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Post-mission Simon “Ghost” Riley who refuses to sleep in the same bed as you, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s certain that one bad dream, one flash of training, one second of not being in control will turn him into something you can’t wake up from.
So he stays in the chair.
Every night.
Fully dressed, mask still on, boots planted like he’s still on duty. Like rest is something other people get to have without consequences.
You notice it in pieces at first—the way you wake up slightly too warm, then slightly too watched. The way the room is never fully dark, not really, because there’s always that faint outline of him across from you, completely still, like a statue carved out of restraint and guilt.
He never speaks when you catch him. He never moves, just watches.
That slow, steady attention fixed on your chest rising and falling, like he’s counting every breath to make sure it still happens. Like if you stop, he’ll finally have something to panic about.
Sometimes you pretend to stay asleep longer just to feel it—his presence sharpening, like he leans forward just a fraction when he thinks you’re not aware. Like you’re the only thing in the room keeping him anchored to anything human.
He tells you once, in a voice so low it almost gets lost in the dark, that he can’t risk it.
Not you. Never you.
He doesn’t elaborate, but he doesn’t need to. The words sit heavy between you anyway, full of things he’s done, things he’s seen, things he still hears when everything else is quiet.
After that, you stop asking him to come to bed.
But you don’t stop waking up.
And every time you do, he’s still there, perfectly still, perfectly alert, like sleep is something he refuses to earn if it means you might not make it through the night without him watching.
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Anything with dom reader and sub soap and ghost 🙏🙏🙏
I know that soap is 100% a horndog. He’s desperate and prone to humping against reader (or the furniture if reader denies đź¤) and his brain just *shuts off*. I’m talking panting, drooling, huffing your scent kind of mess. Absolutely shameless about it.
Ghost on the other hand (in my hc) feels deep amounts of embarrassment about it, but he needs it more than anyone. Loves being taken care of and praised, just melts and you could get him to do almost anything as long as you call him a good boy. Absolutely gets an adorable colour of red when flustered.
i loved writing this i got so carried away!!
author’s notes — i always love sub simon and johnny or just any dom reader content and i think you can tell. sorry about my inactivity lately ive been working on my assessments- there will be alot more in the next few days, love you guys sm.
tags — johnny “soap” mactavish x simon “ghost” riley x reader, ghoap x reader, threesome, mmf, dom reader, sub johnny, sub simon, gentle dom, soft dom, praise kink, humping/grinding, needy behaviour, desperate soap, flustered ghost, mutual touching, jerk off, teasing, denial (light), reader-focused control, no reader orgasm, no explicit pet play (but vibes), aftercare undertones
Under cut because its long.
You’re curled into the love-seat, one leg draped lazily over the other, glass of wine balanced between your fingers as the room hums with quiet anticipation. The evening feels heavy with it—like something waiting to unfold.
The door creaks, and right on cue, Johnny steps in.
His gaze finds you instantly. It lingers—hungry, soft, a little undone. He barely makes it two steps before his gear hits the floor, forgotten, and then he’s crossing the room like he’s been pulled there.
He drops to his knees in front of you, hands already finding your legs, warm and sure.
“Love…” he exhales, voice roughened at the edges. His forehead presses briefly against your thigh before he turns, brushing his lips there instead—slow, deliberate. “Missed you.”
His hands slide higher, thumbs tracing along the inside of your legs, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. He inhales deeply, like he’s savoring you, and lets out a quiet, pleased hum.
“Christ… you always smell so good.”
Your fingers slip into his hair, threading through the short strands, and the way he reacts—sharp inhale, a shiver that runs straight through him—makes your lips curve.
“Easy,” you murmur, voice low and soothing, though your touch lingers just a little longer than necessary. You tilt his head back slightly, making him look up at you. His pupils are blown, already lost.
“Patience,” you whisper, thumb brushing along his cheek.
There’s a beat where he just stares at you, breathing a little too heavy, like he’s trying—failing—to behave.
“Si’ll be here soon.”
As if summoned by your words, the door opens again.
Simon steps inside, pausing just long enough to take in the scene—Johnny on his knees between your legs, your fingers tangled in his hair, the tension in the room thick enough to taste. His gaze flicks between you both, and there it is—that familiar flush creeping up his neck, betraying him.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice quieter than usual as he moves closer, settling on the arm of the couch like he’s not quite sure where to place himself.
Johnny glances up, lips curving into something wicked. “Hey, bon,” he teases, pressing a slow, lingering nip to your thigh before dragging his mouth away. “You gonna just watch, or…?”
Simon’s blush deepens, but he doesn’t retreat. Not tonight. He exhales, steadying himself, then shifts to sit beside you properly—close enough that your thigh brushes his.
Johnny wastes no time, climbing up after him, crowding into your space until the three of you are tangled together. He buries his face into the curve of your neck, breathing you in like he needs it, like it grounds him, his lips ghosting against your skin in soft, absent-minded presses.
A quiet sigh slips from him—content, but restless underneath.
You smile faintly, sliding an arm around Simon’s shoulders, pulling him in. He leans into you almost immediately, tension melting just a little under your touch. His head tilts toward yours, seeking something steady, something warm.
“You two must be exhausted,” you murmur, your voice soft, fingers brushing along Simon’s arm while Johnny’s hands continue to wander, tracing slow, familiar paths over your body.
Johnny lifts his head at that, droopy eyes, and a flustered grin. His hand tightens just slightly where it rests on you as he nods.
Simon lets out a quiet huff, trying (and failing) to look unbothered. His gaze flickers to you instead, softer, heavier with something unspoken.
You can feel it in both of them—that pull, the anticipation, the way they’re waiting on you without saying it outright.
“Then let’s go to bed,” you say gently, your hand sliding from Simon’s shoulder to lace with his fingers, grounding him as Johnny’s touch lingers, warm and insistent.
You guide them down the hall, fingers laced with Johnny’s as he follows eagerly, Simon just behind you—quieter, but no less drawn in. The air shifts the moment you step into the bedroom, softer, warmer, like the rest of the world has been shut out.
You turn to them, reaching up to cup Simon’s cheek. He leans into it instantly, eyes fluttering for just a second before he looks back at you—open, a little shy, but full of trust.
“You’ve both been so good,” you murmur, thumb brushing lightly over his skin. “So patient… so strong.” Your gaze flicks between them, soft but knowing. “Don’t you think you deserve something for that?”
Simon nods before you’ve even finished speaking, breath catching slightly as the flush spreads across his face.
Johnny just grins, already tugging his shirt off, eyes locked on you. “Thought you’d never ask,” he says, voice low, edged with anticipation as he steps closer.
You let them take their time with you.
Hands wander, slower than Johnny would prefer but just fast enough to keep him hooked—his touch warm, a little unsteady with how much he wants. Simon is gentler, more deliberate, like he’s memorising you with every brush of his fingers, every soft press of his lips. Between them, it’s a contrast that makes your breath deepen—eagerness and restraint, both waiting on you.
“Easy,” you whisper once, guiding Johnny’s hands when they grow too impatient, earning a soft, breathy sound from him as he reins himself in.
You lead them toward the bed, nudging Johnny down first. He falls back with a quiet groan, hands immediately finding your hips when you settle over him, grounding himself there like he needs the contact.
You lean down, kissing him slow and deep—enough to make him melt into it, enough to remind him to wait.
Then you pull back.
Your attention shifts to Simon, who’s knelt beside you and johnny, watching you both with that same quiet intensity, like he’s trying not to unravel too quickly. You reach for him, drawing him closer with a gentle hand at his wrist, your touch steady, reassuring.
“C’mere,” you murmur softly, guiding him in.
He comes willingly.
"Come here baby," you coo, beckoning him closer. He shuffles on his knees closer to your form, nestling his forehead against your collarbone as his mouth wraps around your budding nipple.
Johnny watches, panting heavily as he grinds up against your knee where it rests between his thighs. "Fuck, yer incredible." he shudders. Simon starts to relax himself against your chest, his tongue darting out to circle your tit. You gasp, grinding down on johnny's cock as you rub your growingly aroused cunt in between your thighs.
"Good boy," you praise breathlessly. "Just like that." Simon hums in response, doubling his efforts. Johnny whimpers, his cock throbbing against your thigh.
You reach down to stroke him, feeling his heavy cock twitch in your hand. "You like that, love?" you purr. "You like fucking yourself like a mutt"
Johnny nods frantically. "Yeah, fuck," he gasps. "You're a fuckin' stunner" You grin, squeezing his shaft.
Simon moans against you, pumping his own cock in his hand, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body.
You feel the boys building fast to their orgasm, Johnnys hips rocking against your hand while simon all but sobs against your breasts. "That's it baby, come for me," you encourage. "Show me what a good boy's you are."
Simon redoubles his efforts, his tongue working overtime as he presses the tip of his cock against your panties moist spot. It only takes a few more seconds before he's coming hard, whimpering out in puppy-like whines as his load is stuck between your thighs and clothed cunt.
You sink against Johnny’s chest, breath still uneven, his arms wrapping around you instinctively—firm, grounding, like he doesn’t want to let you go just yet. His heartbeat is strong beneath your cheek, gradually slowing as he exhales a soft, satisfied laugh.
“God… that was—” he trails off, shaking his head with a grin, fingers tracing lazy patterns along your back. “You’re unreal, hen.”
Simon shifts closer, drawn in by the warmth, by you. He curls into your side, quieter, his face brushing against your neck as if he’s still a little overwhelmed by it all. When you tilt your head and kiss him, it’s slow and lingering—soft, but full of feeling. He melts into it with a soft hum, a faint flush still lingering across his skin.
“Wasn’t just me,” you murmur, voice gentle as you pull back just enough to look at them both. Your hands settle against them—familiar, affectionate. “You two… you’re incredible.”
Johnny huffs out a pleased sound, clearly eating that up, while Simon just ducks his head slightly, though the way he presses closer gives him away completely.
You gather them in, arms around both of them, holding them there as everything settles into something softer—quieter. The earlier tension has melted into warmth, into that comfortable closeness that only comes after.
By the time exhaustion finally catches up, you’re all tangled together beneath the sheets, the room dim and calm around you.
And in that quiet, with Johnny’s steady presence at your back and Simon tucked close at your side, everything feels… right.
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Erik never really sleeps, not unless you’re beside him. In the quiet darkness beneath the Opera, it becomes a habit for him to reach for you in his sleep — even if he’ll never admit how much he needs you there
not really any additional tags, established relationship, erik destler x reader, uhh, idk
Erik did not sleep properly. That much had become obvious within the first week of sharing his strange little world beneath the Opera. He could go two nights with nothing but an hour in his chair by the fire, half-dozing with his arms folded and his head bowed as though even rest itself were something he refused to surrender to.
He was always awake when you stirred.
Always there in the dim candlelight, all hollow eyes and long fingers and the soft rustle of black fabric, as if he had simply been waiting for the night to finish with you.
So the first time you woke and found his hand wrapped around your wrist beneath the blankets, you stayed very still.
His grip was not painful. Merely firm. Anchoring.
You turned your head on the pillow and found him asleep beside you—truly asleep, not just resting his eyes or drifting in one of those shallow, guarded states he usually passed off as rest. His face was turned slightly toward you, the edges of his hair fallen loose over his brow, his breathing deep and even in the dark.
And his hand was locked around you like he feared you might vanish if he loosened it.
In the morning, he was already awake.
Naturally.
You opened your eyes to find him seated at the edge of the bed, mask on once more, gloves tugged neatly over elegant fingers as though he had not spent the night curled close enough to feel the warmth of your skin.
“You slept,” you murmured, voice rough with drowsiness.
He did not turn. “A biological necessity, nothing more.”
You smiled faintly. “Mm. And the wrist?”
At that, his shoulders stiffened.
“What wrist?”
You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, watching him with quiet amusement. “The one you held onto all night like a particularly anxious ghost.”
Erik made a soft, dismissive sound in the back of his throat. “You exaggerate.”
“Do I?”
He finally glanced over his shoulder at you, and though half his face was hidden, you knew him well enough now to see the irritation there—the defensive sort, brittle and embarrassed.
“The rooms are cold at night,” he said. “You move in your sleep.”
“That explains why you nearly climbed on top of me by dawn?”
He stared at you.
Then, with all the offended dignity of a king being mocked in his own kingdom, he rose from the bed and swept toward the organ.
“Very well,” he said coolly. “Next time I shall leave you to freeze.”
You laughed softly. “There’ll be a next time, then?”
His hands stilled over the keys.
A pause.
Then, more quietly—almost swallowed by the shadows—“If you are there.”
Something in your chest softened.
That night, when you slipped beneath the blankets, Erik said nothing as you reached for him first.
But in the dark, his fingers found your wrist almost at once.
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