#Sergeant soap

[forsworned]

Being the only female on TF141 is like Simon constantly scolding you for getting into sheningans with Johnny and Kyle while Price sits on his arm chair with a good book, whiskey in hand and him puffing out smoke like a chimney from his cigar like the daddy he is.

"Delete it."

"Why?"

"Cos I fockin' said so."

You cock an amused brow at him as you look up from the embarrassingly cute photo of the skull-masked behemoth fast sleep and cuddling your Hello Kitty plushie. "Cos y'fockin' said so?" You mock his gravelly Manchester accent and it sends Johnny and Kyle into a fit of giggles. And even Price is chuffed by it. It's contagious really.

It lets your guard down enough for him to yank your phone out of your hand deleting the picture with a swiftness that made your eyes ream and your heart jump. You all groan and jeer at him for being a poor sport but he's quite satisfied with himself. Little does he know, you have a few copies of it in your desktop.

[soapyghost]

NOT BARRY SLOANE TELLING NEIL HE CAN GIVE HIM SOME BUTTONS FOR HIS SHIRT BRO

All my ass can think is Price walking in on Soap taking shirtless photos and just fucking sighing in dissapointment. I’m cackling

[archive-doll]

- Johnny 'Soap' MACTAVICH!𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓌𝑜𝓁𝒻

Author Note: kinktober goes on! Welcome to naughty and desperate Johnny, as a werewolf. As always, please be sure to read the warnings. Have fun!

PREVIOUS MASTERLIST NEXT

Thought 12 of Kinktober: cum play / degradation kink. Sunshine Johnny but not too cliche about it either. I tried.

Trigger Warning: Cum play → facial. Johnny is a whore, for you.

Have mercy on my grammar, english is not my first language, and as always minors do not interact.

Tonight has been incredible. More so than you would have ever dreamed of.

You had some reservations, about Johnny.

He is nice, of course, even a little bit too nice. You are not used to that. To the opening door, the hand on your elbow that guides you through the city. The broadness of his shoulders that keeps you safe when you enter the bar. His every motion is tinted with slight nervousness, as if he isn't used to being gentle and it makes your heart ache with how eager he is anyway.

There is that smile too. That damn smile.

It's like looking at the sun. It hurts your eyes, it burns your cornea, but the sight of it, of such happiness—of being with you? You cannot look away. It makes the scar on his chin crinkle, and the lines by his eyes shine as they grow deeper. Johnny is sweet, even with his hands moist as he readjusts the chair for you.

It tastes sweet, and invades your mind and you do not hesitate to propose another drink, back at your place. Johnny is delighted and escorts you outside with an arm around your shoulders. His beard tickles your temple when he presses a kiss there, one large hand holding around your shoulder.

He whispers to you in the car. Each time there is a red light, Johnny's hand kneads at your thigh higher, and his lips find yours. They pamper into your cheeks as you lean over the console, eager to have another fill of your newfound drug.

The way he kisses you, it sinks the breath out of you. Your hands tighten at the front of his tee shirt, and Johnny whimpers into your mouth when you deepen it, a bit more insistent. He almost bends you over the console and you feel how his hand shakes around your nape when he licks inside your mouth.

When you both pass the threshold of your apartment, your hands are intertwined. Bodies close enough to share warmth, clothing drained with the harsh rain of Scottland. His fingers clench around yours before he asks, cheeks red and eyes filled with adoration, if he can take your coat for you.

There is no sound coming out of your mouth. His wild mohawk falling over his forehead, his breath fawning over you, you turn gently and he embraces you from behind, lips meeting with the cold flesh of your throat. His broad hands find yours, and you sigh in pleasure when he nips at your chin.

"Johnny?"

You feel it against your back how his rough chest trembles at his hum, his mind too enthralled with your presence, right here in his arm to form any words. It feels nice, to be held by Johnny. You don't understand how could you have thought anything less. His hands knead at your forearms, rubbing a gentle caress over your clothes as he nuzzles his nose into your hair.

"You're so pretty - such a bonnie." He grumbles into your skin as his hands reach for your collar.

Your lips tremble before they curl into a smile and you hear Johnny shift on his feet as he steps away, taking your coat off and then hanging it in the doorway.

That might be it. That, this gleeful moment might be why you end up pushing him back on the couch. Johnny does not stop you, of course, spit glistening along his mouth as you kiss him, relentlessly. Your fingers knead at his shoulders, and his eyes flicker along your face, half delirious and half starving. When you part, he follows you with a whimper, swollen lips parting in hope for more and you oblige.

You cannot deny him, not when he looks so sweet. The taste of his beer lingers on your tongue when you kneel between his parted thighs, your fingers pushing at his knees. Johnny's eyes flutter along your face as he gasps, watching you settle down on the carpet with a sugary smile, a vision of beauty.

You are everything he ever wanted. Everything that you are, the sweetness of you, the kindness and even your witty remarks, how your hands always handle him with delicacy - him, the soldier. Him, the wolf. He knows you belong together, for the first moment he notices you, weeks ago in the pub. You smell like hot caramel with a tint of cinnamon.

And now, you are stroking along his thighs, settling yourself between his feet by your own will, and you look gorgeous. You always do, of course. But, tonight you're less reserved. Not on your guard.

And you lean closer, to give him another kiss. It tastes like the beer you took at the bar, mixed with the pang of sweetness from your lipstick. He barely believes what is happening, the kisses are more intimate than you both ever share and he shudders when your fingers crawl up his parted legs.

The sound of his zipper slithering down echoes in the living room, and he relishes in it, in how you gently take the lead. You whisper into his mouth, if it's okay, if you can, and Johnny presses harder against you, whining at what is to come.

He begs, pleads even, the vulnerability from this moment making him shake. You see his hands clench by his side, how his shoulders tense and tremble when you start rubbing your hand tenderly along the chubby weight in his boxer.

"How do you like it, Johnny?"

"Dinnea care, lamb, I don't - just need you."

Of course, you are not aware of it, but in werewolf culture, spit has a strong meaning. It's not only lewd, to see you lull your tongue out and let your saliva fall into the weight of his cock. It mixes your scent together, a silent branding you seal into his flesh, it coats his cock with you - you.

You, with your sweet eyes that never leave his face, even when your fingers curl around his meaty length, Johnny is too thick for you to hold. It's erotic and also gentle, how all of your attention stays on him, always.

His eyes almost bulge out of their sockets when you lean closer, a whine crawling out his throat at the delicious sight of your mouth spreading open. It needs to accommodate him, all of him, and you will need a little adjustment, but it's alright.

The slight burn in your jaw is neglected, because the sight of Johnny, curling forward when you slither your tongue down his length is breath-taking. His hands settle around your shoulders, curling around the back of them when his tip meets the back of your throat.

His cheeks are red, and he gasps out of control, the warmth of your mouth overwhelming as his break shatters. It bends over you, like a shelter as you suck around him.

"Shite, shite, s'good!"

His breath fawns on top of your head, and you hum around him drawing another soft noise from him. It's rewarding, every sound Johnny gives you in return for your soft mouth. He gasps, and shivers on the couch, hips twitching as he tries to control himself and let you find your rhythm, not that it seems hard.

Johnny easily crumbles beneath your hands, muscles like dough in your fingers when you start kneading at his thighs, the sight of them enough to make you drool. Not that you need much help for that.

The sight of him alone, with a blush blooming to the tip of his ears, the way his abs tense and shiver at the gentle stroke of your hand, how his thighs spread wider for you - it fall from the corner of your mouth.

A puddle grows beneath you, some drops falling on your knees. But, with the heart in your eyes and how heavy it feels in your mouth, nothing matters. Nothing but rewarding Johnny for his respect, and gentleness and for how nice he always is, taking care of you.

It's your turn now. It's why you brought him home. It's why you knelt down for him and offered him the sanctuary guarded by your lips. It's why, even now, you prioritize his pleasure no matter how fucking excited this makes you.

But you need to breathe. His cock is weeping when you part, mouth swollen and tingly when you rub him hard, enough that he moans all high and sweet for you, thighs clenching together.

"Desperate, uh?" You mumbles, watching with rapture attention how his balls tighten.

"Bonnie, swear yo ya, I dinnae do it like t'is, just - shite!"

His head falls back in a groan when your hands tighten at his base, both palms stroking along his cock as he trashes around. Your lips quirks up before you let out a little laugh, eyes shining by how responsive and obedient he continues to be.

"Yeah, because you're a good boy aren't ya Johnny? Would do anything I tell you to do, just for a little bit more, mhm?"

The nods he gives you are rushed, like is a puppeteer had cut his string making his head bob. It's endearing how obedient he can be with only a few touches, and your heart shudder when he calls out your name.

Johnny would settle for your hands. Hell, he would settle for only watching you, if you let him. He will never ask more of you, but God is he grateful when you reach for him again.

You might be his salvation, he thinks, when his cock slides deep into your mouth, the paradise you offer him feeling warm. It quiets his mind, the only thing important now is the shine in your eyes and the circle of your lips swallowing him down to the end. Until his balls slap against your chin.

He is gorgeous. It's all you can really focus on, how pretty he is, his mouth parted and eyes fluttering, in a daze, but always searching for you. When he sheaths into you, after the slow and tender love-making of your mouth, Johnny cannot control it.

But, he want it to be longer, he never wishes for this moment to stop. He isn't sure what got you to make this decision, doesn't know how you happen to decide to please him - but he's not about to let it slip from his grasp.

He needs to be good for you and if it means sliding out from your mouth and grip himself so tight his orgasm vanish, then so be it.

It surprise you when Johnny lets out a whimper as he pushes you by your shoulders, his knees shaking when he groans in pain, thick fingers tightening white. You're breathless, kneeling in front of him as he sputters and swears you don't understand. There is a slight swell at the base of him, that you felt in your mouth and you watch with curiosity how he grips it hard, without hesitation.

You would giggle at how red his face turns if it wasn't for how painfully his grimace looks.

"Johnny boy, c'mon." You says sweetly, hands reaching to craddle his sticky cock, your saliva and his precum making you palms shine.

His eyes roll back when you give him a firm stroke, and surely you push his palm away enough so that you can lick him at the swollen base. The bushy hair by his pelvis tickles your nose but you don't care, not with how he moans and cries out your name. You groan at the salty taste greeting your tongue, watching with keen eyes how he twitches. Under your attention, the ring at the base grows too, so much that you can't swallow it all anymore.

It's unusual, that, but with how fucking great he is, you'll take anything from him.

"Don't you want to cum? Made you stupid, uh?"

"Nah, bonnie, just -" he tries, one hand reaching for you and settling at your nape with a tremble.

A laugh makes you tremble at the firm shake of his head and how eager he is, even when he tries so strongly to restrain himself. Adorable.

You won't let him, though. You want to see him fall into pleasure, to submit to the strong slopes of your tongues. There is nothing you won't do to obtain it, even kneading at the heavy breeding ball that hand in front of your face.

Before Johnny can do anything about it, your mouth opens, and you groan at the salty pang that invades your mouth. Your throat constricts, and you feel his heavy cock twitch uncontrollably in the cavern of your lip.

But, you want more. It twitch in the air, and with a sadist glint in your eyes, you twitch your hands around him, shifting closer so that the tip glides along the skin of your cheek. It shifts up as you smile, pupils dilated as you watch Johnny fall apart.

It's impossible for him to say anything, to ask for you to stop, no matter how much it hurts after being edged for so long. And your smile - God. He's too weak, he can't resist you.

You need both hands to hold him, the impressive thickness making your mouth water. His tip is red, angry at how needy he truly is, and the sight of him hidden once your palms slide upward is teasing enough. You can feel your own desire rise as you spit into him before your tongue starts rubbing on the pretty slit of him.

"Come, baby. Don't you wa't to come?" You ask gently, rubbing the tip against your mouth.

He whines, his palms pressing into your shoulders as he gasps. You watch as his head bob, up and down, up and down with fervor. The chuckle you let out travels into him and Johnny, pretty Johnny, cum as soon as you suckle around his girth.

It floods around your mouth, and even as you try to drink it all, it drips down your chin, pearling along the lines of your throat. There are a few splatters that decorate your cheeks, and you groan with selfish satisfaction.

It creates a beautiful necklace around your throat, and you relish in the pulsating member in your hands, still hard. You might as well have heart eyes from the sight of him, gasping for air, fingers now tight in your hair.

"Shite, Bonnie! You got the best mo'th."

In a whirlwind, you're lifted from your feet and thrown into the couch. Your body sinks into the cushions while you admire him, taking position over you, an eager hand pushing his slacks down.

"I'm gonnea make you come s'hard, lass, promise."

"Yea'? Think you can give me more than one?"

He grins at you, at the snarking remark you offer him in return, pressing a foot against his torso with a smirk of your own. You're breathless, the desire running in your blood making your eyes sharp and the tip of your fingers impatient.

There are so many things you want to do to him. And you know he would let you have it - him. Ride his face until he cum, untouched and devoted. Suck him off again, and again. Grind your weeping cunt along the strong muscles of his thighs, jerk him off, and paint his chest in a beautiful white.

You can have it all, you know it. But, as a reward for being so good - so patient, you want to offer him something too. Your face fall against the pillows, and without any subtility, spread your thighs for him.

What you don't know is, he's been scenting that dripping cunt for hours now, your smell making his heart throb with desire. Your mate won't ever leave you dissatisfied, don't worry.

© archive-doll - all rights reserved. reposting or modifying, including translating or use on AI, is not permitted. original characters are not my own, but the stories and the writing are.

[confused-wanderer]

Ghost is pissed at the situation at hand, and Price is immensely pleased.

Sometimes, when Ghost refuses to relax or fall asleep, he manages to keep himself busy by sorting through paperwork, or working out or literally doing anything else. He runs on fumes, even after they extinguish, and this is just routine for him. He refuses to rest, rejects sleep and forces his tired body to keep moving.

But he knows that he will eventually succumb to sleep, so he carries a metal bottle around. Whenever he sits down, or it’s quiet, no adrenaline or stress to push him on, he makes sure to always hold onto the handle of the bottle, so if he falls asleep, the bottle crashes to the ground and wakes him up. It’s an effective system.

His sergeants, however, foiled it. Without even realising it.

The first time it was MacTavish. Soap was chattering to Ghost while the latter was looking over reports on his desk. It takes a while to notice he’s not getting any grunts in response, so Johnny glances at the man, only to realise he’s fallen asleep. And when he sees this, a soft smile spreading across his face at the sight, he notices the glint of the bottle, and realises it’s about to slip through the limp fingers. So he catches it, gently placing it on the ground before covering Simon with a blanket and walking away.

Gaz and Roach also started recognising the signs of when Ghost was asleep, and made sure to either catch the bottle when it fell or softly pry it out of the other’s hands before setting it down. It’s almost a habit for all of them, to check if Ghost was asleep, and then remove the bottle.

They’re oblivious to why he always carried it, and Price loves every moment of it. Gaz has resorted to hiding the metal bottle in unfathomable places on base and gaslight Ghost, Roach has started subtly trying to manipulate Simon to buy a bottle that’s soft and doesn’t make a sound if it falls. Soap, however, is getting increasingly frustrated at the bottle for threatening to disturb the peace of Ghost’s sleep, and is itching to blow up the bottle whenever he gets the chance.

They all started carrying an extra bottle or two on them because the only logic explanation for Ghost carrying one was because he got thirsty often, I mean- have you seen the outfit he always wears?

Ghost is pissed at why his method is suddenly failing, and meanwhile Price listens to his complaints and threats while also encouraging the boys to keep doing it.

[konigsblog]

DP'd by Dom captain soap and sub sergeant soap!!!!!!

dacryphilia, degrading, sub!sergeant johnny and dom!captain mactavish.

captain mactavish towers over both you and your sergeant. he chuckles at the sight of johnny fisting his cock and rubbing it all over your sticky pussy, his tip pink and seeping out precum. “eager thing, ain't'ye, johnny?” captain mactavish teases, rubbing one large hand up your thigh and the other replacing johnny's hand. he jerks him off, making him gasp out while his thick and calloused fingers ease inside your pussy!

you whimper, grinding back against johnny while captain mactavish chuckles and laughs at the state you two are in. both you and the sergeant are so naïve in comparison to the older and more experienced male, scarred and strong. “look at ye, tryin' to get inside her, aye?” he teased, pushing johnny's dick inside while johnny cries out and bites your shoulder.

captain mactavish pulls your leg up, your ankle on his shoulder as he eases into your already full pussy. johnny's cock fights captain mactavish's, but he's just too thick to fight for more room inside your pussy.

two thick and meaty dicks ruining your cunny! you whimper, gripping the bedsheets and johnny's hair tightly while they both plough into you ruthlessly. chasing their desperate, desired orgasm while captain mactavish degrades you both for sobbing so much.

he puts his hands on your mouth's, silencing johnny's loud groans and your whiney mewls while pounding into you. a painful pace, johnny's twitching shaft rubbing against your gummy walls. captain mactavish silencing the both of you, humilating johnny for crying. he needs to man up, to be fucked into masculinity, captain mactavish believes.

god, he's embarrassed for you both. crying and sticky, a mess. both you and johnny with raw holes after he fucked his asshole and ordered you to ride johnny's stupidly big dick too :((

[kaijumiilk]

Soap and Ghost with images I thought were funny

[konirafa-love]

God I bet Soap looks amazing in a mating press... you can fuck his hole open and suck on his pretty pecs as you do so

I need his thighs by his own ears. I need him to cover his own face in come just from the angle he's folded into...

[vallsdraw]

Haha, finished, hallelujah. The new year is coming soon, but I’m not in the mood at all, either because I’m tired, or I understand that nothing much will change next year... BUT LET’S NOT BE SAD!! NEIL ELLIS IS READY!!

[unmotivatedartistry]

🧼 click for better quality 🧼

Sergeant Johnny "Soap" MacTavish.

2/6 DONE

[hunterbunter3000]

Imagine a Capitan and Sergeant Mactavish threesome.

I'm-- gone. I'm gone.

HAS ANYONE DONE THIS YET? IF NOT I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE

[forsworned]

Okay, okay, hear me out . I neeed a y/n sweet innocent thing who works with 141 (probably computer shit) idk but she wanted to step out her shell & goes out drinking with the boys were she loses a bet with soap & he makes y/n wear a skimpy outfit like those " hot nurse or maid" outfits around the team for a day and it makes price and/or ghost go absolutely feral . The end. Please and thank you p s love your writing.

Author's note: You know normally I do not do these sort of requests because I think that the whole like oh y/n needs to dress in something slutty because she lost a bet schtick is like somewhat demeaning. Like I'm all for it happening to the 141 or whatever but, I put my own spin on it, so even if you don't enjoy it I will but thank you for supporting me anon <3 also screaming at the images I chose for this hahaha

Despite the fact that being in the military was a constant inner battle of not becoming a barrack bunny, it made it a bit easier knowing that 90% of the men were just straight-up fucking whores. So when you lose 7-6 in back-to-back rounds of Blackjack to Johnny, he thinks it's funny to propose a bet that leaves you practically bare-ass naked to every soldier on base.

"'ll be like wearin' a bikini." He says.

To which you can give him a piercing glare that sends an unpleasant shudder up his spine, but regardless he's laughing his ass off. It's not exactly an everyday occurrence that Johnny is winning bets against you so he's taking advantage of the opportunity to embarrass you just as much as you do him.

Wolf whistles and cat calls are heard from the common area that the 141 was currently lounging in, and their ears perk up at the sound of heels clicking against the floor.

"Hell's fuckin' bells, you really wore it, bonnie." Johnny eyes are twinkling and his grin is stretched from ear to ear when he gets a gander at you.

You're wearing the sluttiest maid outfit you could have ever conjured up from many, many, many Halloween's ago when you were in your Chicks Gone Wild Era (iykyk) and Price, Kyle and Simon are flabbergasted by your appearance. Kyle is dropping his spoon that he just stirred his coffee with, Simon is half turning the page to his book and Price just straight up chokes on his London Fog, sputtering it all over his MacBook.

"Fuck you." You mutter, plopping down on the couch next to Simon as you readjust the mobcap on your head. Your dress is riding up as you sit, but you cross your legs and Price is handing you a pillow to cover yourself up to which you sheepishly smile up at him and thank him.

"Why are ye complainin'? Y'look good, bonnie."

"You put her up to this?" Kyle asks, bewildered at the situation unfolding.

"Lookin' good, Serg!" A passing herd of soldiers call out to you as they chuckle amongst themselves and continue to whistle at you.

You shake your head and turn to Johnny with an exasperated look. "Is this what you wanted? To embarrass me?"

"It's not very becoming of you, Johnny." Price murmurs against his mug before taking a sip but it's evident that his face is reddening by the second by your scanty appearance.

"Oh, she does it to me all th' time!" Johnny throws his hands up in half frustration and half amusement.

But Simon on the other hand is silent. He doesn't really know what to say, but he's starting to feel the warmth rushing between his legs.

"L.t., thoughts?"

And Johnny knows exactly what the fuck he's doing while he's shooting him that shit-eating grin that makes Simon want to fucking bumrush the absolute shit out of the Scotsman.

Admittedly this has Kyle and Price's tongues poking their cheeks as they await his answer.

"Y'r a fuckin' slag, Johnny."

And that causes the room to erupt into laughter as you're all clapping your knees and keeling over. Johnny is slightly embarrassed by the jab, but nonetheless, is laughing along. It was nice to have a little laugh in the 141.

[withersia]

I had these sketches lying around for months and I actually drew them as a practice. I think this is the reason why my art style shifted XD

[sleepyhead-1o1]

Soap totally hooks his fingers onto his military vest and belt like it's nothing, it's so him stimming/fidgeting .

[lemonkeiku]

After Ending - Chapter 1 : Bitter Pill

Summary : Soap's death brought a storm of grief to certain people. Freya, an international mercenary who knew Soap well, was no exception. She's determined to find out what really happened to Soap.

Words count: 3,765

On this chapter include: Alex Keller and Farah Karim

Warnings: alternate universe, soap's death is canon here and he's already dead since the begining, call of duty: mobile character.

⚠ Important note ⚠ Freya is originally a character from Call of Duty: Mobile with name Vagr Modir. With the limited lore and background since it came from the mobile game, I created most of the lore and background myself, including the original name. The only things I used from the original character were the character's appearance description and nickname. The point is I don't know if I can call her as my original character or not.

24 NOVEMBER 2023 NORWAY – FREYA “VAGR MODIR” PETTERSEN

“Modir... Soap is dead.”

What the hell, she thought.

She didn't know what to think. It was almost impossible for her to react to such shocking news, in fact it was difficult for her to even comprehend it. But of course, the first thing that came to her mind was that it was kinda nonsense. She just talked to Soap a few days ago–maybe a week.

He sounded perfectly fine to her at that time. He might have sounded upset, but everything he said seemed fine. The last time she'd talked to Soap, he'd asked her a few things, but nothing concerning. They'd even had time to catch up, since they hadn't spoken in a while. It had been their first conversation in a long time. And now it was their last? She tried to recall the last conversation with Soap. About what they discussed and what things he asked, in case she could find clues as to how Soap had ended up like that. But unfortunately nothing came up, like she couldn't remember anything.

“He died here. In London,” they added.

She paused, trying to figure out what kind of answer she could give them. Her mind was now filled with a multitude of questions and doubts. Her heart stopped beating for a moment before it started pounding again. She tried to pull herself together as she tried to catch her breath, which now felt so heavy. Hot steam blew out of her mouth along with the wind, which felt colder from thirty minutes ago. The once clear sky was now overcast, blocking out the sun's warming rays.

On the other hand, Fenrir, one of her pet wolves who had been sitting beside her the entire time, knew her enough to understand that Freya was upset. He noticed the change in his mother's expression, tilting his head as if asking what was wrong. Freya, who noticed it, could only rub the top of his head.

She let out a heavy breath once more.

“Oh, is that so?” her response eventually. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

She hung up immediately, without waiting for any response from the other end.

She remained silent for a while, standing still at the top of the hill, gazing impassively at the expanse of the forest. Part of her wanted to deny it, maybe most of it wanted to deny it. For all she knew, Soap was a tough guy. Didn’t mean he was immortal but it was almost impossible to think that someone like him could die just like that. But she had to realise that the message came from one of her most trusted informants. It couldn't be fake, no matter how many times Freya refused to believe it.

She quickly used her phone again, trying to dial the last number she knew to be Soap's. The call rang for a few moments and Freya hoped that someone would pick up. Her mind could not settle, her body could not stay still as she spun restlessly in place, waiting for the phone to ring. She hoped Soap would pick up.

“It's John. I can't get y’call, try again later o’ leave a message.”

The call went straight to voicemail. Of course, she should have known better that there was no way that anyone was going to answer. Even if Freya tried several times, the result would be the same and by knowing it, it felt hurt. It was hurt like someone stabbed a dagger straight to her chest and hit her kneecaps until she could barely support her own weight. She tried to lean on a nearby tree to stay on her feet. Fenrir became concerned and tried to help her as well.

It hurts even more just to think about it. She could no longer hide her expression, especially from Fenrir. That wolf could read her face so easily. She wondered if he would understand if Freya told him about Soap.

“I guess we won’t see Soap again.” Her voice sounded as if it had no strength left. Almost as if she had given up, although she still tried to deny it. “I know you always miss him.”

Fenrir whimpered in response, as if he understood what she was saying.

Eventually she started to walk away with the black wolf, leaving her favourite spot and heading into the woods. She picked up her phone–again and called another number. She still didn't want to believe it, of course, so she had to do something to check the truth. This time the phone was answered.

“Hey, you busy?” Freya greeted, matter-of-factly.

“Not really,” replied the person on the other end of the phone. “What’s up? You need a ride?”

“Yeah, can you take me to Urzikstan?” she asked.

“It depends. When do you want to go?”

“Soon,” Freya replied with certainty. “Don't worry about the pay. I'll pay you more if you can take me sooner.”

“Heh, I never worry about that with you. No problem, I'll drop you off early in the morning. You know where to go.”

After getting the deal, Freya quickly hung up the phone. In truth, she didn't have the energy to say much more than that either. Her mind was still on the news of Soap's death as she walked on through the trees. She tried to find the most plausible cause of Soap's death.

Who killed him? And how? These questions kept swirling around in her head.

She wanted to come back as soon as possible for several reasons. Especially when she witness how the weather had changed. The air grew colder with every step she took. The weather was supposed to be nice today, Freya had checked the weather report. But for some reason the sky was changing rapidly. It felt like a storm was coming. Even though it hadn't snowed yet, winter was just around the corner.

By the time she arrived at her house, the whole pack of her children had gathered. They were smart enough to understand that the weather was deteriorating. He led them quickly into their makeshift cave, making sure they would be safe no matter what happened tonight. They probably wouldn't sleep tonight. If the weather didn't get any worse, they would probably go out anyway.

After she had made sure that all of her children were all inside, she went into her own home, with Fenrir following her. That black wolf was indeed a big exception. He immediately sat down in front of the fireplace, which was his favourite spot, as Freya began to prepare her things for the next trip.

She had to confirm that Soap was really dead. She knew the only person she could ask, and that was what this trip was about. But it had been a long time since she had seen that person, who knew how he was going to react when Freya showed up.

26 NOVEMBER 2023U.L.F. MAIN BASE, URZIKSTAN – ALEX KELLER

The atmosphere at the base was tense recently. After Makarov's attempt to blame the ULF for the attack on the Russian plane, they knew that Makarov would not stop pitting them against each other and stirring up trouble. Even after Shepherd acknowledged the ULF's effort to form an alliance with the US, the threat to peace in Urzikstan would not go away.

This problem was not lost on Alex. He couldn't stop thinking of new ways to prevent the outbreak of war in Urzikstan. After Farah's return, the situation at the base became even more alarming. It has kept Alex awake for the past few days.

Like today, Alex didn't spend the nights in his room anymore. He was sure that he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, so he decided to stand guard at one of the sentry posts with only a cup of black coffee. He knew he probably wouldn't get much out of his watch, nor did he really expect anything to happen. But at least he had something to do with his time. He really didn't need any more threats.

His eyes scanned the vast expanse of the desert. There wasn't much to see considering how dark it was out there, but at least the moon was shining brightly tonight. After standing for almost two hours, he finally decided to pull up a nearby chair and sit down facing outwards. He took occasional sips of his coffee, hoping the caffeine would keep him awake.

Alex had just placed his coffee cup on the table when he heard the creaking of the wooden floor echoing in his ears. He immediately got out of his chair and turned towards the source of the sound, searching for the cause, when a figure of someone standing outside the window. It was dark outside, making it difficult to see the figure clearly. The door of the post office was not closed, so it was easy for the figure to enter.

Strangely, Alex did not react or even take action against the stranger who appeared without any sign or even annoucement. He just stood still and watched as the figure approached him from the outside. It was as if Alex could make out the figure that was only a silhouette at the moment.

“Alex," the figure greeted. "Been a while, huh?”

The voice sounded so familiar. Especially when combined with the silhouette of the figure, Alex knew very well who it was. His memory immediately gave him the answer before he could ask himself.

“Mother!” Alex almost shouted.

His eyes blinked repeatedly, as if trying to make sure what he was seeing was real. Alex couldn't hide his surprise. She was a person Alex had known 3 years ago and he had never imagined that he would meet her again, let alone appear here.

“You look like someone who's seen a ghost.” Her voice made him shiver as he couldn’t guess why she was here. Her unpredictable tone didn't give him any clue, nor did her expression.

“How can't I ?” he responded. “A dead person shouldn’t be walking around.”

His answer left a small grin on her face as she walked toward the light, finally showing her face to him.

Seeing her standing there made Alex uneasy. She was a person who should have died 3 years ago, it seemed natural for Alex to be so cautious. His eyes could not escape the woman he knew as Vagr Modir, the Wolf Mother. As hard as it was to figure her out, Alex had to at least get some idea of why she was here.

“You should confirm by yourself next time.” Again, her voice sounded calm, but with a slight joking tone this time.

“How did you find me?”

“That was easy. You don’t have to know the details.”

“Then... What brought you here?” he asked, trying to remain calm. He put his hands on his waist, trying not to provoke her, so she knew he wouldn't do anything stupid. “Surely not to ask how I'm doing, right?”

“What’s wrong with catching up with an old friend?” She took a few steps around the room, as if scanning her surroundings. Her eyes wandered here and there before returning to Alex.

“We know that doesn't sound like you.”

“Did I really not leave a good impression on you?”

“Not at all.”

“That’s a shame.” She crossed her arms on top of her chest. “I'm here to confirm the death of someone else. I'm sure only you can give me that.”

“Who?” he was puzzled.

“A friend of ours, Soap. I was told that he was dead.”

“What are you talking about?”

This was the second time Alex had been caught off guard. This time it even caused him to let his guard down drastically. For a moment he wondered if he had heard wrong or if Modir was lying to him. He had plenty of reasons why he couldn’t trust her. He hadn't heard anything about it. If it was really someone from 141's death, he should know by now. But by the serious look on Modir's face, she might be right.

“You know exactly what I was talking about,” she argued. “I got a report, Soap was killed. No details, that's why I came to you. You should have heard about it.”

“Who's your intel?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“Then how would I know if it is true?”

“I wouldn't fly this far if I couldn't trust them, would I?”

“Fair enough.” Alex rubbed his face out of disbelief. This kind of  information managed to keep him more awake than strong black coffee. “Well then... if it is true, I guess the news travelled faster to Norway.”

“So you really don't know?”

“The last thing we know, Soap and his team were in London. But I can look into it, see if your intel is reliable.”

“My intel is always reliable, Alex. I just need confirmation from you,” Modir insisted.

Their conversation was interrupted for a moment when they both heard the rumbling sound of someone climbing the wooden stairs of the guard post. It seemed strange, considering that Alex had not heard any footsteps when Modir had appeared.

The footsteps stopped as Farah reached the door. She had a look as if she was out of breath, as if she was in a hurry to find Alex.

“Hey Alex, we got some—” Her words were cut off when she noticed Modir was there, who was an unidentified figure. “Who is this?”

Alex could see the change in Farah's expression, she became alarmed as her hand almost pulled her gun from its holster.  A reasonable reaction in Alex's opinion but he couldn’t let that happen.

“It’s okay, Farah. She's…” he hung on his words, trying to find the right one. “She’s a friend.”

It was clear that Farah didn't immediately believe it. But Alex had to try to convince Farah so that there would be no unwanted conflict.

“And what brings your friend here?” she demanded.

Alex tried to exchange glances with Modir. He didn't know what to expect when he looked at her, but Modir gave him no clues. Whether or not he could tell Farah about the news of Soap's death that neither of them had even heard.

“She said Soap is dead. She's here to confirm it,” he replied, almost hesitated.

Farah reacted as soon as she heard. But her reaction was a little different than Alex had expected. Her eyes were wide open, as if surprised, but her expression was as if she hadn't heard the news for the first time.

“How did you…”

“Is it true, Farah?” he asked, emphasising.

Farah sighed as her shoulders slumped, no longer tense. Her face became sad, with a furrowed brow and a mournful look. Alex should have been able to tell from Farah's expression that Soap was indeed dead. She no longer needs to explain.

“I just got a call from Price. Soap was killed a few days ago. I was about to tell you that.”

Now Alex knew that it was true. He still wanted to question how Modir knew before them, but it didn’t matter anymore. There was no response from Modir for a few moments, but Alex could see that she was clenching her jaw. As if Farah's confirmation was not something she had expected.

“Is it Makarov?” Modir questioned, again, like she already knew and asked just to make sure.

Farah didn't say anything at first, just stared at Alex. She obviously still didn't believe Modir, a stranger who had come out of nowhere. Alex could not trust Modir completely. He did not know her true intentions. But if she was going to do something to threaten him, Alex was sure she would have done it sooner.

With a nod of his head, he tried to reassure Farah. “You can tell her, Farah.”

“Yes. He was killed when he tried to stop him,” Farah eventually answered.

“Thank you,” Modir said. “Sorry for coming unannounced. I hope I didn't take up too much of your time.”

Modir immediately turned around and left the room through the door. He didn't even give Alex or Farah a chance to say anything. This time the sound of her steps could be heard, rushing down the stairs.

“Wait—Mother! Stop!” He tried to stop her, leaving Farah alone in that room. He ran down the stairs, trying to catch up with Modir before that woman disappeared just like how she came.

She went straight to the outside of the barrier. By the time Alex had almost caught up with her, Modir was already on a bike, preparing to leave. Alex had shouted at her several times, but Modir had no intention of stopping as she started her bike.

With no choice, Alex immediately jumped in front of Modir's bike. He pulled out his gun and even pointed it at Modir to stop her from riding away. Thankfully it worked, Modir didn't move–or at least she didn't ride off and hit Alex.

“I said, stop!” he commanded.

“You won’t shoot me,” she challenged him.

“And yet you stay.”

It took some time for the two of them to work out their egos. Alex was still pointing his gun straight at Modir, unwilling to move or even lower his weapon. Meanwhile, with both hands still on her bike, Modir was not about to give up her intention either.

But at the end it was Modir who gave in. It didn't take long for her to change her mind. At least for a moment. She took both hands off the bike and sat upright to show that this time she was listening to Alex. She also turned off her bike as a sign of good intentions.

“What do you want?” she asked bluntly. “You can lower your weapon. I'm not that stupid to run you over.”

Alex hesitated at first, but decided to listen to Modir's words and slowly lowered his weapon. By her tone alone, his curiosity outweighed his doubts about Modir and made him willing to lower his guard a little. He also took the opportunity to keep his weapon before beginning to speak.

“Why are you here?” he interrogated her.

“To confirm Soap’s death.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I want to know if he’s really dead and your Commander just confirmed it.”

“What else?”

“What do you mean “what else”? Wasn't that clear enough for you?”

“Of course not,” he was being doubtful. “Do you really expect me to believe that you're just here to confirm Soap's death?”

Modir raised one of her eyebrows. “And I left right after I got the confirmation. I’m sure it was pretty clear. Can I go?”

He didn't really like it, but he had to admit that it made sense, even if the rest didn't.

“Now you got your confirmation. What are you going to do about it?”

“I don't think it's any of your business.”

“It is!” he grunted. “You can't just barge into my base and leave without any explanation. You were lucky Farah didn't shoot you up there.”

Modir sighed loudly, her jaw tensing as her forehead creased. Her eyes were now fixed on Alex, and he could sense the woman's frustration. But here, too, Alex was annoyed because he was not getting a clear answer from Modir.

“You'd better stay out of my way, Alex. I'm no threat to you if that is what you worry about. Unless you’d try to hold me back, I’d have no second thought to fucking shoot your head . Now, move!”

At this point, Alex had no reason to continue to stand in Modir's way. True, he had gotten no explanation, but Modir herself had assured him that she was no threat. At least for now. Eventually, he stepped aside from the front of her bike and let Modir go. He took a moment to stare at the woman as she drove away, until she was out of sight.

He went back to his post when Farah was standing at the bottom of the stairs. He was not sure if she had seen or even heard his conversation with Modir.

“Alex… Who is she?” she asked right away.

“An acquaintance.”

“From the CIA?”

Alex shook his head. “No, no... She’s a mercenary. We crossed paths once,” he tried to explain. “We worked together– short of. Well… at least not at first.”

The two of them walked up the stairs, back into the room. It was Alex who invited Farah to continue their conversation inside. He knew she must have many questions. It would also be better if no one overheard their next conversation. He closed the door behind him as soon as Farah walked through it.

“So what does she have to do with Soap?” She crossed her arms.

“Soap was there with me. Y’know… That one time I went to Alaska.” Alex took the chair he previously used and sat there. “I never expected she would show up here.”

“Why is that?”

“The last time I met her was 3 years ago in Alaska. More importantly, she was supposed to be dead. She was reported K.I.A. during that time.”

Alex would never forget his first and last meeting with Modir. Especially the last moment when he witnessed how Modir was killed in front of him. As Modir said before, he did not check whether Modir was really dead or not, he just received the report that Modir was K.I.A..

After seeing Modir alive and appearing at the ULF headquarters, Alex couldn't stop thinking about a few things. When Modir appeared earlier, he thought that she had come for him with bad intentions. Even when she questioned him about Soap's death, Alex thought she had other plans about it.

It felt as if the adrenaline was still pumping, his heart was still pounding and even his hands were sweating in their gloves. He had good reason to be anxious. He thought Modir was coming to kill him.

“Are you planning to inform Price about her?” she asked.

Alex was silent. He thought about whether it was necessary to tell others. Apart from the fact that Modir didn't ask about anything other than Soap's death, she didn't mention anything about the team either.

He thought so hard that his forehead furrowed and he sniffed the air from behind his moustache.

“Let’s keep this between us for now. I don’t think she’ll be a threat to them.”

Thank you for reaching the end of first chapter 💕💕 I really hope you like it and excited for the next chapter^^

[confused-wanderer]

Price has had enough.

He could always tell when Simon was off. Be it a slight tick of his hands pulling down on his balaclava when he was nervous, the sudden stillness and slight head tilt he did when he was getting pissed or the silence he used when he was down.

Yeah. Price can always tell. It was like a rift in the usual waves around Ghost, and he can almost always tell 99.999% of the time what the other was feeling simply by noting the atmosphere change around the other man. He can tell everything from a mile away, even if Simon couldn’t himself.

So trust him when he says he knows Ghost wants to be closer to the taskforce. He sees it in how the three banter around, how Ghost allows Gaz to call him “the phantom of the opera” or how Soap is the only one who can whine to L.T about taking off his mask without having a gaping hole in his chest later. Or the unspoken rule of personal space suddenly being invaded as light pats, playful punches and mock hits are tolerated by Ghost without any alarm bells going off.

But Ghost, is shit at communication. At an unfathomable level. The lieutenant was sure the other two men must have recognised his reciprocation, his open fondness and soft spot for them. The fucking clueless bastard who didn’t know the first thing about normal behavior, Price thinks with love.

And he’d reached his limit with trying to let Simon do it his way.

So when they’re all down from a mission, Ghost making his way to exfil while the rest were already in the train, Price tells both his sergeants to just close their eyes. He’s met with a few dubious looks, but the tired expression on his face of trust me I know what I’m doing erases all doubts and they both do it.

The moment ghost’s voice clicks over comms, saying he’s made it out, Price sees both his sergeants relax, shoulders sagging as they let out a deep exhale, and smiles. All his boys cared about each other.

Gaz, who closes his eyes first, ends up falling asleep, lightly swaying with the motion to prevent himself from falling deeper. And Soap is well on his way under, his body stilling dangerously so for his normal state.

Price sits on the opposite seat, keeps his hat on his face to prevent Ghost from seeing his eyes, and lays back. To watch the chaos, of course. Ghost enters after a few minutes, his footsteps heavy before stopping, and then becoming impossibly soft, presumably because he sees them all asleep.

Price watches Ghost falter, THE Ghost look as uncertain and lost as a puppy, fidgeting as he tries to see where he can sit.

The bus starts, and the motion causes Gaz to almost slide off. But before Gaz can fully wake himself up to respond, Ghost catches him, takes the seat between the two sergeants, tightens his gentle grip around the other man, and allows him to rest his weight on Simon, to prevent him from moving any further.

Soap, half awake for all, this lifts his head a bit at the commotion, his battle with sleep was evident. He ends up trying to look at what is happening, before sleep wins and Johnny goes limp, head falling against Simon’s before he realises what happened and tries to lift himself, ending with his head falling back.

And Ghost once again, doesn’t let it. He lifts his shoulder to better support the other man’s neck, and tucks his chin over Soap’s head to keep him comfortable and safe. Soap is now practically leaning on Simon, the latter man for the first time in a long while not only allowing touch but initiating it.

The sergeants were safe and protected, both finally registering that Ghost indeed, had a soft spot for them, and made sure to keep including him in their warmth, making sure he knew he was a part of their family too.

[geek-freak0263]

I recently got into Modern Warfare. Have some sketches of our favorite sergeant, Soap