s a slow dribble of cum as soon as he’s free of you, and neither of you bothers to hold back your moans.

“My turn,” Alejandro says, and you can feel the way he smirks against your neck. “You ready, cariño?”

You take a few deep breaths, let your nerves settle back into your body a bit, then nod. “Yes, want you too, Ale, want you to fuck me.”

“Good girl,” he purrs. A moment later he’s got you flipped onto your front, hands just barely catching you so you’re held up on hands and knees. He’s solid and tall behind you when you glance over your shoulder, hands planted on your hips to keep himself fully inside of you.

He cocks his head to the side a little, asking permission. Like this, you’re just a foot away from the sight of Gaz’s throat working at Price’s length, and over him you can see Soap writing in Ghost’s lap as the larger man gives his cock no mercy.

You shift your knees wider, slip down until your chest is pressed to the mattress, then nod your consent to Alejandro.

He braces you for a moment, giving your hips a quick squeeze as he shifts himself, then pulls nearly the entire way out of you. You shift on your knees a bit, whining at the anticipation, but he only shushes you, giving your hips a quick tap.

He doesn’t fuck you like Rudy had. Alejandro fucks you deep, but hardly pulls out even half-way on every thrust. It’s like he wants to be as connected to you as possible, keeping as much of himself buried in your heat as he can while still making himself feel good. The short, sharp thrusts leave you moaning on every breath, the sounds punched out of you.

“Good girl,” he moans above you, grip brusing on your hips. “Such a good cocksleeve for me, yeah? Nice and tight around my cock… clench down for me, amor, make it feel better.”

You listen to his command, moaning even louder when he feels that much larger inside of you. Clenching your rim tight around him makes the stretch burn just the slightest bit, even with all the prep you’d gotten, and you relish in the slight sting.

“Don’t foget about her,” Rudy pants from where he’s collapsed beside you, eyes glued to the way your cheeks bounce on every thrust. “She feels best when she’s coming.”

Alejandro bites out a curse, one of his hands leaving to move back to your slick folds. He tucks two fingers inside of you, drawing a loud cry from your throat, and rubs the heel of his hand against your swollen clit.

“Alejandro!” You shout, pushing yourself back on him and his hand to try and get more of the perfect sensations. “P-please, feels so good.”

“Yeah?” He leans over you, breath ghosting over your back as his thrusts get a little sloppier, a little harsher. “Feels nice, huh? Both holes stuffed full, just the way you were meant to be.”

His own words are what set him off, his dirty talk fading into a stream of moans as he stiffens buried inside of you, the hot splash of cum coating your insides. He works his palm and fingers slowly in your cunt, and you’re brought to a rolling orgasm, clenching hard on him.

Your moan is nearly pornographic, face squished against the sheets and back arched so your ass stays high in the air. He grinds his hips into your ass, getting as much of his dick inside of you as he can while you milk the cum from him.

He pulls out uncermoniously, and you can’t help but whine a little sadly at the sudden emptiness as both his cock and fingers leave you. He hushes you a bit, fingering some of his come back into your loose hole. “There you go, keep it nice and warm for me, cariño.”

“Alright,” you hear Ghost grunt from in front of you, open your eyes up just in time to see him throw Johnny off his lap and stand to make his way to the other side of the bed. “Our turn now, fuck off.”

Rudy and Alejandro both laugh good-naturedly, shifting to take their places beside Price and Gaz. You see the two of them cuddle up together, their slick cocks resting by one another. Gaz has shifted to nursing Price’s balls as he smokes a cigar, blowing the smoke straight up to the ceiling.

“Head up, c’mon,” Ghost grunts as he shifts onto the bed in front of you, resting on his knees and holding his dick straight out as you push yourself up. “Johnny, you can have at her cunt. Don’t come before I do.”

“Yes, Sir,” Soap says, and you just barely have time to brace yourself for the rough fucking you know is coming when Johnny rams himself balls-deep inside of you. You both moan loudly at the feeling, and you fall back down to your elbows.

Ghost doesn’t bother telling you to sit up again, instead just grabs you by the hair and pulls up until he can slip himself into your mouth. With the way Soap is pounding you, you’re forced to nearly deepthroat him as soon as your lips close. 

You gag immediately, scrambling up onto your hands to try and save your poor throat. It’s almost impossible to think past the way that Soap uses your slick hole, the pounding making stars appear across your vision.

Ghost laughs at you when tears start to leak down your cheeks, one hand coming to pat you just a little harshly on the cheek as you’re fucked back and forth on his dick.

“Don’t even need to do anything, do I?” He hums, the hand on your face moving lower to wrap around your throat, making it feel even more like you’re choking. “Doing good, Johnny, you’re practically fucking her mouth for me.”

Johnny’s far past the point of words, only managing to moan as he huncehs over your back, lips tracing patterns across your shoulder blades and leaving trails of spit.

“Yeah, good boy. You’re a good girl too, sweetheart,” Ghost praises, using the hand on your head to brush the hair away from your face. You look up just in time to catch the smile on his face as he stares down at you. “Such a good cock sucker. Why don’t you use your tongue a little, c’mon. Don’t make Johnny do all the work now.”

It’s hard to work past the pistoning into your cunt, but you manage to listen to Ghost, licking up the underside of his length as best you can while being fucked raw. Johnny’s pace never falters, and you have no idea how he manages to keep himself from flying over the edge.

You trace the vein on the underside of Ghost’s dick with your tongue, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking to try and make him feel good. You can’t do much to move your head - the palm holding the back of your skull leaves that in his hands - so you try to focus your efforts on what you can do.

The gagging sounds are constant. The way Soap is fucking you, you can’t hold your balance properly, and you end up choking on nearly every thrust.

At some point, Johnny reaches the end of his rope. “Ghost, please, need to come, have to, ‘m so close, please….”

Ghost chuckles, a deep and mean sound. “Can’t hold it?”

A whine from Johnny, and you feel him shake his head against your back.

“Hm. Well, that’s too bad. Both me and our girl here are gettin’ off before you. Why don’t the two of you work on makin’ that happen.”

It takes you a moment to understand what he means, but when Johnny’s fingers start to work frantically at your oversensitive clit, you understand. Your eyes roll back in your head at the pleasure, and it’s all you can do to keep from going completely limp and suffocating on Ghost’s dick.

“There you go,” he moans, thrusting a little further into your mouth. “Feels good when you moan, sweetheart. Make her do it again, Johnny.”

And he does. You’re trapped in the animalistic fucking from Soap, your poor hole feeling stretched out and used, and you’re unable to escape the relentless pleasure shooting from your clit to your brain.

Both you and Johnny are thankful that it doesn’t take Ghost long at all to come. Once you’re moaning and choking on every thrust, it only takes a few seconds for him to be spurting come down your throat.

He pulls your mouth off of him, holding you back so that he can jack some of the come onto your face. He works his fat cock roughly, and you can’t help but stare at him as he gets himself off. He’s mean to himself, and somehow that’s what gives you the last push you need to clench down hard around Soap.

This orgasm is almost painful. Johnny doesn’t let up on you at all, keeps hammering his cock into you, keeps rubbing just past the line of too-harshly, and it leaves you crying out. You collapse back down to the bed when Ghost lets you, face smearing cum into the sheets. You feel like every nerve is on fire - your clit especially - and you instinctually start to writhe away from the source of it all, from Johnny. 

You hear Price laugh from the side. “Ease up on her, Johnny, you’ve got the poor thing running away from you.”

Johnny whines over your shoulder, digging his teeth into your skin and sucking. Your eyes roll back in your head as you’re forced into an even steeper arch, his cock bullying another inch inside of you.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Ghost grunts, and you feel Johnny pulled off of you. One second you’re receiving a fucking like you never have before, the next you’re left empty and open, legs still spread wide. You can’t help but whine a little, blinking teary eyes open.

Soap is begging from behind you. “No, no, no, L.t., please, I was so close, I can’t fuckin’… please, feel like I’m gonna die-!”

Ghost scoffs and you hear what you might think is a slap. You’re too focused on watching the way Price shifts Gaz off of his cock and up, then moves him like a doll so he’s leaning back agains the headboard and sitting up properly to look over your shoulder at Ghost and Soap.

“You’re gonna die, really Johnny? Stop throwing a tantrum or you really won’t get to come in our girl tonight.”

“No, sorry, sorry, I’ll be good, promise.”

“Then shut up and wait for your command.”

“Yes, sir.”

While the two of them argue, Price leans over to scoop you up by the armpits, wearing a sweet smile. He settles you on Gaz’s lap, knees bracketing his hips, then presses a dry kiss to your forehead. You wrap your arms around Kyle’s neck, leaning forward to nuzzle him as Price gives him the same treatment. His shaft rests perfectly against your cunt, head just poking at your hole.

“Bring him over here, Simon,” Price orders, stroking both of his hands over you and Gaz’s heads. As Johnny settles behind you he slips a hand down to your neck, forcing you to rest your face against Gaz’s throat and arch your back. 

Price stays with the three of you still, using one hand to steady Gaz’s cock and the other to shift your hips, helping you to sink down over it. You both moan into each other’s skin, and you feel a little drool slip from your lips.

“Good, there you go,” Price soothes, petting your thigh and down to Kyle’s once you’re fully seated. “Now, stretch her out a little more to take you, Johnny. Don’t be too quick - I still haven’t had my turn.”

Price stays another minute or so to help you get used to riding Gaz, guiding you up and down in a slow, but filling motion. Gaz is just as overwhelmed with pleasure as you are, gasping and moaning against your shoulder.

Once Price leaves, you feel a finger trace around Kyle’s cock. You jerk forward with a little whine, eyes flying open to meet Price’s where he’s settled against the headboard.

“Just relax,” he soothes as Ghost settles next to him. “Let Johnny fuck you, yeah? You know he’ll make it feel good. Poor lad just wants to come.”

Johnny whines at that, almost an agreement, and you nod a little, canting your hips further back so he’s got more room to work.

The first finger has you moaning, head thrown back at the stretch. He uses the cum and lube from your ass to slick your passage, making the sound of Kyle fucking you even wetter.

Each finger he adds feels like it’ll split you down the middle. Johnny doesn’t rush you but he does move just a bit faster than you might’ve asked - not so fast that you safeword, but enough for you to notice the stretch. Each addition makes you moan, burying your face a little further into the safety of Gaz’s neck.

Gaz himself is moaning on every thrust. The two of you work together, him helping lift you up so you can fuck yourself properly on him. You can feel him sucking hickies into your neck, and the soft throbbing offers a nice distraction from the pleasure wreaking havoc on your body.

Finally, Johnny deems you stretched enough.

“Go slowly,” Ghost warns as Johnny lines himself up with you. Kyle settles you so you rest on his thighs and he’s buried to the hilt, Johnny’s head pushing lightly at your rim. “You hurt her, I hurt you.”

“I know,” Johnny grunts, sinking his teeth into the shoulder Gaz hasn’t claimed. He starts to force his way into your dripping hole, and the three of you groan in unison.

You’ve never been so stretched in your life - as Johnny slowly sinks in you’re nearly convinced you’ll tear. The pressure alone is almost better than anything you’ve ever felt, and you can’t stop the continuous stream of whines and moans as Johnny inches further and further inside of you.

Gaz and Soap are just as far gone as you, both of them grunting and moaning.

“Fuck,” Gaz pants, fingers massaging your hip to keep himself still. “Can feel you, Johnny, you’re so warm.”

“Of-of course you can feel me,” Johnny says, letting go of your shoulder to lick around the area he’d been abusing. “We’re fucking the same hole, mate.” 

You bark out a laugh at that, but it quickly turns into a draw out moan when Johnny buries himself inside of you.

“Let us know when you’re alright,” Gaz says into your ear, voice heavy with need. “We can wait for you.”

It takes what feels like an eternity for you to adjust to the stretch. You rest yourself fully on Gaz’s shoulders, giving him your weight so you can just sit on their cocks. You take deep breaths to try and soothe the growing ache and get as used to the stretch as you can.

It must be several minutes later when you finally nod. “Go ahead,” you breathe. “I’m good, I can take it.”

Johnny laughs in your ear, the sound a little choked. “Attagirl.”

They find a pace that works quickly, Soap thrusting in as Gaz pulls out. The rhythm leaves you constantly filled, one of them always as deep as they can get. It also leaves them both in shambles, the rubbing of the other’s cock combined with your wet heat sending them into space.

None of you are capable of speech, just sounds pressed into each other’s skin. You think maybe Kyle and Johnny lock lips for a bit, but it’s hard to tell past the sounds of your coupling. You certainly don’t have the strength to do anything but lay there and take them into your body.

The way they work you over, one of them is always pressing against your g-spot. The constant stimulation leaves you whining. You feel like you might die, might just burn up into a thousand embers. Every inch of you feels overexposed, flayed open, and your cunt throbs.

You don’t need any pressure to your clit this time. Just the stretch of two cocks at once is more than enoug. Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave - you can feel it growing, know it’s going to be catastrophic, and when it hits you feel dragged under 

Neither Soap or Gaz let up as you reach your peak. In fact they only get more vigorous, losing their rhythm as they start to focus on just getting themselves off. You yelp when they bottom out at once, one of them managing to poke at your cervix, and the insticutal muscle spasm has both of them moaning.

Johnny comes first, panting and gnawing at your shoulder as he bucks his hips into yours. You’re convinced there must be red spots on your ass from how hard he thrusts into you, but even that slight pain just makes everything feel better.

Gaz’s orgasm is triggered by Johnny’s - feeling you clench down so perfectly on him, feeling Soap’s cock twitch and throb right next to his, it’s all too much. They’re both thrown off of that cliff edge, moaning into your skin. 

By the time it’s over and you’ve all cooled down, the three of you are left just a limp pile of limbs, unable to do anything but be.

Price is the one who finally untangles you all. He grabs you by your elbows, drawing you away from Gaz and into his arms. You can’t help but wince and cry out when both Johnny and Kyle slip out of you at the same time, your hole fluttering around nothing.

“I know, I know,” Price soothes, laying you on your back. “You’re ok, deep breaths for me now. That’s good, doll, just like that.”

He hovers above you, stroking up and down your ribs while you slowly float back into your skin. When you finally manage to look up at him, he’s wearing a look of such pride that you can’t help but cry a little more.

He coos, swiping away your tears. “Pretty girl, you’re alright. Just one more, and then you’re done.”

You nod. “Want- want to make you feel good too,” you sniffle a bit, leaning further into his hand. “Can’t come again though, won’t feel good.”

“You don’t want any more orgasms?” His tone is a little condescening, but you just shake your head. “That’s alright, honey, you don’t need to get off. Just gotta lay nice and still for me, you can do that, can’t you?”

You nod as he tucks your legs up, pushing your thighs back until your knees rest by your head. The stretch is hardly noticeable with every other sensation wracking your body.

You feel his fingers pet around your pussy, whine when he glances over your clit.

“I’d hoped to have my turn with this little hole,” he hums, tucking a few fingers inside of you and rubbing. You hardly feel them at all. “But it’s too stretched out for me. Bet I wouldn’t feel a thing if I tried to fuck you here, huh?”

You whine sadly at that, burying your face in your calf.

“That’s alright. I know needy girls have to be stretched like that sometimes, it’s not your fault, pet. Just means I’ll have to use your other hole - good thing you have two, hm?”

He doesn’t give you any more prep, just rubs himself a few times and thrusts into your asshole in one long movement.

You’re so fucked out, it’s hard to keep track of his words after that. You can feel them rumbling through your thighs when he leans down to pepper kisses across your face, but they’re unintelligible. All you can focus on are the long, slow thrusts into you. Price drops nearly his full weight into you on every thrust, but each movement feels glacial. 

He’s big enough to stretch you out a bit, to make sure you still feel the slight sting of something too big being where it’s not meant to be. It’s not enough to get you off, but the heavy weight and motions still feel heavenly inside you.

Eventually he comes - you’re not sure how long it’s been or what it is that gets him there, but you feel him jerk to a stop, then feel his come spreading inside of you. It’s a nice feeling, and you smile as you let your eyes drift shut. 

“Thank you,” you hear him whisper, his whiskers brushing over your cheeks. “Thank you, sweet girl. Felt so good for me.”

Things exist in snippets past that.

Someone pulls you up to their chest (you open your eyes long enough to recongize Alejandro, go back to snoozing right after), someone wipes a cloth softly over both of your holes and shushes your whine (you think you see Ghost walking from the en-suite to the bed), someone lays their weight across your back (you feel Soap’s mohawk brush your arm), another over your legs.

You fall asleep like that, dogpiled in bed with your favorite men, all of you drained and sated. You can’t think of a more perfect way to spend a night.

[idorkish]

MWII Cosplay Guides - Master Post

With the amount of guides I've put up, I think it's about time I create a master post that can serve as the directory for everything. It will be updated as I continue to post the remaining guides, and future guides that may or may not come along.

Single Player Characters: Captain Price Simon 'Ghost' Riley Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish Nightwar Helmets (for Ghost and Soap) Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick Los Vaqueros - Alejandro Rojas & Rudolfo 'Rudy' Parra Cmdr Phillip Graves

Multiplayer Operators (updated 27th Feb): Red Team 141 (Vault Edition Skins) Volume 1 - Reyes, Nova, Gromsko, Konig, Roze & Horangi Volume 2 (SpecGru) - Chuy, Luna Gus Volume 2 (KorTac) - Conor, Stiletto, Hutch Artists Guide - Calisto & Zeus

I have opened tipping up recently, so if you find these resources useful and want to show your appreciation, that's one way you may do so. If you're not comfortable with that, the mere act of reblogging these and sharing them around the community is enough. I want to share my knowledge and point people in the right direction. If you use my references for art or for cosplay, don't hesitate to tag me so I can see!

Additionally, full resolution versions are downloadable from my DeviantArt gallery, as Tumblr has a size limit of which the uncompressed images vastly exceed. The album is here, and is kept mostly updated with whatever I post here. Again, share them, link them, etc etc.

Ever since the first sets of guides went up, I've been seeing people fill in gaps where I couldn't fully identify pieces of equipment or clothing. Additionally, I've also been learning and expanding my research tools, which as granted me greater accuracy with what a given piece of gear is. Witn that, I am planning on updating these guides both visually and with more reliable information. When that will be finished is yet to be seen, but if and when that is done, I plan to release them in a downloadable PDF.

If you made it this far, then thank you for reading through this behemoth, especially when I put the links near the start. I really appreciate everyone's support, the response to these has been humbling and inspiring, and has been the driving factor as to why I've continued this project.

[idorkish]

Cosplay Guides - KORTAC Volume 2

Guess who's back? Back again?

Shade is back, tell a friend.

Yes, I am back with the promised second volume of KORTAC cosplay guides. IYCMI, Volume 1 (with SPECGRU and KORTAC) can be found here. And SPECGRU Vol 2 is here.

Again, standard caveats apply:

Some of what you may see may not be commercially available as it either might be government sales only, or not physically exist in that colour/pattern.

If you have any questions about what you see here, or any suggestions, corrections, or requests, please don’t hesitate to leave it as a note or in a reblog!

Just a reminder, I’ve opened up tipping, so if you like these resources and want to give back, I won’t say no. Absolutely no obligation, and tips will not determine or affect the next characters chosen or the speed at which future guides come out.

Guides under the cut!

As a side note, both Conor and Stiletto's equipment are fairly barebones, and both of their jackets do not exist IRL, either as private sales or available to public.

Please share this (and past and future) post around, so as many people can see it as possible. I want to share and spread this knowledge with as many as possible!

[idorkish]

Cosplay Guides - MWII Multiplayer Operators

I'm back!!!!

So these are the first batch of MWII MP operator cosplay guides. I decided to stick to the standard skins for these six, due to both popular demand and level of detail. I've found some of the other skins released for some characters to be too fantastical or not bearing enough realistic detail to be worth a breakdown.

Anyway, I've got six people here for everyone: three from SPECGRU and three for KORTAC.

A reminder for those who are a little out of the loop:

Some of what you may see may not be commercially available as it either might be government sales only, or not physically exist in that colour/pattern.

If you have any questions about what you see here, or any suggestions, corrections, or requests, please don’t hesitate to leave it as a note or in a reblog!

And please share this (and past and future) post around, so as many people can see it as possible. I want to share and spread this knowledge with as many as possible!

Guides are under the cut!

SPECGRU:

KORTAC:

Thanks again for all of your ongoing support! It's the notes and reblogs that make this worth doing!