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headcanon that Rodolfo shows his love through dumb stickers and Alejandro loves to journal. It started as a joke with Rudy covering Alejandro's current journal with stickers he had picked up because he thought they were cute and it slowly turned into him putting stickers on all the things he loves. it's not uncommon for Alejandro to wake up with a sticker placed on his face or chest. now one of their favorite things to do together is to pick out which stickers to put on a journal every time Alejandro gets a new one

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Can't stop thinking about Ghost's mother being Scottish.

It wasn't spoken about much growing up except for the tale of his father 'bagging the girl' by telling her to speak English all the time. He knows a bit of scots though from when his mother could get away with speaking it. Ghost hated his father more than anything, naturally, but the story of how his parents had started dating stuck in his head. When that bright-eyed, idiot of a Scotsman he called a sergeant came around he found himself doing the same. It didn't matter that Ghost knew exactly what Soap was saying. If his father could get his mother with it, surely Soap would at least remain friendly with him, no?

It worked like a charm and Ghost silently laments at having his father to thank for it. As it turns out, Soap had no idea that Simon was joking with him and his light-hearted complaining about Ghost being a cold-hearted English man was rooted in truth. He truly believed that Ghost couldn't understand his dialect.

It all came to a head when Soap finally brought Ghost back to Scotland to meet his family. He had been a nervous wreck about it, truthfully, but his sisters were nice enough when he had met them beforehand, and there were only... god knows how many more MacTavishs to meet. But he could do it for Soap. He loved Johnny, after all. More than anything. It was only natural that he meet the whole clan. Besides, he was a little excited. The boy of Simon Riley that Ghost had never quite been able to smother delighted at the idea of going to his mother's homeland. It was one last connection to her, and that in and of itself was enough of an incentive.

So when the time came and he was standing in front of the door of Johnny's childhood home, he could handle the nerves threatening to shake his limbs off his body. He had only a paper mask in place and felt horribly bare with a mere switchblade tucked into the lip of his boot, but this was Johnny's family and he could do this. For Soap and for his Mother.

It was Soap's father that greeted them at the door and ushered them inside into the kitchen where Soap's mother was waiting. The others hadn't arrived yet, not wanting to overwhelm Ghost with so many new people at once. Mother MacTavish was a stout woman with a lovely head of gray hair and a face so kind Simon had a hard time believing that she could ever be a terrifying woman wielding a wooden spoon of agony that Johnny had described from his childhood. And here Ghost was, the spitting image of his cruel father down to the harsh line of his jaw and the downturn of his eyes. The quirk of his lips. The angle of his brows. He felt like he was tainting this place with his presence, just as his father had ruined his beloved mother. Mother MacTavish thought none of these absurd things. She wiped her hands free of flour on a dish towel and approached Simon with an excitement not many ever greeted his hulking, scarred figure with.

"Oh, dearie," She cooed, drawing him down so she could cup his face in her worn hands. "Ye look jus' like yer ma!" Ghost could only stare shell-shocked at her, but she was a woman not easily deterred. "Ah couldnae believe it when John here said he'd gotten a Riley. Ah thought, surely, no' my Mary's child! But here ye are! Great big lad, ye grew intae. Mary'd be so proud." And so like never before, Simon Riley broke.

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Norse Pagan Soap bc I love pushing my own agenda

Soap grew up Catholic which is a shocker to no one. He joined the service as soon as he was able, and though he wished it had been sooner, he was just glad to be away. He loves his family, don't get him wrong, but they're not the most accepting bunch. He's heard it all, the incessant mantras of gays going to hell, the woman's place in the kitchen, you name it. And that was all... fine, until he was caught by his maths teacher snogging Malcolm MacDougall in the schoolyard. Things were never quite the same after that. It wasn't violent, but sometimes Soap wishes it was. Bruises and broken bones healed, yet those words whispered in his ear, bathed in pure disappointment and loathing, still sat heavy in his chest, all these years later.

Despite popular belief, Soap doesn't hate God-- the Christian one. He hated people. The ones like his parents who dared to dictate something so holy as love. Plus, no matter how far away from it all Soap threw himself, his formative years were still spent Catholic. Sometimes he still hoped he'd make it into heaven. Sometimes he still feared that he'd end up burning in Hell, for all he's done. He doesn't believe, not quite, but the notion remains a constant at the back of his mind.

Somewhere along the line, he'd spiraled into a rabbit hole of Norse Mythology. It was a rocky path paved in years of corruption and hate. The same kind of hate he'd spent so long running away from. The kind that killed people. Especially in the military was it a dangerous path to walk. But more than that, more than that fear of being seen as an unredeemable bastard, he found hope. There was nothing holy there, not like the God he had grown up owing everything to. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and Soap found himself feeling a little safer in the company of the Norse Gods.

In battle, he found himself carrying another necklace under his shirt beside his dog tags: Mjǫllnir. It seemed silly almost after watching so many men clutch their crosses close and die regardless. But at the same time, he thinks he understands now. It's not about the protection. The hope that he won't die out on the battlefield. It's the company. The belief that there's more, after this. Maybe he'll make it to Valhalla, one day. Maybe he won't. Maybe he's just some dumb human vying for a chance of more out of an innate fear of the unknown. Still, it brought him comfort in a way the cross never had.

If asked, Soap couldn't answer clearly why he had dived so deep into such a rocky subject. Why he found comfort in it. He thinks it has something to do with imperfection, though. God was perfect. He was all-seeing. All Loving. So expectant. And under His rule, Soap was expected to be the same. At the very least, plead for forgiveness for being unable to comply with such an impossible task. The Norse Gods did not demand perfection, though. They were each so deeply flawed that sometimes it was baffling that they were ever worshiped at all. But Soap gets it. It's so very human to reach for greatness, isn't it? It was comforting.

When he met Ghost, the feared Lieutenant of the 141, the man didn't comment on the pendant hanging around his neck. He did not ask if there was some other reason he wore it. Something unspeakable. Unfathomable, to Soap. They grew closer, over time, and for the first time in a great many number of years, the fires of Hell weren't licking at the edges of his mind. Ghost liked to hear him talk, too. Asked questions to keep Soap going, even. Soap had never had anyone else to share this fascination of his with. No one to ever listen to him ramble about the convoluted history of Norse Mythology and its allegories to real history.

Soap remembers the moment he fell in love, though. It was such a small gesture, but it meant the world to him. Ghost had shown up to battle with a pendant just like his own tied onto his vest. Just a little hunk of metal shaped into a hammer. Ghost knew that it made Soap feel safer and had gone out of his way to reassure Soap in such a small way. Ghost did not believe. The Lieutenant was not a religious man in any context. And still, he wore it. Still, he bore Mjǫllnir.

There was no love, under the cross his family had shoved down his throat. But there was love here, on the battlefield. With Ghost. And suddenly Hell didn't seem like such a scary place, if it meant that he could have this. All of it.

there is literally nothing you can do to stop me from projecting onto fictional characters

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Soap and Ghost have established that they Do Not Want children. They love children, and they're always happy to babysit for the Laswells if the occasion comes up, but it's not something they see in themselves. The great thing about watching kids is that you can give them back at the end of the day. They've had many discussions about the topic, revisited it every couple of years, but their decision ultimately stays the same.

Occasionally, however, Soap gets the dreaded baby fever. It's something he experienced since he got his first period at eight and never quite let up after he started HRT. Granted, it's not every month like it used to be, but when it hits it hits hard.

He thinks that it's the thing he hates most about his stupid biology. He did not want children. Truly, legitimately, did not want the damn things. But baby fever never cared about that. So, there were days where the yearning for a wee thing to hold in his arms was so strong he didn't want to get out of bed. Where he cried. Where he saw babies out and about and it made his chest ache so much he'd nearly think he'd been hit by shrapnel.

Ghost never knew what to do on these days. He could hold Johnny, bring him breakfast in bed, but there was ultimately only so much comfort he could provide for a situation that not even Soap knew how to resolve. Sometimes Ghost feared that he was only holding Soap back from a happy family, the children he wanted to have. But when that fever was over, he'd be back to normal. Normal 'I Don't Want Children' Johnny. Soap did warn him, repeatedly, that what he said during said fevers was to be taken with quite a few grains of salt, that he was damn near delusional and not entirely in his right state of mind, but there was always that fear in the back of his mind.

Soap knew, of course. How could he not? Simon was so easy to read once you got to know him. It didn't help that Johnny had a breeding kink the size of the solar system, either. Still, he did his best to tell Ghost as often as he could that he did not want children. Whether that be in passing comments about how great their child-free life was or directly.

He wishes he knew why he got it so bad. His sisters, as far as he knew, didn't get it in the slightest. They could smile and wave to little children at all times of the month without needing to have it. Without wanting to collapse from the want of it all.

He was fine most of the time. Could go for months or even a year without that fever taking its toll on his stressed-out mind. But when it hit, he was out for the count, and there was only so much he could do to reassure Simon that he was still steadfast in their decision. He knew their time to have children was coming to a close soon, anyway.

Soap has three of the happiest days of his life stored away in crystal clarity in his memory. The first day is the one Simon proposed to him in the bathroom of a cheap motel in the states, both high off their asses, but so stupidly in love. The second was their wedding day. Soap had never cared that it wasn't official, that Simon Riley was legally a deadman. They were married, Soap legally John MacRiley now, and that was all that mattered to him. The third, however, wasn't as cheesy or cliche.

Soap remembers the day as clear as ever. He had just awoken from his afternoon nap to the sound of Simon coming in the front door downstairs. There was the faint sound of a car engine pulling away, so Ghost had clearly gone somewhere while he was asleep, but Soap couldn't find it in himself to care. Not when the sheets were warm and toasty from his body heat and the golden glow of the evening sun peeking in through the blinds. It hadn't mattered, though, because soon Simon's footsteps were trudging up the stairs and creaking their bedroom door open.

There was nothing special about the way he was dressed. Casual joggers, a t-shirt, and his favorite leather jacket (because it had a giant skull embossed on the back). He smiled so sweetly, mask a thing long forgotten after they retired. Johnny couldn't help but return it, as groggy as he was.

He remembers the way Ghost walked up to the bed. The way he crawled in oh so slowly next to him, and drew him into his arms. Ghost was always so gentle with him. And as Soap taught Simon how to be soft over the years, so too did the things around Ghost grow gentle.

"Good afternoon, luv," he had murmured into Soap's scalp. "You enjoy your nap?"

"Hmm," Soap had merely hummed. "Not as much as Ah'm enjoyin having ye here." Simon had laughed at that, limbs shifting around him, until suddenly Johnny was on his back and Ghost was propped on his forearms above him.

"I did summat today."

"Oh yeah?"

"I got a vasectomy."

Soap can still remember the initial disbelief that flooded his system as if it were yesterday.

"...What? Simon, what are ye awn about?"

Ghost had laughed at that, too, leaning down to pepper his face in a frankly unnecessary number of kisses. "I got a vasectomy. Now neither of us has to worry about making a mistake."

"Simon- I- You- I-" Soap had been at a loss for words. The tears rapidly welling and blurring his vision hadn't helped, either. He could still see Ghost's blinding grin, though.

"Now it doesn't matter how bad your baby fever gets. We'll always be okay."

"Simon, ye fecking--- get down here and kiss me proper!"

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Simon's laugh isn't some deep rumble, like one might assume from his voice alone. It's squeaky. It's high-pitched and grating to his own ears, interspersed with snorts and wheezes he hates more than anything. His father had always described it as screeching. "Stop that bloody screeching, boy. No one wants to hear a thing so ugly." So, Simon does not laugh- Ghost does not laugh. If you're lucky, the most you'll get out of him is a soft puff of air, hardly audible beneath the fabric of his balaclava.

But Soap has always been a bit more than lucky when it comes to the one and only Simon Riley. The first time he hears it, he thinks he's died and gone to heaven. Ghost had been as drunk as a skunk, leaning slightly into Soap's side and still nursing a beer. It was a rare occasion for Soap to be the more sober one of the two, but heaven above did he enjoy seeing his lieutenant so relaxed. Honestly, Soap doesn't even remember what he had said. He wasn't shit-faced, but he sure as hell hadn't been sober. His memory of the night wasn't all that great. But, he'll never forget that sound. It bubbled out of Ghost as if Soap had startled it from him. It was a wheeze, then a snort, and then this short, repeated reedy sound that sounded a bit like squealing. Soap had never wanted it to stop. Hell, he hadn't known sunshine could be a sound but here they were and Soap wanted to bask in it for the rest of eternity. Dramatic and sappy? Sure, but Ghost always made him want to be a bit of a poet.

Ghost had quieted himself after that, a fist pressed to his exposed mouth and a faint rouge painting the bottoms of his cheeks. And Soap knew, no matter what he said or how he phrased it, if he brought attention to it, Ghost would shut himself away again. So, he didn't even acknowledge the act. Just asked if Simon wanted another drink. It was painful, physically, to not tell his lieutenant how much he wanted to hear that sweet sound again. To beg and beg Ghost to wrap him up in the high-pitched notes and never let him leave. A smile was all he could give the man.

(and, perhaps Ghost was a little more free with his amusement around Soap, in the future. But that was between them. And maybe one day Johnny would tell him how much he adored his laugh. Maybe.)

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Ghost often shadowed Soap. It was a well-known fact around base that wherever the Sergeant was, his Lieutenant wasn't far behind, always creeping in the shadows or looming over some poor recruit. Not that Soap ever minded, of course. People had grown used to hearing their quiet banter during lulls in conversation.

Today had been no different. Soap was giving some demolitions presentation to some fresh-faced greenies and Ghost was hovering in a corner, cleaning some of his knives. Not that he needed to. But Soap was there, so he followed like an over-eager pup. Price had long stopped trying to separate the two of them. An angry Ghost was fun for no one. Not that Simon cared when it got him what he wanted.

Johnny was something else to look at when he was excited about something. There was this eager lilt to his tone and he always bounced on the balls of his feet like he needed to expel excess happy energy lest he skip away with it. He smiled so wide, all pearly teeth, sharp canines, and pretty pink gums. His eyes sparkled in the yellowed light of the projector, too, and Simon could only compare them to the sea at sunset. His Johnny was so pretty and it never failed to set something off inside Ghost. As Johnny talked animatedly to the group, heat stirred inside Ghost's belly below his navel. He couldn't stop his intermittent shifting, feeling himself leak and stick to the fabric of his briefs. The inseam to his jeans wasn't helping, either. He could feel that thick fold of fabric pressing harshly along the line of his cunt, providing just enough stimulation so that Ghost couldn't simply ignore it. It was maddening, getting all hot and bothered while Soap was doing his damn job. He could leave, take care of himself in his room all alone, but then that would mean depriving himself of more Johnny. How could he leave? Especially when the Sergeant kept tossing him these looks that told Ghost that Soap knew exactly what he was doing to him.

It would be another rushed break for them, hidden away from the door, Soap's fingers in him hard and fast until he came with a broken cry. This was not their first rodeo, and Soap rather enjoyed the game of it. Loved to see how long he could drag it on for, how long it took for Ghost to break, get that desperate look in his pretty green eyes.

Ghost practically jumped him when he called for a 30min recess. He was leaking something fierce, thighs quaking with the need flowing through him. And Soap knew that. He knew that Soap knew that. Because Johnny just laughed at him, pushed him back on a desk, and shoved his jeans down to his knees.

"Desperate whore, huh? Cannae even wait fer me tae finish my talk." Soap didn't give him a moment to breathe, shoving two fingers into him without mercy. He whined, a reedy sound, and curled into the man. He panted hot and heavy into Soap's neck as his fingers pumped inside of him, stretching and curling and never giving him a break. Two turned to three and then four and Simon could do nothing but hold on for the ride. He really was a desperate whore for Johnny. He'd do anything to have those calloused hands on him, that low Scottish accent slithering in his ears. Fuck, he'd let Soap fuck him in front of the greenies if that's what he wanted. He didn't know he could ver be so horrendously obsessed with someone, but here they both were. Simon, leaking so much over Johnny's fingers that his bunched jeans were now stained with it, and Johnny whispering filthy little things in his ear.

"Gonnae cum, pup? All over daddy's fingers like a bitch in heat?" "How's that feel, puppy? Cannae get enough, can ye? Insatiable little whore." "Ye'd let anyone use ye, hm? Just need something tae fill this pretty pussy of yers all the time." "Bet ye'd let this whole group fuck ye stupid if it meant ah'd touch ye even once."

Needless to say, Ghost was cumming in record time. He bucked into Soap's unrelenting pace, moaning and whimpering like it was the only thing he knew how to do.

Soap made him lick his hand clean, sucking and laving over each knuckle like it was the man's thick cock instead. Oh how Ghost loved to clean him off after he'd been fucked within an inch of his life. But, they had five minutes to get presentable before the greenies would be filing back in, and there was no way that Johnny would spend just five minutes spearing Simon open on his cock. Though Soap is sure that they wouldn't mind the show. Perhaps some other time.

Ghost had barely calmed his breathing by the time the group filed back in, and /surely/ the slight flush painting the Sergeant's face was from excitement. Everyone knew Soap loved a good explosion.

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It takes ages for Soap to admit that he's a virgin. That the closest he's ever gotten to sex was getting a bit too heated with a lad back in school before he freaked out and ran. Much to his surprise, Ghost doesn't mind. Seems to enjoy it, even.

"That means I'm the only one that's ever had you, Johnny."

Still, they never got further than a bit of heated kissing for months. Soap was... okay with that. Anxious, but okay.

It was after a rough recon that things finally went further. Ghost had been all over him, hands clawing at any part of Soap he could get his hands on, and Johnny was loving the attention. Bullet graze on his side be damned. He had been so wrapped up in Ghost's hands and mouth raking across every inch of skin he had to offer that he hadn't even realized he was aching something fierce in his cargos. That was, until Ghost's thigh ground against him and he was whining like a school girl.

"Want me to help with that, luv?" Ghost whispered in his ear, nipping at the lobe soon after. "Won't go any farther if you don't want me to. Promise."

Soap knew that Ghost was telling the truth. That he truly did not mind stopping for Soap's comfort. But for once, he didn't want to. He wanted all that Ghost had to offer. Wanted calloused hands to drag across his body and map him out in a way no other had before. Because this was just Simon, right? And Simon wouldn't judge him. He had said he wouldn't, time and time again. So Soap took a deep breath and wrapped his legs around Ghost's hips to keep him close.

"I want ye, Simon. Please."

And who was Ghost to resist his poor, needy Johnny? The man who was trusting Ghost like he had no other before. It was heady.

Ghost pulled back but he didn't go far, hands never straying from their burning path down Soap's abdomen. He worked open his pants with practiced efficiency, pulling Soap's drooling cock out like it was a prize to be won.

Soap couldn't hide his embarrassment, squirming and hiding his face with his arms. Ghost just cooed. "I got you, Johnny. Just want you to feel good."
Ghost was always a man that got straight to the point, no lolly-gagging or dilly-dallying. His palm was a bit rough, a bit dry, as he glided it along Soap's length, but he'd be lying if he said that it didn't feel good. Fuck, it felt so much better than his own hand ever had.
He was helpless to stop the quiet moans and weak whimpers that escaped his throat at every miniscule movement of Ghost’s hand. But Ghost did not judge him, ridicule him, mock him. He whispered small praises as Johnny squirmed. Little "doing so well for me, luv"s and "just like that, baby. Take what I give you"s.

Truthfully it's not long before he's close. It was all so much, and he was keyed up from adrenaline as it was. He tried to warn Ghost, but the Lieutenant just hushed him and dragged a calloused thumb over the weeping head of his cock. It was what sent him over the edge with a cry, cumming in long, thick ropes over the curve of Ghost’s fist. But the man didn't seem to mind, just worked Soap through it until he was gasping for breath and boneless beneath him.

"Good boy, Johnny. Thank you for trusting me."

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This was nothing new to his team, especially Price. It was just one of those things that made Gaz, well, Gaz. Like how Johnny always smelt faintly of Gunpowder and no one could ever hear Ghost approaching. There were many long nights spent curled up together, Gaz's head on somebody's chest so that their heartbeat lulled him to sleep. His clingy tendencies were almost casual; until his emotions got out of hand and he began to spiral. Then fleeting touches became clawing fingers and unforgiving bear-hugs. He was a trembling mess, then, begging for the barest hint of contact to ease his frazzled nerves. To piece him back together again. Hold him for a bit while the glue set in his cracks. Price often had him on nights like that, soothing him with soft words and tight holds. If it wasn't Price, it was Soap, who wasn't as verbally inclined, but who radiated a warmth like no other. One that Gaz could get lost in, could find himself in.

Ghost was a bit more distant. Not that Gaz minded. He understood and never took the fleeting touches he was allowed for granted. Ghost simply wasn't a touchy-feely person and Gaz could respect that. It took time for him to come around as much as he had, and he showed his affection in other ways. Namely cooking comfort meals or making sure their kits were properly stocked. Little things that kept them happy and healthy. It was sweet, and Gaz made sure that Ghost knew he appreciated every small Gesture.

That's why it was a surprise to find Ghost in the kitchen when Gaz had walked in, shaking half to death from a nightmare, at three in the morning. He had been nursing a steaming mug of tea that had yet to finish steeping, seeming to enjoy the warmth more than the promise of caffeine in his veins. He was clad in his usual soft balaclava devoid of the harsh skull plate, and plain black hoodie, and the hello kitty pajama bottoms Soap had gotten him as a joke last Christmas. He seemed surprised to see Gaz, too, if the way his eyes widened was any indication.

"'M sorry to bother you, LT," Gaz murmured. His hands clutched desperately at his own arms in a pathetic imitation of a hug. Price and Soap weren't on base, and Gaz had been doing his best to keep himself afloat, but it was never enough. Human touch was what kept Gaz's broken pieces together like glue, but now it was old and cracking, its adhesion withering away with time.

"C'mere, Kyle," Ghost had said just as softly, mug abandoned on the counter so Ghost could beckon him over. Gaz followed the order like a good little soldier, ignoring the way his socked feet didn't want to cooperate with him and threatened to send him to his knees.

As much as he had not anticipated running into Ghost at such an hour, he expected even less for him to draw Gaz into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world. His head tucked perfectly between the swell of Ghost's chest, and his arms seemed to wrap around him as if they were made to be there. It was a balm to his agitated state, and Gaz was helpless to stop the weak sob and the quaking of his body. It had felt like years since someone had held him despite the few days it had been in actuality. Ghost's heartbeat against his ear sounded like coming home, and Ghost's chin atop his scalp was a pleasant weight that he never wanted to be rid of.

"You can come to me whenever you need, Kyle," Ghost whispered, as if he were afraid to break the moment. "I'll never mind. Not when it's you."

The world didn't seem so bad, when Ghost held him.

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The First Thing Ghost does in the morning is make himself a warm mug of tea. He likes it strong with a teaspoon of honey. Just enough to sweeten the flavor on his tongue, but not enough to diminish the flavor of the tea itself. He stirs it exactly 12 times. He waits precisely 4 minutes for it to cool. He takes ten minutes to drink it. He eats a protein bar afterward; peanut butter flavored, always.
Soap's love language is Acts Of Service. He loves treating those he cares about to small things, like a home-cooked meal or a hot drink in the morning. This is where Johnny and Simon butt heads.
But that was okay, too, because Soon Johnny learned that Simon needed to do things himself, that that was how he Functioned. But he could prepare things for Ghost. Could hand wash his favorite mug, set it out on the counter. Could set the honey next to it, too, and make sure Simon’s favorite stirring spoon was clean and ready to use. So Simon could make his tea strong, add his teaspoon of honey, and stir it exactly 12 times. That, too, became a part of Ghost's Routine. Because Johnny was his Constant.

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Everyone knew that Soap and Ghost were a Thing. Impossibly, Soap liked to stake his claim on what was his more than Ghost did, and everyone had gotten used to the bubbly Sergeant parading around in articles of the Lieutenant's clothing. He bore teeth marks and dark bruises like medals of honor around his neck, and many have learned to avert their eyes or suck it up quick. After all, pissing off the 141 was not something you wanted to do. Their Captain was rather defensive of his force. So when Gaz, of all Sergeants, stumbled into the mess early one morning, swimming in a dark hoodie embroidered with Riley, and a myriad of bites and bruises littering his neck? Well, who could blame people for staring? They were on the edge of their seats. How would MacTavish react, knowing that Ghost had given his already hard-to-earn affections to someone else? Would breakfast turn into a blood bath? But Gaz had sat down next to his fellow Seargent with a huff, and Soap shot off into conversation like they did every morning. As if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Things changed when Ghost arrived.

He was silent in his approach as always. Ghost would not be heard unless he wanted to be. The mess collectively held their breaths as Ghost hovered behind Gaz, the solid plate of his signature skull a menacing sight. To his credit, it didn't take Gaz long to notice his Lieutenant. He tilted his head back, nestling his scalp atop the soft curve of Ghost's abdomen, and displayed the carnage of his neck to all before him. Ghost's hand wrapped around that bared throat in a show of clear possession. It was like they were the only two in the room, and still, MacTavish seemed perfectly alright with it.

"It appears you've been a thief, Seargent."

"Mhm," Gaz smiled softly; the sweet one he'd shoot a group of greenies that would get them to listen without argument. "You left it in my room last night. It's comfy, Sir."

Ghost growled, but there was no fury in it; it was not the thing that had gotten half of those present in the hall to piss their pants in terror. It was distinctly different. "My office, Sergeant."

Gaz just laughed like it was the easiest thing in the world. "Of course, Lieutenant."

Not a single fork dropped while the pair exited the mess. They had never seen anything like it. Even while MacTavish openly displayed his ownership, Ghost never reciprocated. Not in public, at least. This? This was terrifying.

"Sir?" One of the braver Privates spoke up once the two had left. Soap hummed absently in acknowledgment, mouth full of questionably edible turkey sausage. "Did you and Ghost... Break... Up?"

Soap nearly spat out his food, swallowing with an audible gulp before leveling the group with a baffled look. "What in God's name are ye awn about?"

The Private shrunk back, but an encouraging shove had him speaking once more. "Well, the Lieutenant, and, uhm... they, uh-"

Soap was always a man of laughter. Angry? Laughter. Sad? Laughter. Happy? Laughter. So the familiar sound of the Sergeant's full-bodied chuckling assuaged none of the tension. "Why would Ghostie and I have tae break up? Have ye seen Gaz? Ye'd be crazy tae not want tae tap that."

"...Have you, Sir?"

MacTavish only smirked.

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Growing up, 'I love you' wasn't something that was said. Instead, his mama would kiss his forehead, his cheek, his temples- anywhere she could reach at the moment. It was small and sweet and made him beam like nothing else. It wasn't often, but sometimes Tommy would kiss his forehead on nights when papa had been particularly mean. On nights where Simon had made them dinner and helped mama apply more cream to her bruises.
So, 'I love you' wasn't exactly in Simon’s vocabulary. Years of abuse didn't lend well to learning other forms of affection, either. And when he began to grow comfortable with the 141, he needed to show it. It was this unscratchable itch behind his sternum, creeping through his veins and leaving him yearning.

Price was the first. Ghost had been injured more than he would have preferred, but he had made it out and that was more than he could ask for. Price had all bit dragged him to evac, supporting his weight like it was nothing despite the bulk and height Ghost had on the Captain. When it was just them and the whirring of the helo, Ghost wasn't sane enough to stop himself. He was already leaning against Price’s shoulder, slumped over with exhaustion and creeping blood loss. His covered lips found themselves pressed to the Captain’s jaw, lingering unmistakably for a few seconds. It was as close to a 'thank you' as he could manage. But Price didn't seem to mind. Just patted Ghost’s thigh in that fatherly way he always did.

Gaz was next. Ghost quite liked the Sergeant. He and Soap got along like a house on fire, but unlike the Scotsman, Gaz had learned the fine line between sass and insubordination. He was funny and kind, and Ghost often found himself in a companionable silence with the man in the early morning, each nursing a steaming mug of tea. He followed orders well and was damn good at what he did. Ghost honestly wasn't sure when 'Sergeant' turned into 'Gaz', which turned into 'Kyle.' But Ghost couldn't exactly say he minded.

They had just finished some reps in the gym when that soft urge grew to unmanageable levels within his chest. Gaz was flushed and sweaty, tank sticking to his skin with it, but he was no less friendly because of the exhaustion. He had handed Ghost his water bottle and dabbed at a particularly bothersome trail of sweat slithering down his bicep with a spare towel. There was no expectation in Gaz's actions, and perhaps that what drew Ghost to him.
His mask had been raised in order to take a heaving sip from his water. Yet, Gaz never stared, never commented on the harsh valleys of Glasgow scars that marred his face. It was practically instinct as Ghost leaned down, planting his lips just below the Sergeant's hairline. He remained there for a few seconds, relishing in the brief comtact before inevitably pulling away. Gaz grinned brightly up at him, warm eyes sparkling in the unyielding florescent lights of the gym. But, as Price had, Gaz didn't comment on it. He just dabbed at another rivulet of sweat running down Ghost's neck.

Soap was last. It was a bit ironic, considering that Johnny had been the first person Ghost had felt the urge for since he had escaped Roba. But, he supposed that's why he had been so nervous. Soap was a ray of sunshine on legs with a terribly endearing accent. Ghost found himself wanting to draw the man close and pepper his face in kisses like his mama used to do to him when she was happy and had the energy to pick him up. He wanted to linger on the scars through Soap's brow and chin, press chapped lips to closed eyelids. The shell of his ear, the crown of his head. It got to the point where this need became painful. because Simon cared so much for Johnny, and that little boy who loved his Mama's kisses wanted to give the Sergeant that same joy. 

But he was Nervous.

Johnny, however, wasn't.

They had been relaxing in Ghost’s room when Johnny had done it. Ghost had been sewing a hole closed on one of his balaclavas next to Soap, who had been sketching something in his ever-guarded journal. Ghost had been so focused on the task at hand that he hadn't heard Johnny set his pencil down. He did, however, notice the press of chapstick-soft lips to his temple.

Ghost had froze, accidentally stabbing himself with the needle he had been using in the process. Johnny yelped at the sight of blood, rushing into hardly intelligible apologizes. Not that Simon cared. No, he was far too caught up in the memory of the way Johnny's lips had felt on his bare skin. That barely contained urge had rushed out of him all at once, then.

Johnny wheezed as Ghost practically crushed him against his chest, lips pressed frantically to the crown of Soap's head. He sniffled as a lone tear escaped; a mortifying thing, really. Soap took it all in stride, settling in for the long haul while Simon busied himself with pressing little kisses all over his scalp. For once, Soap didn't comment on it. Just pressed his own lips To Simon’s shoulder.

  Ghost was more free with his kisses after that. On mornings with Gaz, he'd press one to his cheek while they made their tea. With Price, he'd kiss his temple or jaw whenever he was able and preened at the soft pats or hair ruffles the Captain would grant him in response. With Soap, there was hardly a moment where he wasn't all over the Sergeant. There was not a place from his shoulders up that Simon had not covered in kisses. Johnny loved the attention, and Simon would always cherish when Johnny gave him a kiss back.

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You can often find him under somebody's desk, mouth full of cock and eyes glazed over. He loves the feeling, the way it fills his throat and cuts off his air. Adores the musk of having his face shoved into someone's groin, head bracketed by thick thighs. They all had different techniques to them. Price was kind yet domineering. He kept a hand fisted in Ghost’s hair and when he had tired of the warm, wet heat around him, he would yank Ghost’s head off for a few deep breaths, before shoving himself in far enough to make Ghost gag. He'd fuck his face like Ghost was nothing but a toy, but the words he'd whisper were so sweet that Ghost was surprised he hadn't gotten a cavity from it all.

Gaz's words were cruel. He degraded Ghost like he was made for it, calling Ghost his sweet little slut, his dirty whore. He was Gaz's mutt, and it was made all the sweeter by how gently the Sergeant handled him. His touch was tender and adoring, and Ghost could lose himself in it all.

Soap commanded him like he was meant to be in charge. Ghost would be lying if he said it wasn't hot as hell. When he was between Johnny's legs, mouth stuffed full of the thickest cock he'd ever had the pleasure of witnessing, Ghost didn't need to think. He just had to be good for Johnny. Let calloused hands comb through his hair, let drool drip down his chin and soak the collar of his shirt. For the most part, Soap ignored him, only letting Simon know he was acknowledged by the occasional harsh thrust into the back of his throat.

He was a good little cocksleeve for his team. The perfect Lieutenant, always taking care of them.

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Ghost loves Soap. It's as easy as breathing. It wraps itself around his heart and causes it to beat. It feels like being trapped in that coffin again, choking on stale air and feeling with certainty that it would kill him. There was no moment where Ghost just knew. Soap wasn't and then he was. He had ripped the lid off of Ghost's self-imposed coffin; he was the sunlight staring down at him. He was bright and free, and Ghost remembers the first time his freshly beating heart had twisted itself in knots. The first time he realized that there was no /Simon/ without Johnny. He had waited for him. Of course he had waited for him, because Simon would wait through the end of the world if it meant that he could see that smile again, hear that accent, feel that gentle excited punch to his shoulder.

It scared Ghost, this attachment. Knowing that there was nothing that he could do to stop it. There was no end in sight. Johnny had blinded him to it. Because for once death wasn't the ultimate finale. If Johnny didn't make it back, Simon would not love him any less. It would destroy him. There would be no escape from the pain. No mask to hide behind. Johnny had taken that from Ghost, too. No fabric could shield him from the blinding light of John MacTavish, and he's not sure even the grim reaper could extinguish it completely. He'd risk everything if it was for Johnny. And how was he supposed to live with that? He needed Soap to tell him how to do this. But how did he even begin? Ghost was darkness and all things wrong with the world. He had let so much slip through his hands like grains of sand. He could not let Johnny be another. He needed Soap to understand that Ghost would protect him with his dying breath. That he would grasp his hand tight and never let go. He would not relinquish the thing that kept his heart beating, that blinded him from the inevitable end of it all.

He felt crazy, and fuck he might be. But he'd fight them all to keep Johnny safe-- to have him in his arms. He wanted, needed, like he never had before. But where could he even begin? There were too many words lodged in his chest, too many emotions that he could not begin to put words to. He was a mess of a man, pining like a teenager for his own Sergeant. He couldn't be more obvious about it, either, always an arm's length away from Soap. Even Price had started giving him these exasperated looks. But Johnny hadn't started treating him any differently. Hadn't begun to shun him while Ghost clung to him like a startled babe. He smiled and laughed and dragged Ghost along with him like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like Ghost wasn't pain and suffering, darkness incarnate, and Johnny wasn't Ghost's beginning, his personal deity. His guiding light, his guarding angel.

Ghost doesn't remember when Soap started holding his hand, pressing their thighs together, draping himself over his shoulders when Ghost was sitting. Like all things with Soap, he wasn't and then he was. It was a seamless transition so welcoming that Ghost was helpless to pinpoint anything but the fact that it was. It was maddening, how beautiful the Scotsman was at his side. It was a glimpse into heaven. And it scared Ghost, losing this, too. Losing the Johnny that had wormed his way into his quarters to sleep by his side and chase the nightmares away. The Johnny that had made his cold heart home. It hurt, the pain of it all. Of having lost everything and knowing that he would lose this, too. That there was no happy ending written to his story, that he was just some Shakespearean tragedy. But he couldn't possibly let this end, could he? No matter how many times God had gripped him by the shoulders and forced him to watch everything be taken away from him, no matter how many times he fell into ruin, there was no end. Not to him, not to Johnny. So could he be blamed for taking that final leap? Grasping Soap so tightly it had to be painful, and crashing their lips together? It was messy and uncoordinated, all teeth and tongue and passion. And still Johnny did not push him away. His light did not dull, he could not see an end. But finally, Simon had a beginning.

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Johnny has to relieve himself twice on a relatively short mission. When they get back, Ghost devises a "training exercise." He has Soap drink a shit ton of water and hold it no matter how desperately he has to go.

He stays squirming on Ghost’s lap for nearly 2 hours before he can't hold it anymore and starts to leak. He begs Ghost to let him go, but Ghost only tells him to piss himself. Soap keeps murmuring and crying, cute little "no"s as he tries to stop himself leaking. Ghost breaks the scene and asks him what he needs, how he wants to continue, if this is too far. Soap shakes his head no, still whining and crying, and says "not here" so Ghost takes them to his bathroom and sits them in the tub. Being all soft and tender, Ghost rubs Soap's sides and tells him to let go, and Soap does.

and maybe aftwerward, Soap begs Ghost to fuck him in the mess they made. And maybe it's the hardest Soap's ever cum. And maybe, too, Ghost presses right up against Soap's cervix after he's cum, and lets go himself, filling him to the brim with powerful streams of hot urine

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When Soap gets back, he and Ghost’s room is empty. Their bed was still freshly made– sheets crisp and pillows fluffed. It was far too early for Ghost to be awake for the day, however. It was, what, 3am? Soap frowned, set down his duffel bag, and got to sweeping the room for clues. Ghost's favorite boots were still placed neatly by the door, but his phone and thin balaclava were gone. The hoodie Soap liked to steal wasn't draped over the back of the old desk chair, either.

Ghost was still on base, but he clearly hadn't returned to his room for the night. That worried Soap. Ghost loved to stick to his routines, even if Soap was too keyed up to follow him some nights. So, that begged the question: where was he and why?

Soap checked their rec room first. Blankets were thrown haphazardly over the couch, and the TV had turned itself off some time ago. There was a forgotten, half-eaten bowl of popcorn on the table, along with Simon’s phone at a whopping 2%. Gaz's favorite jacket was thrown next to the couch, abandoned. 

Slowly, Soap was piecing together the night Simon had. He had hung out with Gaz, as he often did nowadays, and at some point the two had rushed off to do... something. Clearly, they had expected to return because they usually left the place tidy. So why? What happened?

Soap pocketed Ghost’s phone and headed toward the one place he knew that both Simon and Gaz could be: Price’s room.

The door was unlocked when Soap arrived. Cautiously, he creaked the door open to peek inside. He couldn't help but smile at the sight he was met with.

Ghost was completely on top of Gaz, head on the Sergeant's chest and drooling something fierce. Price was beside them, nearest the wall, and had an arm thrown over the two next to him, snoring away.

Soap shut the door with a soft click and reminded himself to put Simon’s phone on the charger after he tidied up the rec room.

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and the full sketch:

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I feel like the first time Simon realizes that there's no one else for him other than Johnny is during something simple. I like to imagine them bathing together, relishing in the simple pleasure of relaxing in warm water, pleasantly scented soaps surrounding them. It's nothing special, but it means the world to Simon. Who else knew the exact way to lather shampoo into his hair in order to not tug painfully on his curls? Who else knew every ticklish spot that would make him laugh, the exact washcloth he favored, his favorite conditioner? Above all, who else would Simon be so bare around? Johnny saw every part of him, in and out. He made them breakfast in the morning, knew the way Simon liked his tea. Knew the patterns of his scars like Johnny had been mapping them his entire life.

It's when Johnny places a gentle hand over his forehead to make sure the water he was pouring over Simon’s head didn't get into his eyes, that Ghost understands. He gets it, this love thing. Soulmates, fate, eternity. It's such a simple act, a small gesture. There's no expectation in it, only the understanding that Johnny does not want to inconvenience Simon.

It's the first time he physically says "I love you," and Johnny takes that in stride, too. Because he's always known, hasn't he? Known that this was it for Simon, for Ghost. It was him and Johnny until the end of the line. And Simon thinks that that's okay, because that was it, wasn't it? Love. You can't stop it. Not even in death.

Simon thinks he'd find Johnny in the next life, anyway.

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Don't think about Ghost and Soap lying in bed one night, quiet but peaceful. Don't think about Soap rolling over to face Ghost who's on his back staring at the ceiling. There's love in his eyes as he views the unmasked man. There's no use calling it anything else when it's so damn obvious.

"Where do you feel things?"

Ghost turns his head to look at Soap, a questioning lilt to a scarred brow. "Hmm?"

"I feel loneliness in my gut. It feels like it eats away at my intestines and wraps itself around my stomach."

Ghost is quiet for a long while, but he answers. "I feel it in my bones. It weighs down my skeleton enough my joints creak with it. Some days it hurts so bad I'm not sure if it'll ever go away." A beat of silence. Soap's gaze does not waver. "I feel happiness at the back of my skull. It's like a persistent headache my brain doesn't know what to do with, so it closes my throat and shakes my limbs."

Soap smiles, taking a calloused hand in his own. "I feel happiness in my legs. I feel like I'm gonna dance away with it sometimes. And when I can't, it bubbles up inside until I scream." Ghost would know. He's caught Johnny plenty of times when the man all but launched himself into his arms. "When I'm sad I feel it in my back. Like someone's set a stone there and I cannae stand up right. It drags my shoulders down and makes me feel like Atlas carrying the world."

"I feel sadness in my chest," Ghost offers in return. "It feels like my mother's hugs, weak and unenthusiastic. Like it's trapping me and pulling me in and there's nothing I can do to escape." Ghost rolls over to face Soap, hands still entwined. "I feel anger in my fists. I scare myself with it. It turns my world red with the need to hit something so badly, sometimes I fear that I won't leave the room soon enough. That instead of a bag, a pillow, or the damn wall, it'll be you."

Soap wets his lips. "I feel anger in my face. I turn red with it. It grinds my jaw and takes control of my tongue. I fear that one day all those angry things I don't mean will be directed at you, and you'll leave me. Because I hurt you, because all I say when I'm mad is to hurt." Ghost leans forward to press their foreheads together in a motion so tender it nearly has Soap sobbing. Instead, he opens his mouth again. "I feel love everywhere. I'm bursting at the seams with it. I don't know what to do with it all sometimes, so I bite or scream or squeeze something. Sometimes I want to bash my own head in with the force of it all."

Ghost smiles, cups his jaw. "I feel love behind my eyes. I haven't cried since I was a lad, but sometimes my eyes water with it at the worst times. And in my blurry vision, love only ever takes the shape of you."

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Ghost whose safety is a warm shower. Who relies so much on cleaning himself that he begins to crack when he can't. Who is fine when he's focused on the task at hand, filthy from days weeks months of grime, but can't stand going more than 12 hours without one at base.

Ghost who uses them for emotional regulation. Who can't calm down or let things go until he's under the hot spray of water with suds in his hair and on his skin.

Ghost who has a rigorous moisturizing routine just so his skin doesn't dry up and die from how often he cleans it.

Ghost who will shower so many times in a day that even the Captain gets concerned. Who can't crawl into bed without it. Feels like the world will end if he does.

Ghost who tries to spend the night in Johnny's room once but has a freak out so bad about not having showered that he nearly gets carted to medway.

Ghost who sits in the shower till it's gone cold. Who can't trick his own mind by just standing under the spray— he has to clean. Who can't stop until his brain deems him clean enough. He might be there for hours.

Soap, who will sit on the other side of the curtain to keep him company. Soap who doesn't ask why, just holds Ghost when he cries and rubs Shea butter over his back because he can't reach it himself. Soap who understands, in his own way, with the way his fingers twitch to hold something lest he claw his own skin off

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Johnny who has anger issues. Who spent the majority of his childhood in and out of therapy and has a pretty good handle on it. Who tries his best to portray himself as the happiest man in the world because it's easier to project those writhing emotions in his chest into fake acts of kindness than stamping them down like they don't exist. 

Johnny who also gets overwhelmed easily by the crowds, the sights, the smells, the sounds of daily life. Who ends up on a hair trigger by the end of the week and hates himself for it.

Ghost, who's not very good at reading the room and accidently ends up pushing Johnny over the edge every time. Who sits there and takes it as Soap spits pure venom and vitriol at him because these feelings of rage have been building up all week and now he has a direction to throw them, even if he doesn't mean any of what he's saying. Johnny who stops mid sentence every time, heartbreak etched across his face because that red in his vision has faded and now he just hurts. Johnny who sobs out hardly understood apologies between broken, hiccupping cries while Ghost just holds him.

Ghost who hates the way he finds comfort in the tears and the way Johnny nearly hyperventilates himself into passing out every time because at least it means he truly was sorry. Meant that he didn’t hate Simon. Ghost who hates seeing Johnny cry but can't wait for the tears when he's angry because at least he can hold Soap then. He doesn't have to fear the day things get physical when he's crying his eyes out.

Johnny who wishes Ghost would just leave him alone when he's fuming, but can't even hate Simon for it because he knows the man is just trying to help. That he doesn't realize. That he's never been very good at reading emotions– his own or other's. Johnny who hates himself for it. Never Simon.

And the worst part? He always feels so much better afterward.

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Soap who always seems so happy because he's a chronic deflector. Serious? Silly? Doesn't matter. He's cracking a joke and making someone smile. It's become such a core part of his personality that he doesn't know how to stop, even when it makes people angry. No one takes him seriously because of it, either. He's just the clown, right? Everything has a punch line with him. If he's complaining, there has to be a joke in there somewhere. It's rare that he mopes, truthfully. If he has a remarkable about something, if he's feeling under the weather, if he wants to tear someone's fucking head off, it all gets spun into something hilarious. He laughs at it, too.

Until Ghost comes along.

Ghost who's generally a bumbling bafoon when it comes to emotional vulnerability but is the only one who never laughs at Soap's deflections. At first, he thinks it's because Ghost simply isn't the kind of guy to laugh, but he chuckles alongside Gaz and Price plenty. But what can Soap do besides take it in stride and joke about cracking the Lieutenant’s hard exterior one of these days?

Until one night, they're alone under the cover of the stars, the panneling of the safehouse roof solid beneath them. Price and Gaz were inside, sleep having long since claimed them. Soap was supposed to be there, too. Ghost was on watch. But he couldn't rest. Not tonight.

  "Ah was pure barmy fer thinkin' I could get away with that charge," Soap shook his head with a laugh, a teasing smile playing at his lips as he watched Ghost take a long drag of a half-burnt cig. The smoke flowed from his exposed lips tantalizingly, but Soap knew better than to comment.

"Why do you do that?" Ghost sighed into the night air, sounding far more put-out than he actually was.

"Pardon?"

"The whole," Ghost made a vague motion with his hands, "laughing. Always turning serious shit into jokes. Always making fun o' yourself."

"Someone's got tae stay positive, aye?"

Ghost just shook his head. "Not when it's at your expense, Sergeant. It's not funny."

Soap frowned. Being funny was the only thing he was ever good at. What did Ghost mean he wasn't funny? What was he, then? What did that leave him with?

"I don't understand," he whispered into the air between them. Ghost snubbed out his cigarette on the roof.

"Deflecting won't fix anything. I've tried, believe me. It just— I dunno. Makes ya feel like bloody shite when no one actually listens to ya."

Soap hated how much that hit home.

"This conversation never happened, Sergeant, but you can... come to me. To complain, or wha'ever. You don't 'ave to try n put a smile on my face."

"Aw!" Soap beamed, ignoring the spiking emotions that threatened to piece his heart. Were the bad? Good? He couldn't tell. "Ye've grown soft on me, Lt!" He nearly flinched at the withering glare Ghost sent him in response. "Yes sir, sorry, sir. Ah'll, uh, do my best tae take ye up on yer advice... sir."

"Good. Now go th' fuck to sleep, MacTavish. Can't spot anything with you yabbering."

Soap snorted, making his way back to the window that would let him back inside. "Whatever ye say, Sir. Ye love this Scottish charm!"

Somehow, Ghost’s echoing chuckle felt like a win.

(And maybe it felt good to be seen, too. To be more than just the clown.)

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Gaz, who needs a rough hand to get off and ends up being Soap's stupid mutt.

Ghost, who likes things soft and sweet, who's Soap's Good Puppy.

Gaz, who's nothing but a brat and loves pushing Soap's limits as much as he can. Who won't push them with Ghost and peppers him with tender kisses and adoring hands when they're together.

Ghost, who knows Gaz needs things a little more rough and will bite down on whatever skin he can reach, suckling until there's a bruise that'll last till the end of the week. Who will draw blood just to hear more of those honyed praises falling from Gaz's lips.

Soap who finds comfort in the dichotomy of their relationship. Who can get his excess energy out without the fear of hurting Gaz. Who can embrace the softer side of the come-down with Ghost, and satisfy that urge in his chest to spoil someone till they burst.

Ghost Soap and Gaz who meld so perfectly together its a wonder they ever survived apart.

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Thinking about Ghost not being enthusiastic about sex. He'll get himself off on occasion, maybe fuck someone here or there when he's forced on leave, but it's never really appealed to him. It's never been a need. When he gets with Soap, he realizes that the man is nearly insatiable. But for Johnny, he'd willingly go as many rounds as the man desired— whenever the man desired. There was just something about seeing the man mindless with pleasure that did something to him.

On most nights, Ghost ends up falling asleep with Soap's soft cock deep within him. Sometimes he'll wake up to realize that Soap came in his sleep. Others, to the unmistakable sensation of morning wood. Regardless, they've usually gone a round before breakfast. And Ghost is fine with it, really. Fine with the gradual progression to being constantly stuffed with Johnny's thick cock. Doing paperwork, cuddling— any time they were alone for any period, hard or not, Johnny was in him. It was comforting, in a way. The weight, the stretch. The knowledge that it was Soap.

Ghost had the impression, through all of this, that it was to satiate Johnny. Until he's sent on a team without him, gone for weeks, and Simon can hardly function.

  He can't sleep without the feeling of being stuffed full. Can't do his paperwork without it. Can't even sit through meetings with Price without feeling Soap's cum dripping out of him and soaking his briefs. He's a right mess by the end of the first week. He'd taken to shoving whatever he could up his cunt at night just so he could sleep. which graduated to while he was doing paperwork. To sitting in the mess. Until something was in him always, in a vain attempt to stave off the need for Johnny.

Even Price was beginning to get sick of his shit. Shoddy reports, half-assed answers, and a new batch of terrified recruits led to the Captain telling him to get his shit together or risk being sent back to his shitty London flat for a few weeks of leave. So, Ghost fingers himself until he came so hard he passed out every night. Counted down the days until Soap would be back with every shift of whatever poor object he had shoved up himself that day.

When Soap finally did return, Ghost couldn't be happier. The Sergeant had hardly stepped onto the tarmac before Ghost was dragging them back to their room. He was on him faster than Soap could blink, tearing at sweat-soaked layers until he could finally get ahold of that delicious cock.

"baby, baby," Soap sighed, pushing Ghost back until he was forced to sit on the bed. "What's the matter? Never seen ye like this before."

"I need it," he begged, pawing uselessly at Soap's unbuttoned cargos. "Been so empty. Nothing is the same. It's not you."

And who was Soap to resist shoving Ghost onto the bed and bullying his way into his dripping pussy in one smooth thrust? Layers of gear be damned, there was enough space to slip his cock through his pants. Ghost whined and begged for more, to be filled up. To have his damn babies.

They fucked like animals until not even Ghost could go another round. Made sure he stayed plugged while they showered. Didn't bother dressing, either, just collapsed into bed, still conjoined. Ghost woke to Johnny fucking him open again, stuffing him full until his balls were well and truly empty.

Afterward, Johnny bought him a nice plug. One he could wear when they weren't alone. One that would keep load after load of Johnny's babies in him.

Because as it turns out, like with all things, Simon only needed Johnny to turn him into a greedy, wanting thing.

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Imagining Top Ghost and Bottom Soap. That's just their dynamic. Why would they switch it up when it was so good as is? Until Simon’s fucking Johnny slow but hard, pounding away and making Soap's eyes flutter in pleasure. Ghost is so wrapped up in watching Soap's minute expressions to tell him that he's doing good, that he's completely unaware of the lubed fingers rubbing between his cheeks.

They had talked about this before, obviously. About Simon bottoming, or at the very least taking something up the ass. Ghost was chronic about psyching himself out of it, of working it into something it's not in his head. If it wasn't spontaneous, it would never happen. Regardless of how much the idea actually appealed to Ghost. (After all, Johnny seemed to enjoy the feeling plenty.)

So, when Soap slips a finger into him unannounced, Ghost is already fucking himself on it with the next thrust, mind too addled to do anything else but keep fucking Johnny. He resisters the full sensation by the time he's bottomed out again. It took him by surprise, and before he knew it was was cumming like a damn fountain in Johnny. Whimpering these small, reedy sounds that were nothing like the hoarse moans Soap was used to hearing.

So, it became a new normal to have Soap fingering Ghost while he fucked him. Which then graduated to a plug or a vibe. All the way until Ghost was laid out beneath Soap, pliant in his hands like puddy as Johnny fucked him soft and slow. Ghost was the picture of submission when he was on the receiving end, voice high and whiny– all pretenses of authority long forgotten. He mewled and whimpered his way to a hands free orgasm, and Johnny thought it was the prettiest damn thing he's ever seen.

Ghost still topped, still fucked Johnny within an inch of his life whenever and wherever. but when they had the time? That was reserved for Ghost to fall apart on nothing but his cock.

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Ghost, Gaz, and Soap adore it too. Ghost may bitch about it outside of their time behind closed doors but he is undoubtedly Price’s best behaved partner. Soap is, to no one's surprise, the world's biggest brat. Gaz is good but God does he know how to push just the right buttons.

They flow together seamlessly, and their fun times mean a lot more stress is actively removed from their shoulders by the time they load into another helo. A lot of the time it's not a big thing, just small routines they like to indulge in.

With Ghost, Price will make him kneel under his desk and hump his shin until the Lieutenant’s legs physically won't work. Price's pants usually end up soaked and stained, but he makes sure to wear those pairs when he knows Ghost is aching for freedom from his own mind. He's so pliant and pretty when Price inevitably has to half drag, half carry Ghost over to the old couch in the back of his office.

With Soap, the Scottish bastard can never stop running his mouth. It truly is one of his charms, but the brat also knows when to push to get what he wants. Unfortunately for him, Price is not as easily swayed as Ghost or Gaz. So, Soap usually gets to end up with Price's thick cock down his throat, blocking any words from being uttered by that skillful tongue. Even a brat like Soap could be tamed when reduced to choked moans and stuttered gags.

Gaz was the most patient of the three. He liked the anticipation of it all— the way waiting made his skin crawl. So, Price had a swing installed in his office just for the man on days when he was overloaded with piles of paperwork and obnoxious red tape. Gaz would wait, ready and willing for Price to get frustrated by yet another report or request. Then, the Captain would storm over to where his legs were spread, pussy wet and sloppy and usually already stuffed full and leaking with the Captain’s babies. Absolutely ruined, just for the man to shove that monster of a cock into him again and rut like it was his last day on earth. Gaz is dripping by the time dinner rolls around, pussy puffy and bruised so hard he can't walk, and he usually forgets his own name by lunch.

No matter what, though, Price takes care of his boys. Ghost gets to nap on the couch for a while after Price holds a bottle of water to his lips and forces him to drink. It's the best sleep Ghost ever gets.

Price massages Soap's jaw until he's a drooling lump of putty in the Captain’s hands. He's so sweet, afterward.

Gaz got carried back to Prices room for a lovely bath where he'd get scooped clean and massaged. He'd likely be asleep before they made it to the bathrrom, but his body always appreciated the tender care come morning.

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He expects Ghost to be rough and leave him feeling it for days. Expects to be bossed around, to be put into his place.

But Ghost isn't like that.

He takes Soap apart slowly and like he was afraid to hurt him. He spends so long fingering Soap that he almost cums three separate times. Soap isn't slapped around, isn't degraded. He's treated like a king.

And, to top it all off, Ghost absolutely melted when Soap told him how good he was doing. Became all stuttered thrusts and breathy pants that always ended with a bit of a whine. Soft and sweet and perfect.

Perfect, because Soap realizes that while an aggressive Ghost was enticing, nothing could be better than this. Than knowing what a feral beast of a man his Lieutenant could be, and being treated so gently in spite of that. Ghost's hands could kill without mercy, but here they damn near worshipped. Hell, the only bruise Soap was left with was on his shoulder where Ghost accidentally bit down too hard when he came, whimpering like it was nearly painful. Not that Soap had minded.

So, Soap realizes he's not in lust with the hulking menace of his Lieutenant. He's fucking in love with him. With the man who is kind, and quite frankly couldn't hurt a fly. And Soap is more than okay with that, just as Ghost is content with becoming Johnny's good boy.

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Ghost, who winds up somewhere in Price's office when he needs to relax. Be it on the small couch, in a chair he pulled up beside the desk, kneeled on the floor with his head cushioned on the Captain's thigh, or sat on his lap. Not that he'll ever admit it, but Ghost needs to be held sometimes. Needs someone else to keep him together for a little while while he falls apart. Price has always known this. How could he not? So the Captain is more than happy to indulge his quiet Lieutenant whenever the man needs.

It's on another bad day where Ghost woke up wrong and couldn't quite fit himself together right that he ends up on Price's lap yet again. The Captain is going over reports, requests, and schedules, and is unbothered by the heavy weight of Simon atop him. Of course, it takes a little maneuvering to see over the man's shoulder, but this was not their first rodeo. They managed fine.

Now, Ghost isn't the most aware person in the world. Has never been exactly in tune with his body, and has spent most of his life clawing at the edges of reality in an attempt to survive. Whatever people usually got up to wasn't exactly his concern. He likes sharpening his knives and disappearing into the shadows. What else could he need outside of the cacophony of the battlefield? But even he couldn't ignore that he felt weird today.

There was something low in his gut, warm and begging for attention. Like something was missing. Like he needed something. He had no idea what it could be. What was making him unbearably restless. What was slicking his underwear and leaving him unable to stop squirming in his Captain's lap. Not even Price could ignore it.

The Captain sighed, long and low, and set down the ink pen he had been signing with. "What's the matter, Simon? Never seen you squirm like this. Need to adjust?" One of Price's hands drifted from the desk to Ghost's lower back, and he shuddered at the contact. It felt like it was burning and he wanted more.

"No," he whispered. What was he supposed to say? His body wanted something that he didn't know how to give it. He didn't even know what that something was. Just that he was slightly feverish and– and empty.

"You can tell me whatever it is, lad. You know this is not a place of judgment."

Embarrassingly, Simon whined. He felt suddenly uncomfortably bare in the thin paper mask he had chosen to wear with Price. That, and his forehead slick with sweat as it was, was beginning to adhere to where it met the warm skin of the crook of Price's neck.

"Take your time." Price always spoke to him in that low, rumbling tone. It was soothing, frankly, but now it amplified that gnawing in his belly. He wanted to crawl out of his damn skin, but he didn't know why.

"Feel-" Ghost started, words broken and strained, filtered through layers of walls and his own emotional inability. "Warm. Empty. I dunno-"

He was cut off by Price's low chuckle. There were two hands on the small of his back, now, firm in their grip and holding him impossibly closer to the Captain's core. "You're horny, Simon."

"Oh," Ghost gasped, finally given a name to the throbbing low in his belly and the rhythmic clenching of his cunt. He curled closer to the Captain, nerves shaking his lips where he gripped onto the man. "What do I do?" His voice was unthinkably high, pitched with the roiling mortification in his chest. How had he not realized that on his own?

"Depends," Price drawled. "Do you want me to help you, or do you want to help yourself?"

What did he want? What could he even do on his own besides fumble helplessly? His mind swirled, lost in the decision, as one of Price's hands drifted over his thigh and to his front. A calloused finger dragging up the inseam over his groin and subsequently over his sensitive cunt drew him back to reality with a startled moan.

"Please," he whined as his hips chased that teasing finger. It had lit his nerves on fire and he needed—

"What do you need, lad?" Price asked again. "Whatever you want, remember?"

"I dunno," he whimpered pitifully. "Feel so empty. It's maddening." He felt out of control, quite frankly. He dictated his body, not the other way around. Yet...

"Do you want to sit on my cock while I finish up these papers? Promise I won't do anything more than that if you don't want it."

Ghost's initial, knee-jerk reaction was to say no. Unequivocally no. But god, did that sound so fucking good. He'd seen the Captain's cock before. Was hard not to with as close as the military liked to shove its soldiers together. Price was thick and, at least while soft, about four or five inches. He did want that in him. And Price did say he promised not to do anything else but work.

"Please," he begged. The word was pitifully breathy, but he didn't care if it meant that he wouldn't have to clench around air any longer.

The whole affair of getting his pants off was awkward, to say the least. It was a strange position, and it didn't help that Ghost became increasingly flustered at the way his briefs stuck to his cunt with thick strings of grool. God, it was embarrassing. But, they got there in the end, and soon Price was fishing his cock out of his own cargos. He was just as thick as Ghost remembered, no less than six inches hard, and the tip was a beautiful ruddy color when Price's fingers teased the foreskin back.

Price guided him to sit up until their fronts were completely pressed together and Ghost's arms were around his shoulders. He couldn't help the whimper that crawled out of his throat as thick fingers spread his pussy lips apart to get a good view of his twitching hole. A good view of what Price was about to mercilessly shove his cock into.

The Captain's movements were gentle as he led the blunt head of his cock to meet Ghost's sloppy cunt, teasing the entrance with it and causing another whine to slip from between his covered lips. He was far less gentle as he suddenly speared the Lieutenant with it. Ghost wailed as the hand that had drifted from his pussy to his hip slammed him down atop that thick length. It was so sudden, so forceful, and Ghost doesn't think he's ever felt anything like it. He'd never been stretched like that before, but fuck if it hadn't melted his higher thought processes.

He folded back into the Captain's embrace easily, stuffed to the brim and damn near bursting at the seams with it. That burning in his belly was at least somewhat satisfied. Enough for Ghost to put it to the back of his mind. Enough to get comfy and stay still. Enough to doze off with thoughts of Price's thick cock splitting him open every time he was stressed. The sounds of pen on paper had never failed to lull him to sleep, after all.

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Thinking about Ghost who likes to feel small and protected. He puts on Ghost so no one has to look at the broken figure of Simon Riley. But, behind closed doors, he likes to imagine that Johnny is the bulkier, taller one. Likes to be the little spoon when they sleep. Likes to scoot down when their cuddling so his head is on Soap's chest while he ignores the way his legs extend far past Soap's. When they hug, he loves when he's sitting down, Johnny before him, and he can shove his face into the squish of the man's abdomen with Soap's arms around his head.

Just, Simon who wants to wrap himself up in all things Johnny and leave behind the towering threat of Ghost.

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Thinking about GhostSoap on leave. Some shitty flat in Glasgow Soap has that Ghost found had slowly been turning into his idea of home.

It's maybe day two or three back there. Groceries had been bought, everything had been dusted, the sheets had been washed (perhaps a couple of times), and now they just... sat. It's then that Soap begs Ghost to play Minecraft with him. Understandably, Ghost has no bloody idea what Soap is talking about. Mine... Craft? What?

So, Soap shows him. Buys it for him, too, much to Ghost’s displeasure. (It makes him feel guilty.) Unfortunately for them both, it takes about ten minutes of faffing about for Ghost to just... break. Because Joseph would have loved this. He knows it as certain as he knows the scars that paint his body. He can hear that nasaly voice as clear as day in his head, begging his Uncle Simon to play this silly block game.

Soap doesn't quite know why the pixel cubes led to him having to hold Ghost in their bathtub with the shower on cold, but it's not his place. He knows that. Ghost would talk, when he's ready. (If he ever is.)

Still, after that, Ghost finds himself coming back to it when Soap isn't in the house. The Scot likes nature far more than he, after all.

It really is quite silly, this children's game. But something about the simplistic graphics and monotony of the gameplay is soothing.

After another bout of nightmares, instead of sheltering himself away in the living room with a mug of tea that always grows cold before he can think to drink it, he turns on the computer Soap got for him ages ago. Thankfully, it's angled so the light doesn't interfere with Soap's sleep. Then, he plays until dawn starts to creep over the horizon. He doesn't have to think when he's playing such a stupid game.

His general mood gets brighter, too. His therapist always said that he needed a creative hobby. That it was 'good for the soul' or whatever. But Ghost only knew how to destroy. He wasn't like Johnny with his talent with a pencil, able to perfectly sketch anything that came to his mind. Wasn't like Gaz, who knew his way around a guitar with a singing voice like warm honey. Wasn't like Price, who he knew likes to write short stories in his downtime. He sharpened his knives and made sure his team got home safe on the battlefield. That's what he was good at.

Except... this silly block game didn't require that he had any outstanding talent or skill. With a press of a few buttons, he could be building. He made simple houses and elaborate towers. Huge, sprawling towns inside of cave formations. Spent hours on survival just mining away, refusing to think about anything other than if a creeper was behind him while he mined a vein of iron, or whether or not he was close to diamonds. He liked cherry wood the best. And the bees. They were horrifically cute. Too big. But cute.

And Soap knew. How could he not? He left the flat more often just because he knew Ghost was itching to do something with his hands. At night, he let the sounds of the keyboard clacking soothe him into a gentle doze alongside Ghost’s self-soothing humming that he knew the man never realized he did. He would never tell him, either.

In fact, Soap didn't acknowledge it until the last week of their leave. When, cozied up on opposite ends of the couch, he sent Ghost a file. Just a small png. Of a skin he had made, resembling the Big Bad Ghost himself. It was then, too, that Ghost realized that Soap didn't mind his solo playing. That, maybe, next leave, they could play together. And maybe Ghost could show Johnny his builds. He was rather proud of them, after all.

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Ghost who unknowingly stims when he's zoned out. Completely unaware that he's humming, snapping, tapping his vest, rising to the balls of his feet just to feel himself drop. It's not a secret around base that he does it. Just about everyone has seen some version of a zoned out, stressed out, and stimming Ghost.

Enter: John MacTavish.

He adores seeing Ghost stim. It's like a little insight to the man underneath the mask. Obviously, he gets to be privy to it more than anyone else. Especially when it's just them and Ghost will unthinkingly flap his hands or blink rapidly. So, needless to say, he is Ghost’s number one supporter. Which also means that many soon find out that between the two of them, Ghost is not the scarier one. The Lieutenant is just the one who holds the leash.

So, Ghost is left in peace, unaware of the habits he had grown into as he grew comfortable with the 141. And Soap is more than happy to watch him like the lovestruck dumbass he is.

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It's late at night, day two of Ghost’s period having shown its face again. It wasn't often anymore, but when it hit, it hit hard. 

As always, he felt bloated and gross. The cramps had settled down for the most part into a constant ache, but he knew they'd be back toward the end. Now, of course, came his actual least favorite part. How fucking horny he got. He never understood it. Just knew that heat gnawed consistently in his belly until he was done bleeding the 18 gallons his body thought was necessary. Bloody ridiculous, it was. Couldn't even sleep well at night with how worried he was about bleeding through his pad and staining the sheets. At least his underwear was black.

Having Soap by his side was a welcome change. Their first night together, both probably too tipsy for it to be exactly healthy, he never flinched when he had Ghost’s pants undone and around his ankles. Ghost had forgotten to warn him, but Soap didn't treat him any differently. He had been whispering filthy things in his ear the whole time— about how much he wanted to suck Ghost off. So he did, no hesitation. It had been euphoric. And in the morning, after a night of going at it like animals, Soap hadn't treated him any differently. Like he was any less of a man.

And now, when faced quite obviously with how... wrong Ghost was, he took it in stride. When he came back from the mess the previous morning to find Ghost curled up in bed miserable with the sheets stained beyond hope, he just... got to work. He helped Ghost into a bath, got him some clean clothes, changed the sheets and tossed the old ones, and gave him some painkillers. Ghost never even had to say anything. He'll never admit that he cried on Soap's shoulder for an hour, afterward. Never.

Now, Simon felt bad. Because Soap was exhausted after a long day of running the FNGs into the ground, and Simon couldn't stop squirming. Being on his period was the one time that Ghost could never seem to ignore the heat behind his navel. Ironically, it was the one time he could never do anything about it, either. So, here he was, disturbing Soap's much-needed rest, because he was unfathomably horny.

"Simon," Johnny slurred, cracking an eye open to peek at him. His face was still smushed into the pillows, belly down, with one arm thrown over Simon’s shoulders. "Ye good? Dae I need tae get ye some more painkillers?"

"I'm sorry," Ghost whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. "I can go sleep in my room tonight. I know you're tired."

"Nae what I asked, love," Soap sighed. Finally, he turned on his side to face Simon, hands drifting to hold his cheeks securely. "Look at me, Si. What dae ye need?"

Slowly, Ghost peeled his eyes back open. Soap's gaze was firm and unwavering, and Ghost whined.

"I'm sorry. Just— horny. Can't do anything 'bout it. Always happens."

Soap raised a brow. "And why can't we dae anything about it?"

Simon scoffed, unimpressed. "Because it's gross. Just— trust me on that one."

"Simon," Soap sighed wearily. "Dae ye honestly think I give a shit? Dae ye honestly think yer the only lad I've been with that had a period? Think I've never fucked them through it? Fuckin' hell, Si. I'll eat ye out if ye asked me tae, right now."

Ghost could only stare wide-eyed at the man. No one had ever—

"So, let me ask ye again, love. What. Do. You. Need?"

Ghost caved unreasonably fast. He always did when it came to his Johnny. "I want you in me. I keep condoms in my nightstand. I know it's gross—"

"Quit callin yerself gross, Simon," Soap ordered, and Ghost’s mouth clicked shut. "It's not gross or unsightly, ye hear me? Doesnae change a God damn thing, except maybe tha' we'll put a towel down. Okay?"

"Okay," Ghost whispered. And with that, Soap tugged him into a bruising kiss.

It was a flash of lost clothes and heated kisses, from there. At some point Soap had grabbed one of their discarded towels from the floor and laid it under them. But, Soap was true to his word. He kissed Ghost until his head was fuzzy and his lungs heaved for air. Kissed down his abdomen with the same reverence as always. And, when he peeled away Ghost's briefs at long last, the smeared blood and tissue around him did nothing to dissuade that skilled tongue from licking a long stripe from his ass to his swollen cock.

Ghost moaned, long and deep, and Soap's hands pinned his thighs down while he truly got to work. He was helpless to do anything but take it. Of course, they both knew that if he wanted to, Ghost could get out of the hold. But why would he want to when Soap was an expert at eating him out.

Ghost's first orgasm of the night came from Soap's lips sealed around his cock and sucking like his life depended on it. He wailed and thrashed as slick further soaked him. And finally, when Soap came up for air and to give Ghost a break from the constant stimulation, his mouth was smeared an unabashed crimson. Smeared with Ghost's blood. There was a small chunk of tissue by the corner of his mouth. Simon kind of wanted to cry.

Soap cooed, drifting back up Ghost’s body to cradle his face again. "What's with that look, love? Had enough?"

"You're a mess," he croaked, fingers hovering over Soap's blood-stained face. His hand shook.

"What can I say?" Soap smirked devilishly. "Always give it my all."

Ghost sobbed, desperately holding back the tears that flooded his gaze. "No one's ever—"

"Well, I'm not 'no one,' am I?"

Despite himself, Ghost laughed. "No. I s'pose you're not."

"Ye still up fer the rest?" Soap asked, no judgement– or expectation– in his words.

"Mhm," Ghost settled back into the pillows, tension finally easing from his frame. "You promised to fuck me."

"I better not break my promise, then, aye?"

And Soap didn't. He fucked him into next week, Ghost swore. He knew Soap was exhausted beyond belief. Knew they both had an early start tomorrow. But it didn't stop the man from pistoning into Ghost like it was his job. From pinning Ghost’s legs by his ears and making him see stars. Ghost whined and begged through two more orgasms before Soap finally came.

Afterward, Soap had disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, leaving Ghost panting and staring at the ceiling, wondering when he was going to he able to feel his lower half again. It all felt pleasantly numb, at the moment. Soap came back with a wet washrag.

He tenderly wiped away the mess their lovemaking had caused. And, when his fingers gingerly scooped the cooling cum from within him, he soothed Ghost’s oversensitive whines with a hand on his stomach. After that, Ghost thought that was it. Thought that Soap would leave him to pull his briefs back on while he washed out the rag. Leave him to settle back into the feeling of a cold pad. But, Johnny was full of surprises.

Instead, he watched, fascinated, as Soap pulled the old pad from his discarded underwear, roll it up, and stick a new one on.With one last cursory wipe of the rag to make sure any new mess wasn't smeared over his briefs, Soap heled him back into them with an easy smile. Finally, the towel under them was removed and tossed to the side to be dealt with later— rag included.

If Ghost cried while Soap pressed the rim of a water bottle to his lips, that was between them.

It was the best Ghost had ever slept on his period.

(And in the morning, if Soap had directed Ghost into the shower before he could realize he bled through a little, that was his secret to keep.)

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Thinking of Ghost being not sexually repulsed, but afraid to let go. Truly let go. When he's in bed with a partner— even Soap, his Johnny— he's quiet as a mouse and focuses more on their pleasure than his own.

The only time he's truly able to let go, not feeling an overwhelming sense of embarrassment, is when he's alone. Often it's in the shower, hand slickened with shampoo. There, he allows himself to take his time– to really feel.

His hands wander over his chest, down his stomach, nails scraping and teasing so lightly it sends shivers down his spine. He'll let himself buck into the air for a while, enjoying the sensation of almost-stimulation. It's like a game, seeing how long he can tease himself before he physically can't keep his hand off his cock.

Then, he'll take it nice and slow. He likes kneeling, for this part. Likes having his knees spread as wide as they can go. It makes it feel so much more intense. Then, he finally let's himself buck into his fist. Slow rolls of his hips, rising up off of his heels just to sink back down onto them with a moan. It's always so slick, too much of whatever product he poured. He likes it that way. Likes the mess, the stickiness of it all. The water would wash it all down the drain when he was done, anyway.

Alone, he let's himself whimper and whine. Let's his voice rise above that gravelly pitch he kept it at to scare away anyone brave enough to approach. This is what he's embarrassed about. The way he flushes. The way he chokes out half-baked moans and pathetic mewls. It's not what anyone wants from the big bad Ghost, he's sure. So he only lets himself fall apart like this to his own hand.

Cumming is no silent affair either. He always loses it, a bit. Can't help but lean forward, hand braced against the ground, as he furiously bucks into his pumping fist. He sobs as he cums, painting the linoleum white, and can't help but keep bucking until he's soft in his own grasp. It's exhausting, an orgasm of such magnitude. So he usually rinses himself off and passes out in bed afterward. Perks of being a Lieutenant.

Except... what if Soap knows all of this? What if he happened to stumble into Ghost's room one night looking to ask the man if he'd seen his favorite pair of boxers. He couldn't find them to save his life. Only, he heard the shower running and the beautiful sounds of Ghost falling apart of his own hands.

And maybe, secretly, Johnny stays to listen to the whole show, cataloging every hitched breath, every reedy whimper, so the next time they're together, he can make Ghost lose his cool enough to make those sounds with him.

(And hey, it takes a while, but they get there.)

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Ghost, a wraith who finally found a reason to keep going with the TF. Who saps energy to feed, and does it every night with his boys to bleed off their excess and allow them to finally, properly, rest.

Gaz, who appears human, and corrects no one. Who always happens to run a little warm, with skin a little strange to the touch. Who can be found napping in the lit fireplace during cold winter months, and lounging on rocks using sunny days. The Salamander Spirit who uses his warmth to make sure his boys aren't cold wherever they may be. He likes wearing their clothes just to give them back warm.

Soap, a Siren. His teeth are a little too sharp, nails a bit too claw-like, but he also appears human for the most part. Unlike Ghost who hides himself under layers of cloth. He's part Siren. His father was all too human, unfortunately. But he has the voice. Uses it in battle to lead the enemy astray. But mostly, he uses it to calm his boys down after a nightmare or a flashback. Let's them rest their heads on his chest while claws gingerly scratch their scalps. Let's them drift back to reality to the sound of his magic-laced voice.

And finally, Price. Price who has great big wings that make him a menacing sight. Who uses them in battle to stun enemies and get the drop on them. Who keys his boys hide under them when they have a bad day. Just lets them be encased in darkness and fluffy brown feathers for a while while the world goes on around them.

Just, Ghost Gaz Soap and Price who never felt like they belonged until they found each other

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Just,, Soap whose favorite pair of cargos shrunk in the wash but they still fit, damn it. They were just a little tighter around his hips and thighs now.

It's all well and good except for the fact that Ghost is losing his god damned mind. He swears he could see each individual ass cheek with how tight Soap's fucking pants were. His eyes were glued. He wanted to grab it and squeeze. See how far he could spread those cheeks before the fabric wouldn't stretch anymore. Wanted to fucking ruin him except for the fact that their schedules were chocked full until late and Ghost could do nothing but stare until then.

He was going to tear Soap apart.

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Ghost agrees but warns Soap that he won't go down easy. That if Soap wants to be in control, he has to learn to take it. So, Ghost expects Soap to Dom like he does. To be harsh, demanding. To put him in his place like an unruly mutt.

But when has Soap ever not exceeded expectation?

It takes less than thirty minutes for Ghost to break under gentle praise and tender hands. To be reduced to begs and whines as Soap spreads himself open, Ghost not allowed to touch. Ghost wasn't tied down, wasn't threatened with edging should he misbehave. Simply, Johnny would frown if Ghost moved. Would tell him how disappointed he was that Ghost wasn't his perfect, good boy. It was so easy to break Ghost down when you were soft with him. And Soap had him wrapped around his little finger. All it took was the promise of praise for him to be salivating for whatever Soap promised.

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Soap who will happily kneel at his Captain's feet whenever the man desires. Who gets off on the feeling of his airways being cut off and the very real risk of his gag reflex being pushed over the limit just as much as Price does. Who isn't satisfied until his shirt is so soaked through with spit and cum that it's unredeemable.

Price who wonders how he got so lucky with his spitfire of a Sargeant. How he was ever allowed to hold that man's head still as he thrust mercilessly into that tight, wet heat. Price who can't help but whine and whimper his way to an orgasm while using Soap like a fleshlight. Just fucking and fucking, holding Soap's head in place while he gags and whines and frantically tries to get an ounce of oxygen before he passes out or vomits– or both. Who thrusts hard and deep just for the sound of that startled gag, that wet suction as he pulls back. To see Soap's face marred with tears and snot and drool, cheeks redder than a tomato.

But ALSO Price who won't let Soap move until his face has been gently wiped clean and he's drank an entire bottle of water. Who will massage Soap's jaw afterward until he's nothing but a pile of goo at his feet, happy as could be to serve his Captain.

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Dhjegdiwhwiaka,,,,,

Soap who's idea of a relaxing night in involves a glass of wine and his pelvic wand. Simple, sure, but nothing beats how loose and relaxed he feels after an hour or two massaging his insides with it. Especially after a long stint away from base. It just hits the spot.

Ghost, who had grown so comfortable sauntering into Soap’s room that he probably should have knocked. Ghost who stares dumbfounded as Soap sighs contentedly as that rounded end loosens up another knot in his pelvis. Soap, who cracks his eyes open at the sound of stuttered breathing and lets a dreamy smile cross his face.

"Hey, Simon," he drawls lowly, still working on that knot. Why would he stop? Ghost was the one that wandered into his room unannounced.

"Johnny," Ghost chokes, feet carrying him toward the bed against his will– and better judgment.

"Been away fer so long," Soap purrs as Ghost settles a knee on the bed. "Missed this. Been so tight."

"What're you..."

"'S a massage, Ghost. Ever had one?"

Ghost flushes, visible even through the eyehole in his familiar balaclava. "Not like that."

Soap moans lowly in appreciation as that last wad of tension melts away into hot, syrupy wax in his veins. "I can– mmm– clean this off and show ye what ye've been missing, hm?"

Ghost’s eyes go wide and Soap's heart flutters. For being such a hardass most of the time, Simon truly was a softie.

"Uhh—"

"Doesnae have tae be sexual, Simon," Soap laughs softly as he pulls the wand free from his wonderfully tender and lax cunt. He sits up, finally facing the man proper. "A good massage is a good massage. Promise ye'll love it. 'N we can stop anytime."

Ghost seems to relax at that notion– that inkling of control. He nods quietly, and Soap beams.

"Good lad. Ah'll clean this off while ye get sorted. Pants off, against the pillows? Might be more comfortable tae put one under yer hips, too."

"Affirmative," Ghost says, and Soap rolls his eyes.

He can feel Ghost’s eyes on him as he saunters to the closet-sized 'bathroom' his quarters are granted. He's sure he makes quite the sight, naked as the day he was born and still mottled with bruises from their last op. Not that Soap minds the staring.

When he gets back, wand thoroughly sanitized, Ghost has gotten himself into position. His still wore his turtleneck and mask, but Soap honestly hadn't expected him to take those off. Ghost liked his privacy. This was a big enough leap already.

The best part, though, was that pretty pink cunt that was on display between the Lieutenant’s spread legs. It was framed in dark, wiry curls he knew to be a harsh contrast from his strikingly blonde hair, and wet with the man's excitement.

Soap did not immediately settle between Ghost’s legs, instead opting to rest beside him for a moment in the hopes to make this experience more comfortable.
"Ye alright, Simon? Ye donnae have tae do this."

"You promised to show me what it's all about," Ghost whispered back. There was a hint of his normal bravado in the words, and it made him smile.

"Ye used to havin things in ye? Might feel a bit strange at first but ye should get used tae it."

"Okay," Ghost nodded. "Haven't really— not in–"

"Shh," Soap soothed. Ye don't have tae explain anythin tae me. I get it." He patted Ghost’s knee gently. "Tell me if it hurts, aye? It'll probably feel like pushing on a bruise when I first start, especially with as tense as I know ye are. But it shouldn't hurt."

"I promise I'll say something," Ghost rested his hand on his for a moment, squeezing. "Now, are you gonna stall forever?"

"Cheeky bastard."

Soap shook his head but resettled between Ghost's legs. As much as he wanted to spend time admiring the gorgeous sight before him, he really had meant it when he said this didn't have to be sexual. He intended to keep that promise. So, he lubed up the silicone wand with practiced ease before settling the smaller, longer end against Ghost’s leaking hole. He could feel the man's thigh quiver under his other hand, and he cooed, rubbing soothing circles into the thick muscle.

"Okay?"

"Yeah.."

With that breathy confirmation, Soap began to slide the wand in. He didn't go far, no more than an inch. He waited while Ghost tensed and relaxed all over again at the foreign sensation. They had all the time in the world. So he started slow, running the slightly bulbous end in tight circles against the gummy walls of Ghost’s vagina. Slow and steady, watching Ghost’s every reaction and cataloging what seemed to make him tense.

When Ghost’s legs had fully fallen open, welcoming and relaxed as he let Johnny work his magic, Soap really got to work. He pinpointed those spots of tension, massaging until Ghost sighed or moaned in relief. He worked his way farther in, too, repeated the gentle yet insistent motions until he accidently pressed up against Ghost’s cervix, and the man jerked.

"Sorry, love," Soap apologized. It was hard to tell how deep he was when it wasn't his own.

"Didn't hurt," Ghost slurred. "Just– more sensation. Didn't realize I was fallin asleep."

"Would ye like that?" Soap asked. At Ghost’s confused look, he elaborated. "Tae do this until ye fall asleep. I don't mind."

"...Really?"

"Aye. Wouldnae be the first time we've slept together. What's one more night? We're relaxing."

"Okay," Ghost settled further into the nest of pillows Johnny had arranged against his headboard. There was a moment of quiet before he spoke again. "My legs feel like putty. Like 'm liquid."

"That means I'm doing my job," Soap chuckled softly. "Jus close yer eyes an' relax, Si. Yer safe here. It's time tae rest."

And maybe it was the best sleep Ghost has ever gotten, that magic wand relieving tension he didn't even know he had. and maybe it was good waking up with Soap on his chest, too.

Soap totally buys him his own, after that. Yet it still doesn't stop him from asking his Sergeant to do it for him. Because he was better at it. Not for any other reason. No other reason at all.

Chapter Text

Soap loved children. He did! He loved taking care of his little nieces and nephews, and whatever stray toddler would inevitably wander up to them during their afternoon walks in the local park. They were cute little buggers and they settled something warm in his chest. That being said, he has never wanted any of his own. Never has. The great thing about his sisters' kids– and stray ones– was that he could hand them back. He didn't have to handle the ugly parts. Wasn't stuck raising them and having to live with the very real possibility that he could muck it all up and ruin their lives right from the start. He was content with that. Ghost was content with that for much the same reason.

They liked their quiet, anyhow. They were lucky enough to retire early in the military without dying, even if their bodies didn't quite hold up as they should. His perpetual tinnitus and cane said that well enough. Simon’s back problems were less obvious but still prominent. They had earned this peace. This tranquility to go on walks in the park and wake up late to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. A child, as selfish as it was, would not allow for that. And that simply wasn't the life he or Simon wanted to live.

Soap's hormones, on the other hand, never much cared for that opinion. They were insatiable sometimes. Craving to have a wee thing of his own to love and care for and dress up like a little dolly. Those hormones did not want a toddler or a child, let alone a teenager and adult. They did not crave the nurturing of a new soul. Just the fat, helpless baby that drank warm milk and cried too much.

They had been on another walk in the park when they came across a couple and their child that couldn't have been more than seven months. They were sat on a bench, resting, and Soap couldn't take his eyes off of them. The baby was nothing but fat rolls and big ol eyes. It had a measly smattering of hair, and it's chubby fingers clumsily waved at its father's face. His heart ached for a scene like that– for his own pudgy baby to look at him like he hung to stars. To cradle it close and feel its fragile warmth.

He was startled out of his longing by the mother raising her head and waving them over with a smile. Her expression was bright and welcoming, and Simon nudged his back to get his feet moving.

"'Ello, there," the woman greeted kindly, English accent thick. It kind of reminded him of Simon's in the early morning. "Cute thing, isn't he?"

"Aye," Soap nodded along, voice almost whisper quiet. He couldn't draw his eyes away from the happy baby in his father's arms. So bright. So lovely.

"Hormones gettin' the better o' ye? I was insufferable in my twenties, I swear." The woman shook her head fondly. "Me an' Jack figured if we wanted to 'ave one, we be'er do it now. Can't say I regret it yet. He's a daddy's boy, though."

Soap laughed softly, fingers aching to hold, to touch, to have.

"What's his name?" He asked. The baby flapped his hands and drooled, making a right mess of himself.

"James. We wanted a bit o' a simpler name. Felt it was right, you know?"

"It's a fine one," Soap smiled. "Jus' a wee lad, isnae he? He's so small..."

"'Ad him nearly a month early," she clarified. "Docs said he should grow up to be a fine lad, but he'll be a bit small for a while."

"So he's a fighter?"

"That he is," the father spoke up finally. He looked equally kind, with thick glasses perched on a hooked nose. "Jus' like 'is ma." He had a Scottish accent like his own and Soap beamed.

"Hush, you," the woman laughed.

Soap let himself look one last time at the cubby baby secure in his father's arms. Just a wee thing, so helpless...

"Ye two have a wonderful day," he said softly. "An' may the wee one not fuss too much, hm?"

"Ye can say tha' again," the man laughed heartily. "Ye lads have a fine day yerself. Good talkin' tae ye."

Soap was ashamed to admit that it was only Simon’s hand on the small of his back that got him to move past the happy couple. Ghost didn't complain when he leaned into his side, nestling under his arm.

"We can," Simon started. He was never one for words outside of speaking to Soap. "We can have children, if that's something you want. It wouldn't be so bad, would it?"

"Is that something ye want, Si?"

"I'd do anything for you, Johnny."

"Exactly," Soap sighed. "Neither o' us really want the damn things. They're just cute an' make my stupid hormones go crazy."

"Really?" Simon tilted his head curiously.

"Aye. Always been like this. Dunno why."

"Survival instincts are a bitch." Simon shrugged.

"Yers keep ye alive," Soap rolled his eyes. "Mine just want tae be bred. 's stupid, is what it is."

"Not stupid," Simon assured. "just evolution."

"Well I bloody hate being human."

Ghost laughed heartily. "You can say that again. Now hurry up. I want lunch."

Chapter Text

Thinking about Ghost and Soap being discharged. Medically.

They got caught by an IED neither of them saw. They were lucky to be alive, but it didn't mean it didn't mess them up— badly. 

Soap caught the brunt of it. Shrapnel had peppered his abdomen, and his knee was fucked beyond repair. A hair's breath from amputation. But it meant that even recovered and months of PT under his belt, he'd be using a cane for the rest of his life. There was no room for that, on the battlefield. So he was sent home with falsely kind words and a sense of shame. 

Ghost had been farther from the explosion, but still near enough. He had been thrown back and cracked his back something nasty. When his ears stopped ringing so heavily and his vision wasn't swimming as much, he couldn't move. He couldn't get up to check if Soap was alright. All he could do was sit there and listen to his own ragged breaths and Soap's pained cries.

He had broken his back, and while he had regained his ability to move within the first month in that awful hospital, he had to live with the very real possibility that any minor injury he sustained again might not end with him as lucky. That he would have to be careful. That he would always ache. That sometimes his limbs would go numb and there was nothing he could do about it anymore. So Price sent him home with Soap. A Deadman finally wiped from the face of the earth for good.

Despite popular belief, Soap and Ghost weren't together. Not at the time of their discharge, anyway. But what else did they have? Who else did they have? Simon had no one but his own gravestone waiting for him back in Manchester. And Soap only had the cruel words of his parents who had assured him when he ran off to the military that he'd get himself blown up or worse. That when his time came, he would not be met with kindness. He knew his sisters would care for him, but they had enough on their plates with their own partners and little ones.

So, they bought a house together. Somewhere quiet and with a view. Enough acreage for a nice vegetable garden and plenty of trees to hide from the sun under. Their neighbors were far enough away that it was never a bother. The grocers was within walking distance, and there was a nice park nearby. It would be a dream if they were anyone else. If they didn't crave the chaos of the battlefield like oxygen in their veins.

It was in that quiet cottage that Ghost and Soap faded away. That Johnny and Simon came out to play. Except, neither of them quite knew who Johnny and Simon were. They had been running away from themselves since they were children. Now they had been forced to stand still. Where did that leave them?

Johnny stopped drawing a few weeks in. Stopped showering, keeping his haircare up. Stopped, in general. He lost so much weight even Simon was concerned.

Simon wasn't much better. He felt useless. There were days where he couldn't get out of bed– physically. Where he was left with nothing but his own spiraling thoughts and the persistent ache in his back. His perpetual nightmares only grew worse, too. To the point Johnny had taken to sleeping with him so he could stop the screaming before it tore up his throat. Simon felt bad about that, too. Because there were some nights he couldn't wake. Where he was trapped in his head and then Johnny would have to wash the sheets because Simon fucking pissed himself in his sleep. Over a little nightmare. He never looked at himself in the mirror long enough to see the way his frame thinned as well.

It wasn't until Price came to visit, a year down the line, that either of them began to get their shit together. Price had never taken no for an answer and spent the three weeks he was there getting them into a proper schedule. He couldn't force therapy, but he could sure as hell recommend it.

He cooked breakfast every morning. If Simon couldn't get out of bed to eat it, he brought a plate to him and sat there until it was all gone. He made them shower every other night and brush their teeth before they went to bed. Kept it up until it became a routine they'd keep up themselves.

Price did the little things, too. Cleaned the place of piling trash, did the laundry that had been beginning to truly reek from negligence. Organized the kitchen, did the shopping so there was more than takeout containers in the house. He helped his two boys feel like themselves again, too.

With Johnny, he sat him down in the bathroom after a hot shower and shaved his face for him. Took his time trimming the overgrown beard until his stubble was just the way he always liked it. He cleaned up the matted mess his long hair had grown into, too. Spent hours combing through it until it actually looked like hair. Price had trimmed up the sides, too. Johnny kept the rest long, but he looked like himself. When had he last felt that?

Simon was much the same. Price shaved his face, trimmed his hair to the buzzcut he knew he liked best, and moisturized his aching scars for the first time in so long. In addition, he had laid Simon down and gave him a proper massage until all the tension and pain he carried melted away into nothing. Price really didn't have to do that last part, but he cared for Simon. He'd do it over again in a heartbeat.

After Price's visit, Simon and Johnny had a long talk. Cried a little. Maybe kissed for the first time since a hazy, heated exchange all the way back in Alejandro's safehouse.

They decided that maybe therapy would be good for them. That they shouldn't let all of Price's hard work go to waste. So they attended together for the first year of it. Side by side. It felt better that way. Like easing into it. They had always been safe with the other at their back. And it helped. Their days seemed a little brighter. Simon learned to cook. Johnny learned to bake. They started taking walks in the park when they could handle it. They had movie nights together. They smiled.

And when they started doing individual sessions, began learning who Simon and Johnny really were, those bad days came around less and less.

There were still days Johnny couldn't eat. Where it all felt like ash in his mouth. Where Simon would have to brush his hair and trim his beard. But now he baked cookies for when he could stomach something again. Called his sisters and chatted for a while or got to know his nieces and nephews a little better. He'd sit out by the garden they had started and sketch the snails on the rocks and the birds in the trees.

Simon still struggled with his back, though less. Still felt useless most days when he had to defer to Johnny to carry something he should have been able to. Still nights he was up washing sheets and screaming his throat horse.

But there was a lot more good for them both. More days where the call of thr battlefield didn't ring in their veins. Where all they needed to have a good day was the smell of coffee in the morning and the chirping of birds outside. Days where they gardened and played cardgames. Where they went to visit Johnny's sisters. Days were they just... felt like people.

And the next time Price came to visit, Gaz in tow, he couldn't be prouder.

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#GhostSoap idea where Ghost had to be put under anesthesia for something and is so scared when he wakes up. He feels weird and his mind isn't working right, his leg is in a temporary cast, and he wants to bolt. To hide away from all the eyes on him.
His heart rate is spiking, his breathing is a mess, and Price can't calm him down. Until Soap walks in, happy to see his Lieutenant is awake, and Simon just *melts.*
Ghost clings onto Johnny like a koala, fingers wound tight in his shirt. Soap is a little confused but goes along with it at Price's death glare because a panicked Ghost was a Ghost that would undoubtedly injure himself further.
So, Soap is put on babysitting duty while Ghost is still loopy. They end up in the small bed together, Ghost half on top of Soap, as he watches him draw. 
It was the most at-peace Simon had ever been. It's just a shame he was only so open because he wasn't in his right mind.

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Simon thought Johnny was so strong. He'd nearly lost his leg but still faced every day they spent together now smiling. He decorated his canes for different occasions, each more him than the last. He wasn't the same man Simon had grown to know on the battlefield, but somehow he thinks he loves him more. Loves him with every brush of a comb through long silky hair, every tender massage he gave to that achy knee. Every kind word after a meal Simon cooked. The way Johnny held him close at night in a vain attempt to keep the nightmares away. Johnny was strength incarnate. There was no one that Simon looked up to more.

But it was hard. Hard because on the field, Ghost had taken care of Soap. Ghost didn't need anyone's help. Simon, though... Simon was broken.

He was happier now. He was in a place where he felt he could say that. He was content, to a degree. But he still hated himself. How weak he had grown. How he lost so much feeling in his legs some days that he couldn't get out of bed. That Johnny had to help him around, risking agitating his own knee.

His therapist understood. Simon appreciated that about her. Her own husband had been in the military. Had died there, too. So when Simon’s hands shook as he told her about how weak he felt, about how it felt like accepting help was giving up, she didn't coo and patronize him. She nodded and then called him an idiot right to his face. She was bold and knew how to communicate to Simon. Knew you had to be plain and often a little rude in order to break through to him. 

Still, Simon felt like finally buying that wheelchair he'd been eying for the better part of a year would be like giving up.

His therapist had asked if he thought that way about Johnny. If he thought the canes he needed to get around meant that he had given up, that he was weak. And when she had been met with disbelief— because Johnny was the strongest man he knew— she asked him why the sentiment didn't apply to himself. It was the same thing, wasn't it? A mobility aid so he could get through the day a little easier, a little faster, perhaps. An aid.

Simon couldn't explain it to her. It was just different. Simon was different. And maybe those thoughts sounded a little like his father, too.

In the end, it hadn't been Simon that bought the chair, but Johnny. Johnny, who had grown tired of watching Simon waste away and beat himself up over something so silly. Johnny, who was going to smack some sense into his husband or die trying.

When Simon had his next bad day, lying in bed miserable and doing his best not to cry, Johnny had not walked in with sympathy. Well, a little bit, but not much. He had wheeled that chair into the room with fire burning behind his sternum. Because if Simon wasn't going to help himself, then goddammit Soap was going to bark some damn orders.

"Johnny," Simon had hissed at the sight of the chair. He was mad, seething. He was not giving up. he would not let himself become weak. He had to be strong, even if he didn't know who or what he was preserving that strength for anymore.

"I don't care," Soap had said plainly, angrily tapping his cane on the wooden floor. "I'm not sittin by n lettin ye wallow in self pity any longer. Ye will get in this God damn chair or may God help ye."

Simon turned his head away, white-knuckling the sheets over his useless legs. He did not need pity. He did not need help. He wasn't going to give up just because—

Soap sat on the bed beside him. "Look at me." Simon did not. Soap grabbed his face and turned it anyway. "Helping yerself doesnae make ye weak, Simon." It was Johnny speaking, now. "I love ye so much. It kills me tae see ye wallowing an refusing somethin that would make yer life so much easier."

"Then why does it feel so much like giving up?" Simon choked back a sob. Johnny was too kind to him, for all he put the man through.

"Because ye refuse to let yer eejit father rest. Rest with me now, Simon. Let me help ye. Let this chair help ye. It's what it's fer. Giving up would be stayin here an rottin away."

Simon cried because of course he did. But Johnny just held him close. He offered no words of reassurance, no empty comforts. But he knew those didn't help Simon. He just needed a moment with his thoughts, a moment to release the festering darkness that had been growing in his belly.

But, Johnny did get him into that chair. Helped wheel him into the kitchen for a warm pancake breakfast. And later, under the afternoon sun, they took a stroll in the park together.

That part, perhaps, was the most eye opening to him. No one spared he and Johnny a second glance. No one sneered at him or called him weak. They just saw two men enjoying the outdoors and left it at that.

His therapist was so proud of him, too. Especially when instead of canceling their next appointment, he wheeled into the room, ready to talk.

Chapter Text

It's Christmas. Simon never liked the holiday, which no one can fault him for. Especially after...

But it's gotten better, with Johnny. In their quaint cottage. Together.

They usually visit Johnny's sister, Jenny, now. She has the biggest house, so it's more than enough to host.

Jenny has her own family with her husband Michael. They only have the one daughter— a rainbow baby— but Michelle was the cutest little toddler Simon had ever seen. Johnny's other two sisters– Patty and Laura– had six children between them. So, the holiday was usually a bit chaotic. Simon had learned to grow fond of it. Even now that Evan– Patty's oldest– had turned 15 and wanted nothing to do with anyone. Secretly, he and Evan hung out before the sun rose. The kid just needed someone to talk to.

He and Johnny always arrived on Christmas eve to help set things up. Jenny insisted they needed to do no such thing, but how could they not? Besides, Simon usually just ended up watching Michelle while Johnny helped bake, and Michael set out the last of the decorations. After a night of laughter and maybe a few happy tears, he and Johnny would snuggle up in the guest bedroom downstairs and fall asleep to the soft snores of the family dog on the living room couch.

Christmas day was loud and boisterous with the rest of Johnny's sisters showing up before the clock struck 10am. They were so close-knit, especially now that Johnny had returned from service. It made Simon’s chest ache fondly, yearning for what he could never get back with his own small family.

This time, however, Laura arrived with her kids and husband in tow, looking quite worried.

She pulled Johnny aside first thing, only shooting a quick "hello" to he and Michelle.

Unfortunately, Simon got an answer before the two could return.

An older couple waltzed through the front door like they owned the place. Simon would be confused if they didn't look like the spitting image of Johnny and his sisters. This wouldn't be good. Johnny had never spoken kindly of his parents. Even little Michelle looked uncomfortable, curling closer to Simon’s chest where she sat on his lap.

"Hello, lovelies!" The woman greeted the room, cheery as could be, as if she had been invited. They hadn't been. Simon would know. He knew it was why Laura had pulled Johnny away, too.

It was moments like these where Simon wished he could still be Ghost. That he could tower before them and order them to leave, safe behind his signature skull mask. But, it had been a long time since he had bore that mask. A mask of any kind, really. That had retired alongside him. Forcefully. He should also not be getting out of this wheelchair today. He knew that much from the minute he had awoken with nerves like static and sharp needles when he moved his legs.

Johnny appeared from the kitchen, leaning on his cane and looking more like Soap than he had in years. "Mother," he said simply. "What are ye doing here?"

Unfortunately for them all, his father spoke up before the woman could continue her false cheer.

"So ye did get yerself blown up after aw, John? Serves ye right."

Simon had half a mind to say 'fuck it' to the pins and needles in his legs and deck the man, but Jenny beat him to it. The little spitfire.

"Ye have no right tae say that, ye bastard!" She snarled. It probably wasn't the best example to set in front of the children, but hey, who was he to talk? He caught Evan smirking out of the corner of his eye. "You donnae know what they went through out there! Protectin yer sorry asses so ye can sit nice an' cozy in yer armchair, reekin o' booze!"

"Listen here young lady," their mother scoffed. Simon held Michelle close as she began to cry. Poor thing. She didn't deserve to hear this.

"Mother," Patty spoke up this time. The eldest and clearly the most tired. "Just– leave it. Leave here. You're not welcome here."

"But the cripples are?" Simon startled at having been brought into the conversation by their father. But, it seemed to be the final straw for Johnny. His brave, stupid Johnny.

"Get. Out. Get out! Ye donnae know what it was like bein told I might have tae have my leg amputated. Tae sit in a room, day in and day out, wonderin if the love o my life will ever get feeling back in his legs again. Ah don't regret a single moment o it, mind ye, but ye cannae jus ignore our pain tae prove yer stupid point! Yer cowards! Both o ye! Go be bigots somewhere else!"

Simon gave Laura his best smile when she scuttled over to take the crying Michelle from his lap. She returned it, albeit shakily. Now free, he wheeled his way over to Johnny, his own hands trembling in anger for his husband. At least his father, bastard as he was, was dead. Johnny didn't quite have that luxury yet.

His voice was low when he spoke. Ghost low. "I recommend you two leave. With haste."

The man sneered down at him. "And what will ye dae about it?"

Simon tilted his head like a puppy, eyes wide and gaze unwavering. He did not so much as blink. "Would you like to know why they called me The Ghost?" He caught Johnny fighting back a smile. He loved that idiot Scotsman so much. He terrified everyone but Johnny.

"Oh, I'm so scared," the man jeered.

Simon laughed. It was not a happy sound, nor a pleasant one. "I don't exist. I could do whatever I wanted to you and no one could do anything about it."

The man seemed offput but he didn't back down. Simon would give him credit. But Ghost was a stubborn bastard. And a cruel one.

Against his legs' better judgment, he began to rise from his chair.

That had the man quaking in his boots. It didn't matter that only years of suffering had taught Ghost to school his face from the pain, to stand through the agony rippling through his legs and back. They were threatening his family. He'd do it all again, even if it killed him. He wouldn't let malevolent hands take another Christmas from him.

"Ah hope ye all rot in hell!" The man seethed as he turned away, wife in tow. Simon did not sit until the door had shut behind them, even as Johnny began fussing over him. 

It hurt, surely, but it was worth it. Worth it to see Johnny cry happy tears. To watch the sisters fist bump. To have Evan hug him for the first time since he had turned 10. To be able to wipe the tears from Michelle's face. This was his family and he'd do whatever it took to keep them happy and healthy. Even if Johnny was pissed at him for the next two weeks while Simon was bound to his chair, having pushed his body past its low limits.

He'd do it again if he had to, and they both knew it.

He was happy where he was. With who he was. With his family.

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Trans!Ghost who is with Soap for a few months before his period decides to show its face again. When he talks with Soap about it, the man won't stop squirming and won't look Ghost in the eye.

It pisses him off, and Ghost snaps at him. If Soap was uncomfortable with being reminded that Ghost was born with different parts, why date him in the first place? Why lead him on?

Soap blurts out instead that he finds it so fucking hot. That he wants to eat Ghost out and see the blood smeared over his cock as he pounds him.

Both are silent or a long moment before Ghost smirks.

"Then what are you waiting for, Sergeant?"

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Soap who calls Ghost Daddy in bed, but Ghost is certainly not the one in control. 

Ghost eats it up. He loves taking care of his boy, his Johnny. He let's Soap fuck his throat and sit on his face still he's gotten his fill. Let's him squish his pecs together and fuck the cleavage. Let's Soap edge him for hours with just his hand because it's what Soap loves doing. Even tolerates Soap jacking him off until he squirts from blissful overstimulation. Whatever Soap wants, he gives, and Soap loves his Daddy for it.

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Johnny takes the time to finally reconnect with his punk teenage years. He gets his nose pierced and stretches his ears. It makes him a little happier, makes him feel more like John and less like Soap. He’s careful about the music he listens to around Simon, but over the years,

Simon has begun to associate the chaotic sounds with Johnny rather than his father. (His favorite is Disasterpiece by Slipknot, but he won’t tell Johnny that.)

It takes Simon a long time, but he eventually stops pushing himself so hard and defaults to his chair most days. He still likes to cover himself, wearing turtlenecks and jeans most of the time. But he had certainly gained more of a sense of style and he’s happy with it. He keeps his hair short still, but it’s no longer practically peach fuzz atop his skull. He is still horribly inept at

growing a proper beard. He learns to laugh a lot, and he likes to read. Especially to Michelle— the daughter of Johnny’s twin sister Jenny.

They both start greying early. It’s not really a surprise to anyone, but Johnny laments the loss of his perfectly sleek brown hair. Simon loves it, though. He adores that he got to live long enough to see Johnny grow old and grey. It’s actually why he puts a ring on Johnny’s finger. He buys two gold bands and asks Johnny to be his husband early one morning while he waited for his tea to steep. That was

what they called their wedding day. The day the began referring to each other has ‘husband’ rather than partner. Price cries to them for a week that they didn’t tell him immediately. Gaz just told them it was about damn time.

They spend holidays with Johnny’s sisters and take pride in their vegetable garden. They help Gaz learn to find himself a few years down the line when he’s forced home with one less arm. Price visits them when he can. They love afternoon walks in the park. Johnny can bake a mean snickerdoodle. They’re happy.

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Sometimes Johnny left to visit with his sisters for a few days. Usually Jenny. Simon never minded. He could handle himself for a few days while Johnny got some much-needed family time. It was almost nice, to have a little time to himself. He read, gardened, and watched those telenovelas Johnny could never stand.

Sometimes, they got a few door-to-door salesmen, but the scarring on his face usually meant they didn't try for long. It was peaceful. So when he opened the door, expecting to meet another salesperson, imagine his surprise when he was met with Kyle Garrick.

He looked thin and worn down, with bags miles deep beneath his eyes. His hair was a mess, his face was scruffy, and his left arm ended right before the elbow. His heart ached for the man. He wasted no time with idle pleasantries.

"C'mon in, Kyle," Simon smiled softly. He scooted back to make room for the man to enter. The door softly clicking shut seemed to be Kyle's breaking point.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, hunching in on himself. "I didn't know where else to go. I just needed—"

"I know," Simon cut him off. "It's okay, I know." Simon rolled forward close enough to rest a tender hand on his arm. "Let me make you something to eat. Do you want to shower? Johnny should have some clothes that'll fit you."

"I don't want to intrude." Kyle still wouldn't look at him, but that was okay. It would take time. He understood.

"You're not intruding," Simon assured. "I'm offering." Kyle nodded, finally. It was progress. "You didn't hear this from me, but Johnny keeps his Lorna Shore hoodie in the back of the third drawer from the right."

Finally, Kyle met his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, what? I didn't say anything," he joked. It startled a snort out of the man, and Simon took that as a win. "Take as long as you need, Kyle. I can make some mean waffles."

"I—" Kyle turned away once more. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Simon shrugged, turning toward the kitchen. "Thank me by taking care of yourself, mate."

Making breakfast was a quiet affair. He wasn't really in the mood for music, and he wanted to be able to hear Kyle if he called for anything. The sound of the shower faintly running from the guest bedroom was comforting in a way. He was glad they had stocked the place with Kyle and Price's favorite products after the first time they came to visit. He hoped it made Kyle feel a little more at home.

Simon had just set the last waffle on the plate when Kyle walked into the kitchen. He looked a little fresher, having showered. He was in an old pair of Johnny's sweats and that Lorna Shore hoodie. He knew the two jokingly fought over it when Gaz would come to visit. It was supposedly the comfiest one the Scot owned.

"Just in time," Simon greeted. "Hope you don't mind your eggs scrambled. I can't figure out how to fry one to save my life."

"It's perfect, Simon," Kyle murmured. "Thank you. You really didn't have to."

"Nonsense," Simon scoffed as he retrieved the bottle of syrup from the pantry. "When me and Johnny were first sent home, we were so lost. We gave up. It was a year of that. Of nothing. Of wasting away. Of feeling useless. Price is the one who kicked our asses into gear." Simon turned to face the haggard man. "And every moment since has been worth it, Kyle. I know I sound like a sappy old man, but it gets better. It gets easier."

Kyle sniffled around a bite of bacon, but Simon didn't press for an answer. He wasn't looking for an ‘okay.’ Or an ‘I'll try.’ Price hadn't. Kyle had to come to that conclusion himself. He had to want to get better. That was a lesson Simon had learned the hard way.

"And now that you're here, I'm not letting you go," Simon smiled. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me. Johnny says I'm rather clingy."

Kyle huffed a small, breathy laugh. It made Simon proud. "Okay, Simon. But I'm not sitting through your telenovelas."

"Neither of you have taste!" Simon rolled his eyes, but there was no heat behind the words. There never would be. He wasn't as close with the man as Johnny– who remained best friends with him despite the distance– but he cared. He had always cared, even as Ghost, but now he knew what those feelings meant. Knew that he was allowed to let others into his life. And he wasn't going to let Gaz wallow like he and Johnny had for so long.

A few days in— still a day away from Johnny's return— Simon took Kyle to the park with him. He had helped clean the man up, shaving his face and helping with his hair, and Kyle looked better for it. He wouldn't take off the hoodie, but that was okay. Simon knew he needed to get comfort wherever he could find it. He looked nice in the sunlight, anyway. It made him look a bit more hale.

"Me and Johnny come here every afternoon, when we can," Simon spoke easily. It was easy to speak to Kyle– it always had been. Even for a man like Ghost. "It's nice. When Johnny's not here I like to sit by the playground and watch the kids play."

"Should I be concerned about an old man hanging near a playground?"

"Hush," he slapped Kyle's arm lightly. "C'mon. Sit with me." He took a left turn on the fork in the path, wheeling away from a laughing Kyle. It was a good sound. He hoped to hear it more often.

There weren't many kids, seeing as it was 3pm on a Wednesday, but there were a few supervised toddlers having a good time. He settled beside the closest bench and Kyle sat down soon after. He was quiet, nervous, and that just wouldn't do. That wasn't the man he knew.

"Look how happy they are," he said softly. "So much joy. They don't know what pain is, yet."

"I thought you said this made you happy," Kyle tried to laugh it off, but Simon was still as perceptive as ever. He saw the way the man dabbed at his eyes and sniffled. That was okay.

"When I first started therapy, I was bitter. It wasn't fair that I couldn't be the man I used to be. I was so angry. It took a long time for me to even consider using this chair, and longer to accept that it helped ." He watched a toddler fall and scrape their knee, but it didn't phase them. The kid just stared at it for a moment before trying to climb up the brightly colored slide. "Back then, I would have hated sitting here. Just as I'm sure you hate it now. I don't blame you. But I think…" Simon trailed off, formulating the words in his head. He needed to get this right. "I think it gives me hope. It's not all miserable, you know? There is still joy to be had in this life. You just have to find it."

"Since when did you become so good at talking?" Kyle sobbed, hand covering his eyes.

"I've had a long time to sit with this," Simon answered plainly. "It still hurts some days. I still feel like shit, like I had my life stolen from me. But it's… I found out who Simon is. Who Simon really is. What he likes to eat, the things he likes to do. I've let Ghost go in all the ways that matter most."

"Will I ever get there?" His voice was soft, meek.

"If you want to. It's hard work, but you can. Just, don't go at it alone. Nothing good comes out of being alone."

Simon let Kyle compose himself for a while. He wouldn't press. Even now, Simon didn't want all of Johnny's fussing when he was upset. He would give Kyle space. So, he watched the kids toddle around. Watched as they tangled the swings, shot down the slides, and failed to understand the concept of monkey bars. They were so innocent, so sweet. It made him happy.

Eventually, Kyle spoke. "When… when I woke up in that hospital I was all alone. Price was stuck with mountains of desk work and the staff was too busy to spare me any more time than strictly necessary. I thought I died out there, Simon. When the building collapsed and I got pinned, I thought that was it…"

"And you find yourself wishing it had been," Simon said what Kyle couldn't bring himself to. It wasn't shameful, those thoughts. He had accepted that over the years. It got better. It's okay, to hurt. To mourn. To feel.

"I tried to wipe at my eyes, Simon. They were blurry and I knew I had an IV in my right so I…" he sobbed. Simon did not press. "There was no hand to wipe them with. Just bloody bandages. I— I don't remember much after that, you know? I didn't know what to think, how to feel. I think I was in shock. But I remember when Price came to visit."

"He sent you home and didn't spare you much of a second glance." Simon knew. It had been done to him and Johnny. He knew why. Knew that it tore Price apart to send his boys home broken. To not be able to do much more than that. But it was still a wound that ached, all these years later. He'd accepted it, but he doesn't think he'll ever quite forgive their old Captain for it.

"He sent me to my mother's house. Not that I have anywhere to call my own…" Kyle took a deep breath. "I love her but she, I dunno, she's never understood. She treats me like glass, like I can't do anything by myself. She does nothing but remind me that— " Kyle closed his eyes. "I know it's because she cares. I know I'm her youngest. I know she lost dad to the aftermath of his own discharge from service. But I can't—"

"That's okay," Simon said. "You're not made of glass. This doesn't change anything about who you are. But it's not shameful to need help either." Kyle finally looked at him. "You're still stuck feeling like you have the world on your shoulders, like there's always something you need to do. But you're done, now. You can rest. It'll be the hardest fucking thing you ever do, Kyle. But you can learn to rest. It'll be okay."

He nodded, wiping at his eyes one last time. "I— I wanna go home." It made Simon smile— home.

"One last thing?"

"Okay," Kyle breathed. "One last thing."

The man got up to follow him, and Simon couldn't help but grin. He remembers the first time he had done this with Johnny. His shin had been bruised for a week with how Johnny had smacked him with his cane afterward. He never regretted it. Still did it every time the man seemed a little somber on their walks. He wanted to cheer Kyle up. Wanted to show the man that he could have fun. Fun made life worth living. He wanted Kyle to want to live.

"Simon, I don't—" He grinned, tugging the man down until he had no choice but to collapse in Simon's lap, arm around his neck. "What—"

There was a hill along the path, just steep enough that he could get some good speed without worrying about tipping over. He rolled over it, laughing as the man in his lap squeaked at the increasing speed. It wasn't far, and they soon slowed to a stop, but it was a nice rush. A good break from the mundane.

"Better?"

"The hell was that for!?" Kyle smacked his shoulder, but he had yet to get off of Simon's lap. It only made him smile wider.

"Fun, isn't it?" Kyle pouted but nodded. "That's the reason. Fun is good for you, at every stage."

He held the man close when he dived back in, head buried in his shoulder. Simon didn't know how lonely Kyle had become with his mother, away from the life he had grown so used to, but he would try his best to fill whatever hole he could. It'd be easier, when Johnny was back. But Simon could be enough for now. They'd be okay. 

God, Johnny was going to kill him for not telling him Gaz had arrived.

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#Körangi idea where König thinks Horangi just hates him because he's constantly squinting at him or otherwise just,, not looking his way. In reality Horangi is trying to tell König that he feels safe and happy around him enough to let his guard down 😭✋️

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Everyone had a scent. Even Betas though it was faint without much depth to it. That unique scent came about when they reached second puberty. Soap's ma, a lovely omega woman who was a force to be reckoned with, smelled of nutmeg and cloves. His sisters all smelled of honeysuckle with an undercurrent of something wild. Each was unique despite their similarities. His father was a beta, and though his scent was faint, that freshly-blown-out-candle smell was so comforting as a young lad.

Soap, though... he never reached second puberty. He thinks, anyway, because he never got a scent of his own. He never much cared for what he might present as. His alpha sisters were sweet as pie, his mother was the strongest person he knew, and his father was so amazingly smart. He wanted to be like all of them. And maybe that was his downfall. Because he was like none of them. Like no one he had ever heard of. Just little John MacTavish: scentless with no classification to hide behind.

When he ran off to the military, it was useful in the field. Scent blockers helped but weren't full proof. Yet, no enemy force could ever smell Soap coming. There was nothing to smell. It was hard, of course, not being able to bond with anyone over their shared class. But it was... okay. He had learned to live with it. He'd always be the outcast.

When he met Ghost, years down the line, he didn't know what to expect. Everyone within a fifty foot radius could tell that he was an alpha and a strong one at that. He practically reeked of gunpowder and freshly lit matches. It kept everyone away. Except for Soap. Those just happened to be his favorite things, after all.

He was drawn to Ghost like a magnet, always in his orbit and finding some new way to piss off the Lieutenant and get off Scott free anyway.

Somehow, that ended up with Soap laid out on Ghost’s bed with the man above him.

"You're a strange one, MacTavish. You jus don't know when to stay away, do you?"

"Not when it comes to you, Sir," he purred, cocky as ever. It was his only defense mechanism, truly. He couldn't posture like an alpha, hiss like an omega, or glower like a beta. He just had to... make people forget why they were mad at him in the first place. Easy as pie when you make yourself the clown.

"And what makes you think you deserve this?" Ghost groped himself through his cargos, his hard cock obvious through the tight denim. It made Soap's mouth water. "Can't even smell you. How can I be sure this isn't some trick you've concocted to get a good laugh?"

Soap couldn't help but flinch at that. He thought, for some reason, that Ghost would be different. That he could look past his lack of scent. That he could pretend to be normal with a man so strange himself.

"Look at me," Ghost said softly. It was a harsh contrast with his previous tone. Soap just shook his head, curling up further. He had thought— "Johnny, please."

Finally, Soap met his gaze. He looked hurt. It was strange. Why was Ghost upset?

"I'm sorry if I hit a nerve, Johnny. I dunno what your deal is, but you don't owe me an explanation. I'm sorry for hitting a sore spot. That wasn't my place."

Ghost didn't apologize. That wasn't a thing the big, strong alpha did. Yet, here he was, doing just that while caging Soap in with his own body as if trying to protect him.

"I never presented," Johnny sniffled as one of Ghost’s hands reached up to cradle his jaw. It was so soft, unbelievably so, and all he could smell was matches and gunpowder. "I've always been the weird one. No one wants a mate that—" He shook his head. He couldn't continue. He didn't want to. He didn't want to say it out loud.

"I want you," Ghost murmured.

"What?"

"I want you, Johnny. If you'll still have me. If I haven't mucked this all up."

Soap sobbed and tugged the man down for a bruising kiss. "Of course I'll have you, you asshole!"

Soap all but melted under Ghost as that explosive scent multiplied tenfold. He was practically choking on it and he was in heaven. Ghost wasn't gentle in the way he kissed him. It was all teeth and tongue, and when he made his way down Soap's neck, he made ample use of his teeth. The useless scent glands on the sides of his neck itched for Ghost to sink his teeth into them and lay his claim. But the man just passed right over them.

Like with all things, Ghost was efficient at undressing them and getting Soap prepared. It was wet and messy though, with three fingers in his ass and the squelch of lube with every thrust.

"Dammit, Si!" He keened as wicked fingers teased his prostate again. "Just fuck me already! Knot me!"

"You'd take my knot?" Ghost looked at him with wonder in his gaze.

"Of course, ye bampot! but I'll rescind that if you don't—"

Soap moaned as Ghost removed his fingers and speared him open with one long, smooth thrust. He wasn't sure he had ever felt so full. He was stretched at the seams with it. It'd take a real miracle to be able to take Ghost’s knot, but Soap was willing to do the impossible. He ached for it. Ached to be connected with someone so intimately at long last. It bloomed something warm in his chest. Something that spread through his veins like liquid fire and had him whining for Ghost to fuck him before he had even properly adjusted.

Ghost just looked at him, amazed. His eyes were wide and bright, and his face held such a sweet smile that it almost made Soap want to cry.

"Oh, Johnny," Ghost cooed, cupping his face in reverant hands. "My sweet little omega. You were just looking for the right person, weren't you? That's alright. I've got you."

Soap swore he blacked out as Ghost finally moved. It made his insides sing, and he needed that knot more than ever. He was begging his alpha for it with mindless babbles and hiccupping moans.

"Shh," Ghost soothed as he fucked Soap soft and sweet. "I know, little one. The first heat is always so hard. It'll be okay. Just relax and enjoy it. Alpha will take care of you."

When Soap finally came, he saw God. The heady mixture of Ghost shoving his knot into him and his own orgasm left him boneless. But, not boneless enough that he was unable to sink his teeth into Ghost’s scent glands. It was all he wanted, and high on Heat and Ghost, there was nothing to stop him. He didn't want anyone else, anyway. Only Ghost. Only his lovely alpha.

Only the man he shared his scent with. 

Gunpowder and freshly lit matches. 

They were some of Soap's favorite things, after all.

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Ghost who gets extremely horny in the adrenaline crash once back in a helo. Who used to be grumpy and unresponsive until he could sort himself out— until Soap came along. Soap, who was willing to fuck it out of him once back on base until they started being deployed more often with just Gaz and Price as company.

And, well, those two would never turn down a show. Especially when they got to see their headstrong Lieutenant a whining mess, pants around his knees, and a few fingers in his cunt. It was a sort of sacred ritual

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Ghost who lets Johnny fuck him because he loves how pathetic the Sergeant is about it. Who eggs him on with 'good boy' and 'can't you fuck me harder than that?' just to hear him whine and beg to let him breed Ghost like the good puppy he is.

Soap who bottoms for Ghost but is the one in control. Who knows his Lieutenant just wants to pleasure his Johnny and can't stand the thought of displeasing him. Who fucks Soap for as long and hard as he wants. Who shakes apart in his arms after, wrapped up in everything Johnny. Soap who whispers to him after what a good boy he was.

Price who tops all his boys but much like Ghost, needs to know how good he's making his boys feel. Who whimpers and begs in the sweetest little voice about how good they make him feel. Price who lets them guide him whichever way they want him, lets them use him for their pleasure. he's so good for his team, always serving them and fucking them just right.

Gaz who loves to take things slow, always missionary. Who fucks soft and sweet and always falls apart so quickly. Who pillows his head on his partner's shoulder and whines with every thrust. But he's so good, so lovely. Never leaves anyone unsatisfied- he makes sure of it. He'll go as long as they need, angle his thrusts just right so they fall apart under him. He'll let them collar him so they can maneuver him however they like

Just,,, all of them who want to be so good for each other that they fall apart, whine and beg, mewl and whimper, just for a taste of that sweet heat. Who love to let themselves be guided like a living toy, and live to be the ones to get their lovers to fall apart (even when they're the ones that break first)

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Everyone knows Nikolai and Price are an item. They're fantastic for each other. Sweet, filthy little lovebirds despite– or perhaps because of– the distance usually between them.

What's a little less known is how Price is in charge of his boys. He's their Sir. And they're good for him, but god are they absolute brats when they want to be.

Nik coming to visit is always a special treat. Nik is their Daddy. He doesn't need to have a harsh hand with them. They always listen like good little boys should. He treats them so sweet. Forehead kisses, baths, hours just cuddling. But he also fucks them just as sweetly. He's their Daddy, and they're his Sweethearts. His little loves.

Nikolai and Price are a fantastic duo, especially when it comes to taking care of the 141. Because they love their Sir, but they completely adore their Daddy

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Ghost overhears Gaz and Soap arguing about whether Catgirls or Dogboys are superior. So Ghost gets the idea to dress them both up so they can prove their worth to him.

Gaz gets to wear a pretty pink skirt with matching ears and collar— bell included, of course.

Soap gets put in a thick leather collar with floppy brown ears and a rubber tail plug.

In the end, neither of them won but Ghost leaves the night sufficiently fucked out. He blames his limping on an irritated knee when Price asks the next morning

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Ghost wasn't initially pleased that he was assigned as Soap's handler. Not that Handler was anything more than a glorified title to appease bigoted upper brass, but still. Price already had his hands full with Gaz. It was the logical choice that Ghost be assigned his own mutt.

He'll admit that soap wasn't the worst. He was agreeable but headstrong. Fierce in his morals, and unwilling to bend to what broke them, regardless of orders. Ghost, frankly, did admire that. Plus, as much as the Scot liked to tease, he was one of the few people around who genuinely respected Ghost's boundaries. Still, for some reason, he was the only one surprised when he found himself growing... closer to the Sergeant.

It was rare that Soap wasn't at his side. Even at night, now. They had sort of ended up bunking together in Ghost's room. He's not even sure how it happened. The man just seemed to have slowly migrated into Ghost's space and then never left. It was sort of nice, though. Because Soap liked to sleep on top of him, curled on his chest, and the deep pressure and rumbling snores tended to help chase his persistent nightmares away.

In this proximity, he had learned the things the Scot liked. Grilled chicken seemed to be his favorite. Ghost made it a point to cook it for him at least once a month, when able. His tail always wagged so hard. He liked sniffing out explosives, too. Actually, he liked explosives in general. Perhaps to a concerning degree, but Ghost wasn't one to judge others for their quirks. It would be more than a tad hypocritical, after all. He liked when Ghost scratched at his ears, hated when he grabbed his tail or touched his feet, but loved when Ghost would rub his belly. God, the man went crazy for belly rubs.

It sort of became a habit, for Ghost. In the evenings, when he was winding down, Soap would stretch himself out over his legs, belly up. Ghost only needed one hand to read, so his other always found itself rubbing soothing circles on the soft skin there. Usually, Johnny would fall asleep to the sensations, but his tail never stopped wagging. It was cute.

Eventually, however, Ghost found out that despite all of his human characteristics, a few of those puppy ones shone through on occasion. Like when he scratched at the left side of Soap's belly and found out his leg would kick uncontrollably.

"Problem, Johnny?" He teased as he let his hand come to a rest over that spot.

"Shut up, Simon. Not my fault." The man's ears were folded back slightly, a pout puckering his bottom lip. His face was red. Ghost couldn't help but tease his fingers over his belly again. "Ghost!"

Ghost laughed softly, keeping up the motion. Soap was adorable, spread out over his lap, tail wagging and leg kicking. His eyes were a little cross, face redder than a tomato as he panted. Times like this made it hard to imagine a time before the man came into his life. It was... sweet.

"Feel good, puppy?"

Soap just whined, leg still kicking. Ghost kept it up for another few seconds before Johnny's whole body froze with an aborted moan. Ghost froze, hand stilling immediately before the Scot melted into a puddle of goo.

"Fuck," Soap whispered.

"Are you okay?" Ghost asked hesitantly. He feared he went too far, hurt the man. But, Johnny shook his head.

"No, I-- oh god, Ghost." Soap groaned, curled up, and shoved his face into the meat of Ghost's stomach. "I just creamed my pants like a fuckin' teenager."

"I'm so sorry," Ghost immediately apologized. He wasn't usually one to say sorry, but fuck he had just---

Johnny shot up, immediately in his face and licking over his mask. When he was nervous, he always forgot about how humans reassured each other and defaulted to licking. It was something Ghost had grown used to. "What are ye apologizing fer? I'm the one tha'--"

"Because I didn't ask if that was something you wanted, Johnny. I-- I didn't know. I'm sorry. I understand if you don't want to be around me anymore. I can transfer, I---"

"Shut up, Simon," Johnny barked. Immediately, Ghost found his mouth clacking shut. "Who else do I let rub my belly? Who else do I sleep on top of? Who else makes me grilled chicken and hides explosives just fer me to sniff out? An' it's not cause yer my damn handler." Soap sighed, nuzzling into the hollow of Ghost's throat. "I just didn't know I could do that. And I... I didn't know that was something you wanted."

"Of course I want you, Johnny. You're..." What could Ghost even say? You're the love of my life, Johnny. Yeah. That would go over well.

"Good," Johnny preened, tail beginning to wag something fierce. "Cause yer not gettin' rid o' me, now. I want more belly rubs."

"Oh yeah?" Ghost chuckled lowly. He leaned in close to Johnny's ear. "You sure you wouldn't want my hands somewhere else?"

"Well, now that ye mention it..."

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Johnny's knee always hurts. The joys of chronic pain. He's grown used to it. Makes sure to wear his brace and use his cane. Notes how much he's been up and about during the day and doesn't push himself too far. Makes sure to take it easy the next day if he had a long day before. It's gotten easier as time passed. But, there are still days, no matter how careful he is, that he just aches.

Simon knows he has to choose his words carefully, on these days. Knows that, much like with his own injuries, Johnny misses the time he could move around uninhibited. Misses the days that weren't spent in pain. Because, part of healing and moving on was mourning the people they used to be, and letting them go. But grief never really goes away. Just gets easier.

It was a bad week for Johnny. It frustrated him to no end. It just wasn't fair. He did everything right, and still, it was never enough. He just ached. Had to rely on Simon to help him around because he simply couldn't. The pain made him want to scream. He couldn't even sleep with the way it constantly throbbed, demanding an attention he didn't want to give it. Not that he was given much of a choice.

And Simon was such a saint. God, he always was. Sometimes, on nights spent awake and thrashing, he wonders how he managed to deserve a man as wonderful as Simon. He always knew it was a bad day before Johnny had a chance to voice it. He'd bring him breakfast in bed, take time combing through his hair just to help him relax. And, Johnny's favorite, was when Simon would guide that achy knee into his lap and massage away some of the aches and pains. Johnny never asked, never insisted that Simon helped him. Simon just... did. And it was so good. Always so good. Because he treated Johnny like a king but didn't do it like he pitied him. He never seemed to see Johnny as the burden he sometimes felt he was.

Even at night, when Johnny was inevitably keeping Simon up because he couldn't even let the love of his life sleep, Simon never seemed to mind. He'd hold Johnny close, make sure his support pillow was in the right position under his knee, and talk well into the night. Often, Simon would fall asleep mid-sentence and Johnny thought it was the cutest thing in the world. He loved those little sleepy mumbles, the soft snores. Loves how Simon would keep talking in his sleep-- always so nonsensical. Somehow, that always made Johnny feel the best. It was just so far from Ghost.

Johnny had fallen in love with Ghost first. Soap had. But, Ghost was cold and closed off. He was hurting and he never let anyone see inside. But Soap had seen enough. But Johnny got to see Simon. Got to see this wonderful, wonderful man ramble madly in his sleep because his subconscious hadn't quite let go of the fact that he had been telling Johnny stories before he had fallen asleep. Ghost wouldn't be telling Johnny that 'the ants are going to get us, Johnny. We've gotta move. There's shelter in the city. The butterflies are protecting it.' And, Ghost wouldn't sleepily tell Johnny how much he loved him but that he 'can't tell Johnny. Shhhhh. He can't know. He's so special. Best man in the world...'

As much as a massage helped ease the tension that never failed to gather in his forever achy knee, it was Simon's presence alone that healed him the most. Sometimes he's grateful that these stupid injuries let him have this. Even if it was hard, even if it hurt. Because Johnny couldn't imagine never getting to know Simon.

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Soap is a big, strong, typical alpha. He smells like Gunsmoke and cedar. He's loud and brash and not afraid to bare his teeth and release his scent if he feels challenged.

Everyone thinks that Ghost is an alpha. He's big and strong and even self-proclaimed 'top-dogs' fall to his orders without question. He makes a menacing sight, after all. No one has ever smelled him, of course, but scent was a private thing amongst some packs, so no one questioned it. (If they had smelled him, they'd know it was coconut and blueberry. Something soft and sweet. Something distinctly Omega.)

What surprises everyone, is when Soap starts openly courting Ghost. As such a traditional Alpha, people had assumed that he would go after a tiny, pliant Omega. Ghost was clearly anything but. And an Alpha to boot. (At least in their minds.) 

Soap, however, didn't care. He wasn't exactly as traditional as people made him out to be. He got his personality from his ma— a wonderful Omega woman— and his presentation had nothing to do with it. He was just bold and outgoing. Besides, he'd never been interested in someone who wanted to essentially serve him. It felt wrong, to him. And, he liked to be manhandled. And fucked within an inch of his life as if he was an omega. That wasn't exactly something he could advertise. Especially in the military. It was rough enough being openly gay.

A bigger shock to everyone was Ghost accepting Soap's attempt to court. Ghost didn't like people in general, that was obvious. He was curt and cold. Yet, he bore the trinkets Soap adorned him with like a king. Bracelets that jingled around his wrists, necklaces that shone in the sunlight, rings with the prettiest gemstones available. It got to the point that Ghost became identifiable because he absolutely reeked of Soap's scent. And even so, after months of courtship and pining, not a single thing had happened between them. Not even a kiss.

It takes a year for it to happen. For the tension to boil over. It happened during Soap's rut, actually. On medication, it was never more than a few days and a bit of frustration, but that didn't make it any less annoying. Ghost could vouch for that, with his own brief and sporadic heats. Soap had come to Ghost’s door, beet red and reeking of arousal. And still the man did not ask Ghost for anything more than a shirt he could bury his face in while he rode out the rut. He wanted to smell Ghost, and that was enough for him. Enough, because he would not take things further until Ghost initiated it.

It was the hottest fucking thing, to Ghost.

Dazed and horny out of his mind, Soap confesses that he just wants to be railed senseless. That he craves the feeling of being filled and popping his knot around nothing but air. That he can be so good, if only Ghost would let him be.

And so, for the first time, Ghost let's his scent free. He showers Soap in it as he takes him apart. And oh, does Soap fall apart. He's the sweetest little thing, once he has a few fingers in him. So pliant and behaved. Nothing like the headstrong alpha. He seemed to like that Ghost used his own slick to lube him up, too. It was so cute.

Ghost does fuck him senseless. For the next two days, Ghost fills him up again and again. Makes Soap whine and beg as his knot craves to sink into something hot and warm but is denied every time. And Ghost is so happy. Because Soap never seemed to care that it was an omega fucking him senseless. He just wanted to be fucked, and Ghost was more than happy to provide. To mate him, when Soap bared his neck and begged for it.

It was good, so good. And when Soap began wearing hoodies and bracelets that smelt of coconut and blueberry, no one said a God damn thing. They were just glad they didn't have to wade through an ocean of sexual tension anymore.

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Ghost is so nervous when Soap asks (more like begs) for it, but he can't say no to his Sergeant when he's on his knees and looking at him with those big eyes of his. And Jesus Mary and Joseph is Soap eager.
He undoes Ghost's pants with unrivaled enthusiasm and wastes no time coaxing him to full hardness with teasing warm breaths and fleeting little licks with the tip of his tongue. Ghost is already a mess by the time Soap wraps his lips around him. Soap tongues under his foreskin like he's trying to find gold, and hollows out his cheeks so perfectly that Ghost thinks he knows what Heaven feels like.
He has to be held down when Soap suddenly sinks to the hilt. He can't even be bothered to hide his fucked-out noises. Soap's throat is so hot and wet as it squeezes him like it was made to fit his cock. and fuck the sounds. It's so sloppy. Ghost can't describe it as anything else. There's little gags every time Soap swallows him down, little suction noises when he pulls back. Slurping when he hollows his cheeks and sucks down the faucet of pre Ghost was leaking. There's drool soaking Ghost's balls and sticking him to the Sergeant's chin in thick strings.
It takes Ghost less than five minutes to cum his brains out. He short-circuits when Soap tells him that he's gonna let Ghost fuck his face next time.

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Soap who, despite popular belief, doesn't actually get laid often (or ever.) And he's so easily frustrated by it. His hand and his toys can only do so much. At the end of the day, he's still a horny mutt that needs to sink his knot into something, lest he go crazy.

So, no one is quite happy when Soap starts becoming increasingly snappy and stand-offish. Least of all Ghost. It's no surprise that the Lieutenant ends up cornering him and questioning him until he breaks.

Soap is so embarrassed as he tells his Lieutenant that he's so horny it hurts. That nothing works because he needs to pop his knot into something living and breathing. He expects the man to lose his shit laughing. Really? A Sergeant of his caliber taken down by a little need to rut? 

  But that's not what happens. No, Ghost just coos like Soap is the sweetest little thing. He cups his jaw, crowds in closer. "Poor pup. I'll help you. Be good and come to my room after dinner." And then he just... leaves.

Soap does go to Ghost's room that night. He's nervous as all hell and half wondering if this was some elaborate ploy to make sure his dead body was never found. But, Ghost just drags him inside and unceremoniously shoves him onto the bed. He's told to undress— the Lieutenant already in nothing but sweats— and Soap rushes to do so.

It's hot and heated and downright filthy as Ghost practically pounces him. He licks into his mouth with fervor, and Soap's tail can't help but wag up a storm. It only increases when Ghost’s fingers scratch just above the base of it. 

It's all a blur to Soap how he ends up hovering over Ghost’s splayed, naked body. His perfect pink cunt is glistening so perfectly that he kind of wants a taste, but Ghost is goading him into sinking in already. He can't say no to that. Not when it's all he's wanted for months.

And it's so good. So tight, so hot, so wet. He can feel the way Ghost stretches around him, struggling to accommodate his girth initially. But the man doesn't complain, just tells Soap how good he's doing as he bottoms out.

Soap doesn't just start rutting. He's been allowed the privilege to have his Lieutenant like this and he wants to make it so good for him. But Ghost doesn't care.

"C'mon puppy. Fuck me like the desperate whore I know you can be. Don't tell me all your complaining was for nothing? Take what you need. Use me like a toy, pup."

Not even God herself could resist words like those.

Soap fucks Ghost so hard he's not sure the bedframe will survive— or the wall. He jackrabbits into him, again and again, tail thumping against the mattress with every thrust. He's mindless with it, whining with his mouth open, tongue lolling and drooling all over himself. It's so good he's kicking, searching for purchase he'll never get with as fast and hard as he's already fucking Ghost.

But he's only a man, and he's worn himself out just before he can feel his knot start to swell properly. He's forced to stop, to pant into the swell of Ghost's chest as he begs for the burning in his thighs to go away.

"What's the matter, pup? You were doing so good for me."

"Hurts," is all Soap can say, hips still twitching as they try to chase that pleasure but were unable to.

Ghost just coos before flipping them over. He looks so pretty, haloed by the overhead light. The man wastes no time sinking back down on Soap's red and leaking cock. He spears himself on it with ease, and doesn't wait a second before he's riding Soap within an inch of his life.

Soap pops his knot quickly after that display, locking them together as Ghost never stops those torturous little circles with his hips. The Lieutenant looks so pleased with himself.

Needless to say, Soap gains something warm to sink his knot into, and Ghost gets the satisfaction of watching his Sergeant lose himself like an animal. It's a win-win.

Chapter Text

GHOST
an Awoken Guardian with a rocky past– a past that shares his face. He doesn’t like people and if he doesn’t have to talk to you, he won’t. People have become quite familiar with his Phantom. It’s a good thing she’s sociable. People dubbed him “Ghost“ for all the trouble. He was largely an outcast and never felt at home until Cayde-6 took him under his wing. Cayde made him feel at home and was the first person to ever gain Ghost’s undying loyalty. He was family. Ghost will be a Hunter until his light finally gives out.
His own story is why he’s so quick to trust Crow. What Uldren had done had destroyed Ghost, but he knew better than any to be haunted by a past that shared his face. So he makes sure Crow has someone in his corner, like Cayde had done for him.

GAZ
Gaz is a human warlock. The only non-Hunter of the 141. He’s a lightning fast thinker with all the sass to back it up. It’s a miracle he’s just friendly enough to not get himself into any real trouble. He’s got a close friend in 2-6, and maybe sort of fainted when he met Osiris in person for the first time. Kind of a big deal, meeting your heroes and all.
As great as his mind is, he’s an equally good fighter. He’s practically the trump-card of the 141, and anyone who tests them can expect to be met with a blazing end.

SOAP
Soap is an Exo with a loud personality. No one actually knows how many times he’s been reset —he doesn’t exactly lend that out, but it’s easy to look past with as bright and bold as he is. (It’s 3. John-3. But don’t call him that. It’s Soap.)
He’s not one to stand back and take shit. Hell has truly frozen over the day he listens to an order. But he’s good. Damn good.

He fights like a damn animal, really. He’s quick and agile, and now with Strand at his fingertips, he’s unstoppable.
(it actually took a long time for Ghost to warm up to Soap. How could he, when he felt like he was staring back into the eyes of Cayde-6?)

PRICE
no one outside of the 141 can pinpoint why the seemingly ordinary hunter has become their defacto leader. He’s a damn good fighter, sure, but so are the rest of them. What they don’t consider is his willingness to take no shit, and his ability to lead them through high-stress situations. If a mission has gone to shit, they can trust that Price will lead them through it. He’s a no-nonsense kind of guy, but also unthinkably kind when it comes to his boys.
(And, behind his back, the running joke with the team is that his ghost Actual has the hots for Soap’s Lady)

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Trans!Soap who loves to fuck Ghost’s face with his strap. Loves the way his throat struggles to take rigid silicone. The way it bulges obscenely as he chokes and sputters and drools all over himself. The way his eyes glaze over as he lets Johnny do whatever he wants to him. And it's so humiliatingly perfect because it's not like Johnny can feel any of it. He can ruin Simon, absolutely ruin him, and Johnny can do it with nothing but a bit of glorified plastic

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Soap who's absolutely deranged. Unhinged. Really insane, actually. Who's so obsessed with Ghost that if he could put him in a glass case to display him forever, he would.

He makes Ghost tea in the mornings. Why wouldn't he? Tea is one of Ghost’s favorite things and Soap would do anything for the man. Anything. So he serves him tea just to get the sweet little smile that no one else gets to see. It's HIS smile. Johnny's alone.

What he doesn't tell Ghost is that maybe Soap’s a little more insane than the Lieutenant thinks. Because Johnny bleeds himself every few days just to bottle it. It's his secret ingredient. A piece of himself to keep with Ghost. And the man drinks it up every morning without complaint.

It makes Soap's insides sing.

Inevitably, they weren't always going to be together. Inevitably, Soap would have to leave Ghost behind to disappear for a while as he tracked down a lead under Price's orders.

But it was okay, because Ghost wouldn't be giving that sweet little smile to anyone else while he was gone. Because it was Johnny's smile, and he was Johnny's man.

When he comes back, it's early in the morning, but just late enough to catch Ghost in the kitchen. He's hunched over the counter, staring down a mug of tea like it had personally offened him.

"Whit's the matter, love?" Soap chuckles as he saddles up beside him. "Tea burn yer tongue?"

"No," Simon huffs petulantly. "It just— it doesn't taste the same. You make it better." Ghost’s shoulders slumped with the admission but the words lit a fire in Soap's belly. Simon liked his tea— loved it. Couldn't stand not having it. Couldn't make it himself. Of course he couldn't. Not without his secret ingredient. Not without Soap giving a part of himself to Ghost so they could be together forever.

"Tha's because yer lackin' the ingredients," he crooned. Ghost just looked at him, puzzled. "Here. Gimmie the mug." 

Ghost passed him the streaming mug while Soap reached for his chest— for the knife strapped to the vest he still wore. He listened intently as the man gasped as Johnny sliced his palm open, squeezing just to watch that beautiful crimson rush into the mug below. He didn't bother staunching the flow, just took the previously discarded spoon and stirred it until it was a beautiful, rich brown.

"See?" Johnny laughed. "Tha's how it's done." His grin turned sharp as he met Simon’s wide-eyed gaze. "Ye cannae make it without me."

But Ghost was a little off his rocker, too. He did not flinch at the display.

"How am I supposed to make it when you're gone then?"

"I'll bottle some up fer ye." Johnny shook his head. "You brits an' yer tea."

"I don't think it's the tea I like anymore, Johnny..."

"Then what are ye waitin' fer?" His smile was wicked as he held his bleeding palm up to Simon’s lips. "I'd hate fer any of it tae go to waste."

Chapter Text

"You can't be serious," Ikora scoffed, stepping further into Gaz's space. But he wouldn't be swayed, wouldn't be intimidated. He had made his choice and he would stand by it. Stand with the rest of his team. They were not dumb, incorrigible brats. They had faced foes Ikora only guided them through. Lost lives that still haunted Gaz's every waking moment— Amanda freshest on his mind. They were Guardians, strong ones, and he would not throw away their last hope for lousy principles.

"Do you think we have any other choice, Ikora?" He spread his arms out wide as if to demonstrate the amount of shit they were in. It was fucking endless, truly.

"We are falling right into Savathûn's plan! You cannot seriously think that is a good thing, Garrick. Savathûn only serves herself. She is wicked."

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," Gaz insisted. "I'm not saying we trust Savathûn. I'm saying that maybe she's all we have right now. Maybe you should put a little more trust into Eris. Maybe the fact that Savathûn is the smartest motherfucker out of any of us is what will save our lives!"

"Garrick..."

"No, Ikora." Gaz would not relent. If Eris needed tithes, tithes he would give. What other choice did they have. Savathûn was right. It was a win-win situation. And they could really use a fucking win right about now. Morale was low enough. "If you have any idea, any single better idea, let me know. Cause right now? I've gotta get back to the throne world."

Gaz stepped back, intending to meet his team down by the bay.

"I won't stop you, Garrick. I can't. But know that you're making a mistake. You're smarter than those hunters."

Gaz laughed. It was a bitter sound. He and Ikora had never seen eye to eye. But that was fine. He didn't need her to. He was just fine on his own. "Nah. We're a team. We go down, we go down together. It might as well be trying to give us all a fighting chance." He turned. "You know Cayde would say the same."

Ikora merely turned her gaze back to the horizon.

Figures.

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Alejandro and Rudy finally getting some alone time. They're desperate for each other. Not necessarily for the sex, but the closeness. If Alejandro doesn't meld himself to Rudy within the next half hour, he's gonna combust. Rudy is all for it. The man is just as needy, after all.

It's a quick thing. There's no foreplay, no dragging things out. Alejandro barely took enough time to shove a few fingers into Rudy so that it wouldn't hurt too bad when he fucked him into next week. Not that Rudy minded. No, he had been begging Alejandro to just do it since they had stumbled back to their room. At least one of them had to keep their wits about them, though it wasn't often it was Alejandro.

They didn't bother with the bed. They liked it brutal and messy, and with as exhausted as they already were, they didn't fancy having to change sheets or sleep on filthy ones. So Alejandro gathered Rudy into his arms, elbows hooked under his knees with the man's arms around his shoulders, and fucked into him like it was the last chance he'd get.

Rudy was gone already. He was a mess of whines and whimpers and moans so reedy it was a miracle none of the Vaqueros had asked him what girl Alejandro had brought on base. There would be deep scratches along the meat of his shoulders, but he'd relish in them while they healed— proof that he had taken Rodolfo apart so thoroughly.

"Ale! Ale!" He cried like it was the only word he remembered. "Dame más! Dame más! Por favor, Ale!"

Alejandro could get drunk off the sounds alone. Fuck, Rodolfo was so beautiful like this. He clung to him like a baby koala, bouncing with every brutal thrust. His tanned skin was flushed a gorgeous rouge, and Alejandro couldn't help but trail a trickle of sweat with his tongue.

He widened his stance and adjusted his grip. It never failed to turn both of them on how easily Alejandro could carry Rudy. It was great for this. for when Alejandro leaned over, fucking into the other man all that much harder with the new angle.

Rodolfo whined in distress, clinging harder as his stomach dropped. It felt like he was falling, and he dug his fingers into Alejandro hard enough to bruise.

Alejandro immediately slowed and leaned back up. He adjusted Rudy in his grip, making sure the man knew that he had him. That he was okay. He nuzzled into whatever skin he could reach as Rudy caught his breath and calmed down.

"Yo te tengo," Alejandro murmured as Rodolfo collected himself. "Yo te tengo, amor."

Rudy squeezed his legs around his back, and he smirked. It never took long for the man to recover. So, Alejandro wasted no time in slamming them into the wall and making his man see stars.

Chapter Text

They're out at a bar, celebrating something or another. Price had dragged Ghost along to babysit, and Soap and Gaz were always happy to get pissed when time allowed.

Ghost isn't quite sure where everyone had fucked off to, but whatever. He was fine by himself, tucked away in a corner booth and nursing a truthfully awful drink. This shithole wasn't a place he chose willingly. It was seedy. Ghost was, honestly, glad he covered himself from head to toe despite the heat. He was going to bleach these clothes after they left.

Soap is at the bar itself, chatting up the tender as he waits for a new round for him and Gaz. The man was a pretty fellow but not his type. Too small. But he was a fine conversationalist. And a physics major to boot. It was in this distraction— and his inebriation— that he did not notice a... 3rd party approaching. He certainly noticed when an unfamiliar hand swatted his backside, though.

Soap turned with a growl on the tip of his tongue. He wasn't in the mood to deal with some cocky half-wit. He wanted to get sloshed with Gaz and pester the Lieutenant into taking him home because Ghost was so gentle when he thought Soap wouldn't remember the way gloved hands would card through his hair and brush over his cheek.

The man was large. Not quite Ghost large, but nearly. He was clean shaven but had one of those dumb broccoli cuts. The youthful arrogance written across his face told Soap all he needed to know.

"These goods ain't fer sale, laddie," he snarked before the man could open his mouth. He really just wanted to get back to Gaz, now.

The man crowded in closer, seemingly confident in their semi-isolation now that the bartender had shifted away to tend to another customer. "Then why are you flaunting it, hm? Tight arse like that could be doing a lot more than staying locked away in those jeans."

Soap did growl this time, and made to shove the bastard away. "Too bad. This tight arse is taken. An' I'm not keen on sharin'." A lie.

His hand was grabbed and shoved to his chest. He felt dwarfed, cornered against the bar. "That's too bad," the man crooned. "Your man's gonna have to learn that sharing is caring."

There was a look in his eye that Soap didn't particularly like. Not that there was much to like about the bastard. But, tipsy or not, Soap was still a damn fine soldier. He didn't waste any time in shoving the man away and breaking free of that suffocating hold. He ducked under his arm and all but ran through the people milling about. Gaz and their drinks had been forgotten in his mind. All he cared about was getting to Ghost. Ghost was safe. Ghost always had his six.

♡

Ghost was just considering leaving when he spotted a familiar warhawk approaching him. Johnny's face was panicked, eyes a little glossy from unshed tears. It immediately had his hackles raised. Something was wrong. Johnny shouldn't look scared.

"Ghost," Soap panted as he nearly ran into the booth. "There's this man, and—"

Ghost spotted him before Soap could finish his sentence. Strong, tall, assholish lad who happened to be the only one actively pursuing his Sergeant.

He pulled Soap into his lap without second thought. Johnny was safe in his arms— taken in his arms. No cocky son of a bitch would take what was his.

His heart swelled as Soap buried his face in his neck like a child. It also made him unbearably angry. Soap was not a weak man. Clearly, this asshole had threatened him in a way that got under his skin. And that wouldn't slide.

"'Fraid this seat's taken," Ghost rumbled as the mysterious man approached.

"I'm sure," he drawled. "See, I was just having a lovely conversation with—"

"You know... these floors could use a repaint. What do you think about red?"

The man swallowed and stepped back. Johnny's hands clenched tighter onto Ghost’s hoodie. Ghost growled.

"Of course, Sir. Right. Have a good night."

"Thank you..."

Ghost just hummed."

Chapter Text

Soap making Ghost rut against the inseam of his jeans, goading him into cumming like that. But it's not enough. It's so good, and fuck he's soaked the denim through, but it's not enough. He'll never be able to cum like that, even with the filth pouring from the Sergeant's mouth.

"C'mon, baby. Ye were whining like such a slut earlier. Is this not enough fer ye?"

"No, no," he begs, hips canting, drool dripping down his chin. His thighs quake with the effort. "Please, Johnny. I'll do anything. Touch me, please."

"Hmm," Soap croons lowly-- cruelly. "I think ye can do it."

"No!" Ghost sobs. His chest heaves with sorrow. He's so close, held on the precipice, but dangling from a firm branch. He can't fall, won't tumble over that cliff. He'll never cum like this. He needs Johnny's fingers, his tongue, his cock-- anything. He's never felt so desperate. "Please, Johnny you can do whatever you want just please touch me. Make me cum. I'll-- I'll suck you off. You can cum in me I know you want to, please, I promise---"

Soap pulls away immediately. Ghost keens, reaching for the man, but Johnny doesn't touch him-- at least not like that. He cradles his tear-streaked face instead. "No, Simon. I'm not gonnae-- fuck, baby. ye really think I'd use ye like that?"

"If it gets you to touch me I don't care." He wasn't even embarrassed about the way he whined anymore. He needed to cum so badly.

"Ye hate those things, Si. Ye cannae stand the feeling of something so big in yer mouth and ye certainly don't like a creampie. Ah'm not gonna goad ye into violating yer boundaries just so ye can cum."

Ghost's brow furrowed. "But--"

"Never, Simon." Soap's voice was low and left no room for argument. "I may tease ye, I may edge ye-- whatever. But I will never make ye do something ye don't want tae. an' I'm sorry if anyone has ever made ye give up yer own autonomy fer that."

How was Ghost even supposed to respond to that? He'd been so used to--

"Now, I'm gonna eat ye out until ye can't feel yer legs. How's that sound?"

"Can I cum?"

Soap grinned sharply and leaned in close. "As many times as ye'd like, babydoll."

Chapter Text

They're at some party or another. Medal ceremony, blah blah blah, they weren't really paying attention. It was an excuse to let loose a little for everyone involved. That's all that mattered. Soap was wasted. Absolutely gone. Ghost wasn't much better, but he was more skilled at hiding it.

They're in a corner on some old loveseat. No one's really paying attention to the way Soap is draped across Ghost's lap. The way he's whining in the Lieutenant's ear about how much he wants his cock inside him. That he could make Ghost feel so good if the man would just let him.

Ghost is horribly amused by this. It's cute, how needy Soap gets when he's drunk. They've had more than their fair share of inebriated couplings. He was almost tempted to let Soap sink down on his cock in front of all these people, warming him like a good boy should. But that sight was for Ghost and Ghost alone.

He met Price's eyes across the room. The Captain was chatting with Laswell and her wife though he clearly wasn't paying much attention to the topic at hand. He was certainly more focused on the way Soap's hips rolled across his lap needily. Dirty old man. Not that Ghost was any better, truthfully.

He found himself smirking under his mask, leaning in close to Soap's face— who currently was trailing open-mouthed kisses up his neck. He let his breath fan over the shell of his ear just to feel the man shiver with unabashed desire. He never broke eye contact with their Captain as he trailed his gloved hand up Soap's thigh to cup his prominent bulge. Soap whined at the contact, hips bucking up with desperation. Price, meanwhile, discreetly adjusted himself as he licked his lips. Well. Discreetly to everyone but Ghost.

"C'mon, Johnny," he murmured to the whimpering man squirming in his lap. "Let's head back. Think I can find a better use for our time." He squeezed Soap's cock just to be mean. He looked good in slacks.

Chapter Text

“I hate you.”

”More than anything?”

”More than anything, Johnny”

Chapter Text

Everyone knows Ghost struggles with time. If you ask him the day, the year, he has to think really hard about it. Or check the calendar. No one thinks much of it. After all, Soap was completely time-blind thanks to his rampant-- and obvious-- ADHD. It was just another tally on a list of oddities.

Only Price was privy to the reason behind it. The reason Ghost seemed so lost on the year. The reason he treated his birthday with disdain. The reason he couldn't recognize pictures of himself without shutting down. Often, Price wished he didn't know. That he didn't have this festering ache in his chest for a man so ruined by the cruelty of humanity. But who else did Simon have to come to? It was a burden he would bear as long as he could.

Simon Riley was still twenty-one. Simon Riley was still stuck in the days his team had been sold out by their commander. He hadn't moved on. When you asked him the year, his first instinct was still to say 2008. He didn't recognize the man in the mirror because who was that supposed to be? Simon Riley was 21. Not the 35-year-old he now saw. His joints shouldn't ache the way they do. There shouldn't be crow's feet and smile lines. There shouldn't be the beginning touches of grey hair in what should be pure, blinding blonde. If asked, his family was still alive. His little brother had just gotten married and had a kid. Hadn't you heard of little Joseph? He was the sweetest thing on planet Earth.

But no one asked Ghost these things. Because Ghost was a cold wall of indifference. That way, Simon wouldn't have to recall the way iron filled his nose on Christmas Eve. Wouldn't have to feel the weight of six feet of soil atop him, the burden of betrayal on his shoulders. When he was Ghost, Simon Riley could still be 21. Could still be young and dumb and full of spite. He could still be proud of Tommy for pulling his life together. Happy that Beth was so good for his brother. Glad his mother had a child she could finally dote on, even if it was her grandson and not her son. It was okay for Simon Riley to be confused. Because no one would question Ghost.

No one except Captain John Price, that is.
Price is the only one who gets to know that confused boy who's brain never really left the past. Who couldn't mature past all he'd been through. But... he could help. At least, make Simon feel a little less out of place.

It was no one else's business if they worked so closely together for that reason alone. If, together in Price's office under stacks of paperwork, he was Private Riley. He was young and dumb, and they didn't have to speak the year. Because Price would always rework Simon's reports. Cross out every 2008 silently and with a heavy weight in his heart. He always did look so youthful when he was treated like the boy he was never allowed to grow up from...

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Johnny grew up in a small town. It was so secluded. So... abandoned. But they liked it that way. It was easier to wash away the blood of innocents when there was no one around to witness it. Easier to bind the forces of Evil when everyone was in on it.

Johnny never liked it. He didn't relish in the sacrifice like his sisters and parents did. It made his insides squirm, his heart hurt. They said he was too clean for it. They called him Soap. He had lost the privilege of a name years ago.

But there would never be a chance to leave. The only road out and in was constantly monitored, and he didn't begin to know where to acquire a map. He didn't fancy starving to death in the wild– or being eaten by a bear. So, like with his sisters, his time came for the induction ritual. He was 20, now. A grown man. And all men must participate in their stupid little cult. He was too old to be Soap, now.

He still fought tooth and nail on it, though.

It was done in their attic– his room. It was easier that way. His family was downstairs waiting for him to come down victorious. To have a great demon of Hell on a leash at his beck and call. After all, he's never summoned before. To be accepted, it would have to be powerful. Imps were for children.

Chained to his own damned bed, he made a choice.

he would summon that fucking demon. He'd bring it forth from the depths of hell, but he wouldn't bind it. It'd kill him first. Then the rest of those sorry motherfuckers who got off on power and violence. He didn't care what it did after that. He's sure someone, somewhere was knowledgeable enough to exercise it.

He didn't wince as he sliced his palm open. Didn't wince as he dragged it across the wooden floor as he drew the ritual circle. Didn't even cry as he shaved a good chunk of skin off of his own leg as meat for an offering. If he was going to do this, he was gonna make it count.

The Latin felt like ash on his tongue. It coated his throat and left him all but screaming the last few lines of his intentionally botched ritual. His hands would not be clean for much longer.

Through the sulfuric smoke that blinded him, a deep voice rang. "You've made a mistake, little one. You forgot the chains."

Johnny laughed, long and loud. His head thumped back on his mattress. His chains rattled with the movement. "On the contrary." His voice was hoarse as he spoke. "Yer free to do whatever ye want! Isn't that grand? Ye can slaughter the whole bloody town!" He closed his eyes, panting and exhausted from blood loss. "Ye can kill me."

A hand, large and bony, encircled his wrist and lifted it. "You could have ordered me to unbind you."

"And yet one of us would remain in them."

That beast purred. It was loud and rumbling. Still, Johnny did not open his eyes. "I'll slaughter these pigs for you, human. But you're mine, understand? You'll be my pretty little pet until I'm bored with you."

Johnny felt himself relax under the predator looming over him. "It cannae be worse than this. Maybe I'll see more than these four walls..."

The chains on his wrists fell away. "Then finish the ritual, little one. Keep me tied to this world." A bloodied finger was pressed to the demon's forehead. It was hard and bony. But, he had practiced this symbol a thousand times in his journals. Doing it with his eyes closed was no struggle. Its laugh was almost pleasant.

"Foolish mortal. You have no idea what you've just done."

Finally, Johnny peeled his eyes open. The creature before him was hauntingly beautiful. It's face was harsh plates of bones crowned by curling horns. Its skin was black as the night sky but just as dotted with stunning flecks of color. Its muscles looked wound and ready to pounce, and a lizard-like tail swayed threateningly.

"What can I say?" He grinned. "It's part of my charm."

Clawed fingers danced down Johnny's chest enticingly. "You'll be a fun one to break in."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

  Johnny knew he was no Saint. Far from it, in fact. There was no redemption in his story. But his own frustration, his own hatred, of the people that raised him, did not make their dying screams any easier.

  Ghost— the title he had been given to call the demon— had left him in his room. Or rather, Johnny had been given the option to witness the carnage of those who had made him suffer, and he chose to stay put like a stuck pig. It didn't really matter, in the end. Muffled though they were, he could not block out their fading pleas— and not for a lack of trying.

  He didn't know how long Ghost had been away. Didn't know how long he had sat there, head buried in his arms atop his knees. But it was long enough for his tailbone to ache tremendously, and for his feet to go staticky and numb from disuse. The sun had gone down hours before, and all he had to light the space was the simmering embers of ritual candlelight. Not that it mattered, much.

  Still, Ghost did return to him. He reeked of iron and the sickly sweet scent of death, but he came back. No one had ever come back for Johnny. No one cared about Soap. Not that Johnny was any more than a thing, now.

  "You have not moved," Ghost crooned, amused.

  "Sorry," Johnny snarked, lifting his head for the first time in hours. "Should I have groveled after yer every step as you slaughtered people? Ye know, the one thing I cannae stand? The one thing I summoned ye fer, so I wouldn't have tae witness it any longer?"

  "You have spunk," Ghost snorted. His footfalls were heavy as he approached. His talons clicked menacingly on the wooden floor. "You won't, for much longer."

  "Oh, what's the bloody point," Johnny groaned. He tossed his head back. "I face an eternity of hellfire and damnation when I die, or I can stay on Earth fer a wee bit longer and experience hellfire and damnation.  Wow! I'm so scared. Do whatever ye want! I. Don't. Care."

  There was a hand on his neck, then, harsh and unrelenting. It squeezed his airways as it lifted him into the air effortlessly. Johnny let himself hang like a limp ragdoll. He truly didn't care anymore.

  "You speak as if you have nothing to lose, little one. And yet, your soul is still ripe for the taking."

  Johnny wheezed, hand finally raising to grasp the creature's wrist in an effort to relieve some of the pressure. "It's never been my own. Ye might as well take it. Don't make a promise ye can't keep." Johnny did his best to sneer. He's not sure how well it actually came across as his vision began to dot.

  He was dropped to the floor unceremoniously. He gasped, spluttering like a fool.

  "You cannot get a soul back, you imbecile. Yet, you gamble yours so flippantly." The demon's foot landed on Johnny's scabbed over hand, threatening to crush the brittle bones. He whined under the pressure and the blood now sluggishly seeping into the wooden floors. "You are not the one in control here. You will earn yourself a spot in Hell if you keep this up."

  Johnny glared up at the beast through the tears swimming in his eyes. "What don't you get, Ghost? I've lived in hell my whole bloody life! I've seen little more than these four walls! The stupid gardens! The one road! All I've seen is blood and death and suffering! Is it a sin to want that to end?! A sin to be tired of it all?!" He sobbed, head thumping to the floor. His arm lay limp under the demon's clawed foot. "I'm so tired. I just wanted more than this. I'm so tired…"

  Above his own hacking sobs, he heard the hellspawn sigh. "Why must you humans get so weepy?"

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Soap who knows how obsessed Ghost is with him. Who gets off on the way Ghost will wait on his every whim just because it's Soap who wants it. Who knows Ghoat wants to fuck him so bad but is too embarrassed because of the size of his cock. (He has sneaked a peek or two. It is rather small. Three inches, if he's generous.)

But, Ghost will do anything Soap wants him to. And Soap wants to see the big, bad Ghost fall to pieces.

Soap eventually gets Ghost in his bed. He's all needy and panting, unable to stop mouthing at Johnny's tits or his cunt long enough to get a proper word in. Not that Soap minds. It's cute. Like a nervous baby fawn. He especially loves the way Ghost can't help put rub that pathetic little prick against the sheets, desperate for friction. Desperate to cum, just like a mindless animal. It almost makes him coo.

He does, in time, get Ghost settled enough to drape him over himself. Not that Soap is going to let Ghost fuck him. Not really. Not yet. So, he tells the man that he can only use the tip of his overgrown clit. That if he wants to fuck Johnny, he has to earn the right. He has to show that he can behave and listen like a good boy. 

Ghost whines so prettily at that, but he doesn't say no. If Johnny had strung him up by the balls in the mess, he still wouldn't deny the Sergeant. He was too far gone.

So, Ghost slides that tiny little cockhead into Soap's glistening folds. He has to hold the labia open to actually enter. He's too small, otherwise. And Soap just thinks that's the cutest thing. Not everything about Ghost was massive.

Ghost whined at the stimulation. At the barely-there suction of velvety walls. At the knowledge that this may be all he ever gets. It's still so good. 

His hips hurt from the short rocking motion, sliding his cockhead in and out, in and out. He's leaking pre like a faucet, and he won't last much longer. He tells Soap as much. Soap, who for all intents and purposes looks asleep. So very bored of it all. After all, Ghost was tiny enough as is. Could he even feel the tip of his cock just barely breaching his silky walls?

"Ye can cum inside me," Johnny purrs lowly, fingertips dancing over his own belly. "But it won't be in my pussy. Only real men get to breed me there. And that's not a cock of a real man, is it?"

Soap relishes in Ghost's confusion. In the cute furrow of his brow, the pout of his bottom lip. The way his hips still haven't stopped jerking, too far gone to stop now. He sees the moment it dawns on him, too. The moment Ghost nearly buckles with a pitchy moan. He nearly moans himself when the Lieutenant wastes no time in shoving that tiny cock into his ass. But he keeps quiet. It's part of the game, after all.

It hurts, surely, but Soap has always been a bit of a pain slut. He gets off on the burn, the stretch, the dry friction of it. Plus, Ghost wasn't big enough to do any real damage. He offered because he wasn't worried in the slightest. 

God, was it worth it. Ghost's expression absolutely melted with pleasure— with the feeling of being completely wrapped in tight heat, only the precum leaking from him slicking his way. He thrusted like a horny mutt, chasing his own pleasure like it'd run away from him if he stopped for a second to just take it all in. It was only a handful of seconds before he was painting Soap's walls in hot strings of white. For as tiny as his cock was, he sure packed a hell of a load. It was practically searing, and Soap had the idea that he could get used to this.

"Good boy," Soap crooned. "Now eat me out well enough and I might consider blowing that oversized clit of yours."

The way he scrambled to comply was absolutely delightful. Soap would make good use of his new toy

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Johnny sighed. They'd been on the road for, what, two hours now? He'd lost track. The horizon was a tad lighter now, but it would be a while before the sun crested it. The window of the car had long since warmed under his cheek squished against it. He could hardly keep his eyes open.

  "You might as well sleep," Ghost groaned for perhaps the tenth time. "We'll be on the road for a while yet."

  Johnny didn't bother parting his gaze from the wilderness drifting by. It was more than he'd ever been allowed to see before. 20 God damned years. "I don't want tae miss any o' it," he murmured.

  "It's trees, mortal."

  "Different trees."

  "I've grown tired of watching you nod off like an overwound pup."

  "Then quit lookin, ye strange bastard."

  "Says you."

  Johnny rolled his eyes. "And yet, only one o' us is a shape-shifting demon from the deepest circles of hell."

  "As far as I'm concerned, human, I look perfectly normal."

  "Yeah, ye big bastard. Look. Nobody says human or mortal. Just you."

  There was a hand on his head, then— gloved and large, but still definitely human. "Sleep."

  Johnny's vision faded with a last flutter of his lashes.

  He awoke to the car coming to a stop. He groaned, eyes feeling stuck shut. The sun was filtering through his lids, now, and it made his head hurt.

  "Ghost? Whit's happening?"

  "Need gas. And you need food." Ghost's deep rumble finally encouraged him to open his eyes.

  He was met with a slate of solid gray. There were other cars around them— other people around them. It smelt heavily of gasoline.

  It was the coolest place he'd ever fucking seen.

  He sat up with a giggle, instantly rejuvenated. "Woah! Ghost please let me go wiz ye!"

  "It's a gas station."

  "An' it's not fair that a demon has seen more of 'em than I have!"

  Ghost groaned, head thunking atop the curve of the steering wheel. It still felt strange to see his blonde hair not parted by curling horns— and pale skin instead of iridescent scales. "You stay quiet. You listen to my every word. You keep your hood up and your head down." Ghost shifted his gaze to meet his. Honey brown flashed blinding yellow for a second. "Am I understood?"

  Johnny beamed and flipped the hood on his sweater up. "Sir, yes, sir!"

  Ghost pulled the keys out of the ignition with a sigh. "You are going to make this miserable, little one."

  "Yer the one that decided tae take me along on yer adventure, Ghostie."

  "Do not call me Ghostie."

  "Then call me Johnny. I'm not a thing."

  "You are a thing. And I am increasingly doubting that you will be a meal worth the trouble."

  Johnny laughed one last time, hand already fumbling at the door handle. "Yer the one that won't listen tae my offers."

  "I get it, now," Ghost sighed, stepping out of the car. "This is hell. This is my eternal punishment. I miss the fires."

  "We can start one!" Johnny offered. He rested his arms on the roof of the car, watching as Ghost messed with the machine they had pulled up beside. "Would that make ye feel more at home?"

  "Shut up, Johnny."

  "But I'm bored!" He whined. "We've got the world at our fingertips and yer a terrible conversationalist."

  "What has two legs and bleeds?"

  "I donnae think I like this joke…"

  "Half a dog."

  "Ghost!"

  "What—"

  "Satan wept, I get it!" Johnny huffed. "Tha's bloody awful…"

  "You know what else is bloody?"

  "Do not say half a dog!"

  "You said it, not me."

  Johnny buried his head in his arms. "Do I have to beg fer ye tae kill me or summat? Because I'm begging."

  "Actions have consequences, Johnny," Ghost lilted. "And you're about to find out why you should never eat gas station food."

  Johnny spluttered, chasing after Ghost who had started for the brightly colored building like a man on a mission. "Ghost! What the fuck does that even mean!?"

  The demon's ensuing laugh did not fill him with confidence.

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Baby needs his milk (it’s his yearly pumpkin spice latte)

He want more

He got more

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Each Mini represents what they think are the worst parts of themselves. :)

Everyone thinks Ghost got lucky. His Mini is an absolute angel! All he wants to do is snuggle and eat sweet things. He's so indulgent, so soft. And Ghost hates it. Because it's everything he tried to cover up with the mask. But he can't hate the little guy. It wasn't his fault.

With Soap, his Mini is loud and brash and absolutely a pyromaniac. Soap tries his best to be friendly, to hide away everything about himself that he considers to be 'too much.' But his Mini doesn't keep that under wraps. It's all he is. And Soap doesn't know how to handle it, because he's never had to address himself before. He can't very well lock the little thing in a box.

With Gaz, his Mini is mean. Gaz is a sassy guy who's willing to stand up for himself and his own moral compass, but he's also reserved. As much as he might want to beat a guy's face in for crossing the line, he doesn't. His Mini has no problem with that, though. He'll say whatever comes to mind, whenever, regardless of the situation. It's hardly nice things. But Gaz can't blame the little guy, because they're all his thoughts, after all.

With Price, his Mini cowers. It's an absolute coward. He cries and sniffles and begs to not be the one to make any decisions. Even something as simple as what cheese he'd like on a sandwich. And Price can't stand it. Because he's a Captain, dammit. He's responsible for a team. He has to be the one to stand strong, to call the shots. Even if it means he never takes time for himself– if it means deep down, all he is is a scared, scared man.

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Soap who craves connection. Who desires to be someone's whole world, who wants someone to be his. He's always loved too hard, too fast. And maybe it made him a bit dumb. But a man took what he could get, in the military.

Even if it meant falling for the idea that people wanted him for anything more than sex, over and over, like a fool. He'd been ghosted so many times after sex he didn't even want that he lost count. It never stopped him from trying, though.

Eventually, Ghost notices a pattern of his sour moods. Notices the way they always pop up along with the teeth-shaped bruises on his neck. And, because Ghost is a smart motherfucker, he corners Soap about it. Asks just what the fuck is going on, if he's safe, if Ghost has to kill anybody. Soap is just so shell-shocked that someone cares about his well-being that he breaks. He cries in Ghost's arms about what a hopeless romantic he is. About all the men and women he wished would just talk to him a little bit longer after they use him for the sex he's not even interested in. About how he feels like he's doomed, and how he just wants to be cared for for once.

And Ghost just holds him. Let's him cry it out. And he doesn't speak of it. No one expects words of comfort from The Ghost, so he doesn't give them. Instead, he starts, well, taking care of Johnny. He makes sure a pot of coffee is ready for him in the morning. Makes sure he's fed, that he's comfortable. Even starts doing his damn laundry. Buys him new moisturizers because he knows how much Soap loves taking care of his skin. For fucks sake, Ghost even gives Soap his hoodie on the regular because 'it's cold.'

Soap doesn't know what to do with it all. He feels loved for the first time in his life and he wants to keep it. Wants to burrow himself deep in Ghost's chest and never leave. And, like always, he cries to Ghost about it. About how unfair it is that Ghost treats him so well. Because doesn't he see what he's doing? Doesn't he see how much Soap wants him, how much he wants this, forever? But Ghost never falters.

"Oh, Johnny. You are mine. And if you want, I can be yours."

Soap can hardly feel Ghost's lips through the mask when he surges up to kiss the Lieutenant, but it's perfect regardless.

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They've been in the thick of the apocalypse for a while. So when Ghost dissappears on them, they don't go looking. They know.

Soap is broken without the man. There was very little to live for, and Soap had just lost most of his reasoning to keep pushing. So maybe he got a little reckless, a little stupid. He can't say it didn't pay off, though.

Because he finds Ghost. Maybe not in quite the same condition, but it is Ghost. The fabric around his mouth had been torn away ages ago clearly, and his jaw was caked in blood. He had shambled forward toward Soap. Had taken slow, staggering steps that seemed desperate, but not with hunger. And it was strange, because Soap had been fully prepared to let the remains of Ghost tear him to pieces and use his flesh for fuel. But... Ghost didn't want it.

Ghost walked right up to him. Leaned down. Smelled him. But he didn't bite, didn't attack. He... groaned. It sounded almost sad. A bit on-edge. Like the remnants of the love of Soap's life was trying to tell him something, but no longer had the words for it. And Soap thinks, maybe, this hurts a little worse than realizing that Ghost had been turned into a mindless monster hellbent on satisfying an endless appetite. There was no greater evil than keeping hold of your sanity.

Soap takes Ghost in. He hides him from the rest of the team. Stores him away in run-down shacks and dark warehouses. And he feeds him. Sometimes, the brains are a bit more rotten and mushy than either of them would like, but others, it's fresh. And he gets a little more of the man he loved back, then. Even if he smells like rotting meat when he curls protectively around Soap. It was fine. Soap's grown used to it. Maybe even grown to like it.

It all comes to a head thanks to a horde. They had thought they had found a settlement they could stock up at, but they were too late. It's inhabitants had been stupid, and now they were nothing but canonballing fodder for the ravenous undead. There was little they could do to push the overwhelming numbers back. They were low on supplies as it was. And now? They didn't have the time to pillage for more. It was over for them.

Except, how do you defeat an army of zombies? With your own angry Zombie husband, of course.

It's a God damn bloodbath. Ghost rips and he tears and he moves faster than he's ever seen a walker move. He hadn't known Ghost was capable of such a feat, now. But oh, his slightly unhinged jaw curved into that pretty smile he still adored afterward and Soap melted. He stopped caring months ago about the feel of leathery flesh against his own, about the pungent scent of death. He kissed that pretty smile, bumped his forehead against the hard plate of what remained of his signature skull mask. Ghost was so good to him. Had saved him. Saved all of them. Price and Gaz, Farah and Alex, Laswell... well, everyone.

And Soap has always treated Ghost to the sweeter things in life. Not everyone in this sad settlement had turned, and there was plenty ripe for a feast. 

He didn't mind the weapons trained wearily on his back as he split open the skull of some unfortunate teenage girl. She had what he was looking for, and Ghost was being so patient. He was sitting next to Soap much like a dog waiting for a treat. It was adorable. He even let Soap feed him, taking bloody, juicy chunks from his fingertips like it was the best thing he'd ever eaten— and always mindful not to nip Johnny in the process.

"This isn't right, son," Price tried, finger clearly trying not to drift toward the trigger of his rifle.

"He hasn't hurt anyone," Soap hummed absently. He was too focused on the blissed-out look in Ghost's hazy gaze. "He came looking fer me, and he found me." Ghost gurgled happily at that. Soap cooed. "He's a sweet thing. There's not much in terms of morals now, Cap. Or are ye willing tae shoot me too?"

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Ghost who is secretive about himself. He doesn't talk family, friends, and he's certainly tight-lipped about whatever he does when he's forced on leave.

When Soap comes around, Simon is ecstatic to talk about his family with him— to have someone to share who Simon is with. And Soap is so happy to be let behind the impenetrable steel walls. He's even more overjoyed the first time Ghost invites him back to his place. It's big, secluded. Somewhere a family the size of Simon's could comfortably live. The yard is a bit... messy, but Soap knows how hard it can be to keep up with. He's sure Beth and Tommy are too wrapped up in Joseph's life to find the time, and Simon’s mom is definitely getting up there in years.

When they enter, it's dark. Empty. And god-awfully dusty. It settles a deep kind of dread in Soap's chest that the yard hadn't quite managed to do. Yet Simon just smiles, sets down his bag, and calls out for a family Soap couldn't hear answer.

Simon tells Beth all about how excited he is for her to meet Johnny, to finally have a partner to bring home and make her feel less alone. Johnny says hi to the empty space when Simon tosses him a desperate look. He also tells little Joseph how much he's missed him, how big he's gotten. About how he's so excited to play dinosaurs with him again. He claps Tommy on the shoulder, only a few hushed words spoken between them. Apparently their mother was asleep upstairs. Johnny still never saw who Simon was speaking to. It was dark and lonely, except for the sound of Simon's jovial tone. Soap grins and bares it. For Simon.

Simon makes a big meal of spaghetti for dinner. He had insisted he cook. Had said he missed it, after so long away. Mom came down to eat, too, apparently. Had kissed Simon on the cheeks. Across from Johnny, at the table, were four empty seats with untouched plates of spaghetti.

Johnny doesn't sleep well that night. Simon sleeps like a brick. He doesn't know what to say. Doesn't think it's his place to. He doesn't think he could handle being the one to finally break Simon completely. Maybe they'd both get lucky and die in the field. He hopes so. It's as close to a fairytale ending as they could get.

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The group reluctantly allows Ghost to stay with them– with Soap. They don't speak to either of the men as they make their way back to their camp. Ghost followed Soap like a puppy, eager to please. Soap thought it was great. The others were already counting the days until they were inevitably turned by a creature they once considered a comrade.

Soap held Ghost’s hand as they walked, helping him over obstacles and through barriers, and even pointing out scenery the old Ghost would have enjoyed. Soap knows, of course, that there is very little left of that man, but it's easier to pretend, sometimes. Ghost's confused gurgles almost sound like replies.

Still, no one speaks to Soap for a long while into the night, once back at camp. No one sleeps. They count what little they have, eat what they can afford to, and watch.

It makes Soap angry. Unbelievably so. It wasn't fair. Ghost had saved their lives and proven himself an ally. He understood the pain of seeing their once beloved Lieutenant as a shambling undead creature more than any of them. They hadn't been married to Ghost. Hadn't slept next to him every night. Hadn't known the exact way he liked his tea, or that he liked a specific brand because it was the only one his mother had ever been able to afford. They never really knew Simon like he did. Why didn't they trust Soap? he wasn't that far off his rocker.

Eventually, Price, Gaz, and Laswell approach them. Gaz looks like he wants to be anywhere else, and Laswell looks oddly sympathetic. He supposes she understood, with her late wife and all. Price was as stern as ever, every bit the Captain he once was. Ghost grunted happily at their presence, but it didn't put the same smile on their faces as it did Soap's.

"Son," Price sighs wearily, like he shouldn't have to be having this conversation. "He's dead. You need to let him go... for good."

"He's still in there, ye bawbag!" Soap hisses. He's furious. "Isn't that right, Simon?" Ghost gurgles happily at having been addressed. The look in his eyes is so vacant. He looks at peace. "Ye know who's talking tae ye, right? Ye remember Price?"

Ghost follows where Soap is pointing. His gaze rests on Price’s broad frame. He's motionless for a while, and Soap's heart begins to sink. But Simon pulled though, just like Soap knew he would. Because his husband was still there. And Soap wouldn't let the shards slip through his fingers.

Ghost points to his head with a sort of choked, pleased groan. He's got that sweet smile on his face again.

"What's that, love?" Soap inquires softly. Ghost points to price with a shaky hand, his other still rapidly patting the top of his head. His movements are jerky and uncoordinated but they were purposeful. Deliberate.

It clicks with Soap.

"Hat? Is that what yer saying, Simon?" Ghost absolutely lights up. He bares he's teeth, clacks his jaw. His hazy eyes almost have a spark of light in them. Soap beams along with him. "That's right, baby! That's the man that wore a hat. That's Price. Ye remember Price."

Soap turns back to the awaiting group. Gaz is mostly hidden behind Price and Laswell, and Laswell still looks so sad. "See? It's Simon."

"That is not Ghost, John," Price seethes. "That is a corpse wearing his face!"

"A corpse that remembers ye! A corpse that's not like any other! Ye cannae pretend like that doesn't mean anythin!"

"For fucks sake, he can't even speak! He can hardly keep himself upright! That's not Ghost."

Soap growls. Ghost gurgles sadly at the sound. "Dae ye say that to any sad sap who's been through the ringer? He's still here. He's still communicating how he can. He listens. He understands. He has feelings."

"Then put this feeling corpse out of its misery."

"You better be prepared to put me out of mine, too."

Price pinched the bridge of his nose. "I will not be responsible for the corpses he leaves in his wake."

"Ye weren't responsible fer him before. What difference does it make? He saved your life. Now fuck off before I decide ye look like a good next meal."

"You're making a mistake."

Soap wished they would walk away faster. "At least I feel good doing it. Can ye say the same?"

Chapter Text

Ghost didn’t move a lot. Unless they were traveling or he needed to follow Soap somewhere, he was relatively stationary. He didn’t fidget, didn’t look around and take things in, he just… stared. It was something Soap had grown used to. Just a new quirk. When addressed, Ghost would light up just as quickly as ever. So, he wasn’t worried. He did like to try and occupy Ghost’s mind, though. If only to assuage his own fears.

Ghost seemed to genuinely enjoy watching Soap doodle in his journal. His attention was always laser-sharp when Johnny pulled it out. He would rest his head on top of Soap’s and follow the motion of whatever drawing utensil he had managed to get his hands on on the road. Soap found that Ghost liked color, best. The brighter the better. It was sweet.

Over time, Ghost grew more comfortable interrupting Johnny while he was drawing. He lost the fear that Soap would stop if bothered. He now took great joy in pointing things out. Soap’s favorite was when shaky hands would excitedly tap his paper before motioning to something before them– having recognized the scene Soap had been sketching. The first time it happened was when he had been drawing Gaz cleaning his weapons. It was something mundane and relatively simple for Soap to do, so he lost himself in the motions of it. Once he had gotten a good grasp of the face, Ghost had trilled beside him. He made a sort of clicking, throaty noise as his grimy finger tapped the page. Soap had smiled and prompted Ghost to show him what he meant. And when Ghost had pointed out Gaz sitting across from them? Well, he almost cried. Because Simon was more than just a faded memory. He was aware .

From then on, Soap made sure to draw their group more often. He loved seeing Ghost so excited, so happy . Loved hearing those hiccupping gurgles when Ghost was trying to point something out to him. He especially liked seeing how, over time, Ghost got faster with it. He could tell Gaz just from the shape of his brow, Price from the curve of his nose, Laswell from the style of her hair. He’d even gotten better at recognizing Farah and Alex, who almost never interacted with Ghost unless absolutely unavoidable.

As time passed, Ghost began to associate their crew with certain motions. Price was always ‘hat’— that patting motion atop his head. With Gaz. Ghost would squeeze a fist a few times because he had picked up that it was an angry tick the man had. Laswell was a wave. She was the friendliest of the group and had taken to waving at Ghost when she noticed his gaze. Soap found it sweet. He could recognize Alex and Farah, but Ghost wasn’t familiar with them. He’d hold both his hands up, which Soap assumed was because the two were attached at the hip. Soap was just glad that Ghost was learning to communicate in ways that were easy for him. Even if, often, no one but Soap understood him.

They had just settled down in another brief camp after a long while on the road when Ghost brought him an object for the first time. He had never seen Ghost interested in anything other than himself and fresh meat. It was a stick covered in the pastel blues and greens of lichen. God knows where he had picked it up, but it had clearly caught Ghost’s eyes. He clumsily shoved it into Soap’s hands, grumbling and grunting so quickly even Johnny was left flabbergasted. So, when Soap took too long to understand for Ghost’s liking, the man began pawing at Johnny’s bag.

Soap opened it for him, letting Ghost rustle through the meager contents before emerging victorious with his journal. His muddy gaze was so bright . His grin was wide, unhinged jaw baring all his teeth. Soap had never seen him so happy. Ghost tapped the journal atop the stick.

“The stick and journal?” Soap asked slowly. Ghost gurgled desperately. He tried to ignore the eyes on them from the other side of their camp. “You… want me to draw them?” Ghost made that excited click with his throat, jaw clacking together the way it did when he lost control of his emotions. Soap beamed. “Okay, baby. Let's go sit down in our tent, hmm? I’ll let ye choose the colors.”

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Soap knew how to fuck like a beast, there was no denying that. But, Ghost had a secret of his own. A reason he was so sensitive— why he writhed and moaned like a bitch in heat when Soap finally got his cock in him.

That secret was a full bladder. It wasn't that he was looking for something... more. It just heightened everything. He felt more full, felt every press of that veiny length against his walls. And it turned the relentless battering of his cervix into something entirely pleasurable. It was something just for Ghost to enjoy, so he never bothered telling Johnny about it. After all, it was a little... odd. Especially now that he'd all but Pavloved himself into getting horny every time his bladder was full.

It was fine until Johnny picked up the pace, one night. Ghost had already cum once, having been thrown over the edge with a cockhead threatening to break through his cervix and a calloused thumb circling his cock. All his muscles had relaxed, and Soap kept going.

Try as he might, there wasn't anything Ghost could do with slackened muscles and a bladder being battered from the inside. With a wail, he let go, sobbing into Soap's neck as the man merely pounded him through it. Kept fucking him like he was trying to breed him, even while hot urine coated them both and ruined the bedsheets.

"Poor Simon," Johnny cooed. "Did I fuck ye too good? Could ye not hold it anymore?"

Ghost sobbed, nails scratching down Soap's back as he rutted up harshly. "Didn't mean to! Too much, Johnny, too much!"

"Awww," Soap laughed mockingly. "Ye piss all over us an' think I'm not gonna breed this tight cunt of yers?"

Ghost whined, pussy pulsing around Soap's thick cock.

"Ye like that? Ye like makin a mess of yerself while Daddy breeds you? Ye gonna take it? Or do ye wish Daddy would piss in ye instead? Fill ye back up cause ye went and emptied yerself?"

Ghost doesn't think he's ever cum so hard in his life.

Perhaps letting Soap in on his secret wasn't such a bad thing. Especially now that they were dripping in their own filth.

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Johnny spent the next two days curled in the back seat of their car with a nice, big bucket. As it turns out, moving on from home-cooked, fresh meals in general was a recipe for disaster— no pun intended. Ghost found his misery hilarious , but he had honestly stopped listening to the snide comments within the first few hours. The demon was surprisingly easy to block out. It also helped that he spent most of it asleep in a desperate attempt to get through the worst of it.

Through it all, Johnny didn't know Ghost’s plan. They were heading somewhere , but the Hellspawn was stingy on details. He'd only ever tell him that it was ' somewhere exciting ', if he was pressed. The bastard. Not like Johnny had anywhere else to go, even if he knew. He was bound. The fucking dog collar Ghost had 'jokingly' strapped him with said that well enough. No amount of calling Ghost a daft cunt let him take it off. At least his hood usually hid it.

"Can we get out soon?" Johnny whined, head thunking against the window. "I cannae feel my ass."

"It's the middle of the night," Ghost sighed wearily. "We are not walking around the woods at this hour. Sleep ."

"I've been sleeping fer days! Ghost, I'm gonna lose my fuckin mind here!"

"It's dark ."

"And you're a demon! What're ye afraid of?!"

"Fuckin hell," Ghost groaned. He stopped the car on the shoulder. "Five minutes. You get five minutes within ten feet of the car, and then you will go the fuck to sleep and let me bask in the silence of not having to deal with your annoying ass."

Soap beamed. "Deal!"

If it weren't for the lights of the still-running car, Johnny wouldn't be able to see his own hand two inches in front of his face. But, the air was a cool relief on his skin— as well as the crunch of grass beneath his shoes. He'd wanted to see the world, but he hadn't seen much further than the cramped quarters of their car. It was better than the slaughter, though. Better than the rituals, the sacrifices, the tests . The violence and suffering of it all. 

He spun in a few circles to try and get all that energy out. Did a few lunges, twisted around in ways he could not in the car. His spine had never felt so compressed . He wanted to scream. He doesn't think Ghost would appreciate that.

The snap of a twig along the treeline drew his attention like a hawk.

There were eyes, there. Eyes reflecting yellow light back at him. Teeth glinting in the moonlight. The snarl of a dog . Rabid, possibly. Definitely hungry , especially if it was alone.

Soap screamed.

As fast as he scrambled back, it wasn't fast enough . Of course the four legged beast was faster .

Heavy paws and a fur-matted body threw him to the ground. His arms guarded his throat in a sort of primal instinct, but he was nowhere near strong enough to push it off of him.

Hot drool dripped onto his face as teeth gnashed at him. He sobbed, shoving with all his might, but it wasn't enough to keep the thing from sinking its canines into his chin. He howled, eyes squeezed shut as fiery hot pain shot through his jaw, and then the weight was gone.

He turned onto his side, curling up like it would protect him from anything else. His lungs felt like they would burst, heaving and hiccupping and sobbing out any oxygen that had a chance to make it to his brain. His limbs shook with adrenaline, and he had the niggling thought at the back of his mind that he would rather like to be at home right now.

He wailed at the touch of large, scaly hands on his flank.

" Johnny… "

He sobbed, curling tighter into himself, blood and drool still sticky and warm on his burning face. He wanted the warmth of his bed, as hellish as it was. Wanted four walls and quiet whispers from below. Wanted the warmth of candlelight, the earthy smell of homemade paper from his journals.

He didn't want to die.

The hands got impatient and wedged themselves under him in order to lift .

"No! No!" He hiccupped, hands pushing at the broad chest he was met with. "Please no more!"

"It's dead, Johnny," the chest rumbled. But, Johnny was still stuck, paralyzed by the fear that had overtaken him— been injected into him by razor-sharp canines sinking in his jaw.

"I don't wanna die!" He cried into the warm scales against his cheek. "I'm sorry! I'll behave!"

Clawed fingertips grazed over the torn flesh of his chin. "You'll be fine, mortal. Didn't even graze bone."

Unfortunately for them both, Johnny didn't find those words particularly comforting. It wasn't the pain he was in shambles about. He could do pain. The bandages still wrapped tightly around his leg and palm spoke enough to that. But he had only ever had his life in his own hands. To have it nearly taken from him so swiftly… it changed something in him. For the first time in his life, little John MacTavish— Soap — felt scared .

" I'm sorry ," he hiccupped. "I don't wanna die."

"You get it now?" Those fingers trailed down to the collar still around his neck— now bloody with what had dripped from his chin. "You won't get a choice in your death. You won't get the comfort of ending it on your own terms."

"I wanna go home…" he sniffled. He wanted soft blankets and feather-fluffed pillows. Wanted the hum of the window unit that kept his room cool.

Those fingers tightened around the collar. "There is no more home , Johnny," the beast crooned. "All you have is me."

Truthfully? Johnny shouldn't have felt as comforted by those words as he did.

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I need Ghost squirting for the first time and getting so embarrassed he cries. I need Soap kissing the tears off his cheeks, face soaked, assuring Ghost that that was so fucking hot. Need Soap to eat Ghost out until he passes out and wakes up to Soap still between his thighs, and God knows its been a while. Need Soap to keep going until Ghost squirts again and has to physically drag Soap away from his pussy lest he strap Soap there for life

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I need the 141 having a massive family Christmas get-together. I need parents and siblings all gathered in a hall they rented out for the occasion, packed full of homemade food. I need Simon to feel so left out with just a couple trays of his mom's favorite cookies because it's the only thing he knows how to make. 

I need a collection of moms and grandmothers alike to beg Simon for the recipie, to compliment his baking skills. I need them to drag him into a little huddle and shower him with food and gifts and forehead kisses and too many sweaters. I need him to be wrapped up in blankets listening to stories about baby Price and Gaz and Soap. I need him to have scraps of paper in his pocket with various phone numbers on them because "if you ever need me, sweetie, I'm just a phone call away." 

Just,,, I need Ghost who had nothing, to gain everything with the 141. I need him to be so accepted and loved by every facet of his partners' lives. I need him to have more love at his fingertips than he could have ever dreamed of as a little boy who had nothing.

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I want Johnny bringing Simon to a family gathering. I want him surrounded by MacTavish nieces and nephews and and aunts and uncles and grandparents and siblings and—

Anyway, Simon, somehow, gets saddled with the latest addition to the family: a newborn girl named Angie. I need Simon to be unable to do anything but sit there and stare at the tiny, fussy thing cradled in his arms. I need Johnny next to him, smiling at the sight of his big, tough boyfriend reduced to a puddle at the sight of a newborn. 

When Simon eventually hands little Angie back to her Ma, I need him to turn to Johnny. To look so soft, so open, so vulnerable. I need him to ask in the smallest voice imaginable if they can have that. If they can have a fussy, little thing of their own. To love and cherish and care for. If he can change diapers and bottle feed and dress them up in cute little onesies and—

I need Johnny to just smile and laugh and peck him on the lips through the gaiter he wore. I need him to tell Simon that whenever he's ready, Johnny is too.

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#GhostSoap right with Zombie!Ghost we know the drill. 

But Soap who acts like Giselle. Just this absolutely insane, sadistic bitch who treats Ghost like a mutt. Ghost, who pines after Soap's every whim, begging for a scrap of affection, and Soap who gets off on denying him even that. Who uses Ghost for his own perverse pleasures and loves the fact that silly, dead, zombie Ghost can't deny him. Soap was never this interested in Ghost when he was alive, but dead? Oh, Soap loves that he's dead. Death is just so cute after all

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Even before his family's untimely end, Simon was raised by the church. Specifically, by one John Price.

John had been with the Church a very long time, and was known to be a giving soul. He knew Simon's family. Had heard the other clergymen talk sadly about them. He had never met the man of the household, but the mother and her two young children came in every Sunday, dressed in their best— even if *best* wasn't all that great. John hated the bruises they bore when he saw them.

John was the one who found Simon outside the Church the first time. It was during a rainstorm, and the poor boy was shaking from head to toe under a bit of shelter the roof provided. John immediately took Simon in, dressed his wounds, and got him into some warm clothes of his own— oversized though they were.

From there, the Church— and John— became Simon’s safe place. He spent more time there than he did at home or at school. John was just glad to see less bruises on the kid. Even if it meant helping raise a child before he was even 20 himself.

It was on another regular night that their world was flipped upside down. It was late, and Price had to convince Simon to go home because he had school in the morning. It was hard, considering Simon was so comfortable in Price's bed, dressed in the pajamas John had gotten him. But, he got Simon to eventually agree.

When they arrived, no one answered the knock on the door. It wasn't entirely unusual, and John knew the Rileys typically kept the door unlocked.

No one could have anticipated the scene he was met with.

There, in view from the front door, were the Rileys. Except they were laid out on the floor in horrific positions.

Little Tommy was closest to the door, fallen in a way that showed how close he had been to reaching it. Before the bullet pierced the back of his head.

Marybeth's head was visible from the kitchen door. She had met the same fate as her son. Her face was frozen in shock.

Lastly, between the two, was the infamous Mr. Riley himself. The gun wasn't far from his hand, having tumbled away when he hit the floor. The bottle that had been in his other hand was much the same.

Simon had screamed. A horrid, shrieky thing that broke Price's heart into a million pieces. He had to scoop the boy up as he ran into the house, trying to keep him from— well, he didn't rightly know. But sobbing over the corpse of his baby brother wasn't going to help any.

John had called the police on the landline near the kitchen. He had to step over Marybeth to do so. He made sure Simon's head was buried firmly in his shoulder the whole time. Afterward, he stepped back outside.

Simon was his responsibility from then on. He had already dedicated his life to The Lord, and he lost what little he had left of his youth to raising Simon. 

It's why he has such a soft spot for Riley, despite knowing he's not worthy of the title he carries. Because he knows, as long as Simon isn't hurting anyone other than himself, he did the best he could raising a boy so broken.

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#poly141 🔞 idea where they tie Ghost up and each make him cum, but the one who gets him to make a noise is who gets to fuck him

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Ghost had thought that his heart had died alongside the rest of him in that coffin. When he had dug himself free, he had never bothered grabbing it. But, he guessed it was a clingy bastard. Because now Seargent John MacTavish held it in the palm of his hand.

He hadn’t liked the man at first. Had found him brash, annoying, insubordinate. Until suddenly, with the grim reaper hunting them down through bloody streets, those traits became endearing. It shouldn’t have ever been anything more than that. Anything more than companionship, camaraderie. But misery loved company, and MacTavish offered it so readily.

Soap was always there, at his side. Even when he didn’t have to be. He pressed his knives back into his hand with care, lingering to make sure it wasn’t dropped. In the morning, he handed Ghost his mug from the cabinet without thought, so he could make his tea. He lingered in the rec room during long nights, as if he was waiting for Ghost to come stumbling in with shaky hands and ragged breaths, just to soothe them with inane stories on the rickety old couch.

Ghost was content with their… arrangement. He feared losing Johnny, now that he had him. If it remained like this, quiet and unspoken, perhaps nothing would ever have to change. But their jobs were dangerous. And nothing ever stayed the same.

“L.t! Get out o’ here! Yer closer to exfil. Get that intel back to Price!” Soap’s voice was staticky over comms— spoken through bouts of gunfire and exerted grunting.

“I’m not leaving you, Johnny!” Damn it all to Hell. Price could dishonorably discharge him for this. Or, they’d die together. Either way, Ghost wasn’t leaving. He just had to follow the gunfire to find his idiot Seargent. The one bleeding from no less than three bullet wounds in his leg, and a nasty gash above his eye.

“Damn you, Simon!” Soap panted as Ghost slid down the alley to squat next to him. “Gonnae get yersel’ killed!”

“So be it, then,” Ghost growled. He threw Soap’s arm over his shoulder, hauling him up. “Keep us clear. We are getting to exfil, or we’re dying together.”

“Simon, you—”

“I don’t want to hear it, MacTavish!” He barked. “Together?”

“Aye, Sir.” Johnny’s voice wavered. A watery smile tugged at his lips. “Together.” A beat. “Ye owe me dinner after this, Sir.”

“Gonna snog you senseless after this, Johnny.”

He spluttered. “Tha’ works too!”

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Brat tamer 22Ghost who fucks the brat right out of 09Ghost when he acts up. He's unforgiving and he puts 09Ghost in line like no one else can. They're always bruised from each other. And maybe 22Ghost teaches 09Soap just how to fuck 09Ghost so he behaves

09Soap who teaches 22Soap to fuck properly. Who guides him in all the right ways to make 09Soap feel good, so 22Soap knows what to do with Ghost. Just 09Soap who take 22Soap under his wing so he doesn't feel like such a bumbling, nervous idiot

Endgame #GhostSoap in their respective universes.

"Can't mouth off when you've got a cock shoved so far in you it's tearing up your uterus, hm? Fuckin' brat. It's a miracle you made it this far with that damn temper of yours. Can't behave on your own? You don't get a choice then. Heel, mutt."

Vs

"Just like that, baby. Nice and slow. Ease into it. There's a lad. C'mon. Grind yer hips. Right there. Widen yer stance, it's easier. Atta boy. Fuckin' perfect. C'mere, gimme a kiss. Ye've earned it, baby."

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Ghost who doesn't get much more action than his own hands because he's afraid of that kind of vulnerability. There's far more to him than just what's behind the mask— the kinds of things sex often reveals without permission.

But, he has heard... rumors.

In the abandoned wing men's bathroom, there's a glory hole. Saturday night brought many patrons to it, and secretive though it was, word got around fast when there was the possibility of getting head. Ghost has long since learned many of his comrades think with their dicks first.

Regardless, with as pent up and *afraid* as he was, it didn't sound bad. But how could he approach it? He didn't exactly have the... parts to stick in a hole. Not to mention, how could The Ghost justify his reason for visiting, if anyone were to catch him?

But he was desperate, and desperate men are willing to do much worse than that.

He goes late, far later than he should. The occupant has likely already left, but you can't blame him for trying. It was now or never, really. Nightmare-fueled sleeplessness aided his idiotic bravery.

But, to his surprise, when he enters the ajar stall (marked clearly with a green circle on the door), he gets a response.

"Bit late, no?" The voice is familiar, but he can't place it this late at night. His brain his muddled, and he knows too many people to sort through them all. He grunts. "Alright, laddie. You know the drill, aye?"

His voice is low and quiet when he speaks, lacking his usual rumble. "I don't have..."

"A dick? I can see that. It'll be a hell of an angle, but we can work with this."

Ghost felt hot under his mask, and didn't respond. Yet, he found himself showing his sweats to his knees anyway.

"Atta boy. C'mon. Little closer. Foot on the loo."

Ghost arranged himself, feeling more exposed than ever as his cunt pressed up against that crude hole. It really was an awkward angle. But God, when that tongue darted out to tease at his cock, he folded.

A chocked whimper was forced from his throat as that tongue wasted no time licking across his core. It lapped up the slick that matted his hair down like it was ambrosia. He was weak, so weak to it. His hands scrambled for purchase against the wall if the stall, but the most he could do was slightly buck his hips.

It went on for a while. A while of Ghost moaning lowly and whining softly while the man on the other side gave it his best shot. And it was good, so good. But the angle was strange and it wasn't enough. He was getting frustrated, teased with the edge of release but unable to get there.

He protested weakly when that tongue pulled back.

"I have a proposal." Ghost grunted. "I... know the anonymity is nice, but... if ye come over here, I promise I can make it worth your while. I can tell it's been a while fer ye, let me make you feel good."

"I..."

"I'm in the same boat as you, aye? Promise not to ruin my career, and I won't ruin yers."

Ghost thumped his head against the stall, foot lowering back to the ground. "Alright." He was going to regret this, he knows it.

The stall door opened to Soap.

Ghost doesn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't that. Somehow, the man didn't seem surprised to see him.

He was led over to the toilet, guided to sit down, legs akimbo and sweats slid back down. Soap settled between them. It seemed more daunting, like this, but he *needed* to cum. So badly.

And Soap wasted no time. He licked and sucked and melted Ghost's brain out of his ears.

"C'mon, Si. Give it tae me. Cum fer me," Soap whispered lowly against the pulsing heat of his cunt. And Ghost was a goner.

He squirted, all over Soap's face and soaking his collar. He thrashed through it, bucking up as his legs tried to squeeze shut. Soap beamed up at him.

"That's a lad. Ye want another?"

"No," Ghost moaned pathetically. "Feel like I'm gonna fall out of my body." He'd do this again.

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Ghost who, due to everything that's transpired in his life, has a hard time 'getting it up.' Not that he's sex averse, but it's difficult for him. He really has to be in the mood.

But he does love watching Soap fuck things. He has a collection of pocket pussies for Soap. Has made him fuck other things, too. Like a tomato, or a literal bar of soap. Ghost's favorite is the stuffed animals. He has quite a few, and they're all cum stained now. There's something so deliciously depraved about it.

Soap is just happy to be along for the ride. If Ghost wants him to hump the kitchen counter, then he's going to put on a hell of a show, no doubt about it.

They're a perfect match

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I like to think that when they have a baby, the 'holy shit I'm a father with an actual living breathing child' doesn't hit Simon until her first day of school. 

She's all dressed up in her best frilly dress, and her backpack is nearly as big as she is. She's perfect, and Simon takes so many pictures to gush over later with Johnny. But then she's gone, and he's sitting in a car alone after dropping her off, and it hits.

Because, for the first time, she's not by his side. He doesn't have something to focus on and distract him from the fact that he had a child. Something he said he'd never do, experiencing his father's wrath and watching his mother's stradily-growing hatred growing up.

But he's here. And he just dropped her off for her first day of school, and he breaks.

He has to call Johnny in from work— a mechanic job that the man loved to death, because bills needed paying after they retired. One of the guys from the shop drops him off, and Johnny drives them home. He holds Simon close and reassures him that it's all gonna be okay, that Simon has done so well. That little Maisey adores her Papa more than anything in the world. That she has no idea Daddies and Mommies could ever be bad, because she is so loved and well taken care of. That Simon can do this, because he's been doing this. 

Anyway, Johnny cooks dinner that evening and it's Simon’s favorite. And maybe Maisey takes Johnny's spot in bed that night because her Papa needs princess cuddles, even if she doesn't know why.

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Transcript:
🧢: hey Ghost! Over here!
🧢: nice one m8 (mate)
🧼: pfff. Did ye forget it was a costume party?
💰: he's completely serious
💀: how have you made it this far in life?

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They retire and have a little girl. They love their princess and do the best they can to raise her right. It's not easy, and they mess up a lot more than they'd like, but there's no guide to parenting. Especially not for men like them. But they love her, and she loves them, and it's okay. They talk. They don't let things linger. It's okay.

She starts pulling away once she reaches high-school. It hurts their hearts. Especially Simon’s. He loved their child more than he even loved Johnny. But he let her have her space, because he knows sometimes you just need a little independence.

But she is ready to talk, eventually. She wants to speak with Simon first, alone. And that's okay, because Johnny was never the big conversation kind of parent. But he was there, and made sure their child knew they were loved.

"You know you can tell me anything. Right, Maisey?" Simon tries his best to be comforting. It's still hard for him, all these years later.

"It's not Maisey!" They yell. They put their head in their hands. "It's Micheal. My name is Micheal."

Simon's heart breaks a little.

"That's alright, Bug." He puts his hand on their shoulder. "It'd be hypocritical of us if we didn't still love you, you know?"

"But it's different!" They scream. "I've only ever been your little fucking princess! That's all I am! I don't wanna be!"

"Well, I'd like to get to know my little Prince."

Michael looked at him, eyes red, cheeks wet. Simon's chest ached. "Even though you won't have your Princess anymore?"

"I don't love one version of you, hun. Your Dad and I love you. Every little thing you show us. No matter what you do or say or choose to be, we love you."

Michael sniffled. "Papa."

Simon took him into his arms. Michael fit into his chest, just like he always has. "I love you so much, Michael. Papa loves you. Dad does too."

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Simon wasn't nearly as strong as he used to be, but it was enough that even Johnny still looked to him to lift their furniture or move the fridge. It was more than enough to carry their baby on his shoulders.

"Johnny!" He calls as he exits the hall, Michael laughing on his shoulders all the while. "We'll pick something up while we're out. We're going shopping!"

Johnny looked at him, exasperated. "I just crushed the garlic."

"Too bad. My baby boy needs clothes. Get your shoes on and let's move."

Micheal laughed at his Lieutenant voice. He had always loved it— especially when it was used on Johnny. He thought his Dad being ordered around by his Papa— who would cry with him when he got a scraped knee— was peak comedy.

"Alright! Christ. Let me put everything away first, ye eejit." Michael clambered off of his shoulders, then. He had said he was going to talk to his Dad and he meant it. Even if it was scary. Simon was so proud of him. (And more than happy he could provide a fraction of the support he had never gotten.)

He leaned on the counter as Michael approached.

"Dad?"

Johnny smiled as he looked over, closing the lid on the Tupperware he'd used. "What's up, Sugarbug?"

Their Son took a deep breath. "My name is Micheal."

Johnny beamed and held out his hand for a handshake. "Nice to meet you, Michael! My name's Dad!"

Michael groaned, head in his hands. "I hate you. Never speak again. Oh my God I'm leaving!"

Johnny pouted. "But Bug!"

"Nope, nuh-uh!" He was smiling as he argued with his Dad. It made Simon’s own grin only grow wider.

Johnny's arms wrapped him up tight, squishing him against his chest. "But Mike! Sugarbug! Honey Bunch! The light of my life!"

"I get it, oh my God! You still smell like oil!"

"It's a good smell!"

"Is not!"

Johnny sighed. "I guess you don't want tae go get cheesecake with me then..."

Micheal's head shot up. "Do too!"

"Aaaaaand watch Top Gun with me?"

"You know I do!" Michael whined.

Johnny held out his fist. "Boys night?"

Michael tapped his own fist to it. His smile was so wide. Simon loved the gap between his front teeth. "Boys night."

"We are still going shopping!" Simon called.

Michael groaned. "Yes, papa!"

Johnny leaned over slowly to loud-whisper in Michael's ear. "We're gonna be gone for a while, aren't we?"

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"Michael!" Simon shouted down the hallway. "Uncle John and Kyle are here!"

"Michael?" Price asked. It wasn't said maliciously, Simon noted. Just curiously.

"My baby boy's all grown up," he smiled. "Picked out his own name and everything."

"What did I say?" Gaz sighed dramatically. "You were so certain when you were pregnant you were going to have a little girl. You made fun of me when I recommended Michael." The man grinned, hand on his hip. "Now look at us. I knew that kid was my favorite for a reason."

Before Simon could retort, Michael was rushing down the hall, bedroom door slammed wide open.

"You're here! You're here!" He screeched. He was a 5'5 missile as he slammed into the two, holding on for dear life.

"Hey, kiddo," Price wheezed. "We missed ya."

"My favorite Munchkin!" Kyle laughed. He picked Michael up, twirling him around. "When did you get so tall? I can barely hold you!"

"I'm almost an adult, Uncle Ky!" He giggled. Simon’s heart felt like it was going to burst. Johnny laid a hand on his arm to steady him as he approached.

"As lovely as this all is," Johnny started. "Our entryway ain't fit for a family. Can we move it to the living room?"

"Look at you now, old man," Price teased. Johnny just rolled his eyes.

"Says the man whose joints sound like a bowl of rice krispies."

"Srop fighting," Michael whined. The kid was still wrapped tightly around Gaz, much like a koala. Simon became second thought when Mike's Uncle Kyle was in town. He wondered how the kid was going to take the news.

Michael took his uncles' hands to drag them into the house. "C'mon! Dad just got us a Playstation!"

"Oh yeah?" John laughed as he was forced down onto the couch. "Big kid now, aren't you, son?"

"I'm not a child!" Mike groaned. "I'm almost a sophomore!"

"Ooooooo," Gaz laughed. "Big kid in the house!"

"I hate all of you!"

Johnny laughed. "Now you really sound like your Papa!" Simon glared at the man.

"Papa's right!"

"Damn straight," he smirked. He leaned over the back of the couch, watching Michael excitedly set up the Playstation. Johnny had bought it not long after he came out. It was an I'm so proud of you for trusting us gift. It was sweet. He laughed as Mike shoved a controller into each of his Uncles' hands.

"Now, hold on there Mike," Gaz chuckled softly. "We're here for a reason."

"What could be more important?" The kid whined. "You're always gone so soon!"

"About that," John leaned in. "We're here to stay."

Michael blinked. "I don't understand."

Gaz smiled and patted the couch next to him. Mike climbed into his lap instead. "It means, kiddo, that we threw in the towel. We're done. We retired like your parents did before they had you."

Johnny had to hold Simon back from rushing to their poor baby as tears rolled down his pudgy cheeks.

"You're staying? You won't— you won't—"

Price set a hand on Michael's shoulder. "We're staying, son. We've missed enough of you growing up as it is. We're old men now."

The hiccupping cry Mike let out in response tore Simon to pieces. He knew it was of joy, that his precious baby couldn't be happier, but he hated when his sweet Michael cried. Johnny just held him closer.

"We're here to stay, Michael," Gaz murmured into Michael's fluffy blonde hair. "Your Uncles aren't going anywhere anymore."

"Your house better have a pool," Mike sniffled.

Price laughed heartily at that. "Wouldn't dream of denying you that, kiddo. Your Aunt Kate got us a hell of a deal."

"That's cause Aunt Kate's the best."

Johnny gasped dramatically. "Better than me?"

"Yes, Dad!" Simon could hear the eye-roll in his voice. He'd never been happier.

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thinking about Soap getting de-aged to ~15 somehow. Obviously, Ghost is assigned to take care of him because they're ✨married✨ and Johnny thinks it's the coolest thing ever
He asks Ghost if he's the one that took his virginity, and Ghost just laughs and says that they haven't known each other for *that* long. That upsets Johnny, cause he's already heard that Ghost is his partner, the love of his life— and he thinks Ghost is pretty fucking hot too.
So, he begs Ghost to take his virginity before anyone else can. That way, he'll always belong to Ghost.
Ghost tries to be a Reasonable Adult about it, but he can only tolerate fumbled, adorable advances for so long until he caves

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Soap with Queer-Platonic parents. He's the youngest after three sisters, and after him, his parents' relationship was clear it wasn't working out. not because they hated each other, because there was a lack of communication, of love— none of that. They had become very different people than when they ran off and got married at 19. They knew a lot more about themselves.

So, Soap grew up in a household where his Ma and Pa were just good friends. Where Ma kissed Pa on the cheek and slept in a separate room. Pa still worked and paid the bills while Ma took care of them, but they weren't together.

When Soap was six, Pa brought home his boyfriend for the first time. A few years later, he'd moved in. He became their Dad. Ma treated Dad the same way she treated Pa. They were just close friends, and she was happy for them and her children.

It's not until Johnny is around 13 that it gets explained to him. He knew that his family dynamic wasn't quite like his friends', but he'd never been mad about it. So, Ma told him all about how she loved him, his sister, his Pa and his Dad very much, but only as family. That she didn't feel that romantic love he always saw on TV. That this close connection she had with her family was more than enough. She explained that Pa was ready to accept that he was gay after Soap was born. That he loved Ma to death, but he wasn't *in love* with her. So, he met Dad. 

And for Johnny, that was more than enough. Family is everything to him, as well as making sure he harbors close friendship. Because he knows there's more to love than romance.

That's why, when he meets Ghost, it genuinely takes him a long time to realize he's *in love* with the Lieutenant. And when Ghost feels the same, he's so excited to bring him back home. To meet his family.

Ghost is, initially, startled by the odd dynamic. Not because he thinks it's particularly strange, but because he grew up in a house full of hatred and disdain. Yet, the MacTavishes held nothing but love for each other.

Ghost is quickly drawn into the fold, into the array of unconditional love. He gets along well with Ma, and Pa and Dad help him feel seen after so many years of hating himself for his sexuality.

It's perfect, and Soap wouldn't have his family any other way.

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Growing up, Ghost's home life was fucking awful. There was no beating around the bush. But, he had learned ways to make it better. More... manageable. When he saw that tensions were running high, he'd make a meal. It wasn't much— he was only a child— but it was food. And if his parents were happy there was comfort food to eat, maybe they wouldn't fight. Maybe dad wouldn't hit him and scream until Simon's ears rang. Maybe they could forgive him for being such a bad boy if he did something good.

It became a habit, even long after...
He made food when stress was high— even his own. Easy things, like butter noodles or tuna sandwiches. It was the only way he knew how to calm things down. People loved food, after all. It was hard to stay stressed when you were eating.

When he got with Johnny, the pattern continued. When Johnny was tense and angry, staying away from Simon, he retreated to the kitchen. He'd make tuna noodles, saltine pizzas. Macaroni with hotdogs, fried spam sandwiches. Anything comforting he could whip up— and easy. Simon wasn't really a cook, per se.

Johnny, not knowing any better, thought it was sweet. He'd smile and thank Ghost, give him a kiss on the cheek. And things would be better. Ghost was fed the idea that his cooking was the solution to Johnny’s tension. So, he kept doing it. Johnny loved when he was good.

Inevitably, they have a pretty big argument. It had been building for a while, and it truly wasn't all that serious, but emotions were high regardless. Soap needs time to cool off, fuming and stomping his feet, so he retreats to the bedroom.

Ghost, meanwhile, is shattered. He immediately gets to work in the kitchen. He heats up some Campbell's chicken noodle, makes that extra-buttery grilled cheese he knows Soap loves. Be plates it all on a tray to bring to the bedroom. Because, surely, if Simon proved that he could be good, Johnny wouldn't be mad at him anymore and everything would be okay. Ghost wouldn't have to be afraid.

For the first time, Soap refuses the meal. He smiles weakly at Ghost as he says it. "Sorry, Simon. Im... not really hungry right now."

And Ghost breaks because no one has ever refused his peace offering before. Not even his Father. He'd really fucked it up now, hadn't he? Johnny would never forgive him. They'd never be okay.

He sets the tray on their dresser and stumbles over to Soap like a newborn calf. He crumbles to his knees before where the man sits on the edge of their bed. Soap looks so shocked, vaguely worried, and Simon begs.

"I'm sorry, Johnny. How can I make it up to you, then? How can I be good?"

Soap shoves their argument to the back of his mind. "Simon, it's okay. I just need a little time. We're okay. I know food is your love language, I know. I'm not mad at you, I'm just— mad."

"I don't understand," Ghost croaks. "Food makes everything better. No one's angry anymore when I make it. Why are you still angry? Is it not good enough? I can— I can make something else? Anything, Johnny. How can I be good?"

"Oh Simon," Soap cups Ghost's face in his hands. "You don't have to please anyone with food, least of all me. Nothing will change between us without it. I love you so much. I'd never hurt you. I've always just been a little hot-headed."

"But then how will you calm down? How do I make you not angry? It's all I know."

Soap draws Ghost up into his arms. His only focus is on comforting his oh-so-confused lover.

"I love your food, Si, but I love you more. Things work themselves out. You don't have to walk on eggshells to please me." Soap presses a kiss to Ghost's temple.

It still takes a long time for Simon to break the habit, the itch to retreat to the kitchen when Johnny has a bad day, but it gets better. Easier. He learns that he doesn't have to be good just to be loved. That's unconditional.

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I don't think Ghost grieves, afterward. I think he turns into a God damn machine. He gets the job done, takes care of himself just enough to keep going. He doesn't banter with anyone. He's cold, closed off. Soap was it for him, and that was taken away without remorse. When the jobs finally done? When it's all over? He doesn't waste a second before putting a bullet through his own skull. Right where Soap had been hit.

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The Ghosts are constantly at each other's throats and the Soaps are sick of it. Why can't they get along? Riley(09) and Ghost(22) get along just fine with both MacTavish(09) and Soap(22). Why can't they just give it up?

MacTavish gets sick of it and locks them in a spare office. Just until they can get it the fuck together. Soap ends up getting worried after about 10 minutes when he can hear these... sounds coming from the room. He fears they're mauling each other. He wouldn't put it past the fuckers.

But, when MacTavish opens the door to pull then apart, neither of them could have expected the sight they were met with.

Riley was spread out over the old wooden desk. His arms were above his head, clinging onto the edge of the desk for dear life. Ghost was fucking the— much smaller— man within an inch of his life. He had Riley folded into a mating press, legs pressed so close to the surface of the desk Soap hurt for the Lieutenant. Ghost didn't even fuck him that brutally. (It was kind of— really— hot.)

MacTavish just sighs and leans agaisnt the doorframe. "Should've known this is what ye two couldn't get over. Fuckin' slags, the both o' ye." Yet, it doesn't appear to deter the Ghosts at all. In fact, Soap thinks he sees Riley's cock drip a new bead of pre over his convulsing abdomen.

Anyway, the Ghosts are a lot more tame after that. Mostly because the Soaps have given up trying to pry them off of each other. It's easier for everyone if they let the two fuck in a corner while they go over plans with the team. The Soaps can't even be jealous. They know their Ghosts are hot. Even if it's kind of annoying that they seem to think so too.

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In love with the idea of like,,, service bottom Soap?? Who just takes and takes whatever Ghost feels the need to give, and makes sure Simon makes it out the other side.

Ghost, who gets desperate and needy and lonely, who fucks Soap until his dicks soft and he can't even cum anymore and keeps going. Because he needs it. It feels like the only thing keeping him together, proving that Johnny’s real.

Soap who takes it. Who lets Ghost fill his aching cunt to his heart's content. Who takes him hard, soft, empty— doesn't matter. He just keeps his legs spread and his voice low as he whispers sweet little things to Simon while the man tries to find himself in the depths of Soap's body.

After, when Ghost has exhausted himself and can do little more than shake and shiver, collapsed uselessly atop Soap's body, Johnny takes care of him. He cradles Ghost close, keeps his head buried to where he can always hear Soap's heartbeat. He wipes them both down with a few wet wipes, just to get rid of the worst of the mess, and traps them in a blanket burrito. He pets along Ghost’s sides, his back, even squeezes his ass just because he can. He makes sure Simon knows that he's loved, even when he can't quite seem to find it within the broken pieces of himself.

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Ghost who likes the beach because it was one of the few things his family would ever get out to do that wasn't his dad's concerts. It was free except for the gas, and because his dad could drink himself into a stupor on the warm sand, he let it happen.

His mom especially loved it. He can still see her blonde hair blowing in the sea breeze as she played with him and Tommy. It was one of the few times she smiled. They didn't have swimsuits, so they just wore whatever old clothes they didn't care too much about, but they were happy. It was one of the few times Simon can remember feeling genuinely happy.

So when he finds out Soap doesn't like the beach, he's devastated. Ghost didn't enjoy many "leisure" trips, but he'd sit on the sand and watch the waves whenever he could. He makes jokes, plays it off, but it... hurts him. The beach was his safe space, and he wanted to spend that time with Johnny. But Soap didn't like it.

Anyway, cue Simon feeling the itch for sand between his toes one morning so he packs his shit and prepares to head out. Johnny, groggy from his half-empty cup of coffee, asks just where Simon thinks he's going.

"... The beach."

"Without me?"

"You said you hate it."

"Yeah, but I like, you, ye dafty."

"...oh."

"oh."

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Sugar Daddy Ghost and virgin, barely legal Soap who really needs the money but is so scared about what sex really entails. He's a pretty, blushing virgin, and it's absolutely why big bad CEO Ghost is willing to pay him so much. He's obsessed with little Johnny.

Anyway, the time comes for Johnny’s end of the bargin to be fulfilled. His rent is paid, his groceries well stocked, and his college tuition not even a worry. Ghost deserves his good fuck.

Soap's so whiny about it. Hesitantly letting Ghost strip and kiss him. Mewling these cute little noises as rough, scarred lips trail their way down his body. Ghost looks good doing it, and Soap is undeniably horny, but he's terrifed. he's never been brave enough to put more than a couple of fingers into himself.

He tells Ghost as much before the man can pull of his panties (pretty, pink satin things the man had bough for him to wear. They really were comfy.) He's a blushing mess as he tells him that he's so grateful for all Ghost has done, but he's never done this before and he's so scared.

Ghost coos and swears that they have all the time in the world to work up to it. That Johnny is so brave for trusting him with this. That Ghost won't do anything more than put the tip of his cock in him.

Sweet, naive Johnny trusts Ghost explicitly. Sure, he was nearing 50 and was essentially paying him to do this, but Ghost treated him so nicely. They'd even had a wonderful dinner date before this. Perhaps it was the bit of wine he'd been allowed, heavy in his stomach, that swayed him to say yes.

So, Ghost does just that. He slowly removes the panties from around Johnny’s legs, kissing down them all the while. He parted them with just as much grace, settling between them like he belonged there. Soap, too nervous, had his eyes shut and his head turned. He didn't see the behemoth of a cock the man sported. Didn't see the way he unzipped his slacks ever so slowly to fish it out. Didn't appreciate the way his cock hung free while his clothes hugged his body so beautifully.

He did feel that blunt, wet head prod at his entrance, though.

Soap whines, legs instinctively closing at the sensation. Ghost just hushed him, rutting agaisnt his slick folds to bump against his enlarged clit. He'll admit it felt good.

Ghost does this for a minute, parting his lips with ease as his head teases his entrance with every slow thrust. Until, finally, with the slightest of pressure, Ghost pushes in.

Johnny whines. His legs clamp painfully around Ghost's hips. Ghost holds him just as tight, whispering filthy things about how his cunt feels around him. He fucks into Johnny shallowly, no more than just the tip as promised.

Until he begins to relax. Only then, without warning, does Ghost sheathe himself in one brutal thrust. Johnny shouts, back arched, eyes forced wide open. He feels torn like an open wound. He'd never been so full. and Ghost doesn't wait a second.

He drapes himself over Soap's body, arms snaking under his back to crush him against his chest. It's filthy, the wet plaps as their skin slaps together. Johnny doesn't think he's ever hurt so much. But he can do little more than take it, body rocking with each powerful thrust of Ghost's hips. He's a moaning, shaking mess with little thought in his head.

He doesn't cum until after Ghost does. Even then, he's fucked out. Limp and useless, slipping into sleep as Ghost kisses his way back down his body until his lips are above Soap's dripping cunt— dripping with Ghost's cum, of course. He eats Soap out like a man starved, and before Johnny passes out on a bed of fine silk sheets and downy pillows, he feels his orgasm wash through him

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I think when Ghost gets pregnant, he's terrified. He'd taken the test on a desperate whim after yet another week of constant sickness. And when it came pack positive?

Well, first, Ghost swore to murder Johnny. Of course his bastard of a Sergeant would manage to get past years of testosterone, constant birth control, and a fucking condom.

His next thought was utter despair. He thought about... getting rid of it. Of sneaking off to toss it in the bin– professionally. What Soap didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Except, as he placed a hand over his still unassuming belly, he... couldn't. That thought pained him. He'd finally made something good, hadn't he? He and Johnny had made something good.

Still, he lives in almost denial. He stops having his glass of bourbon after a long day, he doesn't smoke, he takes drills easier, and he makes sure to actually eat regularly. But, he doesn't think about it. He feels like he'll break if he does.

He hides it until he starts showing. When even his loosest shirts become a bit tight around the belly. Johnny points it out. Not of any malicious intent, but concern. He simply knows Ghost's weight has been steady for years due to his routine. He wants to help Simon, if he can, if he needs to.

Simon breaks. He hides himself in Soap's neck and all but sobs as he tells Soap the truth. That Johnny got him pregnant, that he's scared, that he wants to keep it, and he doesn't know what to do about that.

Understandably, Soap is flabbergasted. He's a little angry that Ghost didn't immediately tell him that he had a child, but he kept that bit to himself. Ghost was scared and confused— and the one with the baby in him. He reserved the right to do what he damn well wanted.

Anyway, Johnny kisses the tears off of Ghost's cheeks and tells him that they're going to be wonderful parents because Simon is a wonderful man. That Soap is here, that he's happy to have a child with him if that's what Ghost wants. 

"Johnny... we have to leave, right?"

"What do ye mean, luv?"

Simon swallows. "Retire. We have to retire. I'm not— I'm not leaving a child behind. I'm not risking dying out there and—" Ghost can't finish the sentence. It breaks his heart to even think it.

"We'll retire," Soap promises. "We'll talk to Price and get it all sorted." His entangles his hands in Ghost's. "We're in this together, baby. I'll get a nice job, well have a lovely house with a nice big yard... maybe we'll even get chickens. Plant a little vegetable garden. Aaaand..." Soap smirks. Ghost pouts.

"And what, Johnny?"

"And we can binge watch all the shows and movies we want to. No matter how cheesy." Ghost laughs at that. "oh, yeah. I guess you can be loud when I fuck you stupid, too."

Soap 100% earned that slap to the back of his head. Worth it.

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Soap stumbles out of the room late the next morning. He managed to dress himself back in those satin pink panties and one of the large, black hoodies Ghost had lying around. It hurts to walk, and he has a hell of a limp, but he's hungry and Ghost wasn't next to him when he awoke. He had been covered up, though. Which he knew he hadn't been when sleep claimed him.

He stumbles into the living room— because it's the way into the kitchen— and is suddenly made aware that he's not the only one I'm the building that Saturday morning. Ghost is there, yes, but he's with someone. Another man, possibly older with the way his hair was mostly a fine silver. He was in a slick black suit just like Ghost was, and he lounged casually back into the couch, unlit cigar hanging from his fingertips. Ghost looked relaxed. Perhaps they were friends?

Before Johnny could consider hiding, Ghost's attention was on him. That long, handsome face morphed into that sweet smile that never failed to make Soap swoon. Ghost was crossing the room in long strides within a moment.

"Hey, baby," that deep voice rumbles in greeting. Johnny can feel himself turning red. His cheeks burn.

"Hi," he squeaks. He's suddenly conscious of his quite disheveled appearance when one of Ghost's calloused hands traces reverently over his neck. There were marks, weren't there?

"You hungry? I can make you something."

Johnny's eyes quickly flick to the curious man still on the couch. He looked no less casual, but his presence was... domineering.

"I'm okay, Sir," Johnny mumbled. He ducked his head. "I can cook fer myself. Or, uh, get out of yer hair—"

Ghost snorts. "Nonsense. Go take a seat at the table. Omelet? I've got your favorites."

Johnny nods quickly. "Yes, sir. If you... if you don't mind." Ghost presses a kiss to the top of his head. Johnny thinks he melts on the spot.

He does take a seat at the table in the little breakfast nook. There's a little window that overlooks the city. It's nice. A moment later, the mysterious stranger sits across from him. He tenses.

The stranger smiles. It's nowhere near as threatening as his presence implies. "The name's John Price, son. Nice to meet you." He holds out his hand. Soap takes it.

"Uh, John MacTavish, sir. Pleasure to meet you." His voice is higher than he'd like it to be.

When the man disconnects their hands, he glances at Simon before looking back at him. "You legal?"

"W-what?"

Simon makes a warning noise from the kitchen. Something low, dangerous.

"You eighteen, son?"

Johnny flushes. "Yes sir! Been so since before Mr. Riley found me."

"Found? What are you, a stray?"

Ghost sets the plate in front of him with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. "That's enough, Price."

The man rolls his eyes. "Whatever you say, Simon. Just making friendly conversation."

Ghost has a hand on the back of Soap's neck. It feels a bit like a claim. The stray comment did... hurt. He was, wasn't he? He was just some stupid, homeless, trans teen before Ghost picked him up. Suddenly, his appetite was gone.

Almost lovingly, Ghost scoots the plate closer to him. The hand on his nape squeezes.

The man— Price— sighs. "Well. I'll get out of here, then. Things to do, people to see."

"I'm sure," Simon drawls. The ease Johnny had seen in his posture earlier was long gone. Johnny hates that he's glad the new man was leaving. It's silent as Price exits. Simon takes the seat the man had previously occupied once the door clicks shut.

"Alright, Johnny?"

He nods, gaze low. "Yes, sir... Sorry."

"Hey..." Ghost takes his hand. "You're not some stray to me. I care about you."

Finally, Johnny looks up at him. "I know... I— I gave you all my firsts didn't I?"

"You did. And I'm so glad you're mine, Johnny." Ghost smiles. "I really did mean what I said last night, baby. I'd love for you to move in with me. That wasn't just the wine talking."

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Soap who's obsessed with Ghost pissing. Ghost thinks it's weird, but whatever. If Johnny wants to be the one to aim his cock when he pees, so be it.

It graduates from in the privacy of closed doors, to out on the field whenever able. Soap just can't get enough of the way Ghost’s soft cock feels in his hand, the slight tremor to it as he pisses. The way it feels when he shakes it to get the last few of those acrid drops out. Occasionally, at home, Johnny will aim it at himself. still, Ghost lets him.

Like with most things Soap related, Ghost hadn't realized he was slowly being conditioned until the man goes back home to help plan his nan's funeral. Suddenly, Ghost can't seem to piss right.

He's half worried at first. Infection or worse prodded at the back of his mind until his brain connected the dots. There was no warm, calloused hand wrapped around him. No deft fingers practically shaking to grip him tight. Soap wasn't there to do the dirty work for him, and his traitorous bladder was protesting because of it.

Ghost jerks off at the recollection of Johnny's hand around him that night.

When he gets back, Ghost makes him kneel in the bathtub and pisses in his mouth. Soap couldn't be happier about it.

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Ghoap who's really into urethral play. Soap who takes hours stretching Ghost out slowly, seeing just what he can fit into Ghost's urethra. Ghost loves the stretch of it. The burn, the way it sort of hurts to pee the next day. It's not even about sexual pleasure a lot of the time. The whole experience is gratifying for the both of them.

One day, Soap gets an... idea. he takes a long time working Ghost up to their thickest sounding rod. Ghost is blissed out, laid back on their pillows and drooling.

When Soap pulls the rod out after a while of gently fucking Ghost with it, the man whines. Johnny soothes him with a hum. Instead, Soap tries to keep Ghost open with the tip of his thumb as he adjusts himself— scoots closer.

Soap's t-dick may not be the most impressive thing, but Ghost loved to suck on it whenever he could. And now...

Soap lined himself up with ease. Squeezing in was tight, but it wasn't impossible. Ghost moaned, long and low as Soap sunk his cock into his stretched-out urethra. The feeling actually got him to open his eyes and look down at Soap.

"Johnny...?"

"Alright, Si?"

Ghost's eyes were glued to where Soap was buried in his cock. he hit the pillows again with a pathetic whimper. "Fuck me Johnny. Fuck—"

Needless to say, it's the hardest either of them have ever cum.

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For as big as Soap is, Ghost is bigger. By a longshot. It didn't matter that Soap wasn't a virgin, he was as tight as one when faced with Ghost's massive fucking cock.

The first night they spent together was... rough. Even taking it slow, Johnny tore a bit. Even with Ghost's fingers, Ghost couldn't fit all the way into him. Somehow, the man claimed it was the best sex of his life. Johnny thought he was just trying to be nice. His pussy was too small to fit the man, after all.

They fuck regularly after that. The constant abuse opens Soap up nicely. Within a month, Ghost can sheathe himself with little issue. Johnny thinks he's finally good enough for Ghost. The man has other thoughts.

Things get... busy. Suddenly, they don't have the time they once had to fuck. They still get each other off, but now it's a quick hand or a mouth, rushed in the early hours of the morning or between drills. Johnny mourns it. He knows they'll be back at square one, now. His pussy too small, too tight, to satisfy his partner. He's devastated, really.

When they finally get a moment to themselves, nothing pressing for their attention, Ghost is on him in a flash. Soap knows he's going to be a mess of marks come morning.

When Ghost goes to press in, Johnny stops him with a panicked grunt and hands on his stomach. He hadn't been stretched, it had been too long.

"Simon," Soap warned. "I— I'll be too tight it won't be good. It'll be like—"

Ghost draped himself over Soap, nipping at the shell of his ear. His voice was a low growl. "That's what I'm banking on, baby. Tight as a fuckin virgin, all for me. Whine just as sweet as one, too."

Johnny's hands slipped in his surprise. Free, Ghost wasted no time in forcing the tip of his thick cock into him.

Soap shouted, but he didn't stop the man. He just gripped onto his shoulders, likely drawing blood. 

Ghost wasn't as gentle as he was the first time. He didn't stop, didn't coo when Johnny began to cry and pet his cheeks like a startled, helpless pup. He bullied his way in like it was his right to be there.

It hurt so fucking much, but somehow the very idea of it had him dripping, heat shooting through his core. 

At the halfway mark, when he swore Ghost was pounding at his cervix, he came. He swore he blacked out. He came to to Ghost pounding away in him. He still wasn't quite in all the way, but it didn't seem to matter. Ghost fucked into him like it was his life's mission. When he looked down, there was definitely Blood on Ghost's cock.

He squirted.

Needless to say, they usually waited a while between a good fuck.

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im thinkin, right? Omegas and Alphas who don't get their first heat/rut until like 25 or smthn. OH and maybe during this time they have claws and ears and tails and stuff and that's why it's so intense cause their very body changes to adapt to their instincts 👉👈

Ghost who would have had it under Roba, but was chocked full of so many suppressants that it took a year after the ordeal was already over to get through his system.

He had his first rut under Price's care. It sneaks up on him and he feels ill, so he goes to Price. Ever the experienced alpha, the Captain immediately knows what's happening.

Price cares for Ghost, and Ghost trusts Price with everything. a bit like puppy-love, really.

It hits Ghost hard. really hard. He'd damn near nested like an omega in Price's bed as he shifted for the first time ever— far later than he should have. Everything was hazy and fuzzy, and he was so hard it was physically painful. He couldn't stop rutting against the sheets, even though it wasn't getting him anywhere. He was just a horny puppy desperate to breed with no hole in sight.

Price takes pity on him. He cares for Simon so much, of course he'd want to help him with his rut. It hurt him to see his poor Simon so out of it and horny with no real way to satisfy it. (In his bed, nevertheless.)

Ghost practically jumps him as soon as Price sets a knee on the bed. He's teething and licking and whining like an injured pup— an omega— and it makes Price's instincts go wild. Not even the acrid smell of Alpha is enough to tamp them down.

Anyway, already prepared, Ghost wastes no time in sinking into Price's lubed-up hole. He swears it's the best thing he's ever felt. Tight and warm and just what he needed. It takes two? Three? minutes for him to cum his brains out, knot stuck firmly within Price.

He collapses on top of the Captain afterwards, fucked out and blissfully pliant. He subconsciously scents Price, nuzzling into his chest, rubbing his cheeks all over the man. His tail lazily thumps behind him, and the way Price scratches behind his furry ears is heaven. He's so out of it, he doesn't even realize he has blood on his claws from gripping Price's hips perhaps a tad too harshly.

They go again and again, Price happy to guide Ghost the whole way. He makes him take sips of water, feeds him protein bars, even teaches Ghost how to kiss slow and sweet for the times the rut has settled slightly and Ghost is pliant with satisfied instincts.

Price gets possessive of Ghost during this time. He hadn't realized a fellow alpha could be so... cute. he wants to protect Ghost like he would an omega, satisfy his every need just to earn those happy purrs. He half wants to sneak those pesky control pills into Ghosts diet that tend to leave users half-shifted 24/7 just so he could watch Ghost's ears perk and his tail wag. He wouldn't risk missing out on future ruts for that, though. And, if he tricks Ghost's instinct addled mind into placing his mating claim, who's going to tell him off for it?

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Ghost who's so sex drunk by the end of his rut, he doesn't even mind when Price places his own mating claim over his scent glands. He just moans and takes it, cock still twitching in the Captain’s sloppy hole.

He's mated, he's happy, his instincts are saited. He purrs like an Omega for the rest of the night as the wolf-like changes he had undergone for his rut slowly retreat.

He wakes to his head on Price's chest. He's miraculously clean and warm, the only evidence of his rut being how sore and exhausted he was. Something in his chest pulses with need. Something softer, more domestic. Not the feral clawing to breed that had inundated his mind before.

He clings to Price for the next week. Something in him, something vulnerable and scared, fears leaving the Captain. His alpha. Price hadn't allowed him back in his bed again, but Ghost had started getting wet at the thought of being allowed there again. Of nesting there. He still pops his knot when he fucks his fist thinking of it, still reeks of gunsmoke and something distinctly harsh as all alphas do. But something was different, something was wrong. And who else would he go to about it but Price?

Price takes it in stride. Seemingly, at least. Inside, he couldn't be happier. The overprotective Alpha in him preened at the thought of nourishing this young alpha's omegan traits. (Part of him wondered of he could change him completely.)

The first time Ghost gets fucked, it had been during another spike in Ghost's hormones. Price hadn't let Ghost into his room, but when he had gone to settle in for the night, there he was. He had nested— albeit messily— with everything Price had to offer in his room. He didn't miss the way Ghost was nose deep in a pair of his boxers he had yet to wash, another pair wrapped tightly around his cock as he jerked himself in quick motions. It reeked of horny alpha, but that wasn't all. Ass in the air, presenting, Ghost was leaking slick. It smelled sweet like berries. Soft, enticing— Omegan.

Price isn't sure Ghost was aware he was even there before he was sheathing himself in that tight hole in one, smooth thrust.

Ghost whines and claws at the sheets. He hadn't been prepared, it was all too much. The alpha in him screamed at the idea of being bitched like this. The rest of him, though, was feverish with need. He'd never felt more alive. Despite the pain, he sucked Price's cock in. He needed it. He needed to be bred. He stated as much, albeit a lot less astutely. Between whines and cries and hiccups of more, he begged for his alpha's knot. Begged to have his litter. Begged to be used and fucked and tossed aside.

Price fucked him through four different orgasms before he himself came. Ghost was gone— so fucking gone— by the time Price finally did knot him.

It had never occurred to either of them that, perhaps, Roba had done a lot more than fill Simon with suppressants. That maybe those suppressants had a reason.

But, when Ghost comes back pregnant? Having been mated, and then bred during a sudden heat? Well, Price can't be blamed for sweeping Ghost away to raise their pups.

(And maybe, slowly, whatever was left of Ghost's alpha fades away and is replaced with nothing but a sweet, pliant, needy omega who loves his mate more than anything. Who cares if it wasn't quite the Simon Price had once known? Those lips looked pretty enough wrapped around his cock either way.)

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I don't think Soap takes Ghost up on the offer to move in. Not yet, at least. Going from homeless to suddenly having a place to call his own with his utilities paid for was already a big step. He wanted to figure himself out for a while. And Ghost, awful as he may be, did understand that. He'd build his company from nothing just to prove to his deadbeat, asshole father that he could be more, after all. But, Johnny does get a key to the penthouse. He's free to come and go whenever he wants. Of course, awkward as he is, Soap doesn't really capitalize on it unless he's strictly invited. But, the option is there.

It takes maybe a week and a half for Soap to walk through the door of his own volition. It's late and he's a bit damp because it had started to sprinkle a few minutes from the building. (He had walked... all 2 miles. He'd hoped it would clear his head. It didn't.) He was cold and upset and he didn't really know where else to go.

Ghost is lounging on the couch. Even in pajamas, he looks regal. Probably because each item of clothing costs more than Soap could fathom. Ghost makes a confused sound as Johnny shuffles over, and pauses the TV. He didn't get up, but he shifted ever so slightly.

"Johnny? What's the matter, baby?" His voice is smooth like butter and Soap wants to melt right along with it.

He doesn't speak as he drops to his knees in front of Ghost. He slots himself between the man's legs, face pressed resolutely in the slight squish of his lower belly. It smells sharply of sandalwood, and maybe the remnants of shea butter. It feels safe.

"Can ye just..." Johnny whispers. Ghost's hand is on the back of his head, now, cupping gently. "Hold me like this fer a while?"

Ghost coos. The muscles under Soap's head relax. The hand on his head pets gently over his scalp. The TV is turned back on. Johnny can't parse what's playing. "Alright. But you have to talk to me eventually, okay?" Johnny nods his agreement. It's quiet after that.

It takes about ten minutes for his knees to begin to ache. For any comfort he's receiving to be drowned out by the radiating pain. When he begins to shift, Ghost wordlessly helps him onto the plush sofa. He's against Ghost’s side. Safe, warm. How did he get so lucky?

"I'm sorry fer bothering you," Johnny starts. "Ah know it's late and—"

Ghost flicks the side of his head. "Quiet, brat. Doors open 24/7." Johnny nods. Ghost sighs. "Do you want to talk about it, now? I... worry for you."

"Did I ever tell ye about that new friend I made in my figure study class?"

"The blonde one, right? What was his name? Zombie?"

Despite himself, Johnny laughs. " Graves, ye old man." Ghost ruffles his warhawk fondly. Soap's mood sours quickly. "Well, um, found out he just wanted tae steal my work. He just studied how I did things so he could copy it, or straight-up trace my pieces when I wasnae around. The, um, professor held me back today. Wanted tae ask me if I was in on it. If I was helping Graves out because the man had been so far behind in his grasp of figures and—"

"Breathe, kiddo," Ghost interrupts. "It's okay. Just take a moment."

Soap hadn't realized he'd been beginning to hyperventilate. So, after a moment, he resumed— slower. "I just... she believed me. She knew that it's been, uh, hard. Apparently a few other professors have filed complaints about Graves too. I just—"

"You wanted him to be your friend."

"I did!" Johnny cried. It felt pathetic. He was on a millionaire's couch, crying in his arms, and he had the gall to be upset about a fake friend. "No one ever talks to me! I'm just the weird tranny that—"

" Quiet ." Johnny shut his mouth immediately. "Don't speak so negatively about yourself." Ghost cupped his cheek, thumb brushing tears away gently. "You're amazing. So amazing. And I want to help you, baby. How can I help you?"

Soap steels himself, face flushed scarlet. "Fuck me? Ye took such good care o me the first time. Don't want tae think anymore. It hurt really bad but my head was so empty an' I—"

Ghost laughs. "I can do that.” His gaze is dark, mesmerizing. "That's no problem at all, doll."

For as hungry as his gaze was, Ghost kissed him gently. The press of lips against his own was unhurried. It was soft, sweet, something Johnny found himself getting lost in. He let his eyes fall shut as he leaned into Ghost's strong body. Those thick arms wrapped around him, slowly guiding him down until he was flat upon the couch, head propped on a throw pillow and the armrest. Still, Ghost just kissed him. It made Soap giddy. He felt like a schoolgirl with a crush.

He hardly notices when Ghost begins to pry off layers. His jacket is slid off, his shirt hiked up. Even his jeans are unbuttoned and slid down so slowly he barely felt it. His whole world felt like it had been narrowed down to the feeling of Ghost's tongue in his mouth. He thinks he could get addicted to this.

At the first touch of calloused fingers on his cock, he breaks away with a moan. They're rubbing little circles over him. It's still slow and gentle, but it feels like he's falling apart.

Ghost's lips are on his neck, and Soap is already gone. He's babbling. It somehow feels so much better this time around. "Please! Please, Sir! Daddy please!"

Ghost parts with a satisfied hum. His fingers never stop, but one of them drifts lower to rub at the slick that's leaking from him in droves. "Daddy, baby? You want me to be Daddy?"

Johnny doesn't really register the question— or the words coming out of his mouth. He feels painfully close already. "Yes yes yes yes! Please, please, God! "

Soap cums when Ghost slips a finger into him. He can feel himself clenching around it, body trying desperately to milk cum it wouldn't get from it. He feels as if he'll shake apart. Ghost allows him a moment to breathe. In that time, he sheds his pants. His cock lays hard and leaking against his abdomen. It's so big.

Johnny whines. "How did that fit in me? It's gonna tear!."

Ghost laughs as he drapes himself over Johnny once again. "You did tear last time, remember?" As if to be cruel, Ghost shoved two fingers into him and spread them. It tore at the sides of his pussy, threatening to reopen the wound he had all but forgotten about as the days wore on. It wasn't like he ever really masturbated, after all. "But that's alright. You just have to get used to it, don't you, baby?" Ghost kisses his forehead. It's tender, despite his words. "Daddy loves when his little virgin boy bleeds for him."

That shouldn't have had heat pulsing so quickly through his abdomen that he felt sick with it. And yet...

Ghost doesn't waste much more time. Johnny had asked him to fuck him, and he was going to deliver. Even if it was selfish to do it in such a way. He loved fucking a tight, unstretched cunt. Even better when said pussy bled and cried for him.

Soap's nails scratch brutal marks down his back as Ghost bullies the head of his cock into his unprepared cunt. He nearly screams, head thrown back, eyes shut. Johnny had to admit that it was borderline intoxicating. That the ungodly burn was nearly something to be desired and craved. 

Ghost's arms snake under him to hold him tenderly against his chest. Johnny cries into his shoulder but takes it. He's gushing slick like no tomorrow around the man's thick cock. It hits something deep within him with a sharp spike of pain. It makes him squirm, like someone is pressing on his intestines from the inside. Yet, there's a dull pleasure to it. Ghost keeps pressing. That pressure only grows. Something within Johnny's chest builds— something fearful, worried.

"Simon," he wheezes. "Simon yer too deep I—"

He doesn't get to finish that sentence before that something breaks. Pain ripples up his belly and down his thighs as he squirts. He bows nearly in half— only stopped by Ghost's body—as he no doubt makes the man's back bleed. Did Ghost just—

"Fuuuuuck," Ghost moans, long and loud. "So fuckin' tight around my cockhead, baby. Even your little cervix was made for me." Johnny can only sob as Ghost slams his hips forward. "That's it... taking me so well. Your body wants me so bad it's willing to let me into your womb. We better hope your birth control works, hmm?"

When Ghost starts moving, impatient with being buried into something so warm and tight, Johnny sees God. He swears his orgasm never stops. It snakes through his veins and, as promised, removes any thought he could ever hope to form. He's boneless. His arms had long since fallen from Ghost's back. He just takes it. Let's Ghost batter himself through his cervix, again and again. It pulses hotly within him like a brand. He doesn't even realize when whatever subconscious control he has over his bladder is ripped away and he's leaking all over the couch cushions. Ghost doesn't even mind, just keeps fucking like it's the only thing he was made to do.

Johnny doesn't know if he ever comes down from that high of pleasure. If Ghost cums in him. He had passed out at some point, sent to sleep by the constant rocking of his body and his blissed-out mind. He wakes still full of Ghost, but they're in bed, now, and Ghost is soft. He's not piercing his cervix anymore. In fact, the man is fast asleep below him. Johnny's head is on his chest. He's sore, so unbelievably sore and he won't be able to walk tomorrow. He wonders if his classes will give him a free day if it's Ghost that calls in sick for him...

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Soap develops a stim where he snakes his hand under Ghost's shirt to run his nails along the stretch marks on his belly because he likes the way his nails scrape over the grooves send tweet

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Soap who loves when it hurts and bleeds. Who has a bit of a special night planned with Ghost, and promises he prepared beforehand. Even stuck a finger in himself with some lube to make the lie seem realistic.

Ghost fuckin loses it at how tight Soap is. Can't stop moaning before he's even moving at how good it feels. Soap is in his own state of bliss. Ghost was huge— big enough to tear. He could feel it. It hurt so good.

He moaned when Ghost pulled out, ready for the fucking of a lifetime, but the man paused. Soap made a displeased sound.

"Soap? Oh god... Johnny that's blood."

Soap rolls his eyes and pulls Ghost down until they're flush. He presses his lips to the corner of Ghost's eye. "Course it is, love. So big ye tear me right open... so fuck me good, hm?"

"Johnny, I hurt you," Ghost whines. He still doesn't move. Soap sighs.

With a well practiced movement, Soap flips them over, keeping Ghost inside of him. If Ghost won't fuck him, he'll fuck himself dammit. 

Ghosts hands fist the sheets as Soap begins to fuck himself on his cock. His eyes are rolled back in pleasure and Soap can feel the way his cock is twitching inside of him. Each shift of Soap's hips make his hole burn. He'd never felt better.

Ghost cums in record time, and the feeling pushes Soap over the edge. Ghost looks ashamed about it, but Soap kisses the look off of him. 

He groans as he finally pulls off the man’s softened cock. It's a mess of fluids— light pink from the mix of them. Ghost can't help but whimper as Soap licks it all off of him.

Soap purrs against Ghost's navel. "Thank you, baby. Fucked me so good... Gotta do this more often, yeah? Whenever ye want me. Fuck me dry, love, fuck."

Ghost's cock begins to twitch to life under him, and he smirks.

"You're insane, Johnny..."

It's not a no.

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I think Ghost regresses for a long time without realizing it. He's all alone when he does it, curled up in his bed where nothing can get him. He holds a pillow close to his chest and sucks his thumb until he falls asleep. It soothes him. He doesn't dwell on it. (He can't dwell on it.)

In a safe house, waiting for exfil to arrive in the morning, Ghost does this. He doesn't mean to, but he'd almost died out there and his mind was frantic. He's on the floor— Price having taken the couch— but there's not exactly a lot of space. He's just got a shitty throw pillow under his head and a threadbare blanket over him. Price opted to give those up, since he got the sofa.

His thumb drifts to his mouth on instinct. It's slightly uncomfortable, without something to cradle in his arms, but he makes do. Tension slowly releases from his shoulders as he curls up and suckles idly. But, even in the low light of room, it draws Price's attention.

Ghost looks up when his name is called, thumb still firmly in his mouth. It doesn't occur to him that it was a little strange, that he had an image to upkeep. He had been scared and stressed, and now he wasn't. He was fuzzy and safe, and he liked sucking on his thumb because it soothed him. He didn't know how to self-soothe otherwise.

Price's eyes soften when he meets them. "C'mere, luv," the man whispers. He scoots further back on the old cushions— leaving, perhaps, enough room for Ghost to squeeze in next to him. He leaves the pillow but brings the blanket with him.

He tucks himself into the man's chest with ease. It felt natural, this vulnerability. Price kept him safe out in the field, why wouldn't he do so here? He was warm, too. Ghost liked that. He did complain, though, when Price pulled his thumb from his mouth.

"Shhh, I know, kiddo. It's bad for you. I'll get you something when we're home, okay?" Ghost makes a gurgled sound of frustration. Words seemed hard. "I know. It's okay. I've got you, Simon."

Ghost snuggles up to him, leaving not an atom's worth of space between them. Price occupies himself with tucking the thin blanket back around Simon. It's cozy.

"I'll get you everything you could ever need, Si. I'm sorry I didn't know sooner."

Ghost meant to listen, but sleep was already claiming him.

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They have to debrief with Laswell when they return. For once, neither man is happy about it.

Ghost is still fuzzy. It stayed with him through his brief rest and through the hours-long ride back to base. It had something to do with his proximity to Price, he knew that much. But he was also a bit too out of it to care. He just listened to whatever Price told him to do like the good boy he was. The Captain hadn't even made him put his kit back on that morning.

Laswell's office is cozy. It's small and dim— lit mostly by the warm yellow lamp on her desk. Ghost stayed quiet while Price talked to her. He kept his hand sneakily folded in his lap, and his feet planted firmly on the floor. He wanted to swing them, but his legs were too long for that. It upset him. He stared at the old scratches that covered the ancient wooden desk. He thinks he spots termite damage, even.

Ghost startles when he hears himself be addressed. He looks up at Laswell, eyes wide and curious through the mask.

"Anything to add, Ghost?"

Simon blinks helplessly at her. What had they been talking about? Price didn't say he had to pay attention...

The Captain clears his throat. "Errr, maybe not the best time, Kate. Just—" Price looks worried, gaze frantic. It makes something tug in Ghost's chest.

"Dada?" It's small, quiet. So quiet even Ghost could hardly hear it and he said it. But the man looked afraid and Ghost didn't like that. Had he done something wrong?

Across from them, Laswell sighs. "You should have just said so, Johnathan. Would've saved us all a lot of trouble." The woman stands, heading to one of the meager shelves behind her desk. She retireves something from it, but Ghost can't spy what it is. She keeps it hidden behind her back.

Laswell kneels down in front of him. He keeps his hands in his lap— still good. He doesn't swing his feet because he doesn't want to kick her. She smiles. "I've got something for you, kiddo. Think you might like it."

Ghost perks up at that. He's almost completely forgotten about Price beside him. His fingers squeeze in excitement as a high sound squeezes past his vocal cords.

Laswell presents him with a teddy bear. It's a classic one— a warm brown, beady black button eyes, velvety soft fur, a light belly. It even has a stubby tail. Ghost squeaks in joy as he's allowed to take it into his hands and run his fingers upon the fabric.

"Her name's Lucy— after my wife. I think she'd really like to go home with you. Will you keep her safe for me?"

Ghost looks up at her in amazement. He's nodding before he knows it. "P'omise, mama!" It's still a whisper, but it's heard. Laswell smiles.

"Thank you, Simon. You be a good boy for your Dada and let him help you clean up, alright? And then it's naptime. Little boys need rest to grow big and strong, don't they?"

Ghost nods again. He looks over to Price, who looks relieved. Price smiles at him too.

"You ready to head out, luv?" He says. Ghost nods but pauses halfway through. He faces Laswell once more to engulf her in a hug. He buries his face in her shoulder. Her arms are firm around him. It's nice.

"Bye bye, mama."

"Bye bye, baby. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Mkay." 

Ghost preens at the kiss to his temple.

And, he does see the woman later. He wakes up to a fresh bowl of Mac and cheese, and the two people he trusted most chatting idly on the edge of his bed. Laswell even pretends the spoon is an airplane when she feeds him.

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Thinking about Virgin Ghost again (when am I not??)
Soap fucking adores the fact that he's the only one that's ever had the man. And maybe... uses his inexperience to his advantage.

Their first time, he fucks Ghost without lube or prep. "A cunt is made to be fucked, Simon. That stuffs just for men." He cums in him, too. "I have a vasectomy. All I pump into you is useless. Just fluid." Ghost says he likes the warmth of it. That it soothes the ever-present burn of being fucked.

Ghost begs to be fucked often. Says it feels better the more they do it. Soap doesn't have the heart to tell him that it's because now he's *stretched.* Soap sort of mourns the cloying tightness and the pained sobs. But, it's worth it to have him beg for his cum every time. He gladly forces himself agaisnt Ghost's cervix and pumps him full. He hopes it takes one day.

And it does. Ghost comes to him crying two months later. He's got a positive test and is nearly inconsolable. Soap's over the moon. But he doesn't act it.

"How?" He deadpans. Ghost looks at him helplessly. 

"I don't know! You said— you said you couldn't reproduce?"

"Exactly. You been fucking other men behind my back, Simon? I give you your first time and suddenly I'm not enough for you?"

Ghost clings onto him. He's never seen the man cry so hard. "No, no! Only you! Only ever been you! I don't know how, I don't know how!"

"And how do you expect me to believe you?"

"I'll keep it! I'll keep it and you'll see! It'll look just like you! Just like you, Johnny! Only ever you!"

Johnny hugs him back, then. Pats his back, kisses his scalp. "Okay, baby. I'll believe you for now. You let me figure things out with Price. We'll get out of here, get a place somewhere nice."

"For you..." Ghost murmurs. It's small, meek.

"For us."

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AU where Ghost gets Hanahaki disease after Soap is 'killed'. With each day it gets so much worse, until he's bedridden and can barely breathe. His floor is nothing but bloody petals. The others have stopped coming in to see him or bring him meals.

Until, suddenly, he wakes up to Johnny. Soap is there, over him, apologizing, begging him to start breathing again.

He's confused. Had he died? Soap was dead. He'd cradled his body... hadn't he? He'd spread his ashes.

"I promise I love you, Simon. I didn't go away cause I hate you. I'm so sorry. I'm here now. Please be okay."

Ghost goes back to sleep, but when he wakes, the only thing wrong with his chest is that Soap is snoring on top of it. He can breathe. The bloody petals surrounding him are just a memory

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Johnny's just SOOOO obsessed with Ghost and is all over him 24/7. Not even sexually necessarily. He just likes sitting on his big strong things, with his thick arms encasing him, broad hands enveloping his waist like it's nothing.... he nuzzles into Ghost's chest like a content cat, and is constantly stealing his hoodies despite the fact he swims in them. He's a fucking love-sick mess, but he doesn't care. He just *needs Ghost's attention at all times.

Ghost finds it stupidly endearing. He can't help but want to keep the bratty little thing on his lap constantly. Can't help but bury his face in Johnny's neck in breathe in that distinctly young scent. He licks into Johnny’s mouth like it's his life's passion, and leaves the poor boy in a mindless daze by the time he's done thoroughly ravishing his rosy lips. He can't get over how pliant the little thing is...

He'll definitely never forget the way "Daddy" sounds on his tongue, though.

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⚠️body image issues (weight), talk of nsfw

Ghost whose body obviously isn't the same after having Maisie. His abdominal wall is going to heal with a bit of dedicated effort, but his weight is wonky. He'd always been "thick." He didn't have the muscle definition like Soap did. He was solid . But after Maisie, that brick-wall figure turned more flabby . He lost a lot of the baby weight within that first 24 hours post-birth. But then, it started to come back. His belly dipped over all of his pants, his shirts were tight, and he found himself still wearing his maternity ones just so he didn't have to look at himself.

He still does, of course. He stands in front of the mirror and picks out every little thing he hates about himself— just as he had always done. And, as always, Johnny knows when he's needed.

Their baby girl is down for a nap (which is most of her day, honestly), and Johnny stands behind him in the mirror. His hands are on Ghost's stomach. Ghost wishes they weren't.

"So fuckin hot, Simon..."

Ghost looks away from the mirror. "No.... just, not the same."

"Fuck yeah you aren't." Johnny meets his eyes in their reflection. His hands knead Ghost's flab . "Look at this hot fuckin body. Gave us our baby, made a whole life . The hot fuckin body that belongs to the man whose my whole world ."

Simon blushes and looks away. "But it's all stretched out and broken... I can't lose weight even when I try..."

"I don't see how that's a bad thing," Johnny chuckles lowly. His hands dip teasingly. Ghost has to swat them away. "More for me to love on. Fuckin’ love when I can see how big and strong you are. Built like a God, aye...."

Ghost whines. "Quit— quit riling me up, asshole. My stitches aren't healed yet."

Johnny growls playfully. He nips at Simon’s shoulder. "Gonna worship the fuck out o’ you when they are, baby doll. Just you see."

⚠️bullying

Maisie who gets bullied in school for her very obvious birthmark on her cheek, and it's bad enough that the kindergarten teacher calls an "intervention" meeting with the proposition that they go over different ways to maybe hide it so Maisie can "fit in. "

Simon's burly, scarred ass shows up and he's not there to play. He sits there, his smile wide so it stretches and curls his Glasgow smile even more. He wears a tank top to show even more scars off. He's big and strong and intimidating, and suddenly, Maisie's no longer being bullied by her class because the staff is handling it

Soap who calls Ghost "My wife" because they think it's funny and he EXCLUSIVELY does it at the shop so all the lads think he's got this dainty girl waiting for him back home. BUT Simon says he's gonna drop by once after one of Maisie's checkups and Johnny is over the MOON. He's bragging to all the boys that his WIFE is gonna come visit him and that THEIR wives never do that.

Anyway, in walks Simon who is the BIGGEST man any of them have ever seen and they all blue screen. And Johnny just gives him and Maisie all the kisses in the world and he's SOOOOO happy to see them that he kind of forgets the other lads weren't in on the 'wife’ joke so now they just have this burly, scarred, ex-Lieutenant they're suddenly very afraid of in the shop

No one ever picks on Johnny again

Soft 🔞

Ghoap fooling around at night while Maisie is asleep in her bassinet. Not going at it really, just making each other feel good and giggling like teenagers. 

Johnny’s all over him, peppering kisses over his face, his chest, his pudgy belly. He likes sucking on Simon’s nipples just to watch the way his face scrunches while he kicks out and whines. Even if it means he gets sprayed with milk in the process.

Johnny eats him out, ruts against his thigh. They're insatiable but gentle. Just experiencing, loving. And, just as Johnny is getting close, Maisie starts crying out.

Ghost laughs as Johnny hangs his head dejectedly. But, he gets up to bring little Maisie to Simon for her feeding time. He watches, cuddled up to his side, as Simon feeds their little girl.

It's a damn miracle, it is. He could watch it all day. He knows how sweet and warm that milk tastes, how it's the thing that keeps their little girl happy and healthy this early in her development. She's so precious, suckling away because it's one of the few things she can do this early on. He's in love.

When Maisie is asleep and back in her bassinet, Ghost asks if he wants to continue their playing. But, Johnny has been sated. He's content with snuggling up on top of Simon, warm in his arms, with their Little World close by

Maisie's 100% an active girl and makes it Johnny's problem. She's papa's little angel but when it comes to daddy? she's a MONSTER. Her favorite thing to teethe on is Johnny's nose. She kicks and screams and always makes sure to pee on him when he's changing diapers. When she's older, she runs him ragged. She plays chase because she knows she can run for longer than Johnny can. She loves him to death, but god, she loves torturing her daddy

⚠️talking to dead family members

Ghost who retires with Soap just a couple of months into his pregnancy. But, as the due date and the holiday season approaches, Simon goes to visit his family's graves.

He kneels down slowly, in the space between his mother and brother's headstones. He smiles softly, hands cradling his large belly bump on instinct.

"Hey..." He whispers. "I know I said I'd bring Johnny here next time but I— I dunno. I'm not ready yet I don't know why." He ducks his head, embarrassed. The stones remain as silent as ever. "But I— I wanted to tell you, well, I'm pregnant!" He laughs awkwardly. "I'm so scared, you know? What if I fuck it all up again, what if I'm not good enough? But I... I'm so fucking elated. We're having a little girl!" He loses himself to his rambling. He only moves to sit upon his own grave, leaning against the solid stone to give his back some relief.

"Johnny named her— Maisie. I, um, I chose her middle name. Riley. Because she's going to take Johnny's last name. But I... I still want her connected to you, you know? She'll never meet any of you, but I hope you'll watch her anyway. I'm gonna try so hard to give her the life we never got. I hope it can be enough, mama."

His fingers trail upon cool crisp grass as he sighs. "I know Joseph never got a chance, Tommy. I know you never really got to enjoy your time with Beth... I'll never forget, you know? I hope this can be the chance you never got. I hope it can bring you the peace you deserve. And I know that I am the last guy that deserves redemption," he sobs quietly, "but I'll make her the happiest little girl in the world. I swear it."

He stays there a little while longer in the cool silence of the graveyard. He closes his eyes, breathes it all in, and drifts into an unanticipated slumber.

He wakes to a hand on his shoulder, worried and a little frantic. It's Johnny.

"C'mon, love. Been out here too long. Let's get you warm."

"How'd you know where I was?" Simon slurs tiredly. His limbs are a bit numb. They warm up fine against the heat of Johnny’s body.

"Because ye only ever run off tae one place, ye numpty. Now, really, c'mon. The cars runnin. I brought cocoa."

Simon doesn't know why that makes him cry, but it does. Damn pregnancy hormones.

He leaves the graves behind, then. In his head, he says goodbye to each one of them. Ghost included.

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Simon who never gets the chance to be self-conscious about his chest because Johnny is OBSESSED. Not only do his breasts help feed their child, Johnny has deemed his chest his "happy place."

After a long day at the shop, he comes home to faceplant on Simon’s chest. It's not even sexual. It's just comfortably squishy, pleasantly warm, and smells like Simon.

Of course, Johnny will play with his tits when they're having a bit of fun, but Simon prefers the casual nature of Johnny’s touches, the admiration. The way he never falters when he refers to Simon as a man. To Johnny, his chest is just a part of who Simon is. So he can't bring himself to hate them. Not when he could be cradling Johnny’s head to his chest instead. (The man only grumbles a little when they inevitably have to adjust so Maisie can be fed)

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Soap with Rich, Absent parents who are always hiring live-in nannies to care for him. They never last long because Soap's a brat and he wants his *parents*, not some cheap imitation they pay to watch him.

Eventually, they hire Ghost. Ex-military, as strong and ruthless as they come. A real no-nonsense kind of guy. He's nearing 50, and the first male they've hired, but they're running out of options. So they give him the job, tell him what to expect. As much as they can, considering they're basically strangers to their own *child*.

Ghost finds it strange that he had been told Johnny was a brat, because the kid listened to every word he said like it was his life's purpose. He supposes, maybe, these rich assholes conflate normal teenage moodiness with being a little monster. (He was nearly 16, after all. He was bound to be a bit of a brat.)

It's not until the 2nd month that Ghost catches on. He'd been heading for a bit of water late at night and had to walk past Soap's room to do so. The door is cracked ever so slightly, and Ghost can *hear.*

It's filthy. He's moaning and whining, and there's this constant *schlick* noise alongside a low hum of vibration. He plans on just walking away until he hears the kid moan *his* name. Or— Ghost, anyway. It stops him dead in his tracks and all the pieces sort of click into place. And, well, Ghost isn't the most upstanding guy these days. Not that he normally lusts after teens.

In the morning, when Johnny complains about the breakfast being the same as always, Ghost lifts his chin with a single finger. He smirks down at the awestruck boy. "Finish your plate like a good boy, and maybe we'll do something fun."

Johnny damn near gave his fork head in an effort to be *good*.

Ghost lets them watch a horror movie afterward. They weren't allowed because they gave Johnny nightmares, but, well, the kid was always asking to watch one. And, Ghost had promised a bit of *fun*.

Predictably, Johnny is pressed into his side fairly soon into the movie. Ghost isn't even paying attention to it— just the way Soap is so warm and small against his side. At the next jumpscare, Ghost coos at the boy's frightened sob and draws him into his lap. He holds him against his chest. So small against him. It's beautiful. He leans down to whisper lowly in his ear.

"You like sitting in my lap, pup?" Ghost grins as Johnny shoots up. He can see the gears turning behind his eyes. Ghost squeezes his hips.

Johnny whines. He almost looks a bit fucked out, the way his pupils dilate and his face flushes. "Ghost!"

Ghost's smug smile is lopsided. He trails a hand up slowly to rest it upon the kid's jaw. His thumb rests on the plush, pink swell of his bitten lips. "Is there something you want, pup? *speak*."

Johnny scrambles to reply. His hips buck involuntarily. "Fuck me! Oh, please, Ghost, fuck me!"

Ghost pries his mouth open with his thumb, resting thr calloused pad of it on that pretty pink tongue. "Just a little whore, hm? Does Daddy need to fuck your slutty cunt until you learn to behave?"

Johnny nods frantically— as well as he can with Ghost's hand keeping him in place. He thinks he can almost feel the way that young pussy gushes. "Uh huh! P-eash!"

Ghost tuts. "Don't talk with your mouth full, Puppy. Is it not filled enough?" He croons. "Does Daddy need to feed you his cock instead?"

Ghost *definitely* feels the way the fabric between their groins rapidly soaks at the words. Johnny's eyes roll back at the same time, and he lets out the cutest little moan.

Ghost is going to have so much fun with this gig.

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Soap does get the following day off— with zero consequences. Like it had never happened. He doesn't know what Ghost pulled and frankly, he doesn't care. Not when he was pampered and treated like a king all day. It made him giddy just to think about.

Still, being fucked senseless didn't change the fact that the problem still existed outside of the confines of his mind. He made it 2 days being harassed on the bus to and from class by Graves friends for 'ratting him out' before he broke. 2 days of being called awful things, being prodded and poked at, even being kicked and tripped. 2 days before it got to be too much and he was back at Ghost's place.

He was miserable. He felt like a rotting sack of potatoes. He walked through the door and barreled straight into the man's arms.

Ghost caught him with a huff, wrapping him up tight. "What's the matter, baby?" His voice was low— soft and sweet. So much kinder than anything he'd experienced in the past couple of days.

Soap sobbed. "I can't do it anymore! they're so mean tae me!"

"Hey, hey..." Ghost soothes. He leads them over to the couch. Soap fits so perfectly in his lap. "What's happening? How can I help?"

Johnny clings to him tighter. He's embarrassed. "Can... can ye drive me to school or something? Graves an' his friends think ah'm the one that ratted on them an—"

Ghost coos. "Of course I can, baby. You know I don't like you riding that bus anyway..."

He sniffles. "Makes me feel needy though."

The man huffs a laugh. "You know I love when you're needy." He pets a broad, firm hand over the length of his spine. It draws a shiver from Soap. "But what can I do to help you right now, Johnny? What can I treat you to?"

Soap flushes and nuzzles in closer to Ghost, as if he could hide. "You know my first time?" His voice is small, meek. He feels like he's about to implode from embarrassment.

"What about it?" It's imploring, curious. There seems to be no judgment in his words.

"After, when you— when you—"

"When I ate your pretty cunt until you passed out?"

Johnny squeaked. "Uh huh!"

Ghost chuckled lowly. His hands squeezed his hips teasingly. "Is that what you want, baby? Does Daddy need to eat your pussy to make you feel better?"

"You don't have to..." Soap whispered. 

"Oh, baby," Ghost all but growled in his ear. "But I want to."

Soap yelped as suddenly their positions were flipped. He was on the couch, legs spread, with Ghost on his knees between them. He flushed, but he had no time to respond when deft fingers were already tugging his pants down. He let the man undress him, staying quiet as he did. It was all still so much for him. The embarrassment was suffocating.

But, Ghost was on a mission. There was no time to be embarrassed. His tongue was warm and wet when it licked a stripe up his t-dick.

Soap's hands flew to grip Ghost's slicked-back hair as his thighs immediately clamped shut. He whimpered as the feeling didn't stop. Ghost kept going, dipping down lower to glide between his slicked folds. The tip of his tongue teased at his entrance, but he didn't do more than that— yet.

Johnny threw his head back, eyes squeezed shut with a long moan, as lips sealed around his cock and sucked. Had he ever felt this good before? He felt close to bursting already.

Ghost's hands reached up to drag him closer to the edge of the cushions. He mewled at the sudden change in angle, the man seeming to pick up the pace. 

That knot behind his navel snapped with a sudden cry. He squirmed, gripping Ghost's hair tighter, but he didn't stop. Ghost kept lapping at him like a man starved, swallowing down the creamy grool of his orgasm. His tongue speared Soap open, then, licking at his walls as if in search for more. 

Soap kicked out, the pleasure zinging through his veins seemingly dialed up to eleven. It nearly hurt in its intensity. But, he had asked for this. Ghost knew how to take care of him.

His second orgasm hit him like a freight train— and a hell of a lot sooner. He thrashed through it, likely giving Ghost a headache with how tightly he squeezed his thighs together. He pushed desperately at the man's head. It was so much— too much. He felt like he was going to break.

Ghost pulled away, but he didn't go far. "One more, baby. C'mon. Want you to squirt for me."

"...Squirt?" Soap whined.

The man just laughed before diving back in.

Johnny's back arched at the sudden return of stimulation. The short break seemed to have made it worse.

He all but screamed, hips bucking as his third orgasm barreled through him with more intensity than the last two combined. But he didn't squirt. So, Ghost didn't pull away.

Ghost's hand drifted to push over his lower belly, over his bladder. Soap didn't notice it in his desperate attempt to thrash away from that wicked tongue.

He did notice it, however, when the suckling of his cock didn't just release the orgasmic pressure brewing behind his navel.

Ghost finally pulled away then. His face was soaked. He was glistening in the lamplight of the room. Soap sobbed in mortification. ''I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" His face was buried in his hands, taking refuge in the soft fabric of his sleeves.

Ghost cooed. "Don't be, baby. That was exactly what I was looking for. Love it when you squirt for me. You make the prettiest face and the sweetest sounds..."

Soap peaked at him from over the tips of his fingers. "...Ye think so?"

Ghost crawled over him, thick arms bracketing him in. "Oh, Johnny. There's so much I want to draw from you..." The man was practically purring. "Do you want to see? Do you want to give me all of you? I'll make you feel so good you see stars... Just say the word."

Soap was exhausted, fighting the pleasure still simmering in his veins from four orgasms in such a short period. Yet, his legs spread wider on instinct. He thinks he'd let Ghost do anything. He thinks, too, that the man knew that.

As it turns out, seeing stars gets him to piss all over the couch. Twice. Soap can't even be embarrassed about it when Ghost praised him for it every time. (He does feel bad for the cleaners, though.)

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You know what I want? I want immortal eldritch monster Soap who gets shot in the fucking head and walks it off like nothing. Who takes the bullet and slowly turns to Makarov, eyes dark and blazing. I want him to giggle, to smile so wide it can't possibly be human. And then I want him to cackle and tear Makarov to shreds in the blink of an eye

And then he fucks Ghost silly or something idk I didn't get that far in my thought process yet. Definitely want Ghost to see Soap turn into something incomprehensible and get so horny about it he bluescreens

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High School AU or whatever. Big senior football player Ghost who goes through girls likes its *nothing* 

In comes Jenny MacTavish who everyone's pities. She's bright and fiery, and just a naive freshman who thinks Ghost cares about her.

Except... Ghost stays with her? They actually go on dates? They go to each others houses? Everyone is *floored*

But that's not quite the case. In reality, it's just a cover up. They're both gay— a recent realization for Ghost.

Instead, Ghost is fucking Jenny's twin brother, John. And Jenny is with Ghost's younger sister (who is also a freshman.) Because, it would be detrimental to both of them to come out as queer, it's easier to make everyone think they're straight for each other

They are good friends, but the idea of *loving* each other like that makes then laugh

Anyway, they're 100% each other's best mate at their respective weddings

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Imagine kitty hybrid Ghost just yowling for it. Clawing at doors, waking entire units. Absolutely insatiable. Doesn't matter how many times he's mounted, it's never enough for him.

So, Soap starts employing the rest of the 141 during Heat Week™️. He gets a bit of a break while the other two fuck Ghost stupid. He can eat, hydrate— force Ghost to do the same with a thick cock buried into his impossibly tight cunt.

It's still miserable, but at least, with the whole team in on it, it's a bit more bearable

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Thinking about Ghost sitting between Soap's legs again

Ghost gingerly taking each piece of food from Soap's fingers, licking off the residue, savoring each bite 

Finishing the meal and burying his face between Soap's thighs just to breathe in everything Johnny as the hefty meal settles low in his belly 

Idk, maybe Soap sitting with him on the couch later, giving his tummy a massage

Just,,, soft #GhostSoap feeding because Simon loves to give up control to him, and John loves taking care of his 

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Ghost is a nervous wreck their first time, hesitantly admitting to Soap that he's never done 'it'— ever. 

In retaliation, Soap sort of hands Ghost the reigns. He teaches Ghost how to stretch himself out— watches him do it spread out over Soap's lap. Ghost seats himself on Soap's cock, too. He's so pretty when he does it— all fluttering pale blonde lashes, flush high on prominent cheekbones. He makes the sweetest little punched-out moan when he's sat, like he can't quite believe it. His hands fidget restlessly on Soap's chest.

Soap, of course, let's him take all the time he needs to adjust. He's losing his mind, buried in the tightest, warmest thing he's ever had the pleasure of feeling, but he's not some mindless brute. He can be patient for his Simon.

Ghost whines when he finally moves. He grinds his hips in tight little circles before raising himself up a couple of inches. He makes an even louder mewl when he drops back down. 

From there, he's nearly insatiable. He builds of a quick rhythm on Soap's cock, whining and moaning and mewling— literally drooling at the feeling. And God, is he a sight. Soap could die happy here, watching Simon find new heights of pleasure while basically using him as a living dildo. Soap's not entirely sure Ghost remembers Soap is there. Not that he much cares.

Ghost lasts a surprisingly long ten minutes before his slowing riding finally halts and all he can do is grind desperately. He sobs, clawing at Soap's chest and finally— finally— acknowledges him.

"Johnny— Johnny please I can't— I need—"

Soap just laughs. Ghost looks so endearingly pathetic with tears clumped along his lashes and a flush down to his chest. He grips Ghost's hips tight, legs spreading before he digs his heels into the mattress.

Soap bucks up hard and fast, nearly unseating Ghost and drawing the most sinful moan of the night from him. He keeps at it, holding Ghost still while he pounds up into him. It's not a great angle, but fuck, Ghost seems to like it with the way his eyes have rolled back into his skull.

"Like that, baby? Needed me to fuck you? This— hah— tight virgin hole all fer me?"

Ghost just moans, fingers dragging red, bleeding lines over Soap's chest and belly. He's lost, cock bouncing heavily between them. It looks so red and needy, leaking up a storm, heavy balls slapping against Soap's pelvis with each upward thrust.

"Ye gonna come fer me? Give me your first cumshot?"

That seems to be the breaking point for Ghost. He throws his head back, back arching deliciously. His thick, uncut cock sprays sticky strings of white over the both of them. It nearly misses Soap's eye, even.

The feeling of Ghost constricting around him sends him over the edge. He cums with a low groan, fucking himself deeper in an instinctual need to breed. 

Ghost collapses on him. He's panting heavily, eyes closed. Soap just rubs a hand over his back, still seated deep within him.

"Alright, Si?"

"M not gonna be able to walk tomorrow..."

"No," Soap chuckles. "You're not."

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Ghost who struggles with taking care of himself— primarily eating. It's a constant state of unrest between the two of them, but Soap won't quit. He wants the love of his life to take care of himself— to *want* to take care of himself.

Anyway, he devises a game. Soap makes a meal. For every bite that Ghost takes of it, he's fucked for 45 seconds.

Ghost agrees, thinking that, once buried in the tight heat of his cunt, Soap will forget about everything and fuck him into the mattress. He couldn't be more wrong.

It takes three hesitant bites for Ghost to really start complaining. He tries to fuck himself on Soap's cock, but the man won't have it. He's completely pinned down— his arms are even tied behind his back. He's *helpless.* 

By bite 10, he can't take it anymore. He takes bite after bite, finishing the entire plate, and then starts *sobbing* he begs Johnny to fuck him now. To make him cum. *Anything*. Because he was good, wasn't he? He ate it all. He was Johnny’s good boy.

Soap does fuck him— but he takes it slow. He lays Ghost down on the mattress— hands now freed— and makes love to him. He cradles Simon’s face in his hands, coos the sweetest praises to him. He makes Ghost cum *twice* before he's burying himself as deep as he can go and spilling his own release.

Ghost is still crying by the end of it, but he's happy and pliant— with a full belly, too. Soap bathes them, changes the sheets, and wraps Ghost up tight in his arms afterwards. He lets Simon know that he's loved— and that he loves him even more when Simon loves *himself*

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As Ghost and Soap grow closer, Ghost's walls begin to crumble around the head-strong Sergeant. They're practically attached at the hip, and Ghost finds himself in Soap's room more often than not.

It started as an excuse. He was there to monitor Soap as he worked on some reports to make sure they actually got done. Slowly, the excuses dwindled until there were none at all.

Now, Ghost often found himself curled up next to Soap, watching him sketch magnificent little things in his journals. Or, he really would keep the man company through boring paperwork. Ghost would curl up on Soap's bed, maybe with a book or to mindlessly scroll social media he never much cared about.

But, slowly... that soft side began to show itself. His head would drop to Soap's shoulder when he drew. He'd let himself slouch to make it work-- to make himself feel smaller than Soap. When he curled up on the Sergeant's bed, he found himself clutching his pillow to his chest and letting that soothing cedar scent lull him into sleep. Until, suddenly, he had no walls at all. His thumb would travel to his mouth on instinct, he'd blink helplessly at Soap when asked a question, and all he wanted to do was be held like a child.

The first time Soap... caught him went surprisingly well. He had taken a nap again, far too comfy on Soap's cot for his own good. The pillow was gently being removed from his grasp and he whined indignantly. He was still half-asleep when he cracked his eyes open. He was met with Soap's soft smile.

"Shhh, Simon. I'm sorry. Jus' trying tae get us both comfy."

Reluctantly, Ghost lets Soap take the pillow and situate it at the head of the mattress. He lets Soap maneuver him until his head is on Soap's chest, too. It's comfortable, resting atop his heartbeat. His eyes fall shut again as he gives yet another gentle suckle to the thumb still in his mouth. 

"Go back to sleep, bug," Soap whispers. His fingers in Ghost's curls are nice. He lets himself sink into the warmth. It's just Soap, after all. Soap would never hurt him. That's his Johnny. "Good night. I love you."

"Ni-ni 'nny," he slurrs around his thumb.

His dreams are pleasant that night. They're filled with immovable warmth and bright blue eyes.

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Ghost feels so safe around Soap that he doesn't even realize regression had become a part of their little routine. Often, he had sought out Price or Laswell when they were available and he couldn't quite get his head straight— but this was different. So very different.

And, to his credit, Soap took it in stride. He never flinched— at least not in a way Ghost could detect— when faced with a much... smaller Simon. He was the best at it, in fact.

Soap transitioned so easily from their normal banter into getting Simon comfortable and happy. they'd watch kids shows together, play board games, snuggle— even color! It was all done with such ease that Simon never questioned where Soap got any of it. Soap presented it normally, so Simon felt normal about it.

And, really, who was Johnny to resist spoiling his partner?

He got Ghost these cute little juice cups with characters on the lids. He ended up refilling them with water most of the time because juice was too sweet for Ghost's tastes, but Simon liked the characters.

His favorite was the sharks. Cute, brightly colored cartoon-y ones. Simon wasn't sure what media they were from, but he liked them anyway. Especially when Johnny started calling him his little shark. It made him preen.

Now, Ghost had all the softest pajamas to choose from, the best cups to drink from, the coolest books to color in, and Johnny had even gotten him little toy cars to play with.

It was so seamless. It was all untraceable when Simon was big. Nothing changed between them, then. But, at the first hint of Ghost falling soft and sweet, Johnny was ready. He drew his favorite things out of thin air, he swears. So kind, so caring, so gentle.

He loved his time with Johnny so much that he never realized he was pulling away from Mama and Dada. He didn't go visit them as much, anymore. He still kept Lucy close at hand, of course. And, when he was feeling brave he'd bring out the pale blue pacifier Price had gotten him. But he loved his time with Johnny. Big Ghost wanted to spend 24/7 in the man's orbit. Why wouldn't Little Simon want the same?

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It starts as a massage— innocent, loving. Ghost had had a rough go of it recently, and Soap wanted to do something nice for him. And it is nice. Ghost is lax and pliant— syrupy like wax beneath Soap's skilled hands.

He's startled out of his relaxation by fingers digging into the sole of his left foot. Ghost arches up with a moan, leg pulling back on instinct— but Soap doesn't free him from the sudden burst of sensation licking up his loins.

"That feel good, baby?" Soap purrs. It's saccharine, predatory. He digs his thumbs further into the arch of Ghost's foot. "You didnae tell me ye liked yer feet played with."

Soap was relentless, giving every inch of Ghost's foot his all. Simon whined and moaned. He didn't know why it was so different, why it felt so good. But he was as hard as a rock and felt fucked-out just from the feeling.

When Soap wrapped his pretty pink lips around his big toe and sucked? Ghost was out for the count. He came untouched with a loud moan— toes curling, back arching off the bed. He was a mess, just from a little foot play.

Soap smirked down at him. "Well, now ah know how to get ye to behave when yer brattin, hm?"

Ghost was too busy panting like a bitch in heat to respond.

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Maisie is attached to Simon’s hip— that's as clear as the sky is blue. She loves her Papa more than anything. But, it's not *Simon* she finally goes to after the first few weeks of Kindergarten.

It's late one evening. Simon had gone to bed and Johnny was just washing a few things up in the kitchen before he went as well. Maisie should have been asleep hours ago. But, there she was.

"Daddy?" Her voice is meek. Maisie has never been a *meek* girl.

Johnny drops everything to dry his hands on his shirt and kneel down in front of her. "Hey, bug," he coos. "What are you doin up?"

Her little fists squeeze, and she looks to the side. Johnny thinks she looks so much like Simon when she does that. He can't help but smile despite the worry festering in his chest.

"I— the—" she can't quite get the words out. She stomps her little foot.

"Hey, hey," John soothes. "It's okay, princess. Take yer time. It's just you and me here, okay?"

She takes another moment, chews on her bottom lip. "...why is my cheek all messed up?"

Johnny’s heart *breaks* for. She'd never *mentioned* being bothered by it before. He and Simon had taught her to love every bit of herself.

"Can I tell you a secret?" He whispers. He sits down and pats his thigh. Maisie crawls into his lap easily. Johnny never wants her to grow up.

"Mhm."

"This little mark," he pokes the red-purplish splotch on her left cheek, "means ye were kissed by an angel before you came out o Papa's tummy."

She looks up at him, blue eyes full of wonder. "An angel? Why?"

He wipes a stray curl away from her eyes. "Because yer special, bug. Now, every time ye look in a mirror, you can be reminded that you've got someone looking out fer you. That you are *loved*."

His little girl sniffles and Johnny draws her close. She always fits so perfectly against his chest, no matter how big she gets. "Me an Papa love every part of you, Maisie-girl. Angel kisses and all. Okay?"

She doesn't respond verbally, but she nods. That's good enough for him— for now. He'd be talking to Simon about this later.

"C'mon, pumpkin. Let's head to bed. A little birdie told me yer Papa is in need of some Princess cuddles."

Her resounding giggle soothes his soul, if only a bit.

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After #GhostSoap retire and have Maisie, I think Simon retires the mask without looking back. He keeps it around, shows Maisie what it is, what it's looked like over the years, but he doesn't put it back on. He wants his little girl to recognize her Papa in old photos, but Ghost retired when Simon did. Hell, when that first pregnancy test came back positive.

It's a shock to Johnny after so long of Simon’s face being a privilege, but he gets it. They're not hiding, anymore. They're not fighting for their lives. There's no one to intimidate, to become the "boogeyman" for. It's just them in the small suburban area with their darling Little girl. There's no need to mask that.

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It's movie night. Price is laid back in a recliner, proper old man style. Gaz has taken the couch that's front and center— splayed out and hogging it like the bastard he is. Soap would complain, if he wasn't on the loveseat with a lapful of Ghost.

Simon, the cheeky bastard, played it off as having a 'rough day.' He didn't want to participate anyway (he hardly did, truthfully), but it wasn't a secret that he and Soap were *together.* So, Ghost clinging to him wasn't entirely *unusual.*

Ghost was quiet, face buried in Soap's neck. Johnny is sure the others have written it off as another aspect of a 'bad day' but Soap knows. Knows, because he's the reason behind it.

He's got Ghost's pants unbuttoned and pulled below his ass. They're covered with a blanket, so Price and Gaz are none the wiser. He's got two fingers shoved into Simon’s dripping cunt, playing with his g-spot. His thumb is rubbing tight circles over Ghost's throbbing t-cock.

If Ghost opens his mouth to so much as *breathe*, he's going to *moan*. It's hard enough staying still.

Maybe, they get a little brave, too, once Soap has determined the other two aren't even glancing their way. Soap unbuttons his own pants, slips his cock out, adjusts until Ghost is sinking onto it with a muffled gasp.

Then they sit there, Soap's fingers jerking Ghost off fast and quick— never stopping no matter how many times he gushes around Johnny’s cock. Soap just enjoys the feeling of a tight, wet, undulating vise around him.

Movie night is a hit, Soap thinks. They should do this more often. Ghost is cute when he can do nothing but *take it*

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Domestic #GhostSoap where Ghost stays up late at night after Soap has already gone to sleep to try and teach himself to cook because he knows Soap doesn’t mind but god dammit it he wants to be able to cook his husband a good meal

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Ghost spent so long running from himself he became just that— a Ghost. It wasn't until Soap came along that the cracks in his rigid walls began to splinter.

Soap had no problem worming his way into Simon’s heart. It was like he belonged there. But they were still on the run, still fighting for their lives every day. There was still no time for Ghost to discover who Simon was.

It's not until they're forced to retire when they discover Simon is pregnant, that Ghost ever gets the chance. When they step foot into their new quaint suburban home, Ghost hangs up the mask. It's just Simon, now. Confused, scared, heavily pregnant Simon.

The rest of the pregnancy is spent getting used to settling down, rather than discovery. They learn that Simon likes the right side of the bed. That Johnny likes to sleep with two pillows beneath his head and another between his knees. They learn that Johnny rather enjoys cooking, and Simon enjoys helping even more. Simon learns he loves the holidays after all, when their little Maisie is born early Christmas morning.

As Maisie grows, so does Simon— Johnny, too. Simon learns he quite likes putting effort into his appearance. Not quite as much as he enjoys dressing Maisie up, but it's a start. He likes his sleek sweaters and nice pants. He's got belts with fancy buckles, a small gold chain— even pierced his ears. He likes shopping and trying new restaurants. He picks up crocheting. He bakes. He feels like a person. 

He stopped running, stopped hiding. He let himself blossom instead, right beside Johnny and their little girl. His dumb punk husband and their princess.

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As per usual, Ghost is lounging on the couch when Soap slips in the door. It's part of the man's evening routine, after all. He's so regal, sprawled out in his silk lounge wear on his sleek red couch. He smiles when he sees Soap. It makes his heart flutter.

"Hey, baby," that low accent rings. Ghost doesn't move to get up, just shifts to make enough room for Johnny to settle in next to him.

Soap does, after setting the takeout containers in his hands down on the coffee table. Ghost croons lowly at Johnny’s warmth against him— as if purring.

"What's this?" He asks. Johnny flushes.

"I— I got us food from yer favorite place." Ghost’s hand is in his. He traces the familiar calluses. "I know ye've been facin’ some *attention* from driving me tae class and— so—" He shrugs helplessly. "Thank you an' I'm sorry, ah suppose."

Ghost sits up, the couch creaking with the movement. He wraps his broad arms around Soap and presses his face to the hollow of the man's throat. "There's nothing you need to apologize for, Johnny." A kiss is pressed to Soap's temple. "You let me worry about press, okay? That's not something you need to concern yourself with."

"Okay," Soap whispers. "I'll try."

Another press of lips— to his forehead, this time. "Thank you. Let's not let perfectly good food go to waste now, hm?" Ghost says it with one of his famously disarming smiles. Soap melts right on the spot. Oh, how he loves this man.

They eat on the couch, not bothering to get up. It's strangely domestic, he thinks. It's lovely. He sort of wishes he could have this all the time. Especially when Ghost licks a bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth and then kisses him senseless.

This time— once they're sufficiently full— it's Johnny that really initiates things. He crawls into Simon’s lap, begs for kisses and moans sweetly all the while. Ghost indulges him, for a while. Until Soap is so needy he's rutting down in little circles in search of anything.

Ghost chuckle is a low vibration that sends heat to Soap's core. "What do you need, baby boy? What can Daddy do for you?"

Soap moans at that. Stupid Johnny and his stupid parental issues. "Wanna sit on your cock, sir." His eyes flutter as Simon’s hands squeeze his hips. "Never— never get tae appreciate it when yer fuckin’ me."

Ghost bucks up into him. He can feel the hard press of his erection straining below his aching cunt. It’s heady. "Yeah?" Ghost purrs. "You want to be a good boy and warm Daddy’s cock?"

Johnny nuzzles into his throat, nodding. "Uh-huh. Need it—" He flushes. "... Daddy."

Ghost coos. "C'mon. You can say it better than that, little one."

"Daddy!" Johnny says louder. He ends it with a moan when Ghost ruts against him again. "Daddy, please! Need it so bad!"

"That's better. C'mon. Stand up. Let Daddy see all of you."

Reluctantly, Soap stands before the man. Ghost doesn't waste any time stripping him. He's naked in a matter of moments, Ghost's hands squeezing his chest and flicking over his sensitive nipples. He's only left alone for a second, so the man can fish his cock out. It's still just as monstrous as Soap remembers.

Ghost goads him into his lap all sweet-like. He's petting Soap's flanks, kissing up his neck, licking over a perky nipple. Soap almost doesn't notice when the blunt head of his thick cock is prodding at his cunt. He certainly notices when he sinks down onto it when he leans down to give Ghost a kiss, however.

He throws his head back with a moan, eyes wide at the sudden stretch. Ghost's hands on his hips drag him down the rest of the way until Johnny’s cervix is being battered and his eyes are rolling back.

Soap half expects Ghost to fuck him, now. To forget about the little game he proposed. To breed him so good he pees— again. But Ghost is a man of strong will.

"That alright, little one? Daddy's cock snug enough for you?"

Johnny’s head falls onto Ghost's shoulder. It's all he can do besides drool helplessly at the feeling of being so full. Ghost croons.

"Is it too much? Here, your legs must be aching, baby." It's deceptively sweet, and Soap figures out why when those large hands are forcing his pelvis flush with the base of the man's cock. He cries out, thrashing, at the familiar agony of being breeched. It's so much, too much, but he's helpless to do anything but sit there like a pliant doll.

"That's better, hmm?" A hand crawls up Johnny’s back to basically scruff him. His vision is blurry when he's forced to meet Ghost's eyes. "Do you appreciate it yet?"

Johnny can only close his eyes and moan when fingers enclose his little t dick and start rubbing. He doesn't even have the energy to buck.

"I know, little one," Simon sighs wistfully. "It's just so much, isn't it? But that's why you're Daddy's little one, hm? A perfect little sleeve for me to warm my cock."

 Johnny doesn't know why Ghost has fixated on this new pet name, but he can't say he minds. He does feel small, compared to Ghost. The man is just so big. There's no denying that. He's but an ant in comparison. He feels floaty, safe. Like he could let go right now and everything would be okay.

He startles when he feels fabric being laced over his arms.

"Shhh, baby," Simon soothes. "You looked cold. Daddy's just dressing you up." Johnny cracks his eyes open to see a familiar black hoodie. It's one Simon usually had lying about because it was warm and comfortable.

Soap let himself be draped in it. It had that sharp woodsy smell Ghost carried around, and it made him feel even softer— lighter, like he could float away. The burning stretch of his cunt and cervix didn't even bother him now. It was a pleasant weight in him. He could sleep like this.

Ghost's hands guide him back to nestle against the man's chest. "It's alright, little one. Daddy's got you."

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Puppy hybrid Soap who doesn't listen to Ghost and ends up getting absolutely filthy so Ghost scruffs him and washes him in a big sink like an actual mutt because "if you're going to act like a real dog, you're going to be treated as one" and it makes Soap so horny he cums untouched while getting his ears cleaned send tweet

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Soap who wants to get Ghost "into the Christmas Spirit" so Ghost reluctantly agrees.

Ghost ends up with his hands and legs tied together with Christmas lights, and a plastic ornament stuck in his mouth like a ballgag. Soap even hung mistletoe above their bed. He's fucked within an inch of his life— until he can't even remember his own name, just the feeling of Johnny’s cock inside of his fluttering cunt.

Anyway, Soap unties him hours later, throughly fucked out. He gives him a massage, wraps him up in soft blankets, and makes him a mug of cocoa. They open presents afterwards while Ghost is too sleepy and sated to feel guilty for Soap spending money on him.

Soap fucks him to sleep after, too. Missionary, slow, and sweet. It's the best Christmas Ghost has ever had

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Yknow the classic "strapped to a sybian?" That but it's Ghost tied to Soap's face

He's been locked in place with intricate knots— could hardly arch his back if he wanted to. Price and Gaz are there, petting his flanks, combing their fingers through his hair. They're telling him what a good boy he is.

Soap is below him, wreaking havoc. It was common knowledge that Soap would live with his face buried in Ghost's cunt if he could, so he was in his own personal heaven.

He was a God with his mouth, Ghost swears. He can't keep track of how many times he's cum. His abdominal muscles feel loose— like he couldn't tense them if he tried. And, his legs are numb in the jelly way, where pleasure has zapped his motor functions. It's all he can do to stay conscious as slick lips seal around his little cock once more to draw another orgasm from him.

Maybe, they're there for so long that Ghost really does lose all control. Pisses all over Johnny's face and moans through it because he can't tell the difference anymore. Soap swallows as much of that as he can, too. And still, he doesn't stop. His jaw is sore, his lips ache, his tongue is numb, but he keeps going. And Gaz and Price watch on all the while. They're hard as a rock, but fuck, they don't want to miss a moment of this show

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I was slapped across the face with the mental image of big broad Santa Ghost and Tiny Helper Elf Soap

Just,,,, Soap who can't even hope to deep throat Ghost cause his throat is too small but does his best and gags and whines and can't get much more than the tip into his mouth.

Soap who's got the tightest little cunt that Ghost loves to fuck but he's so small that Ghost can barely fit half of it into him. He can take more up his perky little ass but still, no part of Soap can fully take Ghost. He's so fun to play with because two of Ghost's fingers has him squirming and squirting easily.

He's the cutest little elf that never leaves Santa's side

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Single parent Soap whose partner walked out on him and Ghost a year prior. It's been rough, and Ghost has been both overly clingy and very distant. Like he can't decide if he wants to hate everyone because Dad left, or if he wants to make sure his Mom doesn't leave either because he's terrified of being alone. He's only 14, after all.

Recently, however, Simon has been dealing with this... problem. He knows a little about sex from school, but actually waking up and experiencing his dick being hard is different. He doesn't... really know what to do. Sometimes he can ignore it and go back to sleep. But, other times like now, it frustrates him so greatly he can't.

Nothing he tries works. It's never enough, and ends up just making him more frustrated. Even now, all he was doing was whining into his pillow as his hips canted pathetically down into his mattress. It was good, but he wasn't getting anywhere and he kind of wanted to cry.

He thinks his heart stopped when his bedroom door opened.

"Simon, baby? It's awfully late fer you to be makin' all this racket. Are you alright?"

Simon tried to scramble up. Tried to cover himself with his discarded blankets-- but it was already too late.

"Oh!" His mom announced. The man laughed awkwardly at Simon's flushed state. "Sorry to have interrupted ye. Should 'ave guessed that."

Simon couldn't look him in the eyes. He was mortified. "It's fine, mom," he mumbled. "Wasn't gettin' anywhere anyway..."

Johnny makes this crooning sound as he approached the bed and sat next to him. It felt pitying. "What do ye mean by that, Si-Si? You know ye can tell yer Ma anything, right? I'm not here to judge you or make ye feel bad."

Against his better judgment, Simon leans into him. It'd be a few years yet before he hit his big growth spurt and outgrew the man. So, for now, he still felt small and safe next to him.

"I don't know how to..." Simon squeezes his eyes shut, fingers twitching. "Nothing feels right. It's... frustrating."

Johnny makes another pitying noise and then he's moving. "That's alright. Here, let me..." And then his hands are reaching under the blanket to grasp Simon's still rock-hard prick. 

It fits perfectly in his mom's sinfully warm hand, small enough that his uncut tip barely peeks out of the top of his fist. He whines, embarrassment coursing through him. But, Johnny's on a mission. He rubs his thumb over Simon's tip as he moves the blanket to the side. It's so much more intense than anything Simon had done to himself.

"Mommy will take care o' you, hun." Johnny's words are still low and sweet. "Just lay back. I've got you."

Simon follows when a broad hand pushes at his sternum. He's lying on his back, head cushioned on his pillow, with his mom hovering above him. The man is just in his oversized sleep shirt, and perhaps for the first time, Simon realizes how... attractive he is.

Something pings in the back of his mind about how wrong all of this is. But then Johnny's pumping his hand up Simon's shaft and any coherent thought is wiped from his brain to be replaced by a strangled moan.

"Can Mommy give you a kiss?"

Simon is nodding before he can even register the words.

Johnny's lips are soft on his own bitten ones. He remembers being a kid and giving his parents kisses. Remembers his Dad's bright smile and tight hugs. Then, the thought makes him angry. He kisses harder, wraps his arms around his mom's neck. Because his mom is all he'll ever need. He doesn't need his stupid fucking father who couldn't even bother saying goodbye to his son. Johnny's tongue against his own makes him melt.

Simon is so lost in the kiss, eyes shut in bliss, he doesn't bother to keep track of what the man is doing. Just that his hand is warm around him and it's so good.

He notices, however, when something hot and slick and tight encases his tip. He's moaning, back arching, but there's nowhere to go as his mom sinks down onto his cock with ease. Tears leak from his eyes as pleasure rushes through his veins. It's so much, winding behind his navel like a snake about to strike.

"Shhh, Si-Si," Johnny soothes. "It's alright. Mommy's here. Let me take care of you. You let go whenever ye need to, okay? Shhhh..."

Then, that slick heat is moving. His mom is rising up on his knees and dropping back down. Simon is inside of him and it feels like heaven. Johnny must think so too, with the little grunts he lets out with every movement. Not that Simon can really hear them over his own desperate noises.

"Mph that's it, baby," Johnny purrs. "This pussy was made fer you. You came out of it, ye know? You can- ngh- come back in any time you like."

Simon can't handle it. He's panting like a wild animal, hands over his face to try and ground himself in the pleasure-- not that it's accomplishing much. He's a moaning, whining, drooling mess. If this is what pleasure is supposed to feel like, he wished he had approached his mom sooner.

"Mommy, I---!" He feels like he's about to burst. It's intense and terrifying, like he's about to pee. But, Johnny pays him no mind. He just grinds down onto him harder. Until stars burst behind Simon's vision and he's coming with a shout.

He comes to to his mom's arms wrapped tightly around him. His cock is soft and sticky between them, but the man doesn't seem to mind. Just pets his hair and whispers the sweetest little things to him.

"Mom..." He hums. He burrows his face into Johnny's chest. Clings to him, desperate for contact. God, he could never let his friends know how much of a momma's boy he was. They'd never let him live it down.

"I'm here," the man reassures. "We'll take a sick day tomorrow, hm? Snuggle up awn the couch and eat too much ice cream. Binge-watch all yer favorites, too."

Simon smiles. That does sound nice. "...Can we do this again?"

Johnny chuckles. "Anytime you want, baby. Mommy's here fer you. It's what mommies are for."

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It starts in the wee hours of the morning. Simon had hoped for a quaint, peaceful Christmas with Johnny but their little bundle of joy had different plans.

As much as Ghost had gotten used to all the horrors that came with *being* pregnant, *giving birth* was a whole different hurdle. He wished he could have helped Johnny gather their things so they could get into the car to get to the hospital, but truthfully he was too busy crying his eyes out. Everything hurt and he was so *scared.*

Johnny was a fucking champion, really. He got their shit, helped Simon into the car, and was on the way. He didn't tell Simon to calm down, to stop crying. He held his hand over the center console and rambled about some bomb diffusal story. It was more aid than any frivolous comforts could give.

It was a rush of doctors and nurses and *pain* once they were actually there. He knows Johnny stayed, though. Knew that familiar calloused grip anywhere.

Simon was screaming, maybe speaking. It was all so much. Too much. He was going to chop Johnny’s dick off after this. Maybe he'd print a picture of the man out to throw darts at. Johnny laughs are that. He didn't realize he had been talking aloud.

He assumes the birth goes smoothly. He was too focused on *getting her out* to focus on anything else. He actually doesn't remember the last time he opened his eyes.

But, he feels Johnny’s lips on his skin. Feels his hand trace gentle patterns over his cheeks. He feels the words against his skin more than he hears them. Little "It's over now"s and "you did it"s.

Simon balls his eyes out when he gets to hold his little girl against his chest. She's so warm, so *perfect.* She's a big girl with a purplish splotch on her left cheek. She's got a spattering of yellow fuzz atop her head. She's nothing but fat rolls and reddened skin. She's *eveything.*

He slaps Johnny's hand away when he reaches to touch her. He sniffles, curls protectively around her.

"You made me go through that you dick you don't get to touch her!" Simon's not really sure his words make sense but he doesn't care. Everything's so much right now— too much.

"Alright, baby," Johnny croons like it's the easiest thing in the world. He backs away, broad palm slipping from Simon’s shoulder— so he cries again.

"Don't stop touching me you absolute cunt!"

Johnny laughs, wraps him up in his arms. Holds him close, hums into his sweaty blonde hair. The sun's up, now. And there's snowfall. A white Christmas.

"Welcome tae the world, Maisie. Merry Christmas."

"I fuckin hate you, Johnny," Simon cries. "I'm never doing this again!"

"I know baby," Johnny laughs. A kiss is pressed to his head. "Thank you, fer bringing her into the world."

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Ghost tied up and at Soap's mercy. Unsure exactly what the Sergeant has planned for him but hard as a rock anyway.

His cock is steadily drooling over his abdomen as Soap traces teasing fingers up his limbs and over his jumping abdomen. It's slow, sensual, purposeful.

Soap grabs at his tits, first.

"Look at these. So fuckin perky and pretty fer me. Could suck on em all day." 

Ghost blushes at the crude words, but Soap moves on quickly— though not without pinching his nipples first. Ghost whines.

"And this clit. such a pretty little thing. Can I play with yer clit, baby?" Johnny’s hands are hovering over the tip of his dick, so close to touching that Ghost can almost feel the grooves of his fingerprints.

Ghost flushes a bright scarlet, all the way down his neck and chest. Soap had never done this before. Never referred to him with such... feminine terms. Ghost's cock was long and thick— long enough that reaching Soap's cervix was an easy feat. But this? Fuck...

"Please?" Ghost turns his head to the side, eyed squeezed shut in embarrassment. It's awful. It zings through him alongside a hot bolt of arousal. His traitorous dick twitches.

He can hear Soap's grin as those calloused fingers finally touch down. They're almost cruel in the way they rub expertly over the tip of his cock. They don't stray any further— like the rest of it is of no interest to Johnny. It has Ghost whining and writing regardless. He always was extra sensitive there.

"Shhhhh, baby. Mommy's got you. Such a cute little clit. Gets ye all wet when Mommy plays with it, hm?"

Ghost is leaking something fierce. But that's not what Johnny’s referring to.

There's a quiet, slick sound as Soap reaches between his own legs to gather his arousal before easily sinking two fingers into Ghost's fluttering hole. Ghost bucks up at the sudden intrusion— but he can't go anywhere. He's tied spread eagle with his hands cuffed to the headboard. He's well and truly trapped. 

"See? So wet ye suck me right in. Bet I don't even have tae stretch you with how wet ye are. Mommy’s cock could just slip right in."

Soap's nail digs into his urethra and Ghost cries out. He's fucking himself back on the man's fingers to try and get away from the sensation, but all that does is press those wicket digits directly into his prostate.

"Okay, okay," Soap laughs patronizingly. "If ye want it that bad, Mommy will fuck you."

Johnny’s quick when he leaves. It's a well practiced motion to don the harness. He's between Ghost's legs again soon enough, girthy tan dildo resting menacingly next to Ghost's own cock.

"See? Got Mommy so hard fer you, watching you squirm. Mommy's gonna play with yer pretty pussy now. Breed you nice and full."

Soap doesn't give Ghost time to respond— time to process the thought of being bred. Soap is sinking into him easily, silicone slicked with the Sergeant’s own arousal. It's heady, the uncaring burn of the stretch. Ghost just mewls and takes it, nails digging crescents into his palms.

"Fuck yeah, baby. Fit Mommy like a glove," Soap purrs once he's seated. He drapes himself over Ghost, rucks Simon’s hips up into his lap as much as the rope allows. Then he's off, hips fucking into Ghost like it's the best thing on earth.

Ghost shrieks, thrashing and moaning and desperately crying out— for more or to stop, even he's not sure. Soap coos in his ear all the while. Filthy things like "yer pussy's so wet fer me I bet I could slip another cock in here" and "nothing but a breeding bitch, hmm? You just need yer clit played with and yer pussy fucked and yer the happiest girl in the world."

Of course, Soap calls him a good girl first. It startles Ghost so thoroughly he's cumming untouched with a cry. Obviously Soap doesn't stop. He just laughs, croons, and then those wicked fingers are rubbing at the tip of his oversensitive cock again.

"That's it, baby girl. Squirt fer Mommy. Maybe I'll cum in ye then."

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The first time Maisie really, truly asks about Simon’s scars, she's six. They both knew it would happen eventually— it was an inevitably with how many visibly painted Simon’s form.

"Papa?" She asks all cutely. Her head is tilted, baby blue eyes wide. A stray blonde curl swoops in front of them, fallen from her pigtails.

"Yeah, bug?" Simon smiles at her, always open to whatever his baby girl needs. They'd been having a tea party.

"Why's your face marked up?" She doesn't quite have the word for scars yet. Simon knows what she means. His smile turns sad. He pats his lap.

Maisie crawls up to him easily. She's always nestled well against him. He hopes that never changes.

"Your Papa hasn't always been your Papa," he starts slowly. She's only six, after all. "I've done a lot of bad things, met a lot of bad people. I've been hurt by those people— hurt them back, too. Stuff like that leaves marks."

"But where was Daddy? Daddy says— says can't be hurt when loved."

Simon presses a kiss to the top of her head to quell the tears threating to choke him out. "I didn't always know Daddy, baby. Papa was alone for many, many years before your Daddy came and swept me off my feet."

"Oh," she says plainly. She doesn't quite get it— she won't for many years yet. She's only a kid, and her perspective is limited by endless love and care. "Then Daddy made things better?"

"Daddy made things better," Simon confirms. He squeezes his little girl tight. Her pudgy arms wrap around his neck.

"I love you, Papa. Now you can't be hurt– uh– twice!"

She goes back to her tea party, giving a helping of imaginary liquid to her prized stuffed bear. She pays no mind to the palm pressed to Simon’s mouth to quiet the sob that aches to burst forth.

Little Simon Riley's come a long way from the boy who cowered under his father's tyranny. He hates most of it but truthfully? He wouldn't change a damn thing if it meant getting to have his happy baby girl at his side. For a single smile, he'd do it all again a million times over.

"Papa? Can I have a biscuit?"

"Another one? Your Daddy's gonna kill me..."

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Before Soap, Ghost didnt bottom— the few times he was brave (and inebriated) enough to have sex. But there was something heady about the Scotsman. Something that made Ghost wet at the thought of having him in him.

So, when the time finally came that they were falling back onto Ghost's bed in his quaint flat, he never mentioned topping. Instead, he let Soap shed his layers with reverence. The man kissed over every inch of revealed skin like it was his life's purpose. He ran his thumbs over the thick scarring under his pecs, and kissed the one that split his lower abdomen.

Ghost couldn't even use a crude phrase like eating him out to describe the worship Soap performed with his mouth. His tongue was wicked, pressing over spots Ghost didn't even know he had. And he did it all without prompting— treated Ghost like a king because that's what he wanted to do.

Soap didn't relent until Ghoat had cum on his tongue alone. He was a panting mess, mind empty with pure bliss. He clawed at Soap's shoulders, heaved him up, and licked the taste of himself from the Sergeant’s mouth. Soap just laughed, rock-hard cock rutting between Ghost's slick folds.

"Johnny," Ghost grunted as the head of Soap's length ground against his aching t-dick. "Need you in me."

Ghost thinks his mind broke when Soap finally slid in. He can't recall the last time he truly had something in him that wasn't during— 

It wasn't something he had even enjoyed the thought of until Johnny.

"Move!" He moaned lowly, back arching. He pressed up into Johnny, begging the man to move. The bastard just cooed.

"Hush, Simon. Let me enjoy this. You're as tight as a fuckin' virgin." Soap's voice was a low rumble in his ear. And, for some reason, that had Ghost's brain melting right out of his ears.

He goes boneless under Soap, sinking right into the pillows. His whole world is narrowed down to the warm line their sweaty bodies create, and the thick cock spearing him open. It's bliss— utter bliss. He's never felt more safe, more protected, more right. Each rock of Soap's hips into him feels like coming home. It's the best thing he's ever felt and he never wants it to end. He wants to lay right here forever, eyes closed, in total tranquility.

He whines when he feels Soap's hips come to a slow stop. Calloused hands are on his face, goading him to open his eyes with sweet words.

"C'mon, baby. Come back tae me.."

Ghost makes a distinctly displeased sound, but he opens his eyes. He whines again when Soap still doesn't move.

"I know, I know," Johnny murmurs lowly. "Are you okay, baby? Are you... enjoyin' this? You've just been laying there. Ye know you donnae have tae force yerself fer me ri—?"

"Shut up," Ghost groans. Soap shuts his mouth with an audible click. "Feel so good my— my brains melted away. S like..."

Something lights up in Soap's eyes, then. He looks soft. "You didn't tell me you were a sub, Si. It's okay. I'll take care o ye."

Ghost makes a startled sound, gaze narrowing. "What..?"

"Do you... not know?"

Ghost looks away, face heating. "I don’t... I don't bottom for anyone." Soap grunts, but Ghost doesn't let him speak yet. "Then you had to come along and make me want something I thought was ruined for me forever."

Soap kisses him, then. Soft, sweet, slow. It makes that fog creep back up on him, threatening to narrow his world down to just Johnny again.

"Do you want me to take care of you, Simon? Do you want to lay here and let me fuck you senseless?"

He moans at that, cunt throbbing in re-lit arousal. "Please, Johnny. Felt so good!"

So, Soap does just that. It's still sweet and slow, but it's what Ghost needs. He's allowed to lay there and bask in the feeling. He truly doesn't know how long Soap fucks him for, just that he's sore and aching by the time hot cum is being pumped into him and wicked fingers are working at his little cock until he squirts.

The rest is still a haze, but he wakes up warm, clean, and safe.

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Gimme sophmore Soap whose first heat hit way sooner than his peers. It strikes in Mr. Riley's English class, and everyone can smell it on him. He's held back after class, door locked, sign posted on it to go down the hall to fill in with Mr. Price's class instead.

Soap is so out of it, so needy. He doesn't even ask before he's crawling into the big, strong alpha's lap to beg him for anything. it's his first heat, and his body and mind still aren't sure what they're so desperate for. He just knows that Mr. Riley smells so good and he needs it all over him right now.

And, well, who is Ghost to resist the pretty little thing whining in his lap?

He sheds Soap's clothes with ease. Johnny lets it happen as long as Ghost rubs his scent glands over each inch of revealed skin. Ghost doesn't mind. The beast in him purrs at the act of marking this pretty little omega as his. 

Johnny’s cunt is a sight to behold. It's glistening with copious slick, already clinging to his thighs and dripping onto the wood of Ghost's desk. His little omega cock juts proudly from between his folds, tip leaking as it too begs for attention.

Ghost grins and pets Soap's flanks soothingly.

"Are you feeling better yet, Johnny?" His words are saccharine. He knows the boy won't until he has something in him.

"No!" He whines. His hips buck, another gush of grool leaking from him. "Need— I— please, alpha!"

"Shhh," Ghost purrs. "I'll help you. Do you trust me, Johnny? You're safe here, hm?"

"Anything, Sir," Johnny pants. He looks so good, face flushed, cheeks glistening with tears. His dark lashes clump together and his baby blues shine like gloss. He wants to kiss him senseless.

Truthfully, Ghost should have called the boy's parents the moment he smelt the pre-heat on him. But Simon was a selfish, selfish man. He'd been dreaming of this pretty little boycunt since the beginning of the school year. 

"Deep breath, love. Hold onto me. That's it." Ghost guides Soap's arms around his neck, scoots him closer to the edge of the desk. He doesn't give the boy any time to process the feeling of Ghost fishing his cock out before he's already forcing himself inside in one quick thrust.

Soap opens his mouth in a silent scream, eyes wide, arms slack. His cunt is tight. If Ghost had been any less forceful, he's not sure he would have been able to bully his way inside. Still, he doesn't waste any time. He grinds his hips into the boy, enjoying every centimeter of that virgin cunt, ripe for breeding.

There's a spot of blood when he pulls back, and that sight alone removes any self-control he clung to.

Johnny’s back is flat on the table within an instant. His legs are pulled high on Ghost's shoulders, folded into a mating press. Johnny just moans and takes it, heat-adled brain greatful for the thick cock spearing him open. His hips jackrabbit into the boy like he's a decade younger than he actually is. He feels renewed, spurred on by the puny little omega under him. 

Soap is a mess. He's already cum twice. There's no saving Ghost's desk from the overwhelming scent of omega slick. The silly crush he had on his hot-as-fuck English teacher feels multiplied, now that he's being fucked into his desk. He wants his brand. Wants to feel those sharp alpha canines sink into his mating gland. He begs for it even, but Simon just coos at him like he's a child.

Ghost doesn't pull out when he cums. He makes sure to fuck it into the boy as deep as possible, tip pressed right against his bruised cervix. His knot keeps it firmly locked inside, breeding the bitch like he deserves.

Ghost jerks Soap off once his knot has settled. His broad fingers pump his little omega cock until he's squirting. There's nothing left to release from the tip of his cock, but he squirts out slick and piss just fine.

Ghost does it again just to watch his eyes roll back as he loses consciousness.

Only then does he place his mark.

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Soap loves fucking Ghost's tight little throat. He likes his cunt, but god, nothing beats the way the Lieutenant gags around him as the muscles in his neck try their best to force his cock out. And Ghost lets him. Struggles, sure, but they both know Soap couldn't force the beast of a man to do anything if he tried. Ghost gets off on it just as much as he does.

Even now, when Soap's got the man's head pinned down to the mattress, hips flush with his face, balls heavy over Ghost's nose and over his eyes. Snot and saliva leaks out around his cock in copious amounts as Ghost retches. But Soap has no intention of moving. Not when that very same gagging is milking him like Simon's tight little fuckhole of a throat is desperate for his cum.

Ghost's nails rake down the sides of his thighs as finally Soap cums. Soap moans as he does, hips grinding in impossibly further, heavy balls pulsing against Ghost's face. It's also the final shove that pushes the Lieutenant's gag reflex over the edge.

Soap takes only a second to relish in the acidic feeling of hot bile leaking out around his still-twitching cock before he pulls out in a quick, fluid motion. He's not looking to kill his fleshlight, after all. Ghost turns quickly, coughing and hacking and undoubtedly staining the sheets with acrid yellow bile. Tears and snot and even more drool leak alongside the mess.

Soap just coos and pets over Simon’s hair as he heaves every last morsel that had been in his stomach. It's a shame, he thinks, that his cum was wasted so soon, but it's no matter. He gets off more knowing that it's his cock that got Ghost to heave so wonderfully. And it's Ghost's fluids he slicks his softening cock up with when he fucks it back into the man's weeping cunt— still not done fucking him senseless. Ghost complains about the burn, the hygiene of it, but they both know how he really feels when he squirts around Soap before he's even fully hard again.

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141 drinking in the rec room, perhaps a little more tipsy than they should have been considering the early start they all had the following morning. Gaz is laid out on the floor, bottle in hand, head tilted to the side in order to watch the bright colors of the old TV. Price is in the recliner, kicked back with a cigar hanging from his lips. He's a sleepy drunk, and his eyes are half-shut as is.

Ghost and Soap are tangled up on the couch, limbs slotted together impossibly in order to fit. They're slowly grinding against each other, the alcohol warming their veins and filling their cocks. Their mouths lazily crash into each other— hardly something that could be considered a kiss. Soap's fingers are tangled in Simon’s short blonde locks. Ghost's hands are wrapped tightly around the Sergeant’s back. Soap lets out these reedy little grunt with each rock, and Ghost pants helplessly as all thoughts are directed to cumming his brains out. It's hot and heavy, and the friction of their pants only makes it that much more heady. Ghost can hardly think past the arousal and the alcohol. Soap is focused on drawing every noise he can out of Ghost with as little movement as possible. It's an encompassing haze, a need, that leaves them breathless as Simon inches ever closer with increasingly desperate grinds of his hips agaisnt Soap's equally hard cock.

Price and Gaz know the activities their comrades are up to— hard not to, with all the noise— but they don't mind. They've long grown used to the close quarters, and they're too comfortable to complain about it. Besides, it's comforting knowing that they were all safe enough to let go like this. That Ghost could whine and cry as Soap grinds an orgasm from him. That Price could curl up on the recliner under a knitted blanket and conk out, not worried that one of them would die while he rested. And Gaz, well, Gaz could get shit-faced and watch dumb movies without a care in the world.

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Hi thinking of #GhostSoap again but it's impossibly needy teenage Johnny with big buff old pervert Ghost who sinks Soap onto his cock and ties them together like Soap is a baby in a wrap so Ghost can go about his daily tasks

Do you see the vision? It's fucking ruining me

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Soap's mother walked out on them young. He was no more than 3. He doesn't remember her. Ghost doesn't blame the woman. He wasn't the... best husband. Not after their precious baby was born. She knew the way he doted on Soap, the way his hands lingered a little too long. She knew, but she didn't care as long as her name wasn't attached to it. So she ran. Ghost didn't mind signing those papers.

Needless to say, Johnny grew up a spoiled little princess. Granted, it wasn't long before the kid was insisting that he was a boy, but it never changed how Ghost saw him. He'd always be Daddy's dainty little princess. He knew Soap enjoyed it, too.

Outside of the house, people cooed about what a little angel he was, how cute it was that he was attached to his Daddy's hip. He was a precious little thing with porcelain skin and wavy brunette hair that fell in shiny locks. His cheeks blushed a perfect rosy pink, and he was just pudgy enough that he was always destined to be 'cute.'

Inside the house, he was Daddy's good boy. His perfect princess. He obeyed everything that was ever asked of him— though truthfully it wasn't much. (He was spoiled.) When he listened, Daddy touched him. He was addicted to Ghost's touch. Calloused fingers on his tiny clit, Daddy's big cock splitting his princess parts open. He even liked when Daddy would grasp at his barely-there chest and suck on his nipples.

By the time he's a blossoming teen, he feels like he can barely go a second without the man's cock in him. He's homeschooled, and they make the most of it.

Soap starts off the day by suckling Ghost's cock into his mouth. It's heady, musky. It always reeks of Johnny’s pussy because they've yet to bathe from their nightly rough fuck. He suckles gently until he gets his prize, not caring if that reward is piss or cum. It fills his belly with warmth either way.

After that, it's bath time. Ghost fingers Soap open until he's a crying mess and three orgasms deep. It never gets old. But, they do get clean in the end. Ghost sits Soap on the edge of the tub and pats him dry. He puts all the fancy hair oils and creams into his silky hair, and makes sure his skin his hydrated with a good lotion. He's dressed in his best stockings then. Silky and white. Dainty little things for a dainty little boy. He never needs anything else unless Daddy feels like putting a collar on him.

From there, the rest of their day begins. Ghost picks Johnny up with ease and sinks him onto his cock. It's an easy glide, the shape of his pussy long since molded to fit the man's length perfectly. He could take it fully since he was seven— something he prided himself on.

Ghost wraps him up like a babe, then. A fabric harness wrapped around them both so Soap was snug agaisnt him and Ghost had free use of his arms. It was a more heavy-duty fabric than one meant for babies, but the concept was the same. Soap could warm his Daddy's cock all day with ease.

Ghost worked from home, so their schedule was rarely interrupted. Soap was fed from the wrap, slept in the wrap— even begged his Daddy to let him go potty. It grew harder the taller Soap grew, but he'd never get much taller than his mother— a 5'3 woman. And, compared to Ghost's towering 6'5? He was an ant.

At the end of the day, Ghost laid him out on their bed and fucked him soft and sweet. It was a slow, gentle affair. A reward for being a good boy and warming Daddy's cock all day. Then they'd eat a nice dinner, watch some TV or perhaps play a board game, before finally Johnny was pounded into the mattress until he forgot that anything else existed outside of the two of them.

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Soft silky stockings gliding up the girthy length of Ghost's hard cock. Toes pressing in and teasing along the thick vein that decorated the underside. Lifting his heavy balls to toy with them. Big toe pressing at the leaking head, gently pulling back the foreskin.

Johnny’s pretty pink glossy lip drawn between his teeth as he concentrates. His cunt is untouched and leaking between his legs, but his foot moves with reverence. Ghost sits back, letting Johnny work him over so beautifully. Pretty, dainty feet slowly drawing an orgasm from him until he's pressing that socked foot hard agaisnt his cock and rutting against it like a dog. He ruins them and sucks the cum out of the fabric. Drags each toe into his mouth to give it a lewd suckle just to see the way his little boy squirms with need. The way his pussy gushes at the wet heat around them.

Ghost stuffs the still cum-stained sock into that aching cunt and fucks it into Soap until it's dripping.

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Soap comes to when Ghost stands up. He feels the now soft cock slip out of him and he whines at the feeling. His cunt is sore, aching. It clenches needily around air. Ghost soothes him with a low croon, hand under his butt to keep him afloat.

Soap sinks into the hold. Everything is slow and murky, like he's wading through molasses. They step into the bedroom, all the way into the big master bathroom. The lighting is dim and comfortable, and Soap only startles a little at the sudden, sharp sound of the bath starting.

"I've got you, little one," Ghost coos softly. His lips are on the crown of Johnny’s head. "You're deep in it, aren't you?"

Part of Soap wants to say something. Wants to ask why this feels so much different than the usual mindlessness he experiences during their 'times' together. But he's tired and floaty, and all he does is lean into Ghost's warm embrace.

He whines once the oversized hoodie is being slipped off of him, but Ghost murmurs something sweet enough to settle him again. Johnny can't recall the words, but he knows they were nice.

The bath itself is warm. It smells like lavender and Soap sinks into it readily. His head is cushioned against the side with a fluffy towel. Ghost's hands are gentle— so gentle.

As Ghost is gently running his fingers over his scalp, massaging shampoo in, Soap finds it in himself to speak.

"Yer good tae me, Daddy..." it's low, slurred, but just loud enough to be heard.

"You're my Johnny," Ghost replies easily. "Of course I want to be good to you."

Soap blinks. It feels like an eternity passes before he opens his eyes again. The suds are being rinsed out now. "Oth'r— other Daddy wasn't so nice..." Soap doesn't know why he's speaking about this now. He'd never told Simon anything more than the bare minimum about how he ended up on that park bench.

"He wasn't, no," Ghoat replies. It's curt, but still warm. "But I'm not your other Daddy, am I, baby?"

"No." He peels his eyes open, smiles dopily up at Ghost. "Yer my Daddy."

Ghost soothes a hand over his cheek, almost reverently. "That's right." 

Soap falls into the feeling of those broad hands on him. Let's them wash away both sweat and sin. Memories. Pain. He gives a little cry, eyes closed, when a palm presses over his thudding heart.

"Want this forever," Soap mewls. He feels a bit like he's falling.

Ghost tilts his head back, prompts him to peel his eyes open once more with a tender, searching thumb under his lashes. His honey gaze feels like home.

"You can, little one. Stay here with me. You wouldn't have to search me out anymore. I could care for you, always."

Johnny sniffles. He doesn't have any walls like this, any fears. There's no feeling of being too much, too needy. it's all soft and sweet. 

"Y'mean it, Daddy?"

Ghost smiles. "I do."

Ghost's lips are soft when they meet his. He falls into it, barely kissing back as Ghost manipulates his body how he wants it. Those searching fingers find his cunt, his sore little cock. They're gentle still, but it has Soap whining, bucking up, mouth parting with a gasp. Ghost licks over his teeth, suckles on his tongue, as Soap gushes through a final orgasm of the night.

"You're all mine, baby boy," Ghost purrs. Somehow, it makes Johnny feel at home.

"All yers, Daddy."

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It started with a hoodie. Innocent, unassuming. It was casual and sleek. Ghost had gifted it to him unprompted one day. He had said he'd stumbled upon it while 'out and about' and thought Johnny would like it.

Soap didn't think much of it from there. It was a hoodie. It couldn't be that expensive, right? So, it becomes the one he rots in. It's comfortable— unreasonably so. He goes to class every day in it, washes it with extra care because it was a gift. It's all fine and dandy until one of his classmates awkwardly speaks up. Asks him how he can afford Gucci and wear it like it's nothing. They're a little confused when he's confused. But they pull it up on their phone. 2,200 for a fucking hoodie. He's mortified, thanks his classmate for being so... transparent? 

He's moody when Ghost picks him up. Doesn't look at him, buries his face in his expensive hoodie and looks out the window. It's not until they're back in the man's fucking penthouse that Soap breaks.

He slaps Ghost on the chest, lips pouty, eyes watery.

"You said ye just found it!"

Ghost raises a brow, confused.

"The hoodie, Simon! You— I— ugh!" Thankfully, Ghost gives him a moment to collect his thoughts. "I didn't— I didn't know it was so expensive."

"What's it matter?" Ghost says, ever blunt.

"Because ah've been wearing it like any old hoodie!"

"It is."

"It's fucking Gucci!"

"Yes. It looks good on you. Hardly a drop in the pocket book." Ghost's hand cups his cheek. A calloused thumb brushes away a tear Soap hasn't realized had fallen. "A nice piece of clothing is nothing, Johnny. I'll adorne you in rivers of gold if I so please."

And really, Ghost means it. It's not long before the man is treating Soap like his doll. After the fifth piece of clothing, Soap stops looking up prices for his own sanity.

Ghost loves it though. Can't keep his hands off of him, seemingly. It's almost worse than when Johnny saunters around in one of his big jackets.

Even now, supposed to be settling in after a good dinner, Ghost is insatiable. His hands skirt up Johnny’s flanks, under the cropped sweater Ghost had him in tonight. Soap can already feel his cunt clenching in anticipation, dripping for it.

Ghost is slow when he undresses him, almost sweet about it. But, he never removes the damn sweater. Instead, he seats Johnny on his cock, reclined ever so casually, and tells him to bounce.

Ghost entwines their hands when Johnny whines, props them up to give him leverage. He doesn't help past that. Just watches as Soap's inexperienced body does its best to use Ghost's cock like a dildo.

Simon praises him all the while. Calls him his 'sweet little boy,' 'Daddy's prince,' his 'little one.' Soap is flushed the whole time, embarrassed as can be as he fails to bring himself the same amount of pleasure Ghost usually gives him. Its frustrating and has him crying out, begging for more.

Ghost flips them with ease after Soap stops grinding to instead let out helpless whimpers. He cradles Johnny’s face as his hips snap forward, sweaty foreheads pressed together.

"There's my little pillow princess. Do you get it now, baby?"

"Get— nghhhh— What!?" Johnny moans.

"That I'm here to take care of you. That all you have to do is sit back and let me do the work. You don't think about price tags, or brands. You just wear it. 'cause the work's my job, isn't it?"

Ghost grinds their hips together, pelvis gliding sinfully into Johnny’s little cock. His cunt gushes around the thick cock spearing him open at the feeling.

"Mm— fuck— Daddy!"

"Answer me, sweetheart. Tell Daddy the truth."

"'M just here tae be takin' care of!" He shouts. "'M yer little one, Daddy!"

Ghost groans in his ear and, impossibly, picks up the pace.

"That's right, Johnny. And I want only the best for my boy."

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Ghost doesn't drink. He doesn't smoke. Doesn't touch anything he could ever get addicted to. Even keeps his tea caffeine free, for fucks sake. He had seen what it did to his father, the depths he had to drag his brother from. So, Simon wouldn't touch a drop.

When Soap asks what he likes, he says bourbon on instinct because that's what his father had always said. He never bought it— they were too broke for that— but he'd wistfully sigh about "the good stuff" while finishing off another six pack.

Ghost doesn't think much of it. After all, no one questioned any of what Ghost did. It's a blessing of his reputation.

But Soap has never been like the rest.

It's late when he presents it. Just them in the rec room. Ghost is having a nice warm mug before he calls it a night. He's not sure why Johnny's there until there's a bottle is being placed in front of him. A good Kentucky bourbon.

"Ye saved my life last op," he says simply. "Wanted to, you know, get ye somethin' nice."

Ghost takes it. Hopes Soap can't see the way his hands shake. "I don't need to be thanked."

"I know."

It's another few months before the untouched bottle on his desk is addressed. Johnny’s in his room, lounging on his bed. Ghost had just come from the gym. If he had to guess, Soap is trying to avoid being stacked with more work by Price. It's usually why he sneaks in unless it's the early hours of the morning.

"Hey, Lt," he grins cockily as Ghost tosses his damp towel in the hamper.

"Get lost, Sergeant?"

Soap laughs. "Maybe I did. Whose tae say?" His smile drops a bit— fidgety. "You savin' yer bottle fer a special occasion, Sir?"

Ghost stiffens, hands freezing where they had begun to pull up his ratty, sweat-soaked tank top. "I—"

"If you donnae like it you can tell me, ye know? Ah totally guessed on brand and—"

"Enough, Johnny." Soap's mouth clicks shut. "You didn't do anything wrong." Ghost sighs. Drags a hand over his eyes. "I just... lied."

"...Lied?"

"I don't drink." Ghost can't look Soap's way. "I can't after..."

"Do you want me to take it away?" Soap seems genuine, voice a little softer.

Ghost's brow furrows, he glances over at the man. "I like that you... got me something."

"Then let me do something for ye again, Si." It's still so tender. "Let me take the bottle. Trust me, yeah?"

Ghost nods. Soap squeezes his shoulder on the way out, unopened bottle in hand.

Ghost gets the bottle back. There's no bourbon in it. Instead, it's a collection of all those little rocks he sees Johnny pick up on missions. 'Something to remember the place by' Soap always says.

"Know it's not much," Soap beams when he hands it over. "But I figured my collection was getting a wee full. So now ye have something to remember, too."

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Ghost who finds a frail little wolf out in the woods. The thing is shaking out of his thin skin and Ghost's icy heart hurts for it. He knows the thing's not an animal. It's too humanoid to be. But it had been abandoned all the same.

The little wolf warms up to him quickly. Within a week, he's got a skinny, pale boy in his lap instead of the furry thing he had been before. He's still got the perky ears, the sharp teeth, the long tongue. Even a tail that swishes happily back and forth. He's a born wolf, then. Not bitten and Turned, but brought into this world.

That makes Ghost's heart hurt a little more. The creature asleep in his lap wasn't a mistake made by a rabid wolf. He had been born into a family and abandoned. God knows where the boy had come from. There haven't been wolves— sans Price— near his territory for a good decade now.

The boy does speak. Says he remembers the name John. Not sure if it's his own, but he knows it. Ghost calls him Johnny.

It shouldn't have been anything more than that. Anything more than Ghost nursing a frail child back to health and then giving him up somewhere that could care for him. But Johnny was naive, trusting. He wiggled his hips in Ghost's lap and lapped at his neck like it was nothing.

Ghost couldn't be blamed for the way his hands wandered, then. They way he drew him closer, fed every little urge the kid had. He was clearly nearing puberty (by human standards) now. He was bound to be a little... frisky.

And frisky he was.

Ghost was startled awake by a wolfish whine by his ear. The kid was shifted next to him, claws pawing at Ghost's chest, hips rutting against his flank. That little red cock peaking out of its sheath was a sight to behold. Leaking and twitching, searching for the barest hint of stimulation against Ghost's bare skin.

Simon coos and draws the kid atop him. It's no feat to kick off his trousers and help the little wolf line up. His cunt was already slick with anticipation, and it wasn't like the boy was a remarkable size. No more than three inches and about as thick as a couple of fingers. A cock fit for a little pup.

Johnny is mindless as he ruts into Ghost's tight heat. Expectedly, he's never felt anything like it. It's warm and wet, squeezing him tight and milking him for all his puppy cock has.

He pops his knot in less than two minutes. Not that Ghost was expecting him to last. Kid couldn't be more than twelve. He pets of Johnny’s spine as he catches his breath. Let's the boy soak in the feeling of properly breeding a bitch, just like his instincts want. Ghost can't be bred, of course, but Johnny doesn't need to know that.

Ghost likes the way he whines as he settles, like a proper mutt. It's probably overstimulation considering Johnny’s still hard. But, well, Ghost deposting the little wolf on a bed of pillows and sucking the soul out of his puppy cock fixes that, too.

By morning, he's created an addict of the boy. Always looking to be in Ghost's tight pussy— wolf or human. Not that he minds. He quite likes the little thing.

(And maybe, when Price and his little Turned Kyle come to visit, they learn to like the little wolf as well)

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Ghost who let's Soap do whatever he wants to his pussy. He doesn't particularly care. Often, he'll even nap while Johnny has his fun. If Soap wants his attention, he knows how to get it.

He's scrolling on his phone as Soap stuffs increasingly larger things into him. Thre stretch was nice at first but after a while it gets boring. Soap likes it though, so Ghost lets him have at it. He'll probably fuck the boy stupid with his strap later, anyway.

He notices, however, a bit of a strange movement inside of him. There's still the stretch of an impossibly big something in him, but there's a little rocking alongside it.

He sets his phone aside to look down at what the Sergeant has gotten up to without supervision.

He's got a fist in Ghost, for starters. All the way in. Christ. His cocks in there too, Ghost notices. He's fucking his own fist inside of Ghost.

It doesn't feel like much, but the image... God. That does something for him. He watches as Soap's eyes shutter and his mouth falls open when Ghost's walls flutter.

"You like that, Johnny?" Ghost purrs. "Such a slag that you ruined this tight hole so you have to improvise, hm?"

Soap's eyes open to gaze at him— lidded and hazy. "Negative, Sir," he pants. "This hole has— ngh— never been better. Should— fuuuck— see the way it stretches."

"Hmm," he hums with projected nonchalance. "Well, hurry up, would you? I've gotta piss."

"Oh please Sir!"

"Christ, Johnny. Is there anything you're not into?"

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11 year old Johnny who learns to touch himself by watching his Ex-military neighbor through the window. Their buildings line up and their bedrooms look into each other. 

Sometimes Johnny watches the man go about his morning routine with an air of fascination. If Ghost ever notices Soap, he waves with a little smile. Soap thinks he's handsome. He's got blonde hair, a strong jaw, honey brown eyes. He doesn't quite know what attraction is, but he feels it all the same.

Ghost never closes his curtains. In turn, Johnny never closes his. At night, by the man's lamplight, Soap can see him doing something.

He's always laid back on his pillows, legs spread, jeans popped open. His hand glides up and down over where Johnny knows his pee-pee is. His face pinches, mouth slack. Sometimes Ghost does it for a couple of minutes. Sometimes it's over an hour. There doesn't seem to be a rhythm for that.

Johnny gets curious. Mama said no one but his future wife should be touching his special parts, but if the man can touch his, surely Johnny can too. Ghost is a nice man. He's not a sinner.

It doesn't feel like anything at first. It's small and useless in his hand and it disheartenns him.

The next night, Ghost is at it again. It's later than usual. Johnny usually never catches the man starting. But he does, this time. Ghost is closer to the edge of his bed— closer to the window. Soap thinks nothing of it.

He watches, fascinated, as Ghost gets his hand wet. His pee-pee is a lot bigger than Johnny's, but it's still floppy when he takes it out. Ghost spends some time rubbing the head where Johnny knows he pees from. His eyes flutter shut, his face relaxes. Slowly, surely, the hand goes a little farther down. As it does, as Ghost takes his time, his special parts stand up.

That night, when Soap tries— and succeeds— he doesn't notice the eyes on him. Watching, waiting, as inevitably the pleasure of touching himself is too much for a little boy.

Two nights later, Ghost is at it again. He makes a show of spreading his legs, keeping his other hand on his pelvis, barely framing the base of his pee-pee. Soap watches with rapt attention. He's so obvious in his voyeurism, but he's just a kid. He doesn't think Ghost notices his blatant staring.

Johnny takes not of how Ghosts hip buck up, but he doesn't seem overwhelmed by the pleasure. He's open to it, enjoying it.

That night, Johnny almost orgasms. But it feels a little too much like he's about to pee, so he goes to bed frustrated. Still, he doesn't notice the eyes on him.

Ghost is at it again the next night. He's on his windowsill this time. He's still not looking Johnny’s way, but the boy can see all of him. He's already fisting his pee-pee by the 
time Johnny stumbles into his room. Ghost's head is tilted back, resting against the inlay of the window. When Soap presses close enough to his own window, he can almost hear the slick glide, the soft moans.

Johnny is eager, desperate. His special parts are already trying to stand up as a funny feeling settles in his belly. He joins Ghost, laying in his own windowsill. It's easy to pull himself out, lick his hand, rub over his tiny head. He whimpers as Ghost seems to accidentally mirror his movements, and in turn, he glues his eyes to it. He follows every stroke, every rub. He's so focused on Ghost he doesn't realize how close he is until he feels that intense need to release behind his navel.

He goes to stop, but there's a tap on the window. It's Ghost, looking at him. He nods to his pee-pee, makes a show of stroking over his own. And Johnny listens. Keeps going. Even when it's too much, when he feels like he's gonna burst, he keeps eye contact with the man. 

He lets go like that, a loud whimper falling from his lips as his legs kick out. He misses Ghost cumming, but that's alright. Soap has never felt better.

There's candy outside his window in the morning. From Simon.

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Soap fucking into Ghost's tight cunt, holding him close, hands intertwined under Ghost's chest. He's whispering in his ear as his hips pound a merciless rhythm.

"Yer such a natural, baby. My perfect submissive boy." He bites the shell of his ear, licks a stray tear off of Ghost's reddened cheeks. 

"Yer my gift from God, you know that? Something tight an' warm tae sink my cock into."

Ghost moans at that. Soft and low. He's deep in it. Pliant like pudding beneath Soap's hands.

"Ye like that, baby? You like being Daddy's gift? His little hole?"

Ghost whines, nods. His pretty cunt flutters around Soap’s cock as he cums again at the words alone. Always so sensitive.

"Yours, Daddy... M your boy..."

"That's right," Soap croons. He untangles a hand to reach up to Ghost neck. He fingers the tight black collar there, the tag with Johnny's initials on it. "So good fer me, baby. Yer Daddy's perfect gift of a boy."

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Ghost and Soap had had the whole night planned out. There were 10 or so guys outside the door, waiting to line up and fill Soap to the brim before Ghost claimed him. It had been a heady, intoxicating idea when they had proposed it— planned it. But now...

The very idea made him sick. It was more than just nerves. He didn't want to be touched. It made him sick to even think about the hands of another on him, tracing patterns only Ghost knew.

Nausea roiled low in his belly and his hands shook with such fervor he had half a mind to think something else was wrong with him.

"Johnny..." Ghost's low voice rumbled in his ear. It was just them in the room, for now. Just him on Ghost's lap, collared up and ready to be tied in place.

But he didn't want to be.

"What's the matter, Puppy? You're shaking like a leaf."

Soap swallowed, hesitated. He pressed his ear to Ghost's heartbeat for reassurance. "...Red?"

Ghost squeezed him tighter, held him closer. "What's scaring you? How can I help?"

"I don't wanna be touched," he sobs. "I don't want then tae touch me like you do."

"No one's gonna touch you, pup," Ghost croons. He kisses the crown of Soap's head. "I won't let them."

"But we promised—!"

"No," Simon cuts him off easily. "We said they'd get what they were allowed."

Soap sniffles, sobs again. "I feel bad. I wanted tae do this! I thought—"

"Consent can be revoked at any time. You know this."

"Aye," he sighs, deflates a little. "But it's a lot easier when it's just you an' me."

"I have an idea."

"Hm?"

"I fuck you into a stupid, whining puppy like always. And they watch. Nothing but watch."

"No... they won't touch me?"

"They wouldn't dare. I'll rip them limb from limb."

Soap moans a little at that. It's hot when Ghost gets so violently protective— possessive. Maybe it shouldn't be. But Soap wasn't here to think. He was just a dumb pup.

"Okay," he agrees. Soap can do that. "Only you."

"Only me."

Ghost is already balls deep in Soap's fluttering cunt by the time the Lieutenant whistles for the waiting men to enter. They're murming lowly and it sets Soap's nerves aflame.

Ghost commands them in his Lieutenant voice. There is no room for argument. They are not to touch. They can jerk off if they so wish, but they are not allowed to get their mess anywhere near him. If they dare to so much as think it, they'll lose a limb and their dick. No mercy.

Two men leave. The rest stay.

Ghost doesn't start off gentle. Doesn't work him up until all Soap can remember is the feeling of his cock in him. The first thrust already has him screaming, cock head bumping right up against his cervix.

His back arches, head thrown back. He can see the crotch of some man he doesn't even know the name of. It has him tensing, closing off, looking to hide away.

Ghost has him, then. Takes his cheeks in broad hands and forces him to look directly above him. Ghost's face is there. Stern, open. Warm brown eyes behind a familiar balaclava. He misses seeing Simon’s face.

"Look at me, pup. Just at me."

Soap nods as best he can. His pelvis burns with the force of Ghost's thrusts, like he has something to prove. He can hardly think past the in-and-out of it. The way curly blonde pubes rup up agaisnt his t-dick every time Ghost grinds his hips impossibly further in.

No one can touch him like Ghost can. Only Ghost knows the way his cunt feels as he squirts. Only Ghost knows how to bully his cervix into giving in to his thick cock. Only Ghost knows that he likes his tongue suckled on and a few fingers in his ass. Only Ghost knows the taste of him, the way his chest rumbles when he cries out. 

And only Ghost ever will.

He passes out at some point between orgasm four and five. He only ever saw Ghost's warm eyes.

He comes to clean and in bed. The blankets are warm and Ghost's heartbeat is steady. There are no extra hands on him. And there won't be. Ever.

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