#Ghost loves Soap

[the-moons-toasty-ace]

You don't need to twinkify a man to put him in a girly outfit. Just slap a skirt on that behemoth anyway, I'm sure he'd love it

[mastercherry]

Ghost x Soap prompt

Oh. Okay. I remember what I wanted to post on here earlier. You don't know this, but I totally had this idea earlier today and want to share it with the world but I got distracted and forgot all about it. But here I am.

Back at it again with a Call of Duty, Ghost and Soap fic prompt.

I don't have a lot of experience with the games. I just got my first one, MW3, like a month or 2 ago. I know a little bit of the storyline, and I've looked up a few canon things, but most of my experience is with fanfiction so far. I know there's some mixed feelings amongst the fandom as far as the fanfiction goes so I want to do my best to contribute in a positive way.

I encourage feedback and comments or additional ideas. Also, I'd love to join a Discord server about the different ships in the game so invite me if you'd like.

Without further delay, here's my COD Ghost x Soap prompt from earlier today:

You know the Underworld series? With the vampires and the werewolves? You know, specifically, Underworld: Rise of the Lycans?

*<*<*spoiler alert for Underworld: Rise of the Lycans to follow*>*>*

*<*<*spoiler alert for Underworld: Rise of the Lycans to follow*>*>*

*<*<*spoiler alert for Underworld: Rise of the Lycans to follow*>*>*

You know near the end when Lucian and Sonja are tied up, unable to reach each other as the sun rises? And it's stressful and painful but beautiful. And she looks up as the sun roof begins to open, but he's just begging her to look at him.

"Look at me, look at me. Keep your eyes on me."

And she takes strength from his gaze and she's able to face what happens next because he's there with her.

"I love you," he says.

"And I love you," she replies as the sun roof continues to open. She keeps her eyes on him until the end.

And he just screams in anguish and pain when she's gone. And the whole castle can hear him calling her name.

You know what I'm talking about?

Okay. So THAT idea but Ghost and Soap.

Hear me out. It's somewhat of a sci-fi/fantasy world. Ghost doesn't know what he is, not really. There are others like him, born from death, unkillable as far as he knows. Some sort of creature that humans start to call a Reaper. He's never really cared. And he's never really wanted to die.

Until he met Jonathan Riley.

And this was like maybe 2 or 3 hundred years ago. We're talking castles and horses and witch hunts. The supernatural world is unknown but humans are starting to learn. They're starting to see. They're calling anything non-human evil. It's bad. Werewolves, vampires, witches- all real. All in danger during these dark times.

And here he meets Jonathan Riley. Nothing special really. He's from a poor family, with several siblings, barely enough food to eat. He helps his dad in the stables, helps his mom in the kitchen. Keeps the little ones busy. Picks up odd jobs around the small village Simon only visits every other week. And really, he only does it to keep up the appearance of being a normal human.

It's one of these visits where he quite literally runs into Jonathan. And it's all history from there. Jonathan might not be anything special to the village, but he's everything to Simon. He's the world. Suddenly, life is full of color and wonder.

When a disease wreaks havoc on the village, killing almost everyone, it's only Simon and Jonathan who come out unscathed. Fingers to be pointed. Whispers start to poison what remaining ears are left to listen.

And so Simon and Jonathan are put to death for witchcraft. At least, Jonathan is. They try to break Simon down and all they learn is that he can take a beating and not break. They know he's something else. A demon maybe. And he gave the magic of witchcraft to Jonathan who will be burned at the stake.

And here's where we have the Underworld Rise of Lycans scene. Simon is beaten and broken, chained down as he's forced to watch the pyre burn down his whole world.

When he's eventually freed he brings death upon everyone who played a part in taking Jonathan's life. He becomes the demon that they feared.

He wastes away for a while after that, not caring about anything. Not eating or sleeping, just wandering. Watching the dull gray fog of time pass him by, wishing he could die and join his beloved Jonathan in the after life.

Eventually, the supernatural world is fully revealed. It takes a while for the two worlds to work hand in hand, but one day there's hardly anyone left who remembers the time when supernatural creatures had to hide. There's just Simon and the few others like him who can't seem to die.

He lived so long in the shadows as a ghost that he still, to this day, doesn't know how Price got a hold of him. How anyone got a hold of him. But they found him. Recruited him. And when they asked for his name?

Simon Riley.

It gives him a purpose again, being part of the 141. They call him Ghost. How right they were. He was just a shell. Nothing more than a directionless shade until Price came along.

And then, one day, the world bursts back into amazing wonderful color and warmth.

Enter in one John "Soap" MacTavish.

Long story short, Soap is the reincarnation of Jonathan Riley.

And they get to fall in love with each other all over again.

Sorry this is so long. It got away from me a little bit LOL

[thebookbutterfly]

fanfiction isn’t enough, I need to chew on him

[rosegolden13]

Yes, I want to be his neighbor. Of course I want to be the stripper at the club he owns. I want to be his fated omega. I want to be his co-worker. I want to be his doctor, his arranged wife, his enemy, his childhood friend, his kid’s babysitter, his girlfriend, his wife, his ex-wife, his barista, his soulmate, his strange cryptid, his favorite blood bag, his divorce attorney, his pr relationship, his boss, his secretary, his sugar baby, his... I think you get the point.

In all universes, physical forms, and realities, I want that man.

[yooo-lets-go]

He can’t talk right now, he’s doing hot girl shit

[aary-soap]

boyfriend hoodie!!

[brav0-6]

THE PRICE PAT™️ | CALL OF DUTY: MODERN WARFARE II & III

[buttdumplin]

yeah simon is the one to scare people away when they get too close you, using his size and movement to intimidate, simultaneously shielding you behind him

yeah soap is the one barking loud, creating a spectacle and calling people out, and warning them away

yeah kyle is the one humiliating people, mocking offenders until either their own actions dawn on them or they finally recognize the venom in his eyes

but price is the one that launches into swinging. there is no warning, no hesitation. taking a step, even a single word against you, warrants immediate action in his mind. it's no laughing fucking matter. you are a top fucking prize, his prize, the best the world has to offer. john is rabid in his protection, bearing tooth and boot and claw and fist. there’s no point in talking to him or trying to negotiate, an offense is an offense and he won’t meet it halfway. someone looks at you the wrong way? they won't be able to see out of swollen eyes after headbutts them, crushing their nose. someone whispers something nasty about you? good luck even eating with that jaw wired shut. god forbid someone touches you, the other three boys can barely hold him back. john will break countless bones in every way he knows and beat his knuckles bloody if your smile starts to drop. 

[cicadabeats]

How Do I Show You... (Part 2/2)

[wombywoo]

wedding bells 💒

[screamingforests]

Smth smth thinking about reader being an escaped shifter experiment, escaped from the US to hide in Britain

You try to act like a normal civilian, but the urge to shift is building to be intolerable. So why fight it? It's easier to live as a cat anyway, maybe someone could take you in.

What you didn't expect was for 4 giant, bulky, military men to find you. They'd found you in an alleyway near a fish restaurant, searching for scraps. The one wearing the weird mask had been the one to pick you up.

Then, the other 3 rushed over after hearing your yowling. The damn masked bastard had you scruffed!

"I found a cat."

Wow. Brilliant observation.

"Simon, it's a stray."

"I was a stray."

There was a snort, "C'mon Cap, it's kinda cute, isn't it?"

You hiss indignantly, you were not an it! The one with a mohawk reaches out to you, letting you sniff his fingers.

"We do not need a cat, Soap don't touch it. Who knows what it has."

"It's too clean to be a stray, ah doubt it's a stray. Give 'er here, LT."

The masked man hands you over, and you're quick to scramble onto the mohawk man's shoulder, wrapping around his neck. You growl a little in your displeasure, but don't swat.

"See! Docile, little thing, aren't ya!"

[loveindefinitely]

task force 141 with a controversially young civilian girlfriend.

-> mentions of large age-gaps, referenced sexual content, alcohol use. afab!fem!reader. minor dubcon (everyone's drunk.)

thinking that you're studying in uni. working on the side to try and afford rent and, if you're lucky, some noodles every other night. you don't really get seen compared to your friends, who go out clubbing and spend their spare time on dating apps.

one time, your friend drags you to a bar. not usually your scene, considering its clientele is more for tradies, and military-type men. not like the stuck-up blue collar boys at your uni.

cue you getting drunk off your ass, barely even standing, when you bump into one johhny mactavish.

he holds your elbows, your chest crashing into his. gentle with it, too -- kind and sweet and grounding.

"y'alright, lass?" he asks, a small smirk on his face, eyes darting across your frame greedily. he, in all fairness, looks nearly as drunk as you. he stumbles a little with your weight.

you giggle, tilting your head to look at him. say something stupid like, "you don't look like a student."

his brows raise, his dimples deepen. "aye, very smart, hen."

you preen with the compliment, a cheesy grin stuck to your face. you make no move to stand up and leave. you think your friend just left with a guy anyways.

johnny moves you, muscled arm around your waist as he takes you to a booth.

three other men sit in it, only one looking somewhere in a ten-year age bracket to you. they're all impossibly large, filling out the space with ease. your stomach swoops, but you easily blame the alcohol.

manoeuvring you so you sit in his lap, johnny's hand is a comforting weight on your waist. he huffs a laugh.

"didn't realise we were goin' for jailbait, soap," the youngest one chimes, dark features shining in the pub's dim light. his eyes trail your frame silkily.

you can't stop the roll of your eyes -- your inhibitions have made you senseless. "'m not, 'm completely," you drag out the syllables, "legal."

a hand on your thigh makes you jolt, and when you look over, a blonde man with a black medical mask raises an unimpressed brow. "got a problem, kid?"

you shoot him a weak glare. "not a kid. weirdo."

the arm around your waist tightens, as does the weirdo's hand encompassing your thigh.

"not scared of anythin', are you darl'?" the final man in the booth asks, hands folded together where they rest at the table. he looks at least double your age, and that simple fact along with his drawling words has your core tightening.

"what's there to be scared of?" you ask, stupidly. your head tilts to the side, unknowingly moving to rest on johnny's shoulder. he doesn't comment.

"miss bein' young and drunk," gaz sighs, hand softly gripping the gin sat on the table in front of him.

"you look young," your brows furrow, not understanding. how old could he really be, to act so nostalgic of your current predicament? "how old are you guys?"

it's an embarrassing question -- makes you feel like a child all over again. but your interest is quickly peaking, and your need for answers overpowers your need for decorum.

johnny's the one to answer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers.

"gaz, the pretty one over there, he's twenty-eight," he murmurs, heat stirring low in your gut as you nod mindlessly, meeting gaz's eyes.

johnny stokes his thumb over the skin of your hip, and you curl into him further -- stranger be damned.

"i'm thirty," he hums, and god, he sounds so fucking sensual you're about to melt into his arms. if you aren't already.

"the guy in the mask?" said man's hand tightens impossibly against your skin, fingers just shy of grazing your aching pussy, "he's thirty-seven. got a lot of experience, aye?"

you shudder.

"what about you?" you end up voicing, shyly meeting the last man's gaze. he takes a slow sip of his whiskey.

he leans back into the cushion, eyeing you carefully.

"forty-three."

your thighs squeeze together, and fuck, if that's not a turn-on. no matter how unsafe you should feel, surrounded by four military-grade, older men, it only manages to have you wet beyond belief.

all you can manage is one question.

"take me home?"

[connorsui]

♡ 《 He's the type 》 ♡

" He's the type of man to hold your waist instead of your hand "

" He's the type of man to give you a piggy back ride when he notices your heels hurting your feet "

"He's the type of man to put a picture of you as his phone wallpaper"

"He's the type of man who would take over all tasks in the house for months after you just got done giving birth to your child "

"He's the type of man to buy you something you said you wanted but didn't have enough money for"

"He's the type of man who would shed a tear at seeing you walk towards him with your pretty white dress on the day of the wedding "

The man: Rafael, Sam Winchester, Xavier, Sylus, Zayne, Nanami Kento, Peter Parker, Captain Price, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Konig, Simon Riley, Halsin, Leon Kennedy, Steve Roger's, Geto Suguru, Johnny "soap" Mactavish, Aki Hayakawa, Jaehaerys "Jace" Targaryen, Aizawa, Hawks, Hajime Umemiya, BG3 Rafael, bakugo,

[a-b-riddle]

Can’t stop thinking about poly141 who get so wrapped up in their own bullshit they begin to neglect reader. So you leave 🤷🏼‍♀️

It wasn’t a big deal at first. You understood that their jobs were intense to say the least. You own a bookshop, which in itself was exhausting, but you understood how they could get carried away with work.

You had excused the many delayed returned texts or missed FaceTime dates when they were deployed. When they came home, they almost always made it up to you. Showering you with attention and quality time.

But the past two returns home have been… different.

Usually at least one of them made a beeline to your shop or your loft if it was too late in the evening. You always held your breath when it was just one of them.

“They’re okay.” Was the usual answer. “Everyone made it back okay.” It was only then that you could melt into whoever’s hands you were in.

After one of their recent returns home you had voice to Price that you didn’t appreciate several days passing after they came back and no one had bothered to tell you. He had snapped. Arguing that a mission doesn’t finish just because they land back on soil. There was paperwork and debriefing to be done. If and when they wanted to see you they would.

He didn’t apologize until later. Crawling into your bed, using one of the keys you had given them. Blaming the stress. How they had almost lost Johnny for the reason of his outburst. What else could you do but forgive him?

So you had given them space after that one. Not holding it against them to decompress before seeing you.

The next time was the final straw. Solidifying how little they cared about you and how much power you had given them.

Johnny had come in around 7 one evening. He was dressed nicely, for civilian standards. You were reading a book on the couch when he had let himself in. You were wearing on of Simon’s sweatshirts and panties. He took you in for a moment before scooping you up.

He fucked you absolutely stupid. Adamant on having you cum on his tongue, his fingers and his cock. You were only able to bask in the afterglow of him filling you up before he started pulling his pants back on.

“What are you doing?” There were times that you would practically need a crow bar to get Johnny detached from you just long enough to relieve yourself. You had gotten many a UTI courtesy of Mr. John MacTavish.

“Dinner with my family tonight.” He explained by the time he was already buttoning his shirt. “The youngest just graduated and ma’ feels the need to go all out.” Now came the tie. Johnny was actually wearing a tie. To go to dinner. “A fancy dinner in London.” He huffed. “Meanwhile I’m out scufflin’ with bloody fuckin’ terrorists and I get a pat on the back.” He gave you a peck on the cheek before heading out the door. Promising to call you later.

You just sat in your bed. Still naked. Almost in shocked. He had fucked you and just… left. You were close to a panic attack as you called Simon.

Simon wasn’t the one to cuddle and coddle. But there was something so soothing at the sound of his voice or even how his heavy body felt perfect laying on top of you. Yes. Simon wasn’t the time to lift you up with words, but he was your own security blanket. Just having him close helped.

“Can you come over?” It wasn't unusal for Simon to be the one to come later in the evening. Insomnia was a bitch to deal with and you could sleep through the sounds of whatever he played on the tv. Most of the times you were content laying your head on his lap as he ran his hand along your head as if he were petting you. It was a bit cringe, but it knocked you out every time.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. The low timber of his voice already calming you.

“Johnny came over.” You sniffled. “He just fucked me and left.”

“Not surprised.” He scoffed. You could almost see him rolling those deep brown eyes of his. “If you wanted to cum, I’m happy to come over and help.”

For whatever reason, that only seemed to make you more upset. “You’re not listening.” You said, trying to spell it out for him. “He left. Like didn’t even stay and cuddle just left. Fucked me and left.”

“That’s why you’re calling me crying about?” He almost seemed… annoyed.

“Yes!” You said, nearly snapping. All of the tension from the last several months coming to the surface. “I’m not just a warm body to keep a bed cozy until you assholes decide you need to get one off.” Assholes. You called them assholes. “This isn’t what we agreed to.”

“Johnny is Johnny.” Simon tried to defend, not really caring to continue the conversation now knowing that you weren't in any sort of physical harm. “He wanted his dick wet and from the sound of it, that’s what he did. Don’t hold it against him because he had other things to do.”

“It’s not just Johnny leaving.” Your throat felt like it was tightening. A telltale sign you were close to crying. Whether from sadness or anger you weren't entirely sure. “The only time any of you want anything to do with me anymore is to fuck.” You missed date nights and lunches. You missed texting any and all of them about your day, about theirs. About new books. You had been trying for months to tell them over dinner one of your books got picked up. Yours was being traditionally published.

None of them had bothered to even try penciling you in.

“You got yours.” You heard the popping of a can top. Simon was settling in for the night. Once he popped a top at home there was no getting him out. He wasn't coming for you. “I don’t understand what you’re bitchin’ to me about. Yeah, in the beginning we indulged ya a bit? Dressed you up, took you out. But you should have known spreadin’ them legs of yours wouldn’t end with one of us puttin’ a ring on your finger.”

You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? These were the men that pursued you. Initially, individually, but when tensions became to much they offered a solution. All of them. Four times the attention, of the affection.

Four times the love.

But also four time the neglect. Four times the amount of heartbreak and disappointment. Loving all of them meant putting yourself in a position to let each of them hurt you in their own way and they had.

John's constant state of snapping at you as if you were one of his men.

Johnny swinging by as if you were just a fuck buddy. Not even bothering to give a peck before leaving.

Kyle essentially ignoring you for weeks now. Ghosting you for hours or having to cancel on date nights last minute or claiming that he really did forget that the two of you had planned to meet for lunch.

And now there was Simon. Telling you that all you meant to them was what was between your thighs.

Spreadin' them legs of yours wouldn't end with one of us puttin' a ring on your finger.

None of them ever intended on making this into something more. That much was clear now.

You didn't know what to say to Simon. You couldn't think of a witty retort. You couldn't find the proper insult to whirl his way. You couldn't convey just how much his words had hurt.

So you did the only thing you could.

You hung up.

[quarterlifekitty]

cw: piss mention.

Being Johnny’s friend, and him desperately wanting to take things further— he comes up with a terrible idea to drive you into his arms in a way he thinks is rather subtle.

He’s going to get Ghost to hit on you next time you’re out at a pub. Ghost has an uncanny ability activate the prey drive— he gets too close, speaks too low, looms too tall, and stares too deep (not to mention the kind of language he uses in his pickup lines).

So Johnny casually gets up to go piss, leaves you sitting at the bar, practically passes the baton as he goes by Ghost on the way.

And Simon, he loves the classics.

So he starts off by staring down at you as you sit in your stool, unblinking, and saying “I can smell your cunt.”

You look up with rapt attention, clenching your thighs.

Soap watches from across the bar for a signal, either a grimace on your face or a discreet hand gesture from Ghost that they’d worked out earlier.

But he underestimated your freak. And Simon wasn’t about to back down when it was clear you liked how he came across.

Simon perches himself next to you, crowding in close and speaking into your ear, Johnny able to see as your stunned expression turns into a bashful smile, like he just told you that you have beautiful eyes. He actually said “bet you’d let me spit in your mouth if I told you to open up, yeah?”

Things escalate. You barely touch your drink, too absorbed in what Simon is saying to you.

“Saw those fuckin’ thighs from across the bar, Jesus Christ— want you to sit on my jaw and fuck my face— warm my cheeks with those thighs while I shove my tongue in that sweet little pussy. I’d let you piss in my fucking mouth if y’wanted to.”

When Soap finally forces himself to go back to the bar, you subtly tell him you’re gonna head out and that you had fun. He awkwardly bids you goodnight with his mouth nearly agape as Simon grabs hold of your hand to pull you along.

And he looks too damned eager to get you out of there— doesn’t even have the decency to throw a smug look at Soap. Because truthfully? He’s kinda forgotten why he came here in the first place. He’s got more important shit on his mind now.

[yooo-lets-go]

They are meant for each other