#John 'Soap' MacTavish x you

[ryuzakemo128]

Beyond Comprehension

Pairing: John 'Soap' MacTavish x Italian! Goth! Female Reader

Content Warnings: Swearing, cussing, smutty implications, college au!, John 'Soap' MacTavish is a popular football player, Female reader is studying in Forensics Pathology & Anthropology, Female reader is Italian, Female reader's aesthetic has a gothic aesthetic overall.

Summary: How come he never remembers you saying them to him? How come he never remembers how they sound until this moment?

Divider Credit: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Masterlist

Note: Inspired by 'Tomb' written by H.P. Lovecraft. I also made the female reader intense on purpose..

Word Count: 1547

‘Sedibus ut saltem placidis in morte quiescam.’ – Virgil. (English translation: At least in death I may find a quiet resting place.)

The mansion you have been born and raised into. The half-hidden house of death. Unknown to the throng considered to be a majority of civilian life. Opulent in design. Yet the stench of death and decay from the cemetery attached to the family churchyard, which still remains in your family’s name to this present day.

The overview of the woodland slopes painted with the earths finest bristles. Painting a lustrous colour palette range of greens, browns, and greys. The look over the city lights from the balcony like floating tea lights.

If you had not discerned for yourself. The means of how lavish your lifestyle if depicted and sculpted into. The gilding of gold in the nooks and crannies of your familial mansion. A display of white and gold.

You are indeed wealthy beyond the necessity of a commercial lifestyle. Unfitted for typical formal studies and social recreations. Your peculiar temperament in discerning a cause of death or why someone might have died has always tickled your fancy. Macabre is the most ‘fitting’ description of you. The one told by your kin.

Other equally strange pursuits you have lay in the art of taxidermy and preservation of animals after their passing. You don’t turn from the potential disgust it may bring unto others. Even as you lean into the art of death and decay.

These discerning passions do well in dispelling your keenest impatience of waiting for the next class to come forth. You are burning hot with eagerness to learn more of death. To hold knowledge people. The ones who dare not search for in the black abyssal seas.

A beckoning gloom of your quarters or ‘dorm’ depending on which term you would prefer. The hellish confinement of your social life is stifling at best and contentious at worst. Your nocturnal rambles seek shelter and safety within your sanctum. Those who believe things are better left almost forgotten for many generations.

Death had repelled you and bewitched you all at once. Like a snare you can’t bring yourself to crawl away from. Who were any of them to deny you such things, such idle flights of fancy many denied themselves. Who were they in the art of decay?

As you peruse the textbooks pertaining to the knowledge required in Forensics Pathology and Forensics Anthropology. Emboldened by the heaven-sent circumstance you walk into. Despite all your efforts to enclose yourself inside your own earthly desires.

How did you think John MacTavish found you hunched over an ancient tome reading about the deaths of people you deemed preventable. At least as preventable as they could have been. If only they knew of your existence, the world would be a different place. Had they known to do anything other than the path they have chosen would the world be better?

‘Who are we to ourselves if we are denied truth?’ you questioned inside your handwritten cursive notes. Pure existential dread taking over the recesses of your mind it seems. Philosophically overriding the sense of living you have inside your ribcage. One of which life must come first before we eventually descend unto death itself.

‘Is this how philosophers go made? It seems I am at the moss covered door step of madness and teetering on the edge of my own sanity.’ Another handwritten note inside your death smelling journal.  

‘In my peculiarities am I truly doomed to walk upon  this earth alone?’ you questioned further in your heavily pressed written notes. Recent. Too recent. The ink painted upon the black textured page hadn’t dried just yet.

You had hoped John would have forgotten about that kiss you gave him while you were pissed drunk off your three shark themed cocktails which were strong enough to make him question where your hunger in that kiss came from suddenly. Something about ‘the zest of life’ or whatever you slurred afterwards.

You even dipped him like he was some kind of dance partner you decided to claim for yourself for at least ten minutes. Then stumbling off into the night to your dorm like you didn't just decide to one up him in a bet that technically never existed in the first place. Like you didn’t just decide to fuck around and make sure he is the one finding out.

When Gaz found out? “Man, she really turned the tables against yourself huh?” he snickered, knowing Soap isn't the type to take that lying down. Not without knowing what he was getting into first.

“Knocked the wind out of me and had the gall to scamper away like a mouse or a chinchilla?” Soap continues to be baffled by you and your wildly, chaotic whims. Whatever they have in you. You passionately did with fervour and compassionate love.

How could someone be so enamoured with the end? Easily. When you have grown to enjoy, to love and thrive in the beginning. Where you are celebrated as you are and continue to be. Yourself.

In this name of heritage, you have every intention to claim death tightly into your hands like no other has done in your familial bloodline. The guests of your domain your centric world, you should have known them better as the shrivelled, decomposed, decayed bodies. The layers of death and decomposition finally eating away at the frail shell left behind.

“Mio stella, you are a delight to see my darling.” You chirped like a bluebell making John’s gaze snap to your direction, his eyes narrowing slightly, trying to discern if you were mocking him or if you were actually in a good mood. His confusion was written clearly across his face, and you couldn’t help but smirk.

“You are an absolute peach when confusion is written onto your visage so clearly.” you stated. “Most beautiful state I have seen you in all week.”

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish, the star football player with a Scottish accent that could melt the coldest of hearts, stared at you quizzically. You could see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to figure out if your sudden sweetness was genuine or if there was a hidden barb underneath. You had to admit, the thrill of keeping him on his toes was quite entertaining.

“The more confused you get the cuter you have become. I must leave before I melt beneath your confusion completely.” you cooed playfully as you walked to go to the diner to indulge in some junk food alone.

Before you could step too far away from him, he pulled you back to him by your wrist and he said, “What's gotten into you, love?”

“Other than my assignment is finished early? I have decided to treat myself with some sickeningly sweet food.” You answered buzzing with so much excitement you were physically shaking, at least a smidgen. “I also found out to my sweet tooth’s utmost delight that there is a diner that is normally open during the night.”

“You are more than welcome to come with me if your little buddies don’t have anything planned for you.” You added in. “Unless you’re worried your buddies will get jealous then I’m afraid you must stay behind. Can’t have your buddies missing your presence.”

You were certain he would relent and scurry back to his group of lads. Who you wouldn’t be surprised if they all sucked each other off for the sake of it. Only to deny that it was just ‘bros helping bros out’ or whatever other excuse they might come up with.

You were going to get your hoof heels to see if you could get someone’s number if you had the sudden urge to have a drink at a bar or pub in the same area.

John remembers how you used tongue, a French kiss so deep his head swan, his mind froze, and his body felt like it was burning. He swore his soul left his body for only a moment. A moment which lasted for what it felt like an eternity. He was dared to kiss you, but it felt more like you were kissing him and he was there for the experience of a lifetime. Rattling him to his core.

You didn't taste like death at all, you tasted of black vodka, ginger, mint and rum. The sickeningly sweet part of the cocktail a mix of gummy sharks and a hint of the sea. The smell of your hair was faintly like salt and sand. A smell that was strangely calming and terrifying all at once. The ocean's siren calling him closer to the shore, yet the salt reminded him of the sting of the sea spray on his skin during storms.

You are both oddly fascinating and eerily unknown. Layers of you he assumed never existed are now exposed to his purview. His eyes now see what he disregarded in past encounters with you. How you insist on calling him things like: ‘Mio Stella’, my star, ‘Mio Sole’, my sunshine, ‘Mio Caro’, my dear, ‘Mio Tutto’, my everything, ‘Mio Principe’, my prince, ‘Mio Amore’, my love, ‘Luce delle stelle’, starlight, and ‘Mio vita’, my life.

How come he never remembers you saying them to him? How come he never remembers how they sound until this moment?

[stargirlstabber]

imagine the task force 141 falsely accusing you of being a traitor to the team. knowing your biggest fear, they use it against you. water. water, where your feet can't touch the ground. water you can't see through. at first it started with waterboarding. then slowly but surely they threatened to drop you into the pool. into the dark, deep pool. even john, who was like a father to you before, didn't help you. no. not at all. actually, he was the one who stepped into the water fully clothed, dragging your crying and squirming form with him into the bloodcurling liquid. your tears blended in with it while you we're screaming, practically begging that you were the wrong one. that you'd never do something like that. but they just stood at the edge of the pool, watching their captain almost drowning your terrified self. how would they react, when they get the information that you really weren't the one...?

[sigh-tofm]

when they come home drunk…

… price

- thinks it’s important that he loudly tells you he’s married while you steady him upstairs to bed. points to his ring incessantly, slurs on and on about his perfect wonderful wife with the big ass and soft tummy. you roll your eyes and can’t help but smile when he doesn’t let you hold on to his arm to support him. something about protecting his virtue for his wife, as if you’re not standing right beside him. proceeds to lock you out of your own bedroom when you finally get upstairs, telling you his wife will be home soon so he can’t have a strange woman in their bedroom (but still remarks on your wonderful ass). you decide it’s too early in the morning to persuade your drunk husband to let you in, so you go down to sleep on the couch. you wake up with price sleeping soundly on the floor beside you, having gone to find his wife when she never showed up in his bed the night before.

… kyle

- gets sappy and apologises for being away. loses all concept of time when he’s drunk, says he’s sorry, he didn’t mean to be away so long, he was thinking of you the whole time, the guys pulled him along and he couldn’t say no. while he’s on his knees at your feet, pressing his face to your thighs and mumbling into your marbled skin, almost making you lose your balance with his fervent apologies, you gently remind him that you were the one who made him go out with the boys because he needed to unwind after a stressful weekend of combat drills, and that he had left with them less than two hours ago. he refuses to hear and only hugs your thighs closer, so much so that you have to support yourself on the wall. turns out all he needed to relax was you.

… johnny

- is horny. almost starts drooling when he eyes you at the top of the stairs, after struggling to close the entrance door for a good minute, causing you to investigate what made all the noise. gets a wild look in his eyes when he sees you in just his t-shirt and makes you scream and giggle as he chases you back up the stairs and to the bedroom. being absolutely shitfaced, he has the coordination of a tranquillised moose and stumbles head over heels across the floor, catches his foot on the doorway and narrowly misses the edge of the dresser with his head as he falls. still, his little soldier is courageously tenting his pants when you worriedly lean over him and he gets a good look right into the collar of your shirt.

… simon

- is emotional and clingy. can’t get enough of you, won’t leave you alone. you can’t make out half his words when he’s had this much to drink (and the mancunian in him breaks out too, making it ever harder to make out the words), but you play along, smile and nod and let him sit on the closed toilet seat and talk and talk while you do your night routine in front of the mirror. so lucky to have you, luv. how could’a lug like me get a pretty one like you, luv. his melancholy statements of love become comfortable background noise for you as you remove your makeup and apply moisturiser. lets you wash the sweat and grime of the day off his face with a washcloth, closes his eyes while you massage your floral-scented moisturiser into his skin, never once stopping his little speech. ambles after you out of the bathroom, holding on to the hem of your shirt, when you’re all finished and ready for bed. his devoted mutters only let up when be falls asleep next to you.

[i-love-you-just-the-same]

bear hybrid! price who stalks around your house at night, protecting you from whatever else might be lurking in the woods. you don't know that he is of course, but you should be more thankful when he shuts and locks your windows when you're asleep. occasionally you see him lumber on the edge of the forest, minding his own. he doesn't want to scare you, but he wants you to admire him, too.

wolf hybrid! simon that follows you everywhere (from a distance and he rarely lets you touch him). you were frightened at first of the big bad wolf, but when he takes you away from snakes and other dangers in the woods you learn to leave out some scraps for him. (he sleeps on your front step. won't enter the house yet.)

fox hybrid! johnny who regularly sneaks into your house to play in your blankets. the wildlife here is so friendly you're shocked, shouldn't they be frightened of you? however he sleeps under your bed and he's fine unless you try to kick him out. red fur is on everything, he seems unusually close to the wolf that looms around. loves scratches to the ears!

falcon hybrid! kyle who hovers in air around your house. he finds little trinkets for you and leaves them on your porch. he mostly hangs around price, but he will chirp greetings and steal bird feed from your feeders.

they protect you in different ways, trying to worm their way to your affections before they bed down in your abode for winter.

[thebookbutterfly]

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

[hidingwhere]

John Prices wife coming to pick him up at the airport after he returns from a mission, but the car is now full of military men.

One look at the three boys, completely exhausted and pulling their phones out to book a taxi had your heart crying. Without thinking, you offered them all a lift to yours and Johns home for them to stay overnight.

So now there’s three men cramped onto your three backseats, John having the luxury of sitting in the front. Simon is on the end (still in his balaclava but luckily not the skull mask because you’d be a little creeped out seeing that every time in the rear view mirror), Johnny in the middle and then Kyle on the other end. Johnny complains for about 10 minutes that he’s squished in and has no room to move but after that he’s completely zonked out on Simons shoulder.

Your music plays quietly through the speakers and they’re happy to listen to anything that isn’t gun shots or explosions.

Once you arrive home, they all climb out the car, grabbing their bags from the boot and dumping them down in the living room.

“Place looks less lifeless than last time I was here,” comments Johnny.

“Finally got a woman’s touch to it,” adds Kyle.

You smile a little at the non-direct compliment. Price also looks around, noticing the little details that have changed or the things that have been added around his house, keeping a hand on your back. He leans down and kisses you gently, mumbling “I missed you” against your lips.

“I missed you too. But it looks like you’ve lost weight.” You glance down at his body. “I’ll fatten you up again,” you tease with a little giggle as he chuckles.

It’s around 9pm by the time you’ve cooked dinner for four people who have appetites of bears. They all look at you as if you’re an angel sent from heaven when they see the food, sitting down at the dining table silently and scoffing down the meal.

By 10pm, you go into the living room thinking they’re all watching TV but instead they’re all asleep. You grab some spare blankets from beside the sofa and cover them up except for John. You shake him awake and make him move upstairs into bed with you. There’s no way you’re letting him sleep on the sofa and not with you after weeks apart.

[luminni]

This is some shit Johnny would say, it just is I'm sorry.

Johnny hates your new boyfriend. It burns in his loins every time you come over and complain about something stupid the git said. So often that now when you take a particularly large sigh, he's immediately asking "fuckin' 'ell, what he do this time eh?"

It hurts even more when you gush about something "good" your boyfriend did, even when it's just the bare minimum. Yeah he open the door for you on a date? Did you know that Johnny would have lifted up the globe had you asked him? Do you have any idea the things he would do if you so much as asked? No you didn't, because he was fairly certain you only saw him as your good friend, as you had been for years.

And Jesus did it infuriate him when you "laughed" your boyfriend's pitiful excuses for a joke. It wasn't your real laughter, it was a kind of controlled giggle. Johnny knew a couple words from him could have you full on belly laughing, gripping onto the nearest surface (usually his arm) to steady yourself. The worst part of it was, the sorry excuse of a man that had wormed his way into your life looked so proud of himself when you gave that fake laugh. Johnny wanted to wipe that grin off his face so bad. But he behaved himself, for you...most of the time, but this is Johnny we're talking about, he's nothing if not petty.

He pretends to like your sorry excuse of a boyfriend in front of you so that you invite him on your dates because you hope they can be friends. Johnny just wants to ruin things

When you make food, Johnny is there. Reminding your boyfriend he would never be the first person to try your recipes.

"Added some pepper since las' time aye lass?"

He then proceeds to taste test form the same spoon as you, side eyeing your "man".

And when you do serve the food, he eats 10x more than he usually does which is saying a lot for him. Just has to mention how many calories he's been burning at the gym lately. Does your boyfriend work out? Oh he doesn't? Hm, interesting.

Also the king of flirty jokes but turns it to 100 when he's around your new boyfriend.

"Jesus, you eat like a horse"

"Aye 's not the only thing about me thas' like a horse"

All said with that shit eating grin he knows pisses your boyfriend off.

Johnny knows this "relationship" (he refuses to believe you actually like the tadger) isn't going to last long anyway. He's the only person who could ever make you truly happy. The only person you'd wait for at the airport every time he got back from deployment. The only person you'd text out of no where at 3am to tell him you were hungry. He just had to help you see it was all and scare off your pathetic partner. If he couldn't manage it, he knew a couple big scary guys that could follow him home at night.

[bi-writes]

okay...what about surprise pregnancy but you aren't sure whose it is? (18+, ghoap x f!reader babytrap)

you come crying to simon, so embarrassed when you see johnny there, too. they coax you to sit down, standing side by side, and you explain through sputters and soft tears that you're pregnant, and you're so sorry, you're even more sorry because you're not sure if it's johnny's baby or simon's baby.

you didn't cheat, you never put labels on anything, you thought you were just having fun, but now they're finding out at the same time that you were sleeping around, and you were totally irresponsible--

you freeze, hiccuping when you notice that simon and johnny aren't even looking at you anymore. simon has a gloved hand in johnny's hair, wrapping those thick fingers into his mohawk and pulling until johnny's neck snaps back, and he's baring his throat to simon.

"mmm..." simon growls a little, and your lip trembles when simon hikes his mask up to lick over johnny's cheek before kissing him wet and sloppy. "good boy. olways doin' as y'r told..."

you squeeze your legs together when simon cups your jaw, drawing you closer. he fits a thumb into your mouth to soothe you, and johnny coos as he brushes your hair out of your eyes. it was a team effort, after all, no need to fret.

don't you know it takes two to make a baby?

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Price: Has anyone seen Ghost and Y/N? *all at once* Soap: They're joking around Roach: They're arguing Gaz: They're making out Everyone: Soap: Uh when I saw them like 20 minutes ago they were joking around together and laughing outside the mess Roach: Well when I saw them like 10 minutes ago they were throwing hands and pointing fingers at each other, like viciously arguing over something Gaz: Well when I passed them by literally 5 minutes ago they were very heatedly making out against the Lieutenant's office door Price: Yeah that sounds about right

[deunmiu-dessie-sideblog]

lmao thinking about how the tf141 men know you're serious by the way you say their given names. like they just turn docile immediately, no matter what they're doing or their positions.

“kyle, johnny, zip it.” swiveling in your chair, you turn your gaze towards them and glare, lips set into a thin line. the two men who sit next to each other stop their quiet bickering and nod softly, focusing on laswell once more.

ghost usually avoids doing med checkups when the time of year rolls around and it just ends up making the medical professional's jobs harder than it needs to be (they usually come to you in order to get him to do it.) “simon, i’m not in the mood. now.” he sulks and broods (swears he doesn't.) but nonetheless does the med check up, that you sit in on so he doesn't run.

price isn't exempt from it either, despite being captain. during a mission including farah and her people, the two had been going back and forth on the trek to the meet-up point. annoyed you had stopped price with a hand to his chest and met his eyes. “john, leave it alone. we don't have time for this.” he’d kept eye contact for a bit but had nodded, clapping you on the shoulder. “heard, seargent.”

ppl call you the 141 whisperer 💀 lolll

[ghostedbunnie]

thinking about how 141 men would take advantage of christmas or just a cold weather in general.

fem! reader, 18+ minors do not interact!!

johnny definitely takes some mistletoe and waits for the perfect opportunity to be like "oi look a' that bonnie, a tradition is a tradition." and he just swoops in on you to literally maul you. slobbers all over you like a dog, pants into your mouth and grabs handfuls of your ass unapologetically. honestly half of his brain shuts down as soon as he has his hands and mouth on you. also doesn't care about timing or privacy, he'd do this in front of a room full of people.

simon is a meanie. he loves coming back inside to your home, catching you unawares while you're singing some christmas songs and baking. it doesn't help that he can only be heard when he wants to so you really stand no chance. he walks up to you and shoves his cold ass hands under your sweater and holds on to you so you can't even move away. he would start by grabbing your hips and quickly moving forward to cup your boobs while you whine about the goosebumps. he definitely ends up grinding onto your ass and whispering into your ear about how he can warm you right up.

kyle lets you talk him into matching ugly sweaters mostly because he is too hot to look bad in anything. he loves seeing you happy so he will do anything. if you are celebrating with your family or friends he is literally the picture perfect boyfriend that gets everyone oohing and aahing. he helps you with the tree decorating when something is out of your reach (but he lets you try to do it yourself just to see the sweater ride up and show of your skin, he is still cheeky) and he always tastes your cooking telling you exactly what it is that you're missing and have been trying to figure out for the past 10 mins. but his mind is playing out scenarios in which he's gonna get to the lacy lingerie he saw you wearing underneath the sweater.

now john is more lowkey about christmas, if he was on his own he wouldn't even bother with a tree. he does end up getting one for you ofc (after mean mugging few part-timers that tried to flirt with you but every time you looked at him he didn't let anything show but the guys there started giving you a wide berth). he will bring you to a work christmas party that he was forced to go by laswell and when he sees people bring their kids and you interacting with them, his mind starts racing with some wild thoughts about how your christmas could look next year. when he corners you in the bathroom and locks the door the only response to your wide-eyed stare is that he is "gettin' into the christmas spirit, love. jus' like you wanted."

[ryuzakemo128]

Sneak peek for: We're All Gonna Die - Part 3

Content Warnings: Angst, Self-reflection, Philosophy, self-esteem issues, verbal and physical abuse, misogyny and internalised misogyny, possible other dark topics. Slight smut implication.

Notes: No summary for this one. The official part will have it though. Pack some tissues. You're going to need them.

Note 2: Cried writing this. So I'm 100% recommending tissues now.

Credit for Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Boomer continued to think about it more, mulling it over inside her head. Questions popping up through her mind.

Does it really mean she couldn't be a woman if she wasn't gentle or delicate?

Does this imply she'll never be seen as a woman or feminine enough?

Does this indicate she'll never date anyone because she's too rough around the edges?

What does it mean?

What does that mean for this woman?

Does it mean she’s never enough?

Does it mean she will never be viewed as desirable, like the soft-spoken women in frilly dresses drenched in pastel colours?

Is she better off dead?

“Women are supposed to be in the home. Women are supposed to be soft, gentle. You will never be any of those things. Stop trying. It looks abhorrent on you fucking freak.” she remembered someone telling her.

Is it her broad shoulders?

Is it the way she walks with purpose, not a dainty stride but a confident march?

Is it her physique? How it's been honed by years of rigorous training, her muscles not hidden under layers of soft flesh but starkly defined?

Was her height to blame? Her towering height of at least six foot four or possibly being taller than that.

Was it her appetite? The way she could scarf down a whole meal with a side of more meat than anyone else at the table?

'I want to be able to look at myself in the mirror and no see what others point out to be disgusting. Am I not a real woman?' she pondered.

'I want to wear a dress and feel pretty, is that so much to ask?'

'But I want rarely matters and I hate it.'

'Perfect for the job. But not much else. Now am I?'

A bodycon dress with kimono sleeves made from velvet with silk lining. A deep V-neckline, knee-length. Deep Burgundy colour, almost black in the right lighting.

She chose to wear black lace up chunky heeled boots.

Accessories tied with the dress. Which are the: Megalodon shark tooth soft leather choker, negative space nail art with burgundy polish, a deep burgundy clutch.

The make-up look she went with crimson red lipstick with black lip liner, a light blush, a nude brown eyeshadow with a cat eyeliner, false eyelashes to make her eyelashes appear bolder in look.

The sides of her hair shaved to a light buzz cut, creating a stark contrast with the long, wavy locks that fell over her shoulders. Tied into a loose side braid.

The sides of her head were shaved, not to the skin but to a more textured, soft, fluffy shortness. The length of her hair remained the same, but now it cascaded over one side like a waterfall.

Simon had never seen her look so elegant and yet so fierce at the same time. The dress hugged her curves in a way that made his heart race, and he couldn't help but think of all the things he'd like to do to her while she wore it.

[swordsandholly]

Thinking about a mechanic!AU where the 141 boys run a garage and need a new receptionist. They hire you because you’re just so cute (great tits) and have a decent resume but it becomes a slight problem when they realize you’re a bit… dense.

Total ditz to be precise.

But they can’t really get mad when you get the keys for clients mixed up and look at them with those big eyes all teary and a little pout pushing out your lower lip.

Price is the most patient, perfectly content to walk you through how to file paperwork and fill out forms. Instructing you in a low voice while his breath brushes the shell of your ear. It’s really their fault for having such a terrible system, you know? Don’t worry about it too much, dove. He’ll settle his big hands on your shoulders and gently trace up and down your arms. See? You’re getting it. Just needed some more practice, hm?

Johnny is more than happy to show you around the garage, rattling off everything he knows about all those nitty gritty details that go right over your pretty little head. He’ll pop open the hood of some sports car and point to the engine to show it off. No, bonnie, you’ve got tae get in close. Closer.

Until you’re bent entirely over in one of those too-short skirts you wear everyday. It takes all his willpower not to yank you into the supply closet.

Gaz is just so sweet to you. Always bringing you little treats and candies to suck on. To help you concentrate, of course. Always greeting you with a soft ‘baby girl’ at the beginning of your shift. Whenever you’re standing around be it at the printer or counter - wherever really - he’ll slip a hand on your waist. It always trails a little lower, his pinky just edging on the hem of your too tight jeans.

Ghost gets frustrated with you to the point of causing tears to well up in the corners of your eyes. He’s feels guilty, sure, but bloody hell just print the damn receipt. He avoids you for the most part. Until one evening when it’s pouring down. You forgot your rain coat of course, silly girl. He offers you a ride which you take happily.

After that he can’t get rid of you. You bring him coffees (how you remember his order word for word but not where you last left your own cup is beyond him) and giggle at his jokes. When a client gets too snappy or too loud he’s the first to step in - standing behind you glaring at them with his huge arms crossed over his chest until they back down.

[sprout-fics]

Soap being bitten by a weird looking attack dog on mission and does the usual rabies shots treatment/whatever. All his tests came back fine so he's not really worried about it.

It's just that....

Was he always this hairy? Like yeah sure he's never been sleek exactly, always had a dense bit of hair across his arms, legs, and torso. But recently it feels thicker, coarser.

Did you start wearing a new perfume? Weird he didn't notice until now. It smells amazing on you, he can't help but bury his face in your neck given any chance to do so, nibbles at your neck as you giggle and swat at him.

Everything's louder now. He mentions to Price that he can hear conversations from three offices over, and Price just shrugs and asks why he's complaining- his hearing has been damaged by so many close proximity explosions. Maybe it's just healed on its own somehow.

He keeps having to trim his nails for some reason, and doesn't miss Ghost's weird, observant stare as he sits next to the trash bin for the third time that week trimming his toenails. "Giving yerself a pedicure, Johnny?"

He's so hungry all the time. Gaz jokes he's going through a growth spurt the way he devours his meals, piles on the protein and craves red meat. Soap tells himself he was planning on going on a high-protein diet anyways so he can bulk out a little, so it's not really an issue.

You complain about the love bites he gives you, how he's biting harder than he should, and Soap swears up and down he isn't. The welts on your neck and shoulders tell a different story though, and when you frown at him Soap whines, wanting to tuck a tail he doesn't have under him in apology.

It's weird, but it's mostly explainable.

That is, until the next full moon, when you wake in the darkness of your bedroom to the low, dangerous growl of something wild and feral as he slowly creeps up your body and lets instinct take root.

[i-love-you-just-the-same]

naps to lovers?

price is an accident, you fall asleep watching a movie with him after he cradles you in his bed. plops down with you to do some paperwork and he's out, too. you wake up cuddled into his chest and pretend not to notice his boner.

next it's johnny. you're both exhausted from sparring and workouts. instead of showering, he pulls you to his bed and tells you to wait for him before you get in. by the time you want up, the sheets are crusted with sweat and soap is on top of you, crushing you to the mattress.

after that, it's both johnny and kyle. smooshed between them after a long hard mission, it's hard not to appreciate two nice pillows. simon has the picture of you three asleep on each other.

kyle finds you in the mess hall after, pulling you to your room with the promise of takeout and uninterrupted rest.

simon is standoffish at first, but eventually offers himself up as a weighted blanket for you after being reprimanded by another force's captain (don't worry, price and gaz are handling it). he lets you hold him close while stroking your hair and face until you drift off. he frequents in odd hours with you (when he knows your alone or stacked up with another one of the boys).

you don't mean for it to, but it becomes much more regular. price pulling you into his lap during late night briefings, soap's head in your lap, and kyle following you back to your room. they get so much more casually affectionate- hands on you at all times, forehead kisses, and sweet words. they begin to take you out together after missions and on off days to movies and shopping (they love dressing you up).

this all builds up to a random friday where they bring you to a house about 30 minutes from base. lately, they'd all been a bit more secretive and making investments "for the wellbeing of the team" like price's new truck that could seat 7. the house has all five of yours stuff in it (ash trays, half finished sketches, sewing kits, kyle's hat on the table). you see some of your missing clothes in one of the big dressers half-opened drawers.

it shouldn't be a surprise to you then when you walk in the bedroom and there's a california king. you really should have expected it, hen, they've been courting you for months!

yeah, johnny's naked on the bed, so what?

[superhoeva]

the 141 boys with a crying reader is eating me aliveee

the first time you cry in front of gaz is an accident and that man turns into the softest thing you'll ever meet. maybe it's a bad day at work. or a rude dick at the store you stopped at on the way home. regardless, he's allll sweet cuddles and coos. shushing you while kissing your wet cheeks, mumbling that it's gonna be alright, lovie. 'm here, 've got you, yeah?

silence. that's the first thing that comes when soap realizes you aren't faking it. those are real tears falling from your eyes and he's got to do something about it. there's an ache in his stomach when you lull against him, and the man's got to pull himself together before you're both blubbering messes. with no idea what to say, he opts for physical comfort instead. holding you almost too tight, hoping that you can't feel how fast his heart is beating at the sight of you so sad.

price spots the tears before they come. senses the energy in the air as you walk to him with slumped shoulders. what's this now, hm? the question rocks something inside you–breaks the dam–and collapses you straight into his awaiting arms. he ignores your whine when he pulls away, cradling your face and reminding you to breathe. in and out, darlin'. that's good, just breath with me for a bit. whatever it is this time, he'll fix it. make it better, and do the same thing the next time you come before him with a wobbly lip and watery eyes.

what's happened? who did this, i'll kill em. you can't find a break in your cries to answer simon, and this makes him sober a bit. finally, it takes him a second to realize that that's not what you need to hear right now. that version of him isn't who he needs to be right now. so he stuffs down the anger and replaces it with a palm against your back and cradling of your head with the other. he stands completely still, as if you'll break, and stays that way until your sobs revert to soft sniffles. don't 'ave to tell me right now, love, okay? just don't pass out 'n me, alright?

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚