29 y.o. born in '97 she/her loving COD, especially TF141, BNHA, JJK, KN8, DMeshi and BTS MDNI I have another blog where I pour my academic and ad honorem work (they pay me with ✨ experience✨) trauma ✨
No thoughts just reader being so reluctant to take ghost home...
You've been kinda-maybe-dating for nearly a month now. It's about time you take him to your apartment, you can tell after the third time he asks "where are we going tonight, love?" That he's dissapointed when you say his.
"Do you not trust me?" He finally huffs one day, half-curled into your side while some match neither of you care about plays on screen.
It's not because you don't like him. You care more about ghost than you have any reason to. You're terrified of rejection, but your own fear is hurting both of you anyways. "It's....i trust you, simon."
"Then what, love?" Simon rolls to prop up on his elbows and really look at you.
"It's...i..." you bite the inside of you mouth, twist around your anxiety and spit it out "I still have stuffed animals on my bed!"
Silence. You brace for the mocking laughter that you always hear.
Feeling ghost slip off the bed hurts more than you want to admit. You blink up at the ceiling and try not to cry. It's fine. He can think you're stupid and childish, you don't care, you still love him and—
"Here. Open your eyes." You do. Plastic, black beaded eyes stare back. Cupped in scarred hands is a small cat plushie, body sagging from beans, fur a little dulled. Well-loved. You look past it to stare at ghost, stunned.
"This is Mr. Kitty." He tells you. Gently, ghost scoots right back to your side and sits the plushie in your hands "I've had him for...years. he means a lot to me."
Oh. You try to imagine ghost, this giant of a man curled in bed with the tiny kitty plush next to his face.
"...I have a cat plushie." You tell him, belatedly fishing your phone out and trying to ignore the tightness in your throat at such easy acceptance.
You spend the rest of the night looking at photos of your plushie collection with ghost. He likes the cats the best, has strong opinions about sanrio characters, and insists on seeing them soon.
You find you don't really mind the thought of that.
simon can see that johnny is struggling. demons feasting on the darkness in his mind. so simon invites johnny somewhere good (now johnny wants to fuck simon's pregnant wife)
ghoap x reader
warnings: johnny is depressed, vague talk of suicide, smut, handjob, p in v, threesome
prev
johnny mactavish has been in your house for a week.
it's been a pleasant week, you must admit. johnny, bless him, was so afraid of being a burden, he helped wherever he could. standing beside you as you make lunch for the kids, telling you stories of his childhood. you let him speak, let him get whatever he needs to off his chest.
your kids are infatuated with him. completely and utterly smitten. they follow him around the house, asking him whatever questions they can think of. fascinated by his tattoos (as if their father didn't have full sleeves of them).
it's a nice break, you have to admit. for the first time in years, you and your husband have time to yourselves. just to sit, just to be with each other. not doing all that much of anything.
honestly, you're mostly watching johnny with the kids. watching as he lays in the grass like he's died in the intense game of cops and robbers. your kids join him, pointing at the different clouds, at the shape they're making.
"i think this is good for him," simon says as he sits on the garden furniture (it's the perfect summer day again. you're making the most of it, before it get's too hot and your feet get too swollen and it gets too uncomfortable).
you're tucked against his side, head on his shoulder. humming, you shuffle as close to him as you possibly can. "maybe we could keep him around," you suggest, only halfway joking. (because your kids really do love him. and he is good company. and you know simon likes having him here).
simon chuckles. "sure he'd love that," he say, fingers coming to rest on your chin. with two fingers, he gets you to look at him. "i think he likes you, too," he whispers and kisses you once. it's quick, so quick you're not even sure it really happened. but your husband would never torture you like that.
your arms wind around his neck. "yeah?"
he kisses you again, humming against your lips. "can't say i blame him. my wife is fucking sexy when she's pregnant."
you scratch at his scalp and scratch. "wanna go up stairs while the kids are entertained?"
you could have. you so easily could have let him take you upstairs, let him pump his cock into you and fondle your tits until your legs are spasming on either side of him. but you don't. you can't. you can't leave johnny down here, an unwilling babysitter for your kids.
reluctantly, you push your husband away. "later," you promise and press one last quick kiss to his lips.
simon grunts before he lets you go. you stand, hand on your swollen belly, and waddle over to your children and your guest.
all three of them look up at you. the kids squint and johnny puts his hand over his eyes, shielding them from the sun. "having fun?" you ask the three of them.
"yes, ma'am," johnny answers and trinity giggles. "the weans an' i thought we could handle lunch today," he says and sits up.
you breathe out, unable to hide your smile. "thank you, johnny," you say, grinning down at him. "that's really sweet of you."
johnny looks at your kids, still laying on the floor, staring up at the clouds. "what's a we-ain?" trinity asks, her brows furrowed. but she's still looking at the clouds, like she's still trying to figure out all the shakes the clouds can show her.
the laugh johnny releases isn't malicious; he's not making fun of your daughter as he gets to his feet. "you are, bub," he says and helps her up. he does the same with noah, getting him up.
they lead johnny to the kitchen, pulling him after them. you're calling after them, like every mother does. telling them to be careful, to wash their hands and let johnny do the chopping up.
as they head inside, you head back to your husband. "i like him," you say as simon uncrosses his legs and reaches for you. he pulls you onto his lap, not caring for the extra weight you're carrying. "but i thin trinity and noah already having him wrapped around their pinkies."
"wouldn't surprise me." he squeezes your hips. his fingers toy with your dress, with the material of your skirt. "we could be really quick," he whispers. "come on, love. let me fuck my pregnant wife."
you breathe out like he's being ridiculous. "fine," you say anyway and raise yourself up.
simon pulls your underwear down your legs as you fiddle with his belt buckle. he touches you, touches your thighs as you manage to get his belt off and free his cock.
as badly as he wants to take his time with you, as he normally does when you're in the privacy of your bedroom, simon doesn't. he can't, not when johnny and the kids are whipping up sandwiches. it's bound to be chaos that the two of you have to clean up after.
you sink down onto him, a hiss leaving your lips. you've much rather be lying back, his strong muscles keeping him above you. but this'll do for now.
thank god your husband is strong, built like a beast. he raises the both of you up and thrusts into you. over and over again, his pace already rapid. he just has to get you there, just have to have you spilling over the edge and squeezing his cock until he's following closely behind you.
your head falls onto his shoulder, making the sweetest noises. he grunts, squeezing whatever he can grab.
it's such a relief when you finally finish, when he finally manages to take you over the edge. simon gives a few shallow thrusts before he finishes, spilling inside of you. "wanna get you pregnant again after these two," he whispers.
"fucking hell, riley," you reply as he slips out of you. "gonna have a small army on our hands."
and johnny watches from the kitchen window. eyes transfixed as your kids fill the sandwiches with the toppings he'd prepared before he caught sight of you and your husband.
he watches now as simon meets his eye. his scarred lips tip up and he whispers something in your ear.
you turn around and smile at johnny. it so warm, it doesn't feel right. but then you stand, still covered up. but he can see your underwear, near your knees. you pull it the rest of the way down, putting on a little show for johnny, and drop it into simon's lap.
"johnny." trinity tugs his hand for his attention. "can you cut the sandwiches into triangles? they taste better that way."
"of course we can," he says and comes over to cut up the sandwiches. he tries one and hums, nodding his head. "you're right, trin! delicious."
***
bed time has been and gone. johnny can't help but feel bad as he sits on the sofa. you and Simon had to deal with reluctant vegetable consumption and bath time while he got to read the bed time story (noahs request. he loves johnny's accent.)
simon sit beside him, a wide space between them. there's something playing on the TV, but he doesn't know what it is.
he's too busy thinking about you.
you, pulling your underwear down your legs. you, dropping your underwear into your husband's lap before you headed inside to help with lunch.
you're upstairs, getting ready for bed, and he's thinking about you. it's not fair; you're married.
he hears you come down the stairs. a sigh leaves your lips as you walk into the room. both men turn their head when you pause, looking at whatever crappie is playing on the television.
"those kids love you," you say as you walk in front of simon and sit down between them. "noah wanna a mohawk now."
Simon chuckles as you ease yourself down beside them. "no way," he says, shaking his head.
but you look at johnny, hand on your bump. "how you doing?" you asked, your free hand reaching for his.
johnny breathes out, his body sinking into the cushions. "great," he says honestly. "seriously. thanks for having me."
your shoulder touches his. you're warm where you touch him, leaning against him. "you can stay as long as you need to, you know that?" your hand leaves his, touching his thighs instead.
he should be between you and your husband, caged in by you. but you work with what you've got.
"johnny," you whisper, dragging your nails up his thigh. "I know you were watching us earlier."
he swallows thickly and looks past you, looking at simon. but he's just touching your back, letting you do what you need to do.
"can I touch you, johnny?"
he doesn't know. but simon makes no move to stop him. he doesn't pull you away and kick johnny out.
so, he nods.
you're still smiling when you free him from his shorts. no underwear, he's already ready for bed. "wow," you say, moving closer. "it's so pretty, johnny."
you pump your hand twice. johnny's breath in is sharp, but he let's you move, hands by his sides.
and then, you spit on it. its not violet, more of a dribble. just something to make this hand job easier.
a noise is pulled from johnny's throat. a moan, a whimper, you're not sure which. but you keep going, swiping your thumb over his tip.
his body shudders. "you're doing so good," simon whispers. johnny isn't sure who he's talking to as he grabs the bottom of your shirt and lifts. "good boy."
his eyes are shut, head thrown back when you whimper. he shudders, the sound getting stuck in his head like a song on a loop. you do it again as johnny hisses, his eyes opening.
"fuck." it's the first thing he's said since you started touching him. but it's not because of you touching him, not from the pleasure you're bringing him, but from the sight of your husband, his hand in your underwear to touch you.
and simon just chuckles. "she's fucking soaked," he says, other hand coming to fondle your tits.
you don't kiss his lips. but your lips find his shoulder, his neck. it's almost sweet as he's bucking his hips up to meet your hand.
he feels like a kid again, an intense orasgm he can't control, making a mess and spilling onto your hand. he's panting, your fingers still wrapped around him, hips still moving as he comes down.
and you? you're shaking, coming apart of your husband's fingers. he'd picked you apart, pressing all the right buttons to have you finishing, breathing heavily against johnny's neck.
he's still, stiller than he has been with any other woman. but this is an experience like no other. he breathes in a deep, shuddering breath as you bring your hand to your mouth. fuck, he thinks when you lick it clean.
but simon stands. "come on, love," he says and helps you to your feet. "let's get you to bed."
you accept your husbands help and stand. johnny watches you, both of you. the way simon holds you, as if that's the only thing keeping you standing. he hands you your shirt and you pull it over your body.
"goodnight, johnny," you whisper and lean in to press a kiss to his lips.
he doesn't know if he can kiss back. he's still, letting your lips move against his. and, just when he works up the courage to kiss you back with your beast of a husband standing behind you, smiling like an apex predator, you pull away.
he watches the two of you, your retreating forms. "night," he calls because he doesn't know what else to say. he tucks himself into his shorts and sits there for a moment, willing his heart to stop beating so damn fast.
Summary: a lonely and rejected witch catches the eyes of the four vampires that just moved into town. Their deep desire for the witch has only just begun.
Warnings: harassment(not from 141), fighting, violence, stabbing, blood, polyamorous (more tags will be added as the series continues)
Six foot somethin’, broad as a doorframe, tattooed arms, permanent frown carved into his face like stone. The kind of man who could walk into a room and make conversations die mid-sentence.
Which was exactly why the bright pink lunchbox sitting on the briefing table looked so absurd.
Soap stared at it.
Then at Simon.
Then back at the lunchbox covered in tiny white hearts.
“…That yours, LT?”
Simon didn’t even glance up from cleaning his sidearm. “Obviously.”
Gaz coughed into his fist to hide a laugh. Price suddenly found the paperwork in his hands very interesting. Soap, unfortunately, feared nothing.
“Christ alive.” he muttered, lifting the lunchbox by two fingers. “It’s got a bow on it.”
Simon’s eyes lifted slowly.
Dangerously.
Soap set it back down immediately. The room went quiet for all of three seconds before Gaz spotted the sticky note attached to the handle.
Pink ink. Curly handwriting.
Don’t forget to actually eat today. I mean it!— ♡
There was even a lipstick kiss pressed onto the corner. Soap made a strangled noise. “SHE LEFT YE A WEE KISS MARK.”
Simon took the note off carefully before Soap could touch it with his grubby hands. He folded it once and tucked it into the pocket of his vest with complete seriousness, like it was something precious.
Because it was.
“You keep those?” Gaz asked before he could stop himself. Simon gave him a look that practically said watch your mouth.
“Aye.”
The boys exchanged glances.
Not because Simon had a partner. They all knew that. And not because Simon was soft with you. They knew that too. It was the fact he never acted embarrassed about it.
Ever.
Didn’t hide the matching pink phone charger you bought him because he “always stole yours anyway.” Didn’t complain when you painted tiny strawberries on his phone case. Didn’t care that his keys now had fluffy pink pompoms hanging off them because you’d smiled so proudly while showing him. The man simply accepted every little piece of you with both hands.
Like loving you loudly was the easiest thing in the world.
Later that afternoon, Simon finally opened the lunchbox during break. Inside was organized chaos. Pink Tupperware containers stacked perfectly. Heart-shaped strawberries. A sandwich cut neatly in half. Little notes tucked everywhere.
One on the drink—
Hydrate or I’ll become evil.
One on the fruit—
You’re handsome. That’s unrelated, I just thought you should know.
And one folded beneath the sandwich.
Simon opened it quietly.
Miss you already. Come home safe so I can kiss you properly instead of leaving lipstick on paper.
His eyes softened instantly.
Not dramatic.
Not obvious.
Just enough that Price noticed from across the room and looked away to give the man some privacy. Soap, however, leaned over his shoulder with zero survival instinct.
“Awwww—”
Simon shoved him back without heat.
“Piss off.”
But there was no bite to it.
Soap grinned. “Ye love that shite.”
Simon took another bite of his sandwich.
“Aye.” he answered simply.
No hesitation.
No shame.
Just certainty.
Because you loved pink things. Cute things. Soft things.
And Simon loved you.
Which meant he loved those things too.
୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧
A/N: I love a man who isn’t embarrassed by the things you love.
UNPOPULAR OPINION: A lot of "mental health issues" disappear when bills are paid, rent is secure, and the fridge is full. Peace is expensive. And pretending money doesn't affect mental health is privilege.
Recently been thinking about cat hybrid!reader who's usually so affectionate with the team...
"Scenting us. Important thing for hybrids." Price had explained when soap first grumbles about how often you touched them.
Marking them as territory, as family, really. They don't understand how important it is for you, but none of them complain when you wake up sometimes and simply need to rub your cheek into their necks. Tail twitching softly, ears shifting in content. You do your best work when you can scent them frequently.
Of course, after so many months working together in close proximity, no one really argues with your cuddly nature. Gaz runs warm, your ideal heating pad for those cold meeting rooms, spending your time in his lap with your tail curled around hid ankle. Ghost, the best sniper of the team by far, never moves when you decide to nap on him. Price's office has the best sunspot, and he keeps the area open with some blankets purchased just for you. Soap doesn't mind PDA when you crawl on top of him in front of others, he loves feeling your deep purrs in his chest.
All of that is to say, you're constantly with at least one of them, basking in physical affection.
So it's strange when no one sees you all morning.
Usually you're trailing after one of your teammates before going about your morning scenting. Today...you're just...gone.
Price assumes you've finally made other friends, assures the team it's nothing. But by time lunch has rolled around and still no one's seen you? A search is started, each of them keeping the others updated.
With each passing moment the list of places you aren't keeps growing. You aren't in the barracks, your room, anyone's rooms. You aren't in the gym, pool, supply closets. You aren't on the roof or in the kitchen.
It's near dark when ghost finds you.
Tucked under various tools in the groundskeepes shed. You're sweaty, clammy. Sluggish. You squint up at ghost, lethargic, and let out a weak hiss. You look....horrible.
"Found 'em." He mutters into his comms. Ghost kneels down to press the back if his hand to your face, frowning deeply "the runts sick. Bad shape."
Which is how you end up back in your room, smothered under blankets with at least one of the guys at your sides at all times. Making sure you don't make a sixth escape attempt.
For once, they initiate the contact. After all, you are their territory as much as they are yours.
Thinking about getting trapped under rubble with alpha!ghost....
You hardly had time to react when the building came down. The only thing that registered was the sudden, deafening sound of wood beams splitting under the force if an explosion.
You should be terrified right now, mind lagging behind and trying to survey where you've been hurt or not.
Instead all you can focus on is the sharp, comforting scent of ghost.
The alpha is bowed over you, arms braced on either side of your head and knees squeezing your hips in the tight space. Every inhale brings in his scent and it's—
Comforting.
"Hey! Hey, are you with me, soldier?" His voice finally registers past the thumping of your blood. You let out a weak whine, your own instincts overwhelmed, and feel him physically exhale "okay. You broken?"
A shake of your head, and he calms down more. That comforting scent makes you calm down too, and you belated realize this is the first time you've properly smelt him.
He smells like leather, wood, a slight metallic note. It makes the beta in your warm and happy, you've always mentally considered him pack. Despite the debris in the air, your crane up in the small space to shamelessly rub your cheek into his neck.
"Fuckin' hell– really?" Ghost grunts above you, knees squeezing you tighter for a second.
"You...smell nice." You mumble, almost dazed.
Ghost curses more, says something about an 'instinct haze' but you don't focus on it. Instead, you nuzzle further against his scent gland, purring. You hardly notice the hard line pressing into your side, or the growing change in his scent, aroused from the close contact with the beta he's been eyeing for months.
"Christ runt–" ghost shifts, head dipping until your foreheads knock together "settle down. I can't– just stop right now, okay?"
You nod, because your alpha wants you to. You'd do anything for him.
Ghost bites his tongue and tries to listen through the rubble for the team. You're out of it, and he wont have you like this. If he takes you as a mate he wants to earn it.
And you really thought Simon would be a little mean during sex. He had to be a sadist after everything he’s been through.
So, when he’s between your parted thighs, you’re shocked when he speaks to you so softly. Quietly begging in your ear, cock pressed to the hilt, for you to be good for him.
And everytime you let out a whine, fingers tightening at his shoulders because he’s massive and you feel like you’re splitting in two with every thrust; he shushes you. ‘You can take it. Yes—yes you can.’
And when you clench tighter around him because the cadence of his voice licks warmth in your core, he smiles. ‘There you go, baby. Just like that.’
