#ghostsoap x reader

Not two minutes after making his profile (military, six-five, top), likely candidates start filing themselves into his inbox. Some part of his ego is gratified, at least. The influx of taint pics certainly confirms for him that his vanity, in fact, is justified, even if the last thing he wants to see is some random stranger's asshole.

He messages a jacked brunette with brown eyes and dimples, who led instead with a comparatively tame "hey big guy," and lets him pick the bar where they'll meet up.

And it's...fine.

The guy is fine. Equally as attractive in person as on camera, with curly hair and short stubble. He's there before Ghost, and directs an easygoing smile at him when he drops onto a stool at the bar beside him.

He doesn't even question the mask, though his eyes linger on it, half-lidded, the kind of way that suggests he's figuring something out about himself that he hadn't considered before. Not the first time it's happened for Ghost.

The problem with fine is that Ghost can't work up even much of a chub talking to him. The guy has a nasally voice and a friendly attitude that makes Ghost's teeth go numb from the sweetness. When they sequester in the dingy pub bathroom, the guy goes to his knees like an angel, and Ghost's cock actually softens more, thoroughly bored already with the notion of this random guy’s mouth on it.

The problem is, Soap would bust Ghost's balls for this.

Sure, Ghost could get him on his knees. Soap is a good boy, he'll take an order if he's given one. But he's also a fucking brat, and the moment Ghost pulled his cock out Soap would immediately start complaining about it.

Too big, too ugly, not hard enough, and when was the last time Ghost washed that fucking thing? How romantic, LT, making him suck Ghost off in a pub bathroom, hasn't he ever heard of good old-fashioned wooing?

He'd complain, Ghost knows, because he'd want, more than anything, for Ghost to just cut through the bullshit and shove straight down his throat. He'd run his mouth because the only thing he wants Ghost to do is shut him the fuck up, for once, and make him actually work for the praise they both know he's so desperate for.

And Ghost would give it. If Soap earned it. The fight isn't about winning.

This guy isn't putting up a fight. He tries nicely, licks all over the limp-hanging head and pale glans, but Ghost ends up making some excuse—Dad has cancer, Mom died, the usual—and leaving him there still on his knees.

He deletes the apps. He can invest in a fleshlight, and find some porn star another with enough of a resemblance to be functional.

Less of a hassle for everyone involved.

Problem solved.

And then he encounters you again.

You're walking out of the supermarket one night, with two huge bags over your shoulders, digging through your purse out in front of you. He has to stop you with one hand on your shoulder to keep you from running into him.

The evening is warm; your shirt is a thin camisole with little elastic straps. His palm meets your bare skin, and finds it soft and dewy with a little sweat.

You look up, startled, blinking as if caught in a bright light.

"Oh," you say, "Ghost, hello!"

"Bird," he grunts, wondering why he's surprised that you recognize him.

He pulls his hand away, and still feels the imprint of your body heat in its grooves.

"Sorry, I should have been looking," you say, smiling. It's a friendly expression, open and innocent—a daisy's petals spread on a clear day. "Johnny's making beef wellington tonight when he's off duty, so I went and got everything."

Ghost frowns. What kind of boyfriend lets his girl do so much heavy lifting?

He helps you carry the bags to your car. He's jealous, not an asshole. You thank him with a breezy laugh when he closes the hatchback—

"I'm sure Johnny wouldn't mind if you stopped by for dinner," you say, folding your arms across your ribcage. It presses your tits together as you cup your elbows in your hands, pronouncing the line of your cleavage with an uncomfortable eloquence.

"Busy," Ghost says immediately, staring very hard into your eyes. "Thanks."

You shrug, unperturbed. "Anytime. Good night!"

He stands in the carpark for a full five minutes after you drive away. He thinks he can feel his own heartbeat throbbing through the palm he touched you with.

Well, then.

Bereft of any opportunity to get to know you—as if it would even be appropriate—Ghost stalks social media until he finds you through Soap's Instagram. Your account is private, so he sends a follow request, expectations very low that you'd allow someone with a blank sky for a profile picture and only one post on their feed to follow you, "sghostriley" notwithstanding.

But—you do. And suddenly he has a decade of material to peruse, beginning with your last year of secondary school and leading all the way up to present, the most recent photo one of you and Soap at the top of some mountain, grinning at the camera in your hiking gear.

You don't post very many pictures of yourself, he finds. Instead you document interesting food you eat or make, crafts you're working on, nice scenery you caption with variations of "saw this on my walk today :)". It's all very domestic, sweet in a way without being saccharine.

Soft, really. Totally separated from the hard edges of the world he and Soap routinely throw themselves along.

And yet, honest in a way that makes your version of the world feel more like the real one, and his and Soap’s the nightmare.

Ghost hasn't been with a girl—let alone been interested in one—in years. It isn't that the attraction had ever died, exactly. Rather, it simply became so complex, so twisted in on itself and trapped beneath years of grown-over scar tissue, that he'd made an unconscious decision never to confront it. He ignored Price’s stories about his wife’s antics at home, Gaz’s perennial heartbreak after strings of failed dates—

Soap’s lurid bragging about the women he’s taken home from various pubs.

(Were you one of those pub girls?)

So, here it is now, confronting him instead. Reminding him, in a pretty camisole, just how very much it exists.

In the carpark, there’d been a bead of sweat slipping down your neck as you’d waved him goodbye. He finds himself wondering how long it would’ve taken to slide all the way down to the slope of your breast, if he didn’t catch it with his tongue first.

He continues through your Instagram. The majority of your selfies show up, he guesses, after the beginning of your relationship with Soap.

Earlier pictures of you make your discomfort obvious. You don't like the way you look, and it shows in the tension on your face when confronted with a camera lens. But later on, you gain confidence. Your expressions are softer as you show off a new haircut or glasses.

And when the first picture of you with Soap shows up, it's like seeing someone glowing from the inside.

Your head is tucked into the juncture of his shoulder and neck. The smile on your face is soft, small and lovely in how little you're clearly thinking about it.

You're happy.

It floors him. A happy girl, settled into the embrace of a man who’s made her feel that way.

Piece of work, he is. Could ogle another man's ass without shame, but present him with that man’s girl and suddenly it upends his entire sense of self.

Some old cunt psychiatrist would have a field day analyzing him.

Ghost skips the apps and, following in Soap’s footsteps, heads back to the pubs.

It’s worse.

Not that he doesn’t have options sidling up to him, that is. It seems like all he has to do is sit at the bar and wait, and women circle their way into his orbit, not really talking to him but letting him know, simply by hovering, that they’d love for him to talk to them. Batting their lashes, laughing near him seemingly at nothing.

Up to him to make the first move then. It seems to him like the rules haven't changed over his long absence from the dating pool.

Therein lay the snag—Ghost doesn't know how to talk to women. Not that way, the way one says without saying it that he'd like to take her home and bend her over the back of his couch. Say that to a man at the right bar and that was his evening sorted, but Ghost has a feeling that won't play as well among people with cat-shaped brass knuckles on their keychains.

He's not much of a talker, period. Soap yaps enough to fill in his side of the conversation whenever they're in the field. And you...well, he doesn't know about you. Ghost has the uncomfortable feeling that he'd try for you, and fail miserably.

The bartender slides a drink in front of him, distracting him from his agonizing. When Ghost gives him a questioning look, he nods in the direction of a table behind him.

One of the barflies has made the first move.

She winks at him when he raises the glass at her. She’s pretty—her dark makeup makes her eyes look angular and mysterious, and her red dress is tight, thin, and low-cut. Her exposed chest shimmers, as if she dusted some sort of powder across her collarbones before making her way here.

Sparkly and colorful, like a lure on a line. Ready to hook something and pull it in.

(Your camisole had been threadbare and lined with cheap, fraying lace. A favorite of yours, probably, something you wore when you wanted to be comfortable, and didn’t care who thought what about it.)

Ghost notices other men are eyeing the woman, and a couple of them send nasty glares his way. That is, they do before promptly averting their gazes once they see what he looks like.

He can have this, then, if he wants it. He just has to reach out and take it.

He feels your warmth in the palm of his hand again. The breeze of your laugh brushes his cheek with a soft touch.

He sends the woman one of her own drink, drops forty quid on the bar, and leaves without looking back.

Another dinner invite comes his way, this time courtesy of Soap himself.

“She told me she met you at the store,” Soap says, one afternoon when they’re in the changing room. “Really nice of you to help her out, LT.”

“You weren’t there to do it,” Ghost grumbles. Soap has been prancing around shirtless for fifteen minutes, faffing about while Ghost waits for him to leave so he can adjust his erection.

“I didn’t tell her to get everything!” the sergeant protests. “She just went and did it herself.” Then Soap’s eyes go all dreamy and stupid. “She’s grand, isn’t she.”

Ghost grumbles again, something noncommittal.

“Anyway, dinner’s at seven, and I’ll send you the address,” says Soap, pulling a thin t-shirt over his head. Ghosts watches him yank the hem down over his pecs, covering the toned plane of his abs.

Soap winks at him. “See you there, Ghost.”

Ghost grunts.

Soap does, in fact, see him there.

He goes out of resignation. Or maybe with some notion that seeing Soap and you together again will finally vanquish whatever sits on his chest so heavily whenever he thinks of the two of you.

Soap’s the one to answer the door. “There he is, the braw wee bastard!”

“Soap.”

From the looks of it, it’s your flat. It’s nicely decorated without being too over-designed, something warm and comfortable and welcoming. When Ghost steps inside, he’s hit immediately with the smell of seared pancetta and garlic.

The sergeant leads him through the flat. Ghost has a bottle of wine under one arm, having remembered at the last minute he should probably bring something along. You’re in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove.

“Hi, Ghost!” you chirp when you look over your shoulder. “Ooh, good, that’s drinks settled. Hope you like bolognese. It’s all I know how to make.”

“S’fine,” Ghost says, which he would say even if bolognese made him violently ill.

“Ach, you can make more than that,” Soap says, retrieving three long-stemmed glasses from a cabinet. “Pour a nice glass of water.”

You snatch the dish towel hanging from the oven handle and give it a snap in the general direction of Soap’s ass. He laughs and dances out of the way.

“There’s a bottle opener in the island drawer, Ghost,” you say cheerfully. You're pretty tonight, in a loose t-shirt and soft-looking joggers. Casual, like you don't have a guest over at all.

Like it's just a night in with your boyfriend.

Ghost pops the cork as Soap sets the glasses down. After he pours, the sergeant delivers a glass to his girlfriend, and there’s a brief moment of quiet as everyone sips and the sauce on the stove bubbles.

It’s all so nice and normal as to make Ghost’s hackles raise just in anticipation, although he knows there’s no reason for it. Truthfully, he almost hadn’t come. The thought of you and Soap, and Soap and you, in the same room, together, a unit, had made his stomach clench up so tight that he though he might not be able to get any food down.

But some part of him needed to come, and see this. Test out Pavlov’s theory, to see if enough negative reinforcement could break him of this borderline manic fixation. If he could associate Soap and you with romantic nausea, and nothing more, maybe he could finally stop jerking off every night to no satisfaction.

Because he had, in fact, found a porn star who looked like Soap. More tattoos, and a buzz cut rather than a mohawk, but Ghost couldn’t be picky.

The real shock had been to find that this proxy often partnered with a girl who looked enough like you to be uncanny. Too skinny, definitely, but in the one video Ghost had watched of them together, he could have sworn, as the lookalike reamed her from behind—

That it was you looking at him over your shoulder.

Looking at Soap. Or, looking at Ghost, behind him.

At that moment in the playback Ghost had come so hard, cock blazing red and raw in his hand, that the notion had liquified a little. So he couldn’t be sure what the thought had originally meant.

He hadn’t been brave enough to watch another.

“This isn’t bad,” Soap says after tasting the wine. “Nothin’ on a good whisky, mind.”

“Don’t neg your lieutenant, Johnny,” you say. “This is good, Ghost, thank you.”

Hearing Johnny fall from your lips so casually threads something uncomfortable between Ghost’s intestines. Uncomfortable, because he likes it.

Had Soap told you to call him that? Or had you decided on it all on your own? Did Soap think of Ghost whenever you said his name? Did he think of you whenever Ghost did?

“Simon’s fine,” he replies.

It escapes him before he even thinks about it. The same way he’d taken his mask off in Las Almas and looked directly at Soap, wondering in some hidden part of himself if the sergeant was impressed.

“That’s a nice name,” you say, swirling the wine in your glass. You take another sip, closing your eyes to savor it, and then, tilting your head like a little bird in thought, you pour a stream of it from the glass into your pasta sauce.

“Suits him, aye?” Soap says, side-eyeing Ghost with amusement. “Right posh name he’s got for a big scary bugger. Hidden depths, him.”

“Yeah, unlike you,” you snark, stirring.

Soap slaps a big hand over his heart. “Ach, lass, you wound me always.”

“Someone has to keep you humble,” you say, grinning. There’s a charming twinkle in your eyes.

“You gonna let ‘er get away with that, sergeant?”

He surprises himself by saying it. But something in the way you and Soap bicker—absent of the usual sugary drivel, as if the two of you have skipped over the honeymoon phase and stuck the landing right into stable commitment—invites him in.

It's magnetic, almost. It seizes the spinning needle in his brain, draws it to a standstill. Evens out the landscape, so he knows where he can go.

“You’re absolutely right, LT,” says Soap, who smacks his lips, sets his wineglass aside, and bum-rushes you.

You shriek as he captures you in both arms, lifting you off the floor and whirling you around—both the spoon in one hand and the glass in the other fling drops of red and white absolutely everywhere. And then you’re giggling as Soap wedges his face between your neck and shoulder and shakes his head like a dog, probably biting down.

Soap growls; a big smile takes over your face, eyes squeezed shut as you laugh breathlessly. The sergeant’s broad, brown forearms have yours pinned up against your chest, pressing your breasts together.

“Not fair, Ghost!” you exclaim as Soap’s growling noises turn into obnoxiously loud kisses. “No pulling rank in my house!”

“Two against one, hen, you’re outnumbered,” Soap counters. “What should we do with this one, eh, LT?”

“See if I ever cook for you two again, is what!” you protest, still grinning with delight. You kick your legs to no effect.

Soap, also grinning, slots his face back into your neck. You giggle again, complaining that it tickles.

Some incomplete circuit finally connects.

Order given. Girlfriend “punished.”

Soap making you laugh because Ghost told him to.

Not one. Not the other. Both.

“Think we can let ‘er off the hook this time,” he says, feeling dazed.

The pictures on your Instagram, with you and Soap together. The both of you, smiling together, wrapped around each other, standing at the top of a mountain and grinning what the two of you get to share.

Soap's hand spread on your back.

“Aye, sir,” Soap says, setting you down. You’re still laughing a little as you go to check the sauce, and Soap finds a towel to clean up the mess he made. Ghost reels in the meanwhile.

There’s an imprint of Soap’s teeth on your neck.

They wouldn’t be there if Ghost hadn’t sicced Soap on you.

He’s still reeling as you begin plating dinner, and Soap sets out the silverware. When everyone sits down to eat, the sergeant tops up everyone’s drinks.

“I hope you like it,” you say to Ghost, setting his plate in front of him. There's a shyness to you, a verity to your concern for his opinion.

“Oh, he will,” Soap says, grinning.

He trails the tips of his fingers along the back of your arm as he directs that jewel-blue gaze at Ghost. It's sharper than Ghost has ever noticed before—

“The LT has good taste. Don’t you, Ghost?”

And with his other hand, he raises his glass to the knowing smirk on his lips.

You hated calling this a situationship. That felt too messy, too complicated. Fuck buddies felt impersonal and vulgar. Especially because you were friends first and foremost.

Even if for some reason you all decided to stop having the greatest sex of your lives - which let's face it - was never going to happen. You were hooked on each other. You were a forever thing in whatever sense that meant. Right now that meant sitting in a booth at a bougie restaurant trying not to cream on the upholstery seats at the feeling of the pink diamond stretching out your tight hole.

You were grateful Soap was such a chatterbox, holding up the conversation well enough for the three of you. If you opened your mouth you weren't sure you could hide the quiet whimpers escaping your lips as Ghost sat beside you, not giving away anything as his fingers slipped underneath your dress and pressed firmly against your leaking pussy.

"What's the verdict Lt.?" Soap's voice carried across the table, "We staying for dessert?

To anyone in passing it would sound like an innocent question. To you and Ghost though, the two people who knew him inside and out, the low gravely drop of his voice was enough to make you both squirm.

"We're leaving." Simon's voice left no room for argument.

You were already halfway gone. Head floating and body buzzing. You didn't pay much attention to anything for the next forty-five minutes as Simon took care of the tab and Johnny kept snuggling into you, pressing just hard enough against your back to make you flutter as he pressed sweet kisses to your cheeks, neck, and shoulders. It wasn't until you were back in your flat that your eyes seemed to focus again.

Leaning back on your elbows, skirt riding up your thighs while you rubbed them together mindlessly, you were focused on not missing a second of the show in front of you.

Simon had removed his ballcap and black gator, leaving his pretty face and piercing eyes on full display where he stood behind Johnny. The Scotsman had been stripped of his sports coat and the tight black t-shirt he wore beneath it clung to the broad, solid muscles of his pecs and biceps. Tight enough that you could see the ridges of Simon's knuckles through the fabric where they slid below the collar.

You were all still fully clothed and already heaving. Simon was mumbling something in Johnny's ear that you couldn't pick up from across the room, licking and nibbling on his ear while one set of Johnny's fingers dug into the tops of Simon's thick jean clad thigh. The others reached behind him to card through the soft platinum locks sticking up in all directions.

You never tired of seeing them together. Where Johnny was solid mass, broad and soft and with enough heft and weight to wrap around you like a safety blanket; Simon was corded, sinewy muscle carved from marble and cut from hours of discipline. Every move he made revealed another ab or muscle you didn't even know the human body had.

His hands were your favorite part. Despite the scars, despite the ridges and veins, despite the violence and power you knew they had delved out before - Simon's touch had never been anything but gentle with you. Even when you begged for it, when his hands left marks that stayed for days, it was always followed with a soothing, loving caress that said it's okay. Let go, I've got you.

With Johnny though he was a little less forgiving.

"Talked a big talk on the way over here. Not much to say now?"

He was pawing at Johnny, palming him roughly through the front of his dress pants while his teeth sunk into the junction of his shoulder. Johnny was bucking into the touch. Desperate for anything Simon was willing to give.

The whimper he let out when Simons hand appeared from out of his shirt and closed around his throat sent a shiver down your spine. One that Simon clocked immediately.

He kept his eyes on you but his words were meant for Johnny, "Our girl is getting cold. Why don't you go warm her up."

For such a man whose job is literally stealth and shit, it was comically cute watching him trip over his feet to kick his shoes off before collapsing on top of you. Johnny wrapped you up in his arms immediately. Pulling your legs around his thick waist and wrapping his arms around your shoulders. The weight of him made it hard to breath but the slow drag of his cock between your slick soaked panties made it worth it.

"Hi baby." Johnny whispered into your mouth as he leaned in to claim your lips.

The kiss was slow and dirty. The scrape of his 5 o'clock shadow burning in a delicious way as he licked the roof of your mouth. He pulled back enough to slip one hand over your ass, grabbing at the fat there to pull you harder against him.

His bulge caught just right on your slit, "Oh fuck. Shit Johnny, please."

Grinding harder, circling your hips and trying to chase that high, you mewled and whined when his fingers slipped over a few inches. Pressing through your dress and finding the solid, cold diamond.

Johnny groaned into you, pulling back with your bottom lip trapped in between his teeth and watching a string of spit connect your lips.

"Dinnae I tell you you'd have so much fun with this pretty thing inside you? Yeah?" He pressed on it again and swallowed the gasp that tore from your lips, "You've been so good for us these last couple weeks lass, letting us take care of you and get you ready for us."

"Think tonight's the night, right Lt.?"

Your body didn't stop rolling into the hard line of Johnny even as his words registered in your brain and you tipped your head to find Simon's watchful gaze from his post. His tall frame was leaning far too casually against your dresser, gloveless fingers fishing through the top drawer to pull out a box of condoms and a small bottle of lube. The sight alone was enough to make you drip, leaky hole spilling down over the plug in your ass and soaking through your ruined panties. Johnny felt you clench and flutter through the wet fabric and laughed into your neck where he was leaving teeth marks and bruises.

Simon watched with knowing eyes but stayed quiet as Johnny used his hold on you to drag your hips faster against his.

"You're going to cum like this first. Fully clothed and rutting against me like the needy little thing you are. Then Simon and I are going to take you apart and stuff both your greedy holes.

His words, the feeling of his clothed cock and wandering fingers, and Simon staring you down from across the room with a dark promise in his light eyes was enough to send you over the edge. Johnny held you tight, rocking his hips slowly as your first orgasm rippled through you in sharp spasms.

The two of you stayed there, wrapped in each other and pressing kisses to each others lips while you came down from your high. Finally, once you were breathing somewhat normally again, Johnny kneeled back on his haunches and pulled the tight shirt from his body.

Your fingers reached for the exposed skin. Drinking in the way his skin stuttered and breath hitched as your fingertips drifted across the soft of his belly, over the end of the scar running across his abdomen and below his navel, dipping into the cut of his hips, before settling heavy and teasing on his belt buckle.

You were going to pull the leather apart, eager to get your hands on the thick member straining against his zipper, when one large hand covered both of yours and paused your actions. Simon placed one knee beside you and leaned over where you lay on the bed, doing his best to ignore Johnny's hand rubbing across his shoulders and rubbing out any tension in them as he looked you in the eye and made you focus on him for a minute.

"You're in charge here sweetheart. You say stop, we stop. You change your mind at any point, we stop. You know well enough that we're a lot to handle one at a time so if you don't want to do this -"

You cut him off there, "Simon. I want this. I want you." You reached out to tug at Johnny again, "I want both of you."

Simon's kiss was slower, sweeter. He was pouring every ounce of love and trust into it to make sure you knew that they were in this with you. When he pulled back though his eyes had darkened and his hand braced around your throat.

"Take your clothes off. Johnny's going to fuck you now. Gotta get you as wet and ready for us as we can before I split you apart on my cock, love."

You and Johnny were frantic. Clothes ripping off and flying around the room as he helped strip you down and leave you in nothing but your panties and heels while simultaneously rucking off his own trousers. Simon was less dramatic in his stripping. Lining up his shoes, folding his black slacks, tauntingly undoing the buttons of his shirt one by one until it fell off the sharp lines of his shoulders. He left his tight briefs on as he slipped onto the bed in front of you, leaning against the headboard and spreading his long limbs on either side of where Johnny was guiding you back onto the bed.

"On your knees love."

You crawled to the center of the bed, looking up at Simon through your lashes. The bed behind you dipped as Johnny joined you. The moment his thick hands landed on your outer thighs, shaking the limbs to watch your ass ripple, you were melting. Hands pushing out, back arching. Presenting yourself to him and begging without words for him to fucking touch you already.

Johnny groaned, fingers tightening, "Fuck. Pretty thing aren't you baby? Fucking dripping all over the fucking sheets like we dinnae already claim this pussy. Want a reminder then of who this belongs to yeah?"

His broad nose was running over your skin, chasing the goosebumps that appeared in its wake, as he spoke behind you. You pushed your hips back trying to chase the feeling of his hot breath and get his mouth on you.

He kissed you once, twice, over the gusset of your panties. Over the discoloration and sticky sweet scent of you. Then he hooked a finger in the material and tugged it to the side, revealing your fluttering and dripping pussy as well as the bright pink plug glinting from its spot snug in your ass.

"Lass is fucking ruined Simon. Ain't even had a cock in her and she's already a mess."

You whimpered pathetically at his cruel words and the way his fingers were massaging the skin around your thighs and ass, spreading and pushing and squeezing to see every angle he could.

Simon heard you and took pity on the pleading look in your eyes, "Shut the fuck up Soap and put that mouth to good use."

Johnny's responding Yes, Lieutenant was spoken into you as he dove in. Simon didn't miss it and you didn't miss the way he shuddered either. You couldn't tease him about it even if for a second you wanted to be a brat about the big scary Ghost having a praise kink because Johnny's tongue was working inside of you and stealing any thoughts from your head.

He didn't eat like a man starved. He ate like a man on a mission. John Mactavish was nothing if not a certified munch. He'd proven this time and time again yet his eagerness never ceased to amaze you. He alternating between strong, probing, sucking to short, syrupy licks. Using his nose and chin to stimulate as much of your slick lips as he could reach.

You pressed your face into the soft sheets and twisted to look back at him. Your eyes damn near rolled at the sight of him grinding his hips into the bed below, thick cock slipping and throbbing as he tried to gain some friction.

"Johnny please! Wanna cum on your cock."

He pulled away with great reluctance. Smacking the side of your hips as he rose to his knees behind you, his face glistening with your slick. Simon shifted forward, bracketing your head with his huge thighs and petting your hair.

"Wanna taste."

The hand that wasn't holding you reached out to grab the back of Johnny's neck, pulling him into a nasty kiss. It was all tongue and teeth as the two soldiers above you fought for dominance. Ghost licked him from chin to cupids bow, cleaning your juices off of his face. The sight of them together always turned you on. It was hard not to be when the two most beautiful and most dangerous men you knew were tongue fucking above you with the taste of you on their lips.

Without meaning to you starting twirling your hips. Nuzzling into Simon's thighs and bulge as the heat of them above and around you caused you to sweat. Simon growled when your tongue darted out, searching through his briefs to try and find what you were craving.

He pulled away from Johnny with a schmack of their lips, "Better hurry up Sarge, our girl is getting restless and I might have to take care of her myself."

"Nah." Johnny smoothed his hands over my skin again before I felt the drag of his cockhead through my slit, the tip catching on my clit and causing me to buck forward where Simon caught me and held me in place, "Greedy little slut needs more than one cock tonight Lt."

"Please..." You cried out below them, hands fisting the sheets as Johnny pushed the tip of his dick against your weeping hole with just enough pressure to make you shake.

"I've got you baby."

He pushed in slowly. Inch by thick, delicious inch. No matter how many times you'd had him, the sheer girth of Johnny was enough to steal the breath from your lungs. Your tight walls gripped him, sucking him in and pushing him out at the same time as he bullied his way in slowly.

You were panting, crying into Simon as he soothed your sweat slicked hair back from your face and cooed at you from above.

"Taking him so well, love. Deep breaths."

Johnny stayed seated at the root for a few moments, letting you catch your breath and letting himself find the strength not to bust a nut in the first thirty seconds.

"Si...please. Need you!"

Your nails were digging into the scarred, strong flesh of his thighs now. Desperate and needing something to ground yourself, he was definitely going to have half moon shapes imprinted in his skin for a while.

"Know what you need, love."

He shifted back just enough to pull off his underwear, the final piece of clothing separating him from you. His dick bounced up, slapping against his chiseled abdomen and leaving a spot of precum in its wake. Where Johnny was thick, Simon was long and fucking hung like a horse and the nine inches he was packing made your mouth water. You'd never described a penis as pretty before knowing Simon but both you and Johnny had agreed his pink tip, slight curve upwards, and velvety iron rod was enough to constitute the adjective.

Especially when it was drilling one of you into the mattress.

Simon grabbed himself, squeezing at the base and tugging a couple of times before holding himself out to you. The moment your lips parted and you moaned at the taste of him on your tongue, Johnny pulled out to the tip before slamming back in. The action was enough to have you gagging on Simon.

"Sorry baby, couldn't help myself."

His pace was steady. Hard and deep as he filled you up and stretched you out. Every thrust sent you further and further down Simon's cock until you weren't even trying to find a rhythm anymore and simply let Johnny fuck both of you.

Simon was in heaven, just letting you suck on him for your own pleasure and need to have something in your mouth as he watched Johnny with apt fascination. His open mouth, grunting and moaning at the feeling of you milking his cock. The bead of sweat rolling between his pecs and the smattering of dark chest hair before disappearing into the mess where his lovers were connected.

Reaching under you, trying not to choke you as you slobbered on his length, Simon's dexterous fingers found purchase to help the two of you along. His left hand groped at your swaying tits, pinching and flicking your neglected nipples and enjoying the way your cries vibrated through him. His other found the slick, creamy mess you and Johnny were making.

His fingers split around you both. Feeling every push and pull of Johnny's thick cock in and out of you. The heel of his hand pushed up and let you grind your clit against him.

"Can feel you clenching around him love. Sucking him in nice and tight. Perfect little pussy, made just for us."

You and Johnny both moaned at his words.

"Johnny, I think she needs a preview of what's to come."

Johnny's hips slowed, never stopping but dragging in and out so you could feel every ridge and vein of him. You closed your eyes in bliss, whining at the loss of Simon in your mouth as he joined Johnny behind you.

The first glob to land on your ass was warm and you'd heard Johnny spit. Then came the click of a bottle cap and a slightly colder fluid joined it around the plug. The second Simon pressed it into you, your legs gave out and Johnny had to catch your hips to keep himself tucked inside you.

"Ah ah ah! Can't run baby, this is what you wanted remember? Be a good girl and hold still." Johnny slapped against your hips and ass again, loving the way you gushed around him.

"She's just feeling too much right now to use that big, smart brain of hers. She'll get it."

Simon's fingers drifted across your skin, twirling and teasing around where you needed him the most. Finally he grabbed hold of the plug and ever so slowly pulled. He only pulled it halfway out before gently pushing back in. The stretch and pressure made you pause, holding your breath and tensing your whole body.

"Breathe baby." Johnny ground his hips in tight circles, reaching around to play with your pearl, "Gotta relax for us. Si is just making sure you're ready for him."

You gasped when Simon did it again. Choking in air and sobbing into the sheets below you. You were so full. And they hadn't even really fucked you yet.

Simon kept moving the pretty pink plug in and out of you as Johnny picked up his pace again. Thighs slapping against yours as he drove into you hard and fast. You were blubbering beneath them, hands twisting behind your back to reach for them. They each laced one of their hands with your without ever letting up, using the hold to tug you back harder into Johnny's cock.

"Please, please! 'M gonna cum!"

"Yeah? Getting close love?" Simon pulled the plug out of you with a slick pop.

Leaving you gasping and gaping around nothing as Johnny's thrusts grew frantic at the sight. You could feel him pulsing inside you as he swelled.

"Need just a little more baby. Need you to cum for us. Cover my cock in your sweety cum so we can both be inside you." Johnny spat over your exposed ass, the impact causing you to clench around him like a vice.

Simon bent over to meet your fucked out gaze. Untangling your fingers he brought one hand to your mouth, shoving three of his long digits inside and feeling you swirl your tongue over them.

"Want a preview of what it's going to feel like with my dick filling up that pretty asshole?"

Ripping his hand from your mouth, drool pooling into the sheets and over your chin, he reached back suddenly dipped his middle two fingers inside your puckered, gaping hole.

That was all it took. Filled by both your lovers, Johnny rubbing the hood of your clit swiftly, you were gushing. Your legs were weak, shaking and sliding out as Johnny growled over you and pumped you full of his cum.

"That's it love. Fuck you look so good. Did so good for us. Making a mess all over."

"Holy fucking shit Simon. She's still fucking going. Pussy is fucking trying to kill me, holy fuck!"

He didn't stop as he moving, the feeling of you spraying over his wrist and thighs only prolonging his high. Simon was practically holding you up by your asshole as his fingers crooked and scissored inside.

When you were both finally sated, bodies physically drained, Johnny collapsed on top of you and Simon dipped down to push his tongue into his mouth and then yours. Going back and forth as all your faces were smooshed together and you lost track of whose lips were where.

You could feel Johnny twitching inside of you, whimpering at the feeling of him growing hard again.

"Sorry baby but you know we ain't done yet. Not even fucking close."

Simon pulled him out of you, hand covering your wet pussy and just holding it there as you cried at the sudden feeling of being empty everywhere.

"You're okay. Just gotta adjust."

His fingers smoothed through your lips, slipping his pointer into your pussy and stretching his little finger down to press into your ass. You bucked up, despite being overstimulated and sensitive already all you wanted was more, more, more.

Simon who’s not worried about you lurking on the outskirts in the slightest.

You are not big enough to pull him under, but you are hungry enough to get desperate.

He knows you don’t want to eat him.

You just want to eat something.

Anything that will sate the ache in your belly.

You, who bristles at the sight of Soap jogging Simon’s way — hound’s sensitive nose picking up the intruder, because that’s who you are.

A stranger in their warm bubble of a life.

You don’t belong there, but god knows something soft aches just below your thorax when you watch them have dinners through the windows of their kitchen.

You are careful — a predator in their prime, steps deceptively soft, shoulders rolling when you stretch out, globes of your joints popping softly.

You are beautiful — tail swaying with every step, eyes bright and sharp, fur hugging you up.

You are dangerous — sharp rows of teeth and deep-chested growls, fingers with claws flexing, muscles moving under your skin.

And you are alone.

Soap notes it after a few weeks of them watching you. He was tense about possible pack or other wolves coming with you to try and see if they can simply take what they want.

But no one comes.

It’s just you.

Johnny doesn’t want to feel bad for you because it’s none of his business, he doesn’t have to care, not when you are still very much of a threat even all on your own.

Simon watches you from the corner of his eye, when you circle him, but never come too close — sitting on the edge of his field. As close to the tree line as possible.

That’s smart.

Johnny is fast and Johnny can be really fucking mean if he thinks someone disturbs Ghost’s rest.

But you don’t do anything. You just watch him, your face tinted with something he can’t quite make out — you are too far away.

Simon sighs and flips on his stomach, his head getting propped on his palm, his eyes squinting when sun hits them.

He wonders what drew you out of the woods to their cabin.

He wonders how long have you been alone.

He wonders how hungry you must be to leave whatever safety your territory gave you to come out and watch him from distance.

He wonders why you never attack.

You should have at this point, you even look hungry — swaying a little from how lightheaded you probably are, eyes glued to him, tongue swiping over your lips.

Simon sits up on the grass and you step back, ready to retreat. Skittish thing.

Where is your pack, big bad wolf? What are you doing out here all on your own?

Soap sits in the shadows, not far away from Simon, ear twitching as his eyes narrow. But you just step back into the tree line before you finally turn your back to them.

Still hungry. Still dangerous.

They shouldn’t care, but Simon knows hunger and people being wary of appearances all too well and Soap is the ever bleeding heart.

Soap can respect that you came to show yourself and didn’t try to scavenge what you could. Didn’t slip in their pantry, didn’t steal one of the hens he takes care of. You didn’t take what wasn’t yours. That tells him a few things.

Ghost pretends he doesn’t notice when next time Johnny leaves out a plate with food.

Soap in return pretends he didn’t see Simon wash said plate afterwards, brown eyes burrowing on the food that’s got left on the plate.

You ate just a little bit of what they left.

Like you weren’t sure how much was allowed to take. Like you didn’t want to take too much.

Johnny sighs and doesn’t growl next time you come back to watch them in the field.

You are tenser this time, eyes sharp and wary on them — flickering from one to another. When Simon moves to flip on his belly you don’t wait for him to sit up — you leave.

Simon hums to himself and shakes his head when Soap gets up to follow you. No use.

You know these woods better than they do and you clearly aren’t in the mood to talk right now.

Even less than you usually are.

(Wolves are proud creatures. Polite but proud. Perhaps their pity was worse than your hunger. Only time will show)

That night Johnny leaves out another plate and you don’t touch it this time.

You disappear for two whole weeks before you finally come back — lip split, gashes on you already scabbing up, bruises blooming like dark violent watercolours.

Soap can’t help but growl, but immediately falls silent when you sneer in return, upper lip raising to bare sharp canines. Not a pushover, aren’t you?

You are hurt and wound up.

You don’t realise Johnny wasn’t growling at you, but for you.

Simon doesn’t move, watching how you limp to your usual fallen log where you sit and watch him.

At this point it’s a little ritual of yours. You come out more often than not, you sit on the other side of the field and you watch them.

So Simon stays put and tension slowly bleeds out of you. Like you needed this moment of peace and quiet. The routine that grounds you back, holds you together when you need it the most.

This flower field with the two of them living inside their warm bubble of a life.

Life you never had. Life you aren’t sure you will ever get.

Deep seated jealousy sticky and so sweet on your teeth it hurts.

Simon huffs air out softly and lies back on the grass, stretching out to his full height and well, showing off a little bit.

Afternoon sun is soft and warm on his skin, flowers’ scent cloying his head — his eyes half lidded and thoughtful when he watches you.

What happened to you, big bad wolf? Who hurt you? Why are you still alone?

But you don’t answer, tail awkwardly wrapped around your hip, arms curled around you, crossed over the chest with palms tucked in your armpits.

You are visibly tired.

Whatever the hell happened it took a lot of energy. Healing up even a little probably took even more out of you.

So it’s no surprise that you are slower to react when Simon sits up, it’s not surprise you are sluggish and exhausted. That you stay on the edge of their field when usually at this point you leave.

But the wayyour temple tilts on the trunk of the tree you lean on is a surprise. The way your lashes flutter down, even the way your breath evens out.

It’s the first time you fall asleep in their presence.

You sleep for a few hours, waking up when sun starts to set down — slowly uncurling from your position. Probably sore as hell, it couldn’t have been comfortable to sleep sitting on a log.

But you just shake it off like it’s nothing, small wince passing through your face when you move a little too quick. Yeah, definitely sore. Bruises now aching and tugging with every movement.

You watch them for a second too long, your mouth falling open as if you want to say something. But nothing comes out of it and you just stalk back into the woods.

Big bad wolf, all alone on your menacing forest kingdom. Nature’s aid, isn’t that how they call you? The species that weeds out overpopulation of those who aren’t supposed to survive.

Simon wonders how bad things are in the woods if you are this hungry. By the looks of it, so does Johnny.

Where is your pack, big bad wolf? Why are you all alone?

The next day Soap gets out on a mission to find out what has been happening in the damn forest. He makes it far enough for the tree crowns to start covering the sky, branches so thick it’s dark in here even in the middle of the day.

He makes decision to turn back only in the evening. When he realises you have been tailing him for a good hour now.

Eyes sharp and steps soft, your frame merging with the shadows in the corner of his eye.

Nature’s aid, biggest menace in these woods, bad wolf.

“Don’t leave him alone. It’s not safe.”, the words reach him so suddenly it doesn’t immediately register for him that you said something.

That’s the first time you spoke to him.

To be completely honest, up until now he wasn’t even sure if you even can.

“Talkin’ about Simon?”, Soap inhales air, scents merging into something he can’t quite make out. But he definitely knows the main note, one he smelled way too often during his service. The one that to this day makes the fine hairs on his neck rise. “He ‘s a big lad. He can take care of himself”

You huff out air — half amusement and half annoyance, still not stepping out in the light. So Johnny steps closer to you instead. The note in your scent hits him harder, cloying at the back of his throat.

Blood.

“Ye’r hurt”, he murmurs, eyes tracking you carefully. He knows that hurt predator is an easily agitated one and he’d prefer not to find out the strength of your bite today. “What happened tae ye?”

You huff air out again and retreat deeper, your eyes shining through the darkness, your shoulders rolling when you get lower and start walking.

So here’s that. Conversation over, he assumes.

Soap follows you, for some bloody reason. You know these woods better than they do. He doubts you are leading him to certain doom. If you wanted to kill him, you could have done it before.

No one would have found his body this deep in the forest.

But you silently lead him out to the their flower field. Exact spot where you usually sit watching him and Simon. So, definitely not doom. Just a different trail.

“Dae ye need hulp?”, he probes again, stepping out in the field.

Giving you space.

Woods are your territory, he knows better than to overstay however long you tolerate him there.

But whatever happened to you must have taken a significant toll on you. Because instead of snapping your jaws at him to urge him move his arse away and out, you pause contemplating.

Johnny takes the chance, gauging that your silence means you probably need it. You don’t want to ask for anything but you are in no position to refuse it.

“Ah will lea’ supplies oan the porch”, he just says and turns around not waiting for an answer.

You are not the most talkative person, aren’t you?

Jesus, he’s just surrounded by silent and resilient types.

First Simon, now you.

“I don’t need your pity.”, your words reach him, tone more tired than sharp like you say it just as a precaution.

Johnny can’t help but flash you a grin over his shoulder, iron of spiked collar a snug fit around his throat.

“Guid. Fur ye aren’t gonnae git any.”, his retort leaves you speechless, his grin only widening when you blink at him in astonishment.

Got you there, didn’t he?

“Bear traps.”, the notion is quiet, he’d probably miss it if he wasn’t this close to you.

But the request itself makes him cock his head to the side. Why would you need any?

But Johnny stays silent and you interpret his puzzled look your way.

“You asked if I need help. Bear traps. That would be a big help.”, you explain and he almost starts shaking his head at you.

No, he gets what you need the question is why do you need them.

But you are tired, he can smell your blood and he’d bet his left arm you are hungry as a (no pun intended) bloody dog.

So he just nods and turns away, starting to walk home — flowers grazing his thighs, light of their cabin flickering at him through the window, wind chimes dingling in the air.

They found out a long time ago that you aren’t going to attack them from the back.

He doubts you will change your mind in the current state of yours.

“Goodnight, wolf.”, Soap murmurs for some reason and swears he actually hears a breathy chuckle.

Sound sends shivers down his spine.

“Goodnight, John”, you muse back so soft he actually stops, head snapping right back, hoping to see your face in the moment.

But when he turns around — you are already gone. Only shadows twisting at the edge of the tree line.

Simon pulls him in a cuddle as soon as Johnny steps through the door, his big frame wrapping around Soap like a heavy blanket, lips demanding a wet hungry kiss.

Soap just pulls him closer, tail wagging so hard he almost smacks their coats off the hanger, grin widening.

Night is young and warm — sweet scent of flower field and Simon’s hide wrapping around Johnny.

The breath of air is soft on his skin, sheen of sweat covering it when he rolls his hips, strands of outgrown hair sticking to his forehead as he fucks his husband in their bed.

Big palms splayed over Simon’s back — forcing him to arch harder, pushing his face down in the pillows, wet greedy heat of him pulling Johnny deeper.

Needy fucking thing, Soap was gone for barely a day and here is what he comes home to.

“Shuid keep ye stuffed a' th' time, doll. Fuckin' meltin me down thare, aren’t ye? An' 'ere ah thought ye were goin’ tae tak' the wolf instead o' me.”, Johnny growls, driving his cock just deeper into Simon, smirk — a wicked sharp thing — widening when Ghost clenches around him.

Oh, someone is fucking excited at the mere thought of that.

If it was anyone else Soap would have been already reeling with jealousy, mild possessive streak of his baring teeth to sink them into Simon’s flushed nape, tongue gliding to collect the sweat and blood.

Renewing the bite that has already scarred.

They are each other’s forever and always and Johnny is not giving him away.

But Johnny doesn’t mind taking you in.

Johnny doesn’t mind getting both of you — he has two hands after all and bed big enough to fit all three of them. You’d slot in nicely, he can already picture it.

You — with your wild eyes and sharp teeth and this fluffy fucking tail driving him positively mad.

Fucking tease, he would have pressed you in the grass, closing his jaws down on your throat, marking you for all to see if he could.

His herd and his mate. His wolf and his pack.

Maybe he is a greedy man, but he made peace with that a long time ago when he got his eyes on the heavy beast of his lieutenant.

“Ye’d lik' that wouldn’t ye? Getting that wolf in oor kip, feeding thaim proper 'n' pumpin' thaim silly. Or letting thaim fuck you silly. Doesn’t that sound lovely, mo chridhe?”, Johnny breathes out in Simon's ear, his chest pressing down on Ghost's back, hips moving.

Takes a lot to mount a man like Simon Riley but Johnny has been doing a job of it so good, it is (to his absolute elation) Riley-MacTavish now.

“Talkin’ too much”, Simon breathes out, stubborn and beautiful and god, Johnny isn’t sure how it’s possible to fall in love with someone again and again, but he does.

Every day, every breathing moment of his life.

As long as he is alive — he will love this man.

Forever and always.

“Can’t hear ye, doll.”, Soap growls softly and circles the rim of Simon’s hole stretched thin around his cock, eyes darkening when Ghost clenches down on him like a vice. “Ye gotta speak up.”, but with the way Johnny moves inside of him it feels impossible to talk coherently.

Not when Simon’s eyes roll back, jaw going slack because this is good, hot molten honey of Soap’s words spreading throughout his body, burning tender nerve endings.

This is perfect, his husband a big mean guard dog always on alert, always hungry for more and more and more.

Sharp teeth and sharp taunts, bulk of him moulding Simon into pliant shivering mess, sweat and slick dripping down his thighs and he’s hot.

God, he’s so fucking hot.

Drunk on pleasure and heat of summer’s night, soaked in Johnny’s affection, littered with Johnny’s bites.

Simon turns his head on the side just to take a proper breath, cool air kissing his skin — his face red and sweaty, when his eyes zero in on your eyes in the window.

Fucking hell.

He should be fucking ashamed of how hard he clenches down on Soap when you cock your head — eyes heavy, glinting in the faint shimmer of their porch light.

You are bloody enjoying it, aren’t you?

You just stay there, watching him with the same quiet intensity that you show out on the edge of his field. Always so far, always out of reach.

Teasing him.

Soap’s hand finds its way between Simon’s legs and he is coming apart at the seams, drool dripping down his chin, eyes fixed on yours in the window because that’s fucking perverted.

He’s letting practically a stranger watch him getting fucked by his husband. He should be reeling, should be pulling out the hunting rifle and having a few words with you about privacy and boundaries.

But the way you watch him…he can’t stop looking right back at you.

He can’t stop himself from thinking whether or not you’d prefer to bend him over like Soap or be good and let Simon get a proper taste of ya.

He’d like both.

He wonders what would it take for him to pull you under.

Not much probably.

Just a little patience and a sliver of luck.

Just enough to catch you off guard.

Soap comes next day to you being pulled under Simon’s bulk, his thin tail with the brush on its end flicking from side to side, your legs twitching on both sides of Simon’s hips.

You are no small prey but Simon is massive and he pins you down hard enough to render you helpless.

His body slotted between your thighs, taking up more space than you would usually give him (if you would have given any at all).

He hums, ignoring Johnny’s amused huff and presses a kiss to your cheek, smiling when your body melts into his.

Someone’s fucking starved for affection, poor thing. Don’t worry, they can take real good care of you.

Simon tuts at your attempt to wiggle yourself from underneath him which is fruitless endeavour at best — even Johnny knows better that to try and pull him up when he lies down.

So you shouldn’t try either.

Especially when you should know better than anyone that he’s not moving anywhere until he sees some fucking honesty from you.

Can’t act all coy and prideful when he saw your pupils blowing wide yesterday, your eyes dark eclipses, shining through the fucking window.

Can’t pretend you don’t know where this all is coming from when he already have seen the hunger with which you watched them.

No need to be cold and hungry, when you are more than welcome to stay with them.

When they can keep you warm and stuffed and fed.

You growl at him again and earn yourself nothing but click of his tongue and a pull in a wet sloppy kiss that ends as soon as it started.

Almost costing you a needy whine.

Simon doesn’t care much for your growls and kicking, his nose nudging your jaw so he can properly nuzzle into your neck, breathing out in content.

Much better.

You smell like woods and wolf — wet soil and pinewood, fur and salty sweat. Simon hums to himself and presses his hips down on yours, rolling them in to grind into you.

The sound you make sends a shiver through both of you.

“Won’t hurt you, pet, I promise”, Simon rumbles out and you’d snap back at him but he grinds into you again, pressing more of his weight and the friction is so delicious you lose your mind a little bit.

“Jus’ like that, m? Feels good, doesn’t it?”, he murmurs, lips trailing down your neck, bulk of his body heavy and heavenly on you.

It’s more than good. It’s maddening.

His teeth nip your ear and you downright whimper, thighs clamping down around him, heels digging in his lower back.

Sensitive little thing. How cute.

Simon licks the sweat off your temple and presses a tight kiss to it as he keeps grinding down on you.

Heavy in the most delicious way, his dark eyes softer than you expected when your lips fall open.

Scratch beast’s belly and the gate will open right up.

Simon takes his sweet time with you, not in any hurry at all, drinking in every gasp and whimper of yours, murmuring in your ear praises.

“Doin’ so good for me, luv. Wanna see more. Can I, luv?”, his palms slide under your dark shirt and you whine, tugging him closer.

“Just a lick, sweet’eart, gonna get just a little taste”, Simon promises, when he pulls your sweater up. His tongue sliding over your nipple, lips closing around it as he sucks it in.

His mouth hot sinful thing, his hands rubbing the inner sides of your thighs until you relax and allow your legs to fall right open for him.

Here we go.

“So pretty for me”, he rumbles, pleased glimmer in his eyes when you buckle your hips up to grind on him.

Needy little thing.

Sweet as honey and dark as a night.

He should have snatched you off your bloody spot on the edge of the field ages ago. “Gonna let me have a taste, will you, luv?”

His grin downright wicked when you nod, biting your lips to muffle the gasps and all these little sounds he coaxes out of your throat.

Ghost doesn’t waste much time, pulling the rest of your clothes off and tossing them aside — grass soft and tickling on your skin, his palms rough and heated as he settles between your legs.

Tongue slowly sliding up to the sensitive top of you, lips wrapping around it, teeth grazing when the bastard smiles at your pupils blowing wider.

Your eyes — dark hungry abyss.

Your eyes — an endless fucking well and Simon wants to jump right in.

His grin only widens when another set of hands pulls you a little higher, palms settling just under your chest, stubble scratching your jaw.

“Huvin all the fun wi'oot me, aye?”, the man breathes out and you shiver, his fingers kneading the soft parts of you, his thumbs playing with your nipples almost lazily.

He’s beyond relaxed in his advances, charming lilt of his voice making your head spin.

“Someone’s sensitive”, Soap chuckles when your eyes glaze over, his teeth grazing your throat, tasting the blush spreading across you like wildfire.

Deliciously pretty. He might just have to eat you up.

“Don’t get shy wi' us noo, pup”, he is heat and he is want, his hands groping and massaging, his hands piecing your back together after Simon takes you apart.

Soap feels like salvation, his hunger familiar to you, his needs feeling so similar to yours it’s almost like looking in a distorted mirror.

But he chuckles, thumbing your nipples and you whimper, skin tingling with heat, wet mess between your legs.

Simon’s head is bobbing when he steals glances up at you two — eyes heavy and dark you feel your vision crumpling around the edges.

Afternoon sun soft on your skin, smell of flowers cloying your head, scent of Soap’s sweat making your mouth water and you need-need-need, please, just this once, please you can’t—

There is a raw desperate sound rumbling through your throat and Johnny smiles.

Johnny breathes our “bonnie”, Johnny holds you in place and plays your body like you are the instrument he has been tinkering with for ages and now he finally knows how to make you sing.

Smug asshole.

He clicks his tongue and his palm smacks the softer part of your chest, sting spreading to hard nipple, white-hot pleasure rewiring you to hell and back.

Simon holds you wide open and drags his tongue up, fingers groping the fat of your inner thighs, pleasure echoing through your body just so he can pour in more.

You are full and overflowing, you are needy and hungry.

You want everything and at once and it never felt this good or this right.

“Be good, pet”, Ghost sucks a hickey in your inner thigh and grins when Soap’s hand wraps around your throat and you slick sensitive part of you throbs. “Nice and pliant for us, aren’t you?”

Pretty fucking wolf, too bad you don’t have any pack, no one is coming to get you.

and johnny is especially clingy now that your bump starts showing at five months pregnant, carrying not one, but two pups at that.

he's ushered you into the bedroom again, helped you arrange the large nest to your liking before pulling you right into his loving arms as you rest with your back against his bare, furry chest.

it's nice, peaceful. you feel loved and cared for in a way that has you purring, though it's not the lack of attention or affection that's been stressing you out, it's

"my turn," simon grumbles lowly as he enters the shared bedroom. he's been looking for you for a minute too long for his liking, and finding you curled up against johnny again leaves his wolf snarling and his stomach churning with the acidic need to protect and possess his pregnant omega.

"move, mactavish."

behind you, johnny stiffens. "negative. ah need this."

the tension rises at once as they snarl at each other; air thickening as their usually calm and soothing scents turn bitter, nearly causing you to gag.

"stop," you trill, squirming in johnny's embrace as the puppies move inside your bulging belly, sensing your distress. "no more fighting. i need you two to start getting along again."

johnny's growling almost stops completely when he senses your shifting mood; it lowers to a soft warning that vibrates against your back while simon approaches the nest, towering with his broad shoulders squared in a display of alpha dominance.

and even though he's not meaning to intimidate you, you duck your head naturally.

"he's been hogging you for days, love! i miss you," simon huffs, pinning johnny with a sharp glare; tawny eyes glinting with fury as he watches the other alpha's hands caress over your bump. "these pups are mine and so are you."

you wince when johnny's growl rises again.

"she's mine, too! the fuck are ye on about? ye can rest with her later."

"i want to rest with her now."

"johnny." craning your head back to gaze at him, you let out a soothing chirp. "make some space for simon, please."

johnny tuts and huffs, melts underneath your stare when you blink your eyes up at him so prettily, and he relents with an annoyed chuff.

and simon looks all too smugly about it, when johnny obeys your request.

you're shifted and moved carefully, manhandled with the utmost care by the roughest pairs of hands on this planet, until you're laying on your back, staring at the ceiling in the dimly lit bedroom while both of your massive mates sandwich you between them.

yet they're still acting like a pair of petulant toddlers, fighting over who gets to have their favourite toy as they keep growling at each other, holding eye-contact over the ample swells of your breasts.

as you let out a deep sigh, johnny nuzzles your shoulder apologetically.

"ah cannae have one moment with ye without tha' big geezer bloody growlin' at me."

"one moment? tch," simon countered, rubbing his mammoth palm over your baby bump self-soothingly. "you've been spending way more time with her than me."

while they continue to growl at each other so quietly, anyone else wouldn't be able to hear it, you keen softly: "i just want you two to get along again."

eventually, you reach up to cover their eyes with your hands respectively; blinding them like one would a predator to calm them down and cutting off the view of each other.

"enough," you hiss warningly, their sour stench agitating your omega and maternal instincts. "no more fighting, you're upsetting me and our pups, and i cannot deal with it anymore."

both men go silent immediately once they can hear and smell how much their behaviour is affecting you. they take deep breath, nuzzle against your warm palms, and start to relax into the mattress of the nest at last. for now.

as you lower your hands again, johnny scoots even closer to you.

"ah jus' wan' tae be with ye, bunny."

on your other side, simon wraps one heavy arm around you, careful as he rests his hand on your pregnant belly. "and i need to be with you, pet."

"and i need you both equally," you remark emphatically. "this pregnancy is already taking a toll on me and i need you both to take care of us."

whining softly, you squirm between them on the mattress, trying to get more comfortable.

"i'm scared as much as i'm excited."

finally, realization seems to dawn and click inside their thick skulls, and then your alphas share a long look full of understanding and raw determination something you haven't witnessed in months.

suddenly, a concoction of wet oakwood, warm brandy, and featherlight soot mixes with that of sugarplums, clean cotton, and dried cloves, and you inhale it deeply as you feel a new wave of fatigue seep into your limbs; turning them heavy and full of lead until you're practically pinned to the mattress.

and while johnny gently nuzzles your sensitive scent gland, simon continues to rub and feel up your swollen belly, cherishing every single tiny kick and flutter of his growing pups as you arch into their gentle ministrations with a happy, content purr.

"can we turn off the light? i'm tired already," you keen and yawn throughly, snuggling even closer to both alphas to steal their warmth while scent marking them as well.

they can't help themselves but coo at the sound of your yawning, finding it both endearing and adorable; all too aware that you're growing tired more easily as pregnant and ripe as you are now, and needing more attention and tender, loving touch all things only they can provide.

neither of them can quite handle how precious you are, especially now. it fills them with a strange, possessive pride to know that they're the cause of it though one of them in particular.

johnny pulls the duvet over you, making sure to keep you warm and comfortable next to him, before flicking off the bedside lamp.

"lemme hold ye, hen," he mumbles under his breath. "cannae sleep if ah don't."

he curls himself around you like a needy mutt, and buries his nose into the crook of your neck, nosing along your skin, determined to leave no space between you two while simon nuzzles the crown of your head, inhaling and huffing your scent like an addict, his muscular legs all entangled with yours.

"rest now, pet," he rumbles with his hand still splayed over the curve of your bump possessively below the duvet.

splashed across the walls in photo after photo, you and johnny at the cottage, at his mum's dinner table, you pinned to his side like a little fucking tumor. he can't take them down. he wouldn't ask that of his boy.

he thinks maybe this is his fault. that he should've done something back when you first met, when your distaste for him was just a flicker behind your polite smile. when you'd been better at hiding it.

he can't even focus on the task at hand. johnny, face down in their bed, moaning and slurring his name, meeting him for every thrust—and simon can't look away. from you.

it's a photo from the summer before he attached himself to johnny for good, right beside the bed. you're off to the side of the frame, laughing, the wind tugging your dress tight against your hips. you look happy, carefree, and completely oblivious to what was coming. him, barreling into your and johnny's life. you don't smile like that around him. you never smile at him. those seem to be reserved for johnny only.

you're difficult. a thorn in his side. so prickly and stubborn you can't see the writing on the wall. the inevitability. if simon had his way, if johnny wasn't so insistent on tiptoeing around you, he'd corner you in the bathroom sometime, hook a finger in your mouth, and make you smile. let you work it out wrapped around his cock, bring you to your senses, and pass you off to johnny to sort out all the big feelings.

fuck.

he huffs, swinging a leg up to plant a foot, bracing himself, and picking up the pace. he's vaguely aware of the almost wounded shriek from below him, but he ignores it. doesn't feel a lick of guilt. he knows how to make it up to johnny. all of it.