Ghoap X Reader - Blog Posts

roommate soap who catches you masturbating because nothing else quite takes the edge off like a little death or two but instead of looking surprised and pivoting, he stands there and looks perturbed.

yer doin' it all wrong, lass. it's no wonder ye always strung tight.

you go from mortified to insulted in seconds, but before you can even snarl at him to leave, he's already dragging his big ass boyfriend in the room, still fully appalled at how you're mistreating yourself.

got tae see this, simon. appalling, it is.

and now you're being manhandled into different positions, toys long abandoned for thick fingers and coarse palms, lube replaced with spit and they'd left you with the destabilizing knowledge that the first peak they'd brought you then had been humiliatingly fast and efficient and somewhere along the way, fingers had been replaced with tongues.

(that you had to almost crawl yourself to the bathroom after your long nap and they hadn't even fucked you is embarrassing.)

Poly!Ghoap You, Johnny, and Simon all travel to Johnnys hometown and spend the holidays with his family. (Johnnys mom LOVES Simon and would trade Johnny for him.)

Poly!Ghoap will split up home chores, Johnny will be outside and doing ‘blue jobs’, Simon likes doing laundry because I think he’s an organized king, and you have to cook because these boys cannot (seriously please don’t let them in the kitchen)

Poly!Ghoap who has fun hobbies, I imagine Simon likes knitting because his mom did. Johnny would love building mini figurines (he was definitely a Lego kid no debate)

Poly!Ghoap unironically loves rom-coms and will be sat on the couch with a bowl of popcorn for the new episodes of Love is Blind.

Poly!Ghoap has AWFUL sleeping habits. Johnny cannot stay still, even when he’s sleeping. And don’t even get me started on Simon, because when he’s home, he sleeps like the dead and sounds like I, too. I mean snores like a dad, so get ready to worm yourself out of bed at 1 am and sleep in the guest bedroom (don’t be surprised when you wake up squished back in between your boys)

Paws and Effect Blurb

Read the full thing on: AO3

Paws and Effect - A Ghost/Reader/Soap Hyrbid AU fic.

Blurb - 4k words, Full on AO3 - 16k words (18+)

Summary: Soap was convinced that Ghost was hiding something. He was dead set on a secret missus tucked away in some flat in London. Nothing could have prepared him for the truth. A cozy little farmhouse, far removed from the chaos of their world, and a… fluffy cat? The biggest shock yet? The cat’s true identity.

Soap was certain that Ghost had a missus back home. His first clue? Ghost’s uniforms. They were always crisp and well-pressed. Don’t get him wrong, he was sure the big man knew how to use an iron, but there was something suspiciously meticulous about the way his clothes looked when he would come back from leave. Pressed to perfection, not a single wrinkle in sight.

Not only were they clean-pressed, but there was that scent that drove Soap’s nose crazy. It wasn’t just your standard laundry detergent, there was something warmer, floral, something… homey. Soap had sniffed every brand of detergent he could get his nose on, but nothing quite matched the lingering fragrance that was on Ghost’s clothes.

He tried asking once, tossing out the question casually. “So, you got a missus waiting for you back home, Ghost?”

The man barely spared him a glance, shaking his head. “Just a cat,” he said. His tone was even, but Soap swears he could see just the faintest twitch of a smile under his mask. 

What really got under his skin was how the rest of the 141 played along. When he pressed Gaz about it, all he got was a shrug. “He’s not lying, mate. He’s got a cat.”

Price wasn’t any better. “Sounds about right,” he said, offering nothing more. Soap wasn’t buying it though, because every so often he’d get another clue. 

Like when he overheard Ghost chatting with someone on base. He kept mentioning how she was doing, whether she was planning to visit soon and no matter how hard he tried, Soap couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t a cat. It was always just vague enough to be brushed off, yet it gnawed at Soap’s curiosity. 

The final clue was the phone calls. Ghost wasn’t the type to waste time on mindless chatter, but every now and then, he’d slip away with his phone, voice low and private. One night, Soap happened to walk down the hallway towards the rec room at the right time. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop… kind of. It just so happened that he could hear Ghost’s voice from where he so happened to be standing.

“Yeah… I miss you too.”

Soap nearly fell out of his pants. He finally caught him, but he couldn’t let him know. He needed something more solid and he had to find out just who this girl was.

Going back to square one, he decided to take another swing at asking questions. “So Ghost, what’s your cat’s name?”

Ghost barely looked up from his cards. Soap had figured the team’s weekly poker game was the perfect time to catch him off guard. It seemed like a solid plan so far, but Ghost was just as unreadable as ever.

“Callie,” Ghost answered simply.

Soap narrowed his eyes. “What kind of name is that for a cat?”

Price leaned back in his chair, gaze darting between Soap and Ghost. “Why do you care so much, Johnny?” he asked his tone a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“I don’t, I just-,” he huffed. “Look, I just know he’s full of shite, alright? There’s no way all he’s got at home is a bloody cat. And what’s worse is it that you lot seem to know it too.”

Across the table, Gaz snorted. “You sound jealous.”

Soap scowled. “I am not jealous. I just find it hard to believe.”

Before he could finish, Ghost’s phone buzzed.

The whole room went still.

Ghost barely reacted, checking the screen with his usual impassive air before typing out a quick response. Then, just as casually, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and placed his cards down with a satisfying ‘plap’.

“That was the cat,” he said flatly, revealing a full house. “Gotta make a call.”

Gaz nearly chokes on his drink, bursting out laughing. Price just sighed, leaning over to pat Soap on the shoulder. “Just give it up, mate.”

A month later, the task force was on the road, making their way back to base after a grueling week-long mission a few hours away. It was far too late for them to be out and exhaustion was starting to settle in. They had pushed to get back, desperate for their own beds, but the further they drove, the harder it was for everyone to stay awake.

“Why don’t we just crash at my place for the night,” Ghost offers, calm but firm. From behind the wheel, Price glances over, considering it for a second before nodding. 

“Sounds like a plan,” he says, speeding on into the night. 

Soap perks up immediately, practically bouncing forward to stick his head between the front seats. “Wait, we’re going to L.T.’s place?”

Ghost sighs, already regretting his offer. “On second thought…”

Soap playfully shoves his shoulder. “Aw, don’t be like that,” he grins. 

“It’s been a while,” Price cuts in, his voice carrying a note of familiarity. “It’ll be nice to visit again. Bet a lot’s changed since I was there last.”

Ghost doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he turns his gaze toward the dark scenery outside. “You have no idea…” he murmurs.

Soap blinks. “Wait, ye’ve been before, Captain?” 

Price nods. “A few times.”

From the back seat, Gaz casually raises a hand. “As have I.”

Soap reels back, scandilized “What?” he whines. “How come everyone else has got an invitation ‘cept me L.T.?”

Ghost cocks his head to the side, sizing up the Scotsman with an air of amusement. “You’re too rowdy. You’ll scare the cat.” 

Price and Ghost exchange a knowing glance, only adding fuel to the fire in Soap’s burning curiosity.

Soap huffs, flopping back into his seat with exaggerated indignation. “Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath.

He turns his attention to the window, watching as the darkness of the countryside stretches endlessly around them. The road was essentially empty with vast, open fields on either side. Every so often, a streetlamp would flicker by, offering the briefest glimpse of the world outside before swallowing it back into the shadows.

Yet, despite the tranquil scenery around them, Soap’s mind was far from resting. If everyone had been to Ghost’s place before, that meant that there was definitely something worth seeing, something he was hiding. He was determined to be right. Ghost had a bird.

Further into the drive, Soap catches glimpses of distant lights moving across the fields. They bobbed and weaved in a uniform rhythm, eerily synchronized for lights, flickering through the darkness.

“Farmer’s dogs are out,” Ghost comments, his voice low and unreadable. “Must be chasin’ something.”

Before Soap could get a proper look at whatever something was, the car veered onto a narrow side road, cutting off his view.

“You live near a farm?” he asks, watching as the scenery shifts.

Ghost grunts an affirmative, offering nothing more. Before he could press any further, Price turns onto a long, gravel driveway, the tires crunching softly against the stones. 

Soap leans forward again as a modest yet charming farmhouse comes into view. A small porch light bathes the front of the house in a warm glow. It looked, cozy. Not how he would think one would describe Ghost’s home.

“That’s yer place?” he asks, heavy skepticism coating his tone.

Once again, Ghost merely grunts an affirmative. Then, with a slight edge to his voice, he adds, “Make sure you mind your manners.”

Soap smirks. “What, ye worried I’ll scare the cat?” Soap teases. 

The joke earns him a hard glare from the masked man, the kind that makes it very clear that he is treading on thin ice. Price parks up close to the house before anyone can say anything further. 

After stepping out, Soap takes a chance to look at his surroundings. The house was wrapped in lush greenery, flowers spilling over from well-kept garden beds and climbing trellises. It was once again a stark contrast to the man who owned it, comfy. And yet, it only fueled Soap’s suspicions.

They had barely grabbed their bags when a blood-curdling screech tore through the quiet night.

Soap froze, immediately on edge. “What the hell was that?”

A deep, guttural meowl followed and it felt long, drawn-out, and wrong. It echoes from somewhere near the tree line, making Soap’s pulse quicken.

Ghost barely reacts, simply glancing towards the forest. “Cat must’ve got out,” he mutters before heading toward the house.

Soap hesitates. That didn’t sound like any cat he’d ever heard.

Something about how Ghost said it so casually and dismissive sends a shiver down his spine. With a quick glance toward the others, he hurries after Ghost, not keen on lingering outside any longer than necessary.

Stepping inside, Soap was immediately hit with a wave of warmth and comfort. The living room was the exact opposite of what he had expected. Big, inviting couches piled high with plush pillows and blankets, soft lighting that cast a golden glow across the walls. Nearly every surface was adorned with plants, their vines spilling over shelves and trailing toward the floor in lazy curls.

And then there was the pet bed. It was huge, nestled in the corner like a throne. Soap stared at it, utterly surprised. “Just how big is your cat?”

Ghost’s answer dies on his tongue as another ungodly screech echoed from outside, this time followed by the unmistakable snap of jaws and a furious chorus of barking dogs.

Soap flinched, whipping toward the window in time to see three of the distant lights streaking past, tearing towards the forest with breakneck speed.

“Sounds like they caught whatever they were after,” Ghost says flatly, completely unfazed. 

Soap turns to him, concern plastered on his face. Slowly, Soap takes a step away from the window.

“Right,” Ghost continues as if nothing had happened. “One of you will need to take the couch. Guest bed’s not big enough for three.” 

Just as the words leave his mouth, a sudden noise comes from the kitchen. A faint but distinct shuffle, the sound of movement where there shouldn’t be any. Every head snaps toward the doorway. The team had faced enemy fire, brutal missions, and near-death situations. But after the week they’d had, their nerves were still wound tight, instincts sharp.

Suddenly, soft, quick footfalls break the silence, followed by a chorus of eager meows barreling into the living room. The team exhales, shoulders loosening as the true source of the “intruder” revealed itself.

“There she is,” Ghost says, his voice uncharacteristically warm as he kneels down.

A fluffy black cat, with a mosaic of white and orange splotches, practically launches into Ghost’s arms. Immediately a cacophony of loud, rumbling purrs fill the room as the cat chirps and rubs their head all over the masked man.

“There's my girl,” Ghost coos as he rubs a finger under the cat's chin. 

Soap swears he can see the damn cat smile, purrs growing even louder as it presses into the touch, completely and utterly smitten with the masked man.

“She's looking nice and healthy,” Price comments, watching the affectionate display.

At the sound of his voice, the cat perks up, ears twitching as it twists out of Ghost’s hold and trots over to rub against Price and Gaz’s legs. Both men reach down to scratch at its soft fur, their hands easily finding familiar spots.

“I forgot how soft you were,” Gaz chuckles as it twirls between them, soaking up the attention. Then, as if suddenly noticing the extra presence in the room, the cat pauses. Its bright green eyes land on Soap, studying him with a quiet curiosity. It tilts its head slightly, ears twitching as it takes a hesitant step forward. 

Soap freezes, glancing at Ghost who gives him a small nod.

“Let her sniff your hand,” Ghost instructs. 

Frowning slightly, Soap peels off his glove and extends his hand, palm up. The cat looks to Ghost first, as if waiting for some kind of confirmation. Ghost turns his attention to the cat, cocking his head to Soap. “That’s Soap,” he tells it, low and steady.

At that, its ears perk, and its tail flicks before it closes the distance, giving his hand a few, careful sniffs. Then, as if making its final judgment, it presses its head into his palm, purring into the touch.

“Soap, this is Callie,” Ghost says simply. “Seems she likes you.”

Soap blinks down at her as she gazes up at him with wide, trusting green eyes. Any lingering suspicions, theories, or conspiracies vanish in an instant. Ghost was telling the truth. There was no secret missus waiting back at home.

Just this cat. 

Callie.

“She’s a beaut,” Soap admits, scratching gently behind her ear.

Ghost gives a short nod. “Yeah.”

After another moment, Callie stretches lazily and trots back over to Ghost. She lets out a long, dramatic yawn before hopping effortlessly into his waiting arms, nesting into the crook of his elbow with a satisfied purr.

“Looks like she’s had a long night,” Ghost remarks, stroking her soft fur. “We’re gonna turn in, regroup in the morning.”

A murmur of sleepy agreements passes through the team. Ghost gave one last nod before retreating toward the downstairs bedroom with Callie still draped in his arms like a queen.

There was some lighthearted bickering over who got the couch, but Soap eventually ends up being the one collapsing onto the plush sofa. The second his head hits the pile of soft pillows and blankets, sleep takes him. For the first time in a long, long time, everything feels strangely peaceful.

The next morning, Soap stirred awake to the low murmur of voices drifting from the kitchen. The warmth of the blankets still clung to him, and for a moment, he considered rolling over and slipping back into his peaceful sleep. The tempting scent of fresh coffee ends up winning out and he stretches with a groggy yawn. He pushes himself upright, blinking blearily at the cozy living room around him before making his way toward the voices.

As he stepped into the kitchen, he was immediately met with two pairs of eyes watching him. Ghost and Price sit at a small dining table, mugs in hand, their conversation cutting off when they see him enter. There was something unreadable in their expressions, as if they were waiting for something. 

Soap narrowed his eyes, suspicious. Then, movement out of the corner of his eye has him whipping his head towards the other side of the kitchen. When his head turns, his thoughts grind to a screeching halt.

A woman.

A stunning woman.

She turns toward him and for a moment, all he can do is stare, slack-jawed. She has warm, sun-kissed skin and striking green eyes that seem to glow under the soft kitchen light. Long, dark black hair cascades down her back, streaked with vibrant patches of orange and white. But that wasn’t what had him frozen.

It was the ears.

Perched atop her head were two pointed, fur-covered ears, flicking slightly as they registered his presence. Behind her, a long, bushy tail stood proudly, curling slightly at the tip. His eyes dared to dart lower. 

She was dressed casually, wearing an old tank top that effortlessly hugged her figure paired with sweatpants with a cutout for her tail. But it was her feet that made his brain short-circuit. At first, he thought she was wearing oddly realistic slippers, but no, those were definitely not slippers. 

They were actual cat paws.

Soap’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. His brain finally clicked everything into place and suddenly, it all made way too much sense. His expression lit up in triumph as he spun on his heel, jabbing a finger towards Ghost.

“A-ha!”

Ghost let out a long, exhausted sigh, bringing a hand up to rub his temples. “Please don’t yell.”

Soap ignored him, grinning like a madman. “You said you didn’t have a bird!”

“He’s not wrong,” Price mused, smirking behind his coffee mug. “She’s definitely not a bird.”

Callie grins wickedly. “I eat birds.”

Soap crossed his arms, doubling down. “You also said you didn’t have a missus.”

The woman let out an amused hum, raising a delicate hand. “Not a missus either,” she purred, lips curling into a sharp smirk as she turned to Ghost. “You were right, master. This one is funny.”

Soap’s brain screeches to a second halt.

“Master?!” he gawks, whipping around to face Ghost like he had just grown a second head.

Ghost exhales through his nose, reaching for his tea like this entire conversation was already giving him a headache.

Soap took another second to let things sit in, completely stunned. Of all the things he had expected to find at Ghost’s house, this was not on the list. “Right. Okay. Just, hold on a minute.” Soap pinches the bridge of his nose like that would somehow help process the absolute madness in front of him. “So, let me get this straight. Ye’ve been lying to me this whole time? Playin’ me for a fool while I went on and on about you havin’ a secret missus?”

Ghost gives him a look over his mug, eyes flat and unimpressed. “Never lied to you, Johnny.”

Soap’s jaw drops. “Oh, bollocks ye didn’t!” He waves a hand at the woman, who was now watching him with an amused gleam in her eyes. “What’s all this then?”

Ghost takes another slow sip of tea, dragging it out just to piss him off, Soap is sure of it. “Told you I had a cat.”

Soap gawks at him. He turns to Price, who is doing a terrible job of hiding his smirk. Turning to the woman, her tail flicks lazily behind her as she sips from her own cup, utterly unbothered by his existential crisis.

Finally, his eyes settle on Gaz, who walks into the kitchen. He takes one look at the situation before sighing.

“Finally found out, huh?” He turned to the woman with an easy nod. “Morning, Callie.”

“Morning, Kyle,” she responds happily.

Soap whirls on him. “You knew too?!”

Gaz snorts, grabbing a cup from the counter and starting to pour himself some coffee. “Mate, everyone knew.”

Soap threw his hands in the air. “What the hell is wrong with all of you? How is this normal? This is not normal.”

A soft chuckle draws his attention back to Callie. “Relax, Johnny,” she teases, stepping closer. “You’re acting like you’ve never seen a shifter before.”

Soap takes a step back, bumping into the counter. “A what now?”

She arches a brow. “A shifter?” At his blank stare, she sighs, setting her cup down before gesturing to herself. “You know… a hybrid. A morph. I think in Japan I’m known as a nekomata.” She flicks her tail for emphasis. “Any of this ringing a bell?”

Soap blinks. Looks at Ghost. Back at her. Looks at her tail. Then back to Ghost.

“That's what all that racket was last night,” she says with a huff. “Sorry about that, by the way, I hope I didn’t scare you. Had to shift into my bigger form to deal with this nasty fox that's been causing issues and eating my chickens. Finally caught the fucker, so I called the neighbor's dogs for some assistance.”

Price chuckles at Soap's pale face. “Starting to make sense now, isn’t it?”

Soap once again jabs a finger at Ghost. “You… yer dating a bloody cat girl and just didn’t think to mention it?”

Ghost shrugged. “Not my fault you wouldn’t drop it.”

Callie grins, stepping even closer to Soap, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Would it make you feel better if I purred for you?”

Soap blanches. “Do not.”

Ghost sighs and stands up to put a steadying hand on her head. “Stop winding him up, love.”

She huffs playfully, ears and tail flicking in satisfaction. “Fine, fine.” Then she leans up on her toes and gives Ghost a quick peck on the cheek, right over the mask. “But you do make it too easy, Johnny.”

Soap slumps against the counter, dragging a hand over his face. He needed a drink or a nap. Probably both.

Price stands up, clapping him on the back with a chuckle. “You’ll get used to it.”

Soap peeks through his fingers at Ghost. The same Ghost who could make hardened men freeze with a single look was letting Callie nuzzle into him.

The contrast was striking. His harsh demeanor softened as he ran a gloved hand down Callie’s back. The sight pulled something deep into Soap’s chest, something warm and unfamiliar. His initial resistance crumbled instantly, and the fight left him like air from a punctured tire.

And yet, what he’s most surprised to realize, isn’t his surrender. Rather, it’s the quiet tug of longing that settled in its place.

Despite how comforting the kitchen now felt, reality was quick to settle back in. Price was the one to break up the moment, clearing his throat to grab the boy's attention. 

“Sorry to break this up, but we're going to be needed back at base today to give a debrief. Why don't we finish our drinks and be wheels up in 10?”

Soap pushes off the counter, glancing at Gaz, who is now determined to finish his coffee before they return to work mode. “I'll go grab my stuff.”

Callie, still tucked against Ghost's side, gives a small pout. “So soon? You boys just got here.”

Soap scoffs. “Aye, and I'm sure you’d love to keep watchin’ me lose my mind, but we do have jobs to get back to, lass.”  

She smirks. “Fair enough. But don’t be a stranger, Johnny.” 

Something in the way she says his name is light, a little teasing, but oddly warm. It makes his ears burn, and he quickly turns on his heel before anyone notices.

“It was really good to see you boys,” Soap can hear her say with a purr as he leaves the kitchen. “Promise you'll stay longer next time? Give me a chance to properly host you all?”

He hears the captain respond, but Price’s voice is too low to make out. A few minutes later, the team has their gear piled up in the living room, ready to head out. Ghost disappears into the downstairs bedroom while the others get things sorted.

Soap takes another slow look around the cozy space, trying to shake the weird sense of homeyness it leaves in his chest. He hadn't expected any of this, and he sure as hell didn't expect to feel… jealous? No, that couldn't be right. Whatever it is, it settles heavily in his stomach as he watches Ghost reappear, Callie trailing behind him with an easy grace.  

As they step outside, the crisp morning air cuts through the lingering warmth of the house, jolting Soap back into reality. Ghost pulls the door shut behind them, lingering there for a moment. Callie takes the opportunity to lean up on her feet, brushing a kiss against the side of his mask. He murmurs something to her, too low for Soap to hear, before stepping back and heading towards the car.  

Callie waves lazily as they load into the vehicle. “Safe travels, boys.”  

Soap leans his head against the window as Price pulls away, watching as Callie stands in the driveway, tail flicking. She stays there until they disappear down the road.  

Only then does he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.  

Gaz nudges him with a knowing smirk. “What’s got you all quiet?”  

Soap scowls. “Nothin’.”  

Price chuckles from the front seat. “Give it time.”  

Soap had no idea what he meant by that. But as he watches the road stretch ahead of them, the warmth of Ghost’s home fading into the distance, he has a sinking feeling he’s going to be thinking about this for a long time.

A/N: Thought I would post a little snippet of this story here on Tumblr since I've noticed that's where I'm finding a lot of other hybrid things. I think the full story might be too long to post here so I've got the full thing linked below! Thank you for reading! 💜

Completed story on: AO3 (18+)

I’m finally brave enough to start reading Ghoap fanfics and I am actually scared

I strongly urge any Ghost/Soap find out there to go and read through the entirety of Simple math so far, and quite frankly all of peach’s fics because they are nothing short of art.

I’m not even exaggerating when I say these fics, particularly Simple math, have made me go through so many different emotions, and the writing is just so beautiful and carefully done that It’s truly better than an awful lot of fully published books that i’ve read as of late. Simple math has to be my favourite fanfiction out there, and quite frankly, one of the best things I have ever read, And I cannot express enough how Incredible Peach is

Peach’s writing is actually one of the main things that ever got me into Call of duty in the first place, So even if you’re not an avid fan, I would strongly recommend reading some of her work. Dead Disco is the first thing I found all the way back in April of last year, and I instantly became attached to it. I had absolutely no knowledge at all of call of duty, but about 3 sentences into her writing I just kept going, Completely hooked on the amazingness of it. I started reading more about COD soon after, and ended up playing all 3 modern warfare remakes

If it hadn’t been for peach, I would’ve never really so much as considered playing Call of duty (this is coming from someone who religiously plays the Sims 4, Minecraft, Little nightmares, Stardew valley etc…) But now I’ve somehow fallen completely in love with it, and to add onto that; completely in love with Peach’s stories.

Simple math has been my favourite right from the first chapter, but that is absolutely not to say that I’m not obsessed with all of her other pieces, because I absolutely am.

If anyone is looking for something new to read, not even specifically fanfictions, I would very very much to encourage you to check out some of Peach’s pieces because they really are so beautifully done, and they produce such real and incredible emotion.

(Besides, who wouldn’t want to read about Simon Riley and Johnny Mactavish? I mean, come on, have you seen them?)

Simple Math masterlist

COD masterlist

You had a plan, but never could have anticipated… this.

Ghost/Soap/female reader - throuple fic Please read this post

AO3 / all works are 18+

Part One You meet your new patient, and his Ghost. Part Two Deep breath. Part Three " You'll be with him?" Part Four Sanctuary. Part Five Johnny tells you a secret Part Six Simon does some digging Part Seven You get caught in a spell Part Eight The rock and the hard place Part Nine Simon and Johnny make a discovery, and a promise. Part Ten Dinner date Part Eleven Welcome home Part Twelve One step forward, two steps back. Part Thirteen Confessions Part Fourteen what's in a name? Part Fifteen Try Part Sixteen Therapy Part Seventeen A shock Part Eighteen Surprise

Timeline

Musings: Original ramble Follow up Q

Moodboard and playlist

A Fly on the Wall (FemReader x Ghoap.)

Warnings: masturbation, thoughts of fucking, perverted deep thinking (me everyday probably) Ghoap x reader. Mentions of fucking. Established relationship (Simon x Johnny) some voyeurism mentioned? Getting caught kink

A pervy-ous situation wink wink. But for real tho I feel like I used their names too much to make sure everyone knows who's who. And in such a comfortable setting I feel they would use their normal names/nicknames for each other. I used Ghost once but you guys will tell when and why.

Enjoy, bone apple teeth-

What else could Johnny say except he didn't expect to find you humping your pillow. On a camera he set up. In his own room...

Earlier.

You came over to Johnny and Simon's house for the night so that the three of you could carpool tomorrow night to meet with Price and Gaz. And it wasn't out of the ordinary for you to sleep over. Johnny and Simon loved having you around. You helped clean, you cooked amazing food, and even helped to settle arguments between the couple. Or sometimes you'd start them, always a friendly bickering though.

And weeks ago, Johnny had set up a camera in his and Simon's room. Mind you that this was weeks before anyone planned on meeting up or carpooling. He just wanted to try to catch the sleep talking that Simon says he does.

"Can't understand a word you say." Simon had told him. "N' I thought I had gotten pretty good at makin sense of you talking everyday." And he let out a single chuckle before sipping his tea. He was so proud of his little joke, Johnny thought as he rolled his eyes.

So Johnny had hoped that he could catch what his dreaming self had said. And there was one instance that he did mumble something incoherent. But, the Scottish man did have a grand time rewatching him and Simon fuck. All the feed on the computer for both him and Si to comment and point at. As if watching a YouTube video.

Another week passed and he forgot about the camera. Not entirely but with planning a meet up and a sleep over, the camera thing was pushed to the back of his mind.

Then you came over to sleep. Normally you would be sleeping in the guest bedroom, but there were boxes on the bed and in the room. That was entirely Johnny's fault, and he took blame. When you had offered to take the couch, Simon scoffed.

"Absolutely not. Since this bloke forgot to clean out the room, he can get the couch. You take our bed for the night."

"And where will you sleep?" Johnny smirked.

Ghost stared him straight in the eye. "On you. Since you forgot to clean out the spare room." And Johnny didn't know if he should be scared or turned on...

So you went to their room, and he remembered you mentioned taking the pillow from the spare room because it was comfortable. He didn't think much of it.

Now.

In the early hours of the morning, Johnny was the first to wake. He fixed himself a cup of coffee and went to his computer. He intended to look back at some recipes he saved. (He was planning on surprising both Si and you with something new for breakfast. As an apology.) But he saw his camera app icon blinking. He cursed himself, knowing he forgot to stop the recording for last night.

He sighed and opened the app. He'll delete the footage of you sleeping. He didn't want to be seen as a creep. And he'll remember to tell you about the camera. The application was still loading, while it did a goofy smile found itself in his lips. What if there's footage of you snoring like a beast? Or maybe you fart in your sleep? He chuckled to himself, knowing that would be the best thing to ever find.

How wrong he would be.

The video feed finally came up and he played it, speeding he film up by 5x. It started from yesterday morning. He sees Simon's half naked figure getting up first, then coming back and waking Johnny up. He felt a little warmness in his chest at seeing it again, but kept watching. The two got dressed and then there was a gap where no activity happened.

Johnny hummed and paused, moved the feed forward and paused when you came into view. From there he played the video at 2x. A proud smile on his face as he was prepared to catch you snoring. As the video played out, you tossed and turned on the bed. Then you played on your phone. It was a back and forth and Johnny had checked the time stamps. It would be close to midnight and you were still awake.

He crossed his ankle over his knees while he thought back to how late him and Simon were up. His heart skipped when he realized that you might have been awake long enough to hear them screwing on the couch. The man mumbled a curse under his breath and looked back at the camera, ready to speed it up again when he saw at what part he was on.

You were on your hands and knees, back arched beautifully with your head bowed. Between your legs was the pillow from the spare room, scrunched in on itself. The Scott spit out his drink and paused the computer. He stood up and coughed up the coffee he accidentally inhaled.

"Bloody hell Johnny what are you doing in there?" Simon's groggy voice called from the couch. Johnny cleared his throat, but offered no explanation. His eyes darting to the hallway where the room was. You weren't awake. And he knew he should just be a good friend and shut the computer. Or even better, delete that footage.

But. He couldn't.

After a couple of long debating minutes, Johnny rewinded the video back carefully. He let it play at regular speed and watched the scene unfold. You sighed and sit up, your eyes darting to the door. You paused and he knew you were listening to them making love on the couch. Johnny's heart hammered and he covered his mouth.

You ran your fingers through your hair and laid back. After a few more minutes, you reached below the blankets and Johnny froze. He could see how your eyes closed. And beneath the blankets, your legs moved up. The video quality was good enough that he could see your eyebrows furrow in frustration. Then you moved and got up on your knees. Moving to the foot of the bed, you took the pillow you were using to lie on and folded it in half. Then you carefully got on top of it and looked at the door.

Johnny couldn't hear himself and Simon on the camera, but he knew you could. Something about this idea...it made him shiver in delight. Then you started to rock your hips. Slowly at first. You started building up speed and kept looking back at the door. He could see how you bit your lip, how your brows knit in concentration. Your mouth opened and Johnny leaned in, as if to try and hear you. But you ducked your head and closed your mouth. He found himself a bit disappointed, but before he could continue watching, Simon was standing up from the couch and stretching.

Johnny closed the computer and rested his arms atop. He didn't know his face was red. But he knew about the tightness in his pants. Shame blossomed all throughout his body and Simon looked at him, closely. He glanced between the computer and his boyfriend, before raising his brow. "Watching smut this early in the morning?" He walked over while stretching his shoulder. "I told you I don't mind it...but in the kitchen?" He stopped besdies Johnny and he could practically see the beads of sweat.

Simon's tone was softer when he spoke again. "Something else?"

Johnny sighed and opened the computer, waiting for the screen to come on again. "Si I dinnae mean to catch it! I was only watchn'to see if I could fine' dirt over th'lass n git a good laugh-" His words were more Scottish and more jumbled than Simon could ever have imagined. When the screen was opened and the video played, Simon hummed.

"I don't mind you watchin a woman gettin off either, Johnny." His sleepy mind didn't comprehend what he was seeing. Then it was like his brain did a double take and he was leaning over to look closer at the screen. "Hold on. Is that-" and then he realized what he was seeing, who he was watching and he stood up straight again. "Oh fuckin hell."

Now the both of them were staring at the screen. But Simon was analyzing everything. "I said it was an accident. Forgot about the camera I had in there." Johnny mumbled, rubbing his face again. "I just wanted to see if I could y'know! Catch her snoring or somethin wild..."

"Something wild indeed." Simon mumbled making Johnny nearly groan at the terrible joke. But then Simon was making connections too. His eyes darting at the time stamps and seeing how you kept looking to the door, as if listening. "She gettin off to hearin us?" Johnny nodded, not surprised that he caught on that quick. Then Simon huffed. "I hope she isn't using my pillow..."

That earned a slap to his shoulder and a quick correction that you were using the pillow from the spare room. They continue to watch the video, and watched as your hips bucked wildly. Your head fell back as you reached your end and both men kept their eyes between your blissed out reaction and your hips as they stuttered to a slow stop. But you slowly kept going and Johnny had to adjust himself, cursing again.

Simon had to shift from foot to foot, his own problem arising at the video. He sighed and tapped his fingers against the table.

What they didn't know, was they shared the same thought. How you got off to them, made them both hot and bothered. Not only that, but seeing you in such a primal desperate position? Humping a pillow to the moans and grunts of them fucking in the next room while you nearly ripped the sheets from gripping them so hard. Your hips imitating the idea of yourself on top of one of them, trying to find release in the idea that you could have been there with them last night...

Simon groaned and looked at Johnny, who looked up at him. Johnny swallowed thickly before asking. "What should we do?"

Si seemed to perk up and he walked behind Soap who was sitting in the chair still. He pressed his half hardened cock against his back to conceal it while reaching over to the laptop and exiting the camera app. Johnny didn't question it the moment you shuffled in and mumbled a sleepy good morning to the both of them. They gave you a greetings back, watching you carefully.

You yawned and went to the fridge. Opening it up, you take out a water bottle and turn to the two men. "I'm gonna go shower in the guest bathroom. If you guys want I could make breakfast after I'm done." You still looked half asleep and likely you didn't notice how stiff their postures were.

Simon hummed. "No need sweetheart. Johnny was just about to get started on some pancakes. Want a stack?" His tone was even without a hint of worry in it. Practiced, Johnny thought.

You smiled at the both of them. "Yeah I'd like that. Thank you." You turned to walk down the hall but paused. "Oh and I have to say, the bed you guys have is so comfortable." You chuckled. "It smells like the both of you but I didn't mind it."

And you walked to the spare bathroom, not noticing how Johnny's jaw slackened and how Simon's grip on the back of the chair tightened. The door closed and Johnny spoke up. "We're bad friends."

Simon shook his head. "No we're not...like you said it was an accident... Y'know friends walk in on their friends changin or getting screwed all the time."

Johnny stood up and put his hands on his hips, his hard on evident through the thin pajamas. "But this? I don't know if I can laugh this one off Si." Simon was looking down at his partner, taking in the situation and then stepped close to him. "I don't know what we should do...confess?"

Simon reached forward and cupped Johnny's face, humming. "We'll ask her. I can coax it out of her if it makes you feel better." And he smirked when he saw how Johnny frowned in disapproval. "I won't say anything that will make her mad. Just ask her some questions... we'll all talk this out together."

He leaned in and kissed him, his hand pulling Johnny's head closer to his own. He had kissed back while his hands went to Simon's waist and gently pulled away. "You're not helping this situation."

Simon smirked. "We have 30 minutes. You make the pancakes and I'll fix the both of us out." He leaned in and pressed his lips to Johnny's neck, while his hands moved down the front of his pants. "You gonna start on that batter? Don't keep our girl waiting..."

A/n: (Pervy-ous.)Pervious is a gap between spaces of rock that allow water to pass through. Idk why I thought pervious meant like mischievous? Lol. Shoot me.

Ghost Lets You Help (18+)

Pairing: Simon Riley/Fem Reader/Johnny MacTavish Content Warnings: Oral (m-receiving), nutting onto partner’s body, she/her Reader, Reader’s hair is long enough to be gripped in someone’s hand Word Count: 3.4k

Service Dog Johnny Part 17 (full part list here)

“How often do you jerk off?”

Your boyfriend’s fingers halt their up and down movement across your lower back, and you quickly tack on, “You don’t have to answer that, I’m just nosy, and I like you a lot.”

Simon huffs in amusement. “At home, or when I’m working?”

“At home, I guess.”

“Ehh… Just about every day.”

Your mouth pops open in surprise, because you don’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that. He’s with you nearly every minute when you’re both home, and he’s certainly never given any indication of needing to sneak off to take care of something. 

But really, is it that surprising? You know first hand that he’s quite functional.

“Hmm,” you reply finally. “You’re a really interesting person.”

“It’s not that interesting.”

“Mmm… disagree. I have way more questions now.”

He turns his head to get a look at you, resting in bed with your cheek smushed into the crook of his shoulder. “Like what?”

“Like… have you jerked off today?”

“No.” His hand begins to move again, steadily smoothing against the worn fabric of your sleep shirt. 

“Would you ever want… help?” You ask casually, smiling at him. “Just like, for fun. Like a quick, wham bam… here’s my hand.”

You expect him to laugh at your little joke, but instead Simon makes that grumble in his throat that means he’s uncomfortable, and stares up at the shadowy ceiling. “It’s… ahh. It’s not easy… well, it’s a problem, having things done, sort of, to me.”

“Gotcha, okay.” Your reassurance is automatic, but you still lay there against his side for a minute with your heart clenching, wishing the worst things the world has to offer on whoever caused this. 

You know you should probably end the conversation there and not push him, but you can’t help asking, “What about if you were controlling it? No pressure of course, I’m just troubleshooting. Do you think it would be easier if you were the one just like… fucking my mouth?”

 He takes a deep breath and slides his free hand down his face, like he’s really considering it. “Maybe.”

You contain your smile to a mere tenth of what it wants to be, and add, “Well, if you ever feel like experimenting, I would really, really like to do that. And you know we could stop whenever you need.”

“You’d want to do that?” He finally glances at you, frowning slightly like he thinks you’re lying. 

“Yes! Oh my god.” You sit up in your excitement, beaming down at him. “That would be so fun.”

He assesses you like this is all new information to him. Like he never even imagined that you’d be practically creaming yourself at the chance to get him in your mouth, no matter how it happens. You’d absolutely give him that control, you’d let him fuck your face for as long as he wants if it means you get a taste of his pleasure.

“You’d like that,” he muses finally. 

Please, please, god, PLEASE.  

“Mhmm,” you reply with a heavy dose of faux nonchalance, so he’ll feel like he’s allowed to say no. 

His eyes flick to the clock on the nightstand. There’s still some time left before you usually go to bed. 

“Would you do it with the lights off?”

“Of course,” you beam. “I’m up for anything.”

“All the lights,” he reinforces sternly, as if that could possibly matter.

“Baby. You’re gonna get me excited.”

He throws his legs over the side of the bed and stays there for a minute stretching his neck out, while you remain where you are, vibrating with anticipation. Finally he sighs and glances over his shoulder at you. “Suppose you’re allowed to get excited.”

Just like that, it’s settled. 

Gleefully you spring into action to do the necessary bedtime things, scrubbing over your teeth and washing your face. When you meet him back in the bedroom, he’s for some reason staring down at a pillow that’s lying on the floor.

“What are you doing?” you ask. 

“Err… you’ll be on your knees, yeah? Would a pillow be wobbly, or?…”

This is really happening. 

“Carpet’s fine,” you assure him, scooping up the pillow and tossing it back on the bed. “It’s plenty soft, and also I don’t care.”

“Hmm.”

Ignoring you entirely, he starts stalking around the room, running his fingers over the locks on the windows and unplugging anything with a little glowing light. 

You do the only thing that’s really your job, and strip your clothes off, because surely he’ll want to look a little before the lights go out. And since he’s still meticulously getting the blackout curtains to stay as closed as they can go, you begin to plan the scene.

If he’s going to be the one fucking your mouth, if you aren’t allowed to move at all, you’re going to want something for support. The obvious thing is the bed, so you test it by getting to the floor and slipping your feet into the space under the bed frame. This could work. You have the soft edge of the mattress to lean your back against now, and it’ll be relatively comfy to give a blowjob like this. 

Your mind only focuses back to the present when Simon comes to a stop some paces away, tracing your body with his eyes. 

“Is this okay?” you ask. 

“Mhmm.” His hand comes to rest on the doorknob as his gaze floats up to your face. 

“You locked the front door, I saw.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t move though, and you can practically see him second guessing it through his unfocused expression. He won’t be able to relax unless he knows for sure.

“Go ahead and check,” you concede, “we have time.”

Instantly he’s out the door. You let your head fall back on the bed, smiling to yourself as you rest there for a moment. You stroke your hands down your stomach just to feel the softness of your own skin, and then squeeze your breasts. 

The last person who touched you was Johnny. He’s gone tonight, had to do a nighttime shooting qualification at work, so you won’t see him until hopefully tomorrow. 

What would he think, if he knew this was about to happen? Would he worry about Simon? Maybe feel like you’re pushing him too fast? It was just a couple of days ago that you were biting Johnny’s head off about feeling unwanted, and now you’re experimenting without him again. 

Your hands drop off your body as soon as the door opens. You blink up at your boyfriend who’s now towering over you, a completely different person than he was a few minutes ago.

He must have satisfied every bug in his brain, because the curtains are now the farthest thing from his mind. His eyes are liquid darkness, roving over your bare skin as he reaches behind his neck to strip his shirt over his head. He doesn’t even fold it, just wads it up and tosses it on the bed without a glance.

“You ready?” you ask innocently, shivering a little. 

“Yep.”

“Okay.” Your gaze wanders down to the situation in his pants, and you realize your mistake. “You’re more like, here, aren’t you?” You readjust, getting to your full height on your knees instead of sitting. 

“I think so.”

You put your elbows behind you to prop you up on the bed, and surreptitiously watch him cross the room to turn off the lamp

Click.

And then it’s real.

The first thing you notice is that he did an excellent job of killing every light. There’s fucking nothing, not even the clock display to orient you to your surroundings. Granted, your eyes haven’t adjusted yet, but it’s basically pitch black, which means he has a good chance of going through with this. 

Which means—

He’s quiet, as he usually is. It’s only his unavoidable weight, and the creak of old floorboards that allows you to sense that he’s come back to you. Your body awakens with the awareness of proximity, excitement and arousal, and for some reason a little bit of fear, which doesn’t seem to diminish the other two. 

Your name comes out of his chest, slow and deep, and right in front of you.

“Yeah, baby,” you whisper, feeling more vulnerable in the darkness, because you can’t anticipate the first place he’ll touch you. 

It’s your chin. His familiar hand finds your face, and then you’ve got a palm holding each of your cheeks. Thumbs you can’t see brush across your temples, careful fingers tuck your hair behind your ears. His hands are steady as they repeat the motion, stroking the edges of your face to pet your hair out of the way. Again. Again. Gentle fingers of a patient man. 

You keep your eyes lifted as if you can see him, relaxing your body and allowing him to tilt your head back a little. Your hair gets methodically gathered into one of his hands, and then held firmly like that, in a way that makes you anticipate your mouth getting soon filled. 

But he releases it, as if he was just testing the option. His hands slip back around to your face, cupping the underside of your jaw and curling around your nape. 

“You're safe,” he tells you, for some reason.

“I know.”

His methodical breathing is all you hear as his thumb sweeps the length of your cheekbone, slowly, like he’s touching something valuable. And his other thumb finds the seam of your lips, coaxing them open with a little pressure. 

You stay soft for him while he pushes that digit past your teeth, keeping your mouth relaxed as he lets it rest on your tongue. You wait like that, letting him feel how warm and pliant your mouth is, just breathing through your nose as he caresses your face in the darkness. What a good girl you are, his thumb seems to say, skimming the tips of your lashes when you blink. So well behaved for me.

He never loses contact, even when his hand retreats from your mouth. He keeps the back of your skull resting in the cradle of his wide palm while he gets himself ready. That soft rustle of fabric shoots a thrill down your spine, has you lifting your chin a little to straighten out your throat. 

Then something warm and a little sticky kisses up against your lips, and the man you love breathes a quiet, “Open.”

Against the blanket, your fingers curl in pleasure while he eases himself into your mouth. He presses just the tip in, and then pulls back out a little, repeating the motion. It’s like he’s sampling the way it feels sliding across your tongue, so you stick it out for him to play with, just past your lower lip. He feels you do that, you can tell by the appreciative breath he lets out. He likes it. He likes picturing you here, patiently waiting with your tongue out, letting him rub his leaking tip up and down it. 

It’s so good. Your eyes drift closed on their own, mentally slipping into the skin of someone who deserves this kind of attention. You take an ungodly amount of pleasure in being toyed with like this — the slow, systematic breaking down of your psyche until all you are is a craving. A bone deep, unending ripple of want that registers your mouth as the natural place for his cock. He gets to come home now, pushing inside you and finding relief in the same act that’s getting you slick between your legs. 

You’re not sure if he does it like this on purpose to get you worked up. You’re not sure that it matters. 

“Show me how deep I can go so it’s still comfortable.” His thumb presses down on your jaw, guiding you to open wider. “This is important to me.”

Oh. Okay. Obediently you reach out and find his thigh with your hand, relaxing your mouth as he begins to push himself inside it. A happy, breathy noise leaves you when you finally feel it the way you’re meant to, finally get your mouth full of that fundamental piece of him. 

He doesn’t pause, just carefully pushes inside until he reaches the line of your gag reflex, and you offer some resistance on his leg to let him know. 

“Fuck, alright. Yeah, alright.” His  breathing is ragged between words. “Christ, you sound so pretty.”

Yeah, you’re too aroused to really hold back at this point. As he begins to slowly thrust into your mouth, you thank him for it with soft, needy throat noises. He keeps one hand around your jaw and feeds you his cock to exactly where you showed him, and it feels divine. 

You're not sure if it’s intentional, but he never fully pulls out. He never gives you a chance to collect yourself or swallow, just keeps filling your mouth until you’re no longer anxious about it ending before you’re ready. You’re dazed and content, drooling around him and communicating exactly how much you’re enjoying yourself, through every soft moan and whimper. Your lips are wet from the mess of spit and precum gathering in your mouth, and you’re getting so turned on that you swear there’s a faint sensation of something dripping down the inner crease of your thigh. 

Maybe you like this a lot. Maybe you enjoy the way your jaw aches with how thick he is. Maybe you’re glad this is lasting a lot longer than the other time, because there’s nothing that compares to getting on your knees for someone who loves you the way he does.  

“Don’t want to— Can I cum on you?”

Like he’s just remembered that you can’t talk with your mouth full, Simon quickly pulls out and stays there, holding your face and catching his breath. 

“Yeah, of course,” you say after a quick swallow. “Maybe don’t get it in my hair if you can help it.”

“I won’t.” 

He gathers your hair again in his shaking hand, and this time he uses it to hold your head steady while he sinks himself all the way to your throat. 

It has you grabbing onto the blanket while you fight back the urge to gag. You just weren’t prepared for that, hadn’t given yourself time to relax into it after he was so insistent earlier about not going too deep. One more thrust and you can’t help the way your throat constricts, the wet sputter you do when you can’t quite accommodate him. 

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps, nearly scraping himself on your front teeth in his haste to pull out. “M’sorry. Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You lift your hand to his wrist, finding his fingers with yours and wrapping around them to make sure he doesn’t let go of your hair. “You’re alright.”

His voice still has a frantic edge. “Didn’t mean to. That wasn’t on purpose.”

“I know, baby,” you assure him, slow and calm. “Take a breath, we’re okay.”

You’re rewarded with a deep inhale and exhale from somewhere above you. Then a steady, “You’re alright?”

“Yep, I’m doing great.” You sink down the side of the bed, letting your ass rest on your feet, and draping your head back on the edge of the mattress. “And you know what?”

“What?” His fingers shift in your hair, but he doesn’t let go, so you stroke your fingers down to his wrist.

“My tits are really soft,” you tell him, letting your smile warm the words.

There’s only a beat of silence, and then a little amused huff for you. “Are they, now?”

“Mhmm. You can see for yourself, if you want.”

There’s barely a second of hesitation before you hear his knees pop, and then feel that familiar hand tracing down your collarbone to find your breast. “Mmm. You’re right.”

Your evil plan is working. “Check the other one too, just to be sure.”

Simon only stops long enough to do another deep breath, then wraps his hand around your other breast, squeezing it gently. “Yeah. Fuckin’ nice.”

Time to get him what he needs. 

“So I have these nice soft titties right here for you, right? I think you should cum on them.”

His next breath is choppy and delicious, as he runs his fingertips down the swell of your breast and fiddles with your nipple. 

“I think they would look extra pretty,” you purr at him, “with a little decoration.”

His hand leaves your skin then, and the air is so quiet that you can hear him stroking himself with your spit remaining on him. You sigh happily, letting him hold your head out of the way by your hair, so your face won’t get dirty in a minute when he cums. 

“I love your voice,” he whispers. “That little high note you do at the end of a breath, when you’re… like this.”

“Wet?” You playfully whisper back.

“Are you wet, darling?”

Your thighs seem to flex together on their own accord. “Uh huh.” 

The slick sounds pause for a beat, and then he says, “Can I feel?”

Oh, fuck. You’re definitely going to have to get your toy out after this. “Yeah, baby.”

He doesn’t let go of your hair, just reaches down with his free hand to find your thighs. You spread your knees apart on the carpet and marvel at the lack of hesitation, as he runs his fingertips up and down the outside of your pussy. 

“Jesus bloody fucking Christ.”

“I’m having a great time,” you laugh, keeping your hips as still as possible so he remains in control of the contact. 

“You are, aren’t you?” 

“Mmm, yeah.” His fingers are still stroking your soaked pussy, so you turn your head a little to kiss his wrist. “I like this, baby.”

He’s collecting your wetness, you finally realize. He gets his palm nice and slick with it, and then gets back to his feet, and starts jerking off with your arousal. 

You close your eyes and let yourself picture it, how he’s standing now with your knees between his legs. You do your best to push your tits out so they’ll get the bulk of the exterior decorating, and just relax there and let him hear your happy, horny breaths. 

His choked curse is the only warning you get before something warm and sticky hits your chest. You smile to yourself while he works himself through that orgasm, painting you with his pleasure because for some reason he’d rather do this than shoot it down your throat. 

You don’t mind, not really. You’re pretty sure it’s not a humiliation thing for him, and it’s easy enough to get cleaned up afterwards. Once his breathing has started to level out and his grip in your hair loosens, you reach up and swipe a little bit of cum off your breast. In the pitch black, he doesn’t see you suck it off your finger.

His recovery is much better this time. Maybe it’s the fact that you didn’t actually fuck, or maybe it’s because he’s processed the initial hurdle already, but he never goes nonverbal. He ends up wiping you down with his own shirt so the lights can stay off, and then he holds you in his arms while you make yourself cum with your vibrator. 

Simon reaches down to your wrist and encourages you to keep your toy on your clit while you whine and gasp through the overstimulation after your orgasm. He makes you promise not to stop before he releases your hand to play with your nipple. 

“Just a little longer,” he whispers, stroking his thumb over the sensitive point. “I know you can do it.”

He’s right. It only takes a few more minutes before you’re shaking, jerking the toy away and squeezing your thighs together through the rushing in your ears. 

You’re limp after that, merely a jellyfish washed up on the beach. Simon thinks it’s funny, keeps lifting your wrist in the air and then letting it flop to the mattress. He can’t even see it, but finds it entertaining all the same. 

“Simon?” You whisper after a few sleepy kisses.

“Hmm?”

“What do you think about clearing out the guest bedroom, and putting a bed in there for Johnny when he spends the night?”

Your boyfriend tugs affectionately at a lock of your hair. “I think that’s a bloody good idea.”

Next Part coming soon

Dividers by the-aesthetics-shop

Simple Math / Part Fifteen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader AO3 - 4.7k words Tags: 18+ mdni, nurse!reader, hospital setting, domesticity, feelings of anxiety, self doubt, anxiety about sex. PTSD. Tiny bit of a panic attack. Tiny smidge of Simon's past if you know where to look. Comfort. Cockwarming. Barebacking, anal fingering, masturbation, praise kink, daddy kink. Basically the guys fuck while Bunny watches.

You’ve been having dreams about the hospital.

It’s always the same one.

You’re running a code with an intern and a fleet of baby nurses. No one is moving as fast as you are, no one is following direction. You’re on fast forward, they’re on rewind.

Every time, the dream starts and ends the same way. For some reason, you can’t see the patient’s face. You work on them for what feels like hours, and then only once it’s been called does the mental block disappear, you look down-

To see yourself.

Intubated. Bruised and broken.

Dead.

“Bunny.”

“Hmm?” You glance up across the counter, feeling the focus of Simon’s eyes before you see them.

“Everything alright?” Pen babbles ‘moremoremoremore’ while making the sign at the same time.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He mimics Penny’s sign, and then gives her a yes, spooning more yogurt into her mouth.

“You’ve been standing in the same spot for the last ten minutes, staring into your coffee.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry… I’m just a little… scatterbrained this morning.”

“Still having that dream?” It’s been a week and a half since it started, and a few days since you finally confided in Simon and Johnny it was bothering you. “Do you think it might be related to going back to work this week?” You shrug.

“Maybe? I don’t know… I’ve never dreamed of working on… myself.” His jaw flexes, and then he sighs.

“I’ve been thinking…” Penny squawks, demanding the attention of the room, and you pull some blueberries from the counter and put them on her plate. “My therapist is taking new patients. I don’t want to push you before you’re ready, but I’d like you to consider it.” The grimace slides onto your face without preamble. Sure, you’ve considered therapy in the past, but it’s a risk. Mandated reporting, paper trails, everything you don’t need.

“I don’t need therapy right now.”

“You have PTSD.” He says point blank, and you blink. Your mind fractures, little pieces twisting and turning, trying to knit together a larger picture.

“No- I- I’m not… it’s…” You’re a medical professional, don’t you know what PTSD looks like?

“It’s hard to see, in yourself.” Simon senses the confusion and tries to soothe it away, cool balm on a burn.

You suppose he’s not wrong. It’s not unrealistic, you having PTSD, but you’ve never been confronted with it. Never been forced to face the truth.

No one’s ever known you well enough, to see.

It stings. It stings for some reason, and you don’t know why.

“I’m sorry.” He stands, moving around the counter to stand in front of you. “I want to help you, bun, but I should have approached that differently.” You shake your head, relenting into the steady hand at your back, and tip your face into his chest. The confrontation of the truth aches, but there’s comfort in Simon’s touch, understanding, and you relent to it, drifting away inside his tender hold.

“What’s goin’ on?” Johnny’s close, appearing in the kitchen after sleeping in. He was deep in his own dreams when you woke up, sweet like angel in the clouds, buried in the pillows, and you couldn’t stand to wake him.

Simon rumbles something over your head. You can’t make it out, ear covered by his bicep, and you turn your head to peek, reaching for Johnny.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

“Hi.”

“Why don’t ye come lay down wit’ me on the couch?” He coos, stroking a hand over your hair. “’m not quite awake yet.” Simon gives you a squeeze, and you nod.

“Yeah, okay.”

Johnny holds you close. His nose in your neck, fingertips carefully tracing over your skin, heat at your back, he calms you, comforts you, lulls your stiff muscles languid. He’s so good at it, pulling and kneading until you settle, and it dawns on you he’s had practice.

“Would you tell me about you and Simon?”

“What do ye want to know?”

“What was it like… in the beginning. When you got together.” He kneads your hip, thoughtful for a quiet moment, and then takes a deep breath.

“He was difficult. Didnae wan’ to let me in, no matter how hard I tried. Had to corner him in his room on base just to get him to kiss me.” Johnny chuckles low, rubbing your shoulder. “Took him forever, to break down, let me see him, really see him, for the first time. I had glimpses, here and there. Moments in the field, on base, at the bar with the team when we’d decompress but… it took a lot of work. He tried to push me off, hide away.”

“Why?

“It’s his story to tell ye, bunny. An’ he will, in time.” He sighs. “He’s always been like this, strong, steadfast, more serious than me, but he buried a lot of things, deep. Always was very aware of it, jus’ not willing to show it to anyone else. Wanted to be a ghost.”

“But… he’s okay."

“He’s okay. Has some moments where he gets lost, still, but works through ‘em, wit’ me or on his own.” He kisses your neck, soft enough to tickle, and you shiver. “He’s really good at this, bein’ a da, takin’ care of a family. Treats us all like his little unit. I miss him too much when ‘m away. Pen too.”

“I’m sure.” His lips graze your shoulder, humming.

“An’ ye. When I go back, I’ll be thinkin’ of ye all the time.” When he goes back. The idea is chilling, a douse of cold water. It’s felt so far away, the idea of Johnny returning to his job, the thing that brought you to him in the first place.

“But that won’t be for a while, right? I mean, you’re still healing.”

“It won’t be for a while.” He assures, though there’s something in his voice, pinched and pained. You don’t ask, don’t push, choosing to close your eyes instead, nestled in his arms, safe.

“This is the worst.” You’re whining. You know you’re whining, know you sound like a child, but it spills out of you without stopping.

“I know sweetheart.” Simon screws the cap onto a travel mug, giving you a sympathetic smile. They’re both up with you, before the sun, listening to you moan.

You shouldn’t be going to work at this hour. You should be awake, puttering around, working your rhythm back to normal, getting oriented to working at night.

You’ve never hated your manager more. She insisted she was sorry, that she had no choice but to fill the overnight shift. She assumed, she said, the new nurse would want to go to days when you got back, but she’s taken a liking to it.

She’s taken your shift.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad? An’ ye’ll see me tomorrow when I come in for therapy.” That is an upside at least, knowing you’ll be able to see him, see them both, at work.

But the rest of it, simply put, sucks.

“We should probably get going.” Simon kisses Johnny goodbye, and you’re drawn to them, sidling up in their orbit. Johnny wraps an arm around you, mouth to your temple.

“Have a good first day back, bunny. I’ll be thinking of ye.” You turn, grazing your lips on his, and he seals the kiss, drenching it in care, sweetness.

“Bye.”

Simon walks you all the way to the door.

Your resistance at the initial idea slowly fades as the sun peeks over the city. It’s different with Simon at your side, the paranoia and rampant fear infecting the atmosphere wherever you go is farther away.

You trust him. You’re starting to believe they may be able to keep you safe.

He holds your hand for most of the trip.

It’s… nice. Once you make it to the door, he turns and tucks his fingers under your chin, holding your gaze like a magnet. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.” He presses his lips to your forehead, and you lean into it, eyes closed.

“Have a good day, bunny.”

Work is absolute hell.

Dayshift is so different from nights, and you have trouble adjusting. The turnover rate at the hospital is fairly high, so when you badge in and get started, you hardly recognize anyone.

Except, Marshall.

He’s standing outside the pit when you round the corner, devilish grin aimed at one of the nurses you don’t recognize. New probably. Sheep in a lion’s den.

You clear your throat. His head snaps up.

“Well, well, well… looks who back from vacation.”

“Marshall.” You greet, barely looking at him, tapping through your tablet. “I wasn’t on vacation. I was out on medical leave. Big difference.”

“Right.” He takes you in from head to toe. “Rotator cuff, huh?”

“Mhmm.”

“Surgical?”

“No.” The other nurse watches you with interest, before scurrying away when a bell chimes. “Still having inappropriate relationships all over the hospital, I see.” He raises an eyebrow.

“You’re one to talk.” Ice cracks across your forced smile. He smirks. “Heard you’ve got yourself two boyfriends.” You suck your teeth. Nia.

“Considering he’s no longer my patient, it’s hardly inappropriate.” With the best timing, his phone rings, pulling his focus, and you slip away.

Fucking asshole.

Simon opens the front door for you and is careful not slam it closed.

“Penny asleep?”

“Johnny’s trying now. We’ll see if he has any luck. She’s been fightin’ it.” The kitchen smells like garlicky lemon, and you peek over his shoulder to see a large saucepan filled with linguini, capers, and shrimp. Your mouth waters.

“That smells amazing.” He takes your bag from you and hangs in on a hook from the hall tree.

“Scampi. We remembered you said it was one of your favorites, and we thought we’d spoil you a little bit. Celebrate your first day back.” Your cheeks burn hot, and to your horror, tears build up through your nose to your eyes. His brows crinkle together. “Hey, what is it?”

“That’s just… it’s really nice. You don’t have to.” Someone celebrating something with you, for you, is alien. The memories of the beginning of your relationship with Phillip are long gone, twisted and gnarled into black rot. It’s how he charmed you, wooed you, brought you closer and closer until they all but faded and you were left with only the darkness. The vice grip of his hands. His satisfied, sickening smile every time you closed your eyes.

“It’s not a ‘have to’ thing, sweetheart. We want to.” He skates his fingers over yours, pulling them to his mouth. “I know it’s hard to get used to.” You’re a little bewildered by it, the care, the consideration, even the memory of something you mentioned off hand.

“I… thank you.” He kisses your temple.

“Go shower. You smell like a hospital.”

“This was so good. Thank you again.” Your hands are woven together under your chin, rich wine sauce still present on the back of your tongue.

“Aye, thank ye.” Johnny winks at Simon, who rolls his eyes.

“Here, let me-“

“I got it.”

“No, you cooked.” You protest with a pout as they both rise.

“Johnny, sit.”

“Can wash dishes, ye know. I’m not helpless.” A sliver of twilight passes over Simon’s expression, not quite darkness but still full of a looming shadow until he sighs, relenting.

“Alright.” Your lips purse.

“What about me?”

“Ye jus’ sit on the couch and look pretty, bun. Willnae take us more than a few minutes.”

‘Just sitting on the couch’ lasts for all of five minutes before you’re antsy, rolling to your feet and padding into the kitchen.

You stop dead at the corner of the counter.

They’re making out. More than making out, Simon is swallowing Johnny’s whines with big breaths, his hand down the front of his pants. You buzz, thighs pressing together without permission, spine tingling heat awakening in your blood with zeal.

“Ah, shite-“

“Shhh. Be good.” Simon admonishes, but smiles into the kiss, wrist working a rhythm in Johnny’s sweatpants. He pulls away, chin tilted, looking down his nose with an eyebrow raised, almost condescendingly, but still grinning. “Feel good? Just need some relief?” Johnny’s moan is strangled in his throat, and you’re about to turn the corner in the shame, mortified you’re essentially spying on them, when Simon looks at you like he knows you’ve been there the whole time. “Like what you see, sweetheart?” You whimper. It slips out, unbidden, and Johnny turns, forehead pressed to Simon’s cheek. His hips are trying to jerk into the grip that has slowed, and he groans.

“Si.”

“Relax.” Simon stills him, pulling his hand free. “Maybe bunny wants to play too.” You give them a nervous smile, butterflies building in your stomach. You’re scared, there’s no other emotion to describe it. There’s fear, bad memories, anxiety building in the back of your throat, but at the same time, desire pushes you forward. You trust them, and it’s reached a critical point. You want to try.

“I… maybe if we s-started slow… I’m not sure…”

“That’s okay.” Simon coaxes, wrapping an arm around Johnny’s waist, hand splayed possessively on his stomach. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Their bed is an enchanted place.

There’s love in it, beguiling affection that transfers to you, dots down your throat to your chest, your clavicle, ass pressed into the hardened swell of Johnny’s cock.

It’s enough to strike down your fear, pry you open, lecherous want infiltrating your mind, your soul.

Their dynamic is crystal clear. Simon is natural in his mastery of both Johnny and you, the leader, the maestro. His forbearance at slowly peeling you free, layer by layer, puts you at ease, calms you enough you let him take your pants off, leaving you in only your underwear and the t shirt you put on before dinner. He folds you up against Johnny, careful to mind his sore spots, the pieces still healing, lips finding the plush fold at your ribcage.

“Sweet little bunny.” He glides careful fingertips over your panties. “Can I touch you here?” You draw a deep breath.

“Yeah.” Johnny’s lips graze your neck, and he sweep up over your belly towards your nipples, under your shirt.

“An’ can I touch ye here?”

“Mm- mhmm.” You buck into them, sensation building between your legs, lust cascading to where Simon’s fingers slip into your underwear and down the seam of your pussy.

“You’re wet, sweetheart. Is this for us?” You nod, Johnny tickling circles across your breasts, playing back and forth, pinching and stroking gently.

They’re both taking it slow, cautious, and there’s one half of you wanting to rip into them, and vice versa, while the other half is terrified. So far, the reckless abandon side is winning, but when Simon grazes over your clit, the crest of your fear bottoms out in the pit of your stomach. Johnny flexes his hips, the weight of his cock between the curve of your ass, and the combination of it, the touch now overwhelming, stream of thoughts turning panicked and unstoppable like a bolder rolling down hill, steals your breath.

In the wrong way.

“S-stop.” You freeze, immobilized, muscles turned from molten lava to stone, eyes wide, lungs rasping. Simon immediately creates distance, while Johnny jerks backward, palm steady on your shoulder, but separated otherwise.

“Ye’re alright, bunny.”

“Take a breath.” Simon coaches, maintaining eye contact, and you nod shakily, anchoring yourself to Johnny’s tender hold. You manage a breath, not so far gone you’re spiraling, and it’s deep, without a hitch or a studder. “That’s great. You’ve got it.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, disappointed. You’ve let yourself down, let them down-

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He murmurs, understanding and slow. “We’re done. There’s no rush.”

“No!” You blurt. He raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, I just… I don’t want it to end I’m just not sure I can… do it.” His head tilts, surprise contained with a slow smile, and Johnny hums.

“Do ye wantae watch, pretty girl?” You nod shyly.

“Is that… is that okay?”

“It’s more than okay.” Simon rasps, stroking your cheek. “Sit up against the headboard.”

The two of them move into position seamlessly, sweat and breath thick in the air, a wet fog blanketed around you. A bottle of lube discarded on the mattress, a pillow under Johnny’s hip to cushion him. He’s settled on his side, arranged carefully to avoid pressure on his injuries, and they both face you.

Simon kisses his neck, sucking urgent marks into his skin before he palms Johnny's ass, hard and then slips between his cheeks. You’re unable to see his hand, but when Johnny’s eyes go wide and he groans hoarsely, your clit throbs.

“There you go.”

“Simon.” He whines, high pitched and needy.

“Bloody tight, Johnny. Been so long since I’ve taken care of you, huh?”

“A- fuck, aye.” He presses backwards into Simon, and pants. The scene makes you drool, the eagerness on Johnny’s face, the slow movements of Simon at his back, his lips against Johnny’s cheek, neck, murmuring gently. You’re nearly shivering, ache screaming between your legs, and instinct takes over as your slip your hand inside your underwear. You’re slick, so wet it dampens your curls, and your fingertips slide over your clit, zaps of electricity echoing through your nerve endings.

Simon looks up at you through heavy lids, mouth obscured by Johnny’s shoulder. “Are you touching yourself sweetheart?” You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, afraid it will come out a garbled mess. “You want to come when I fill our boy up?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Keep going.’ He orders, and then shifts, pressing his cock to Johnny’s entrance. Johnny moans, and your own hips jerk.

Simon pushes slowly, focused on Johnny’s face, cataloging every expression. “Y’alright?” Johnny nods, lip tucked into his teeth. “Christ. You’re strangling me.” He thrusts sharply, sealing his hips to the soft curves in front of him, and Johnny cries out in a high-pitched wail, eyes slamming shut. He fumbles with his cock, squeezing at the root, but Simon pulls him away. “Not yet, sweet boy. Need you to last for us.” You’re trapped in a shockwave that hasn’t quite reached shore yet, tension building with each swipe over your sensitive bud.

“Bunny…” Johnny rasps, and your apprehensions wane.

“Does it feel good?” you whine, and he nods, groaning. Simon builds his thrusts into an unrelenting pace and cups Johnny’s belly, stroking down, pushing against the strain of muscle there, Johnny’s eyes rolling into the back of head. You wonder if Simon can feel it, the pressure, the bulge of his hard cock, shoving deeper and deeper.

“Daddy-“ Johnny shrieks, and Simon’s mouth curls into a satisfied smirk.

“That’s right, good boy. Fuck… perfect little hole f’me. All mine.” He practically growls it, and you writhe, flicking down your pussy and back up, breathing hitching in a frantic pace. Johnny’s delirious, hands scrambling across the sheets, half reaching for you, half reaching for nothing. “Isn’t he perfect, bunny?”

“Ah- yeah.” Your tongue is numb, body burning. Sweat slicks down the middle of your back, and you ride your hand violently.

“Please.” He’s begging, frenzied, fingers twisting, and Simon reaches for his cock, wrapping his fist around his length. It doesn’t take long until Johnny’s back bows, and your toes curl. You hiss. They move together wildly now, a push pull in a frenetic dance, and your eyes slip closed, sinking into the slick sounds of Simon fucking Johnny open, Johnny moaning, whispers passed back and forth. Simon cups his jaw, tilting his face towards you, and they both watch, drifting from your eyes down to where you’re trying to make yourself come, clit swollen and throbbing.

“She’s such a good girl, isn’t she? Touchin’ herself, watching you take my cock.”

“Pretty girl.” Johnny slurs through his gasps, body shaking with the power of Simon’s thrusts. He’s close, judging by the fevered look on his face, little gasps and whines tumbling from his mouth. Simon squeezes him, thick thumb rubbing over his slit.

“Come, bunny. Be good for daddy.” Simon coaches, and you tighten, cosmic explosion streaking behind your closed lids, the same time Simon grits out something under his breath, jaw tight, tugging relentlessly on Johnny’s cock until he’s crying out too, cum splattering up his belly and chest, Simon milking every last drop from his cock as he lazily strokes inside him.

Immediately, you gasp. Shocked at yourself, but not scared. Not nervous just… emboldened.

They both read it on you, and Johnny’s head lolls with a satisfied, lazy smile. Simon pulls free, rubbing Johnny’s hip sweetly, ducking into the bathroom to get a towel. He cleans him up carefully, gently, and Johnny’ reaches for your hand. You don’t turn away.

And when Simon urges you to tuck in between them for sleep, you do. More than willingly.

“He looks good.” Hot tea wafts from the cup in front of your nose. You’re on break, somewhat, watching Johnny work through his last few minutes of physical therapy, his face broken out in satisfied smile. His biceps flex. “Really good.”

“He’s been workin’ out at home, a bit. In the garage.”

“He shouldn’t be pushing it.”

“I know.” Simon squeezes your good shoulder. “He’s okay, bun. He’s strong. A bit too stubborn for his own good sometimes, but strong.”

“Dada.” Penny smacks an open palm against Simon’s chest, and he covers it with his own, bouncing her slightly.

“Look, Pen. Is that your Da in there? Is that him?” The therapist smiles at Johnny and pats him on the back, rubs his shoulder down to his elbow with wandering fingers. She’s pretty, and fit, tight ass, tiny hips. A sliver of self-doubt, self-consciousness pokes at you, and then jealousy nearly turns you green. Simon cocks his head with a laugh. “Easy, bun. She’s just doing her job, you know.”

“What? I know that. I’m fine.” You immediately blurt, and it does nothing for your cause.

“It’s cute. That you’re jealous.”

“I’m not,” you roll your eyes, “whatever.” He chuckles, and then starts to pass Penny to you.

“Can you hold her while I help him get his stuff together?”

“Sure, c’mere girlfriend.” You tuck her up into your chest, playing with her hair as she curls into you. “Sleepy huh? It’s past your nap time. I bet Dada keeps you up for an early bedtime tonight.” She coos. Her fingers tighten in the collar of your shirt.

And then a freight train rams itself in the deepest parts of your heart.

You lean against the wall to keep your balance.

This is not your baby, but she feels like yours. Her weight is familiar now. Her routines. Her signs and sounds.

It’s easy to close your eyes and imagine she’s yours.

It’s been days since you touched yourself in bed as Johnny and Simon had sex, and the scene, the desire, is burrowing itself in your brain.

You want more.

You want more so badly you wind up touching yourself in the shower, fingers stroking your clit until you're muffling a moan in your elbow when you come.

It doesn’t soothe the ache. You’re not sure what will.

So, when you’re done, and find them relaxing in bed, Johnny in boxers, an idea abruptly runs through your head.

Could you?

Your fingers twiddle with the hem of your shirt.

“Hi.”

“Hi?” Simon raises an eyebrow. Johnny stops his sketching to smile.

“I um. I wanted to… see… or ask for something.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Nothing, I just… I was wondering if I could… sit on you.”

“Sit on us?” Simon’s brow furrows, but Johnny’s face lights up.

“Like, ye wannae sit on one of us?” He emphasizes the word sit, and Simon murmurs.

“Ah.”

“I just… I really want to… I want to move on.” The words take you by surprise. “I want to feel like a human again, like how I used to feel. Before I was like this. I think…”

“Taking back control of your body will bring you closer to healing.” Johnny looks at Simon, and there’s desperate sadness in their eyes. Their hands intertwine, gripping onto each other so hard it looks like it hurts.

The moment passes, gone like it was never there in the first place. Johnny turns back to you.

“Ye’ll have to sit on me, pretty girl.”

“But... your hip.”

“I can take it.” You nod. Not that you prefer one to the other, but you’re curious.

“Is there a reason why…”

“I’m too big, bunny. Especially if it’s been a while for you. We’ll need to ease you into it.” Johnny smirks, and you hide an excited shiver.

“Okay.”

You stretch yourself out with your own fingers at first, the process made easier by your orgasm in the shower, all the while both Simon and Johnny encourage you, coo at you, praise you.

You stay present. Focused.

“Take it slow,” Simon coaches when you straddle Johnny’s hips, “don’t rush it. Just take your time.” Hands on his shoulders, Simon reaches for his cock, sliding it through your lips, brushing your clit before angling it at your entrance. You take a deep breath.

“Okay.”

The first inch makes you whine. Johnny’s fingertips draw circles up and down your spine, his lips in your ear. “Good job, pretty girl. Just like that. Nice and easy.” Your eyes slip closed, and you take more, sliding down his cock, the burn of the stretch smarting tears in your eyes. Simon wipes them away.

“Our brave girl. You’re doing so well. Feel okay so far?”  

“Y-yeah.”

“Ye alright? Does it hurt?”

“A little.” You wince, taking another inch, glancing down. Your equilibrium pitches.

“Look at me.” Johnny redirects, head tilted back on a pile of pillows. “Jus’ look at me, bunny. You’re safe. I’ve got ye.” His hands guide your hips, keeping your pace even and slow, careful. Even when the anxiety invades your control, he steadies you. “It’s us, just us. We’re here, bunny. You’re okay.” The ache, the open sore spot spilling sticky, blackened tar, seals up. It's zippered shut, away from you, packed tight for another day. Another moment. The only thing you need to focus on is here, and now. With them. Johnny's jaw clenches. “Christ Si. She’s really tight.”

“I know.” He pushes some of Johnny’s hair from his forehead. “You’re both being so good. I’m proud of you.” The praise, the warmth from the both of him, glows in your heart. You’ve never felt so safe, so cherished, in your life. Again and again, they surprise you, teaching you how things you used to dread or shy away from can be enjoyed, valued.

This is how it should be. Love without fear. Intimacy without fear.

You’re fully split open on Johnny, stuffed full. It’s tender, calm in the low light of the bedroom, almost cozy. His thighs blaze under your ass, and the heat creeps like lava to your fingers and toes, turning you boneless, languid in his arms. Simon leans in to kiss your temple.

“How do you feel?”

“R-really full.”

“Are you in pain?”

“No just… stretched, I think?” You wiggle a little bit, and Johnny finally breaks eye contact, looking up at the ceiling with a groan.

“Try to be still bunny. We just want to get you used to the feeling. This isn’t about sex.” Simon's last comment earns Johnny a warning glance, and he nods, straightening.

“Right. Even though your perfect little pussy is drivin’ me mad-“

“Johnny.” Simon chides. “Bunny, can you lean forward for me?” His hand presses to the middle of the back, guiding you to rest your cheek on Johnny’s shoulder. “Good girl.”

The room lapses into silence that lasts, rhythm of your chest rising and falling syncing with Johnny’s, Simon humming, working a hand up and down your spine.

Up and down. Up and down.

You think you could do it now. Roll your hips and rise on your knees, sink back down to feel the pressure, the bludgeoning tip of Johnny’s long cock nestled at your cervix. You’re not sure, not confident, but somewhere in your dreams, you picture yourself milking him dry, riding his cock until you’re shattering.

“Si.” Johnny’s voice pitches to something you’ve never heard, low and heavily accented. “Will ye read?” Pages of a book flutter. You hadn’t realized your eyes had closed, but as Simon’s voice picks up a page with no pretense, you don’t fight it, allowing yourself to drift between them, cradled on Johnny’s body with a piece of him pulsing inside you.

It’s bliss. It’s love. You’re…. happy.