#Soap Fic

[msilwrites]

Trouble - ( Johnny 'Soap' Fic)

Hot, whatever size/colour/ethnicity you are, you are hot in Johnny's Eyes! Reader, Soap is smitten with you! Reader, Agent! Reader, Reboot! Johnny, Reboot! Soap, but he is Captain! Soap (Now!!), Captain! Johnny, Captain! Soap, Fuckboi! Soap, Manwhore! Soap, Judgemental! Johnny, Judgemental! Soap, Shameless! Soap, Cocky! Soap

Soap x Reader , Soap x Y/N ,

Summary: Captain Johnny Soap MacTavish never believed in love at first sight—until he saw you at the pub. A vision of confidence, beauty, and allure, you had his attention from the moment you walked in. But Johnny, ever the impulsive Scotsman, couldn’t help jumping to the wrong conclusion. He misjudged you, mistaking your grace and poise for the airs of a spoiled rich princess or, worse, the temptations of a high-end escort.

Yet, even as he wrestled with his assumptions, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting you—craving you. His fascination with you became a stubborn obsession, and Johnny MacTavish was never one to back down from a challenge. No matter how many mistakes he made or how far you tried to run, he was determined to prove one thing: you were meant to be his, no matter what it took.

A/N:

FIRST—

This story is part of the Midnight Snack Mystery and Papa Bear Material universe. (If you’re Ghost or Price’s wife, feel free to identify as whichever one you are—this is your world too!)

The character in this story is still You (Y/N), but that is only if you identify as Soap’s “birdie,”!!

Soap’s already been promoted to Captain here, so feel free to enjoy that new title. Actually, everyone’s been promoted. Yep, Soap survived Makarov’s shot to the head—deal with it, that’s our canon now! (In this universe!! Lol!!)

Enjoy Soap’s audacity and the smutty goodness ahead!

Genre: Comedy / Smut

Warning : SMUT, MDNI! and Soap's audacity

----------

Soap leaned against the pool table, cue stick in hand, half-heartedly watching the game. The pub was lively as always, but his attention kept wandering. Roach lined up his shot, muttering something about taking his time, while Gaz leaned on the wall, spinning a cue in his hand like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Soap’s eyes drifted to the booth in the corner, where Price sat with Mrs. Price, sharing a crawfish boil with Ghost and Mrs. Riley. The sight would’ve been unthinkable a few years ago. Ghost—Ghost—was married now, cracking shells and laughing softly at something his missus said. And Price? The man who’d had nothing but the job his entire career was now semi-retired, director of SpecGru, and properly tied down.

Gaz was engaged, for goodness’s sake. And even bloody Roach, who swore he’d “die a free man,��� had found a girl.

Soap huffed, lining up his shot but not really seeing it. “Look at ‘em,” he muttered, his accent thick with irritation. “Big, scary bastards all soft now ‘cause they’ve got a lass at home. Gaz, Ghost, Price—bloody hell, even Roach. What’s the world comin’ to?”

Gaz chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Maybe the problem isn’t them, mate. Maybe it’s you.”

Soap snorted. “Aye, right. Next thing I know, you’ll be tellin’ me tae go pick out curtains.”

Roach laughed, sinking his shot. “Don’t worry, Johnny. You’ll catch up. Eventually.”

Soap grumbled, shaking his head. He couldn’t help but grimace, thinking about the path that got him here. “Catch up,” he muttered. “More like they bloody dragged me up.”

When Price stepped back, and Ghost finally accepted promotions to Captain, then Major, and eventually Lieutenant Colonel—shocker of the century—the entire team dynamic shifted. Ghost, the man who’d spent his whole career avoiding a desk, settled down and took on a higher rank just before getting married. Meanwhile, Price transitioned from Captain to Director of SpecGru, semi-retired and making it look effortless.

And then there was Soap. They wouldn’t leave him alone, dragging the whole squad up to higher posts and hauling Johnny along with them, whether he liked it or not. Price and Ghost had pushed him—no, threatened him—into Sandhurst. His Lt. Col had personally shoved him into the officer training program, with Price backing it up and General MacMillan himself throwing in his weight.

The memory made him scowl. He could still hear Ghost’s dry tone, clear as day: “Get yer act together, Johnny. We’re not leavin’ you behind.”

Soap sighed. He didn’t mind being Captain, not really, but the way they’d strong-armed him into it still stung. Especially now, watching the lot of them with their missuses, their lives looking settled and... content.

They’d gone from being his squadmates to practically running the show—Price as Director, Ghost as a Lieutenant Colonel—and it was like they’d made it their mission to drag their Sergeant up the ranks with them. Now here he was: Captain MacTavish, earning more money than ever and still too stingy to spend it on anything but his motorbike, cheap pints, and the occasional takeaway.

Not that he couldn’t afford a girlfriend now—hell, he could’ve afforded one when he was a Sergeant—but back then, he’d been more about quick flings and less about commitment. Now? Now he didn’t even have that. Just the ghost of his own damn jealousy watching his mates turn into family men.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but damn it, he envied them. Even Ghost, who’d been the least likely candidate for settling down, had found someone who could see past the mask—literally and figuratively. Price, Roach, Gaz—they all had someone. And Soap? He was still here, drinking cheap beer and pretending it didn’t bother him.

Then the pub door opened, and all thoughts scattered.

She walked in like she owned the place. Her wavy hair caught the dim light, and the way she moved—confident, smooth—drew his eye immediately. The corset top she wore hugged her figure in ways that made his pulse hitch, the sweetheart neckline daring him to look too long. Flare jeans accentuated her curves, her slingback heels clicking softly on the floor.

Soap froze, his cue stick forgotten. She looked expensive. The gold earrings glinted as she turned her head, catching the light like they had something to say, and that bracelet—that bracelet—he’d seen it before on women who liked their champagne vintage and their shoes handmade. Even her hair, styled but not fussy, screamed class. She didn’t just walk into the room; she owned it, every measured step deliberate, every soft click of her heels loud enough to turn heads.

“Christ,” Soap muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Roach, quick to notice, smirked. “What’s the matter, Johnny? You look like you’ve seen a goddess”

Soap flicked him a sharp look. “Shut it.”

But Roach wasn’t one to let it go. “Lost yer nerve, have ye? Go on, Captain. Talk to her.”

Soap’s eyes drifted back to her. The corset top, the jeans, the way she held herself—confident, but not in a way that begged for attention. No, she was the kind who knew she didn’t have to. He tried to peg her. A spoiled rich girl slumming it? Or maybe... Christ, was she an escort? High-class, no doubt, but still... The bracelet gave him pause. Women with money wore those; women who liked to make sure you knew they had money.

Gaz straightened from his lean, his sharp eyes cutting toward the woman. Something flickered across his face—a flash of recognition that vanished almost as quickly as it came. He didn’t speak, but Soap noticed the subtle shift in his demeanour. Gaz wasn’t just watching her; he was clocking her, analysing.

“Forget it,” Gaz said at last, his tone even.

Soap frowned. “Forget what?”

Gaz rolled his shoulders, leaning on his cue stick. “She’s not your type, Johnny. Way outta your league.”

Soap’s brow furrowed. “What d’ye mean by that?”

Gaz shrugged, giving him a knowing smirk. “Look at her. Probably costs more than you’d ever spend on a date.”

Roach barked out a laugh, slapping the table. “He’s right, you know. You’re tight as a drum, Johnny. You’d ask her to split the bill on a pint!”

Soap turned, his glare sharp enough to cut. “Oh, aye? Tight, am I? And who’s the one always payin’ for your rounds, eh?”

Roach’s grin only widened. “Doesn’t mean you’re takin’ her home, mate.”

Gaz chuckled, still leaning on his cue stick. “Don’t get yourself into trouble, Captain.” His tone was light, but there was an edge to it, almost a warning.

Soap huffed, his gaze drawn back to the bar where she now stood, her fingers brushing the counter as she ordered a drink. Trouble, eh? Maybe they were right. She probably was trouble—the kind you couldn’t walk away from. But something about her made it hard to care.

His grip tightened on the cue stick. He tilted his head, gaze fixed on her like he was sizing up an opponent. “Aye, maybe I do like trouble,” he muttered, the corners of his mouth pulling into a grin.

With that, Soap set the cue stick down, adjusted his jacket, and strode toward the bar.

Kyle groaned under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as Soap walked away, clearly on a mission. “Ah, shite,” he muttered, his accent laced with frustration.

Roach, still grinning like a man who’d just lit a fuse, turned to him. “What? He’ll thank me for it later. Might loosen him up, y’know? Johnny’s been too wound up lately. Could do with a lass to set him straight.”

Kyle jabbed a finger in the direction of the bar, where the woman stood, her poised demeanor giving nothing away. He leaned in closer to Roach, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “She’s workin’, mate.”

Roach furrowed his brows, confused. “Workin’? Like, you mean…?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, a sly grin creeping back onto his face. “Well, that’s perfect, then. Johnny gets his fun, spends a bit of that paycheck, and maybe he won’t be so bloody tight. Win-win, aye?”

Kyle slapped a hand to his forehead, exhaling like a man dealing with a hopeless case. “No, you idiot! Not that kind of workin’. She’s an informant. Undercover. Probably collectin’ intel, and if Johnny gets involved, he could blow her cover.”

Roach blinked, processing. “Wait. Hang on a sec.” He glanced back at the woman, squinting as he gave her a proper look. “She does look a bit familiar... Is she a regular here or somethin’?”

Kyle tilted his head toward her, his voice dropping even lower. “No, mate. We’ve worked with her info before. Think about it. The reports on that arms deal a few months back? That was hers. She’s good at what she does, but Johnny swaggerin’ over there like it’s a bloody Tinder date isn’t gonna help.”

Roach’s eyes widened, realization dawning. “Ohhh.” He glanced at Soap, who was now halfway to the bar, his confident stride making it clear he wasn’t about to change course. “Should we, uh… I dunno, drag him back here before he makes a right fool of himself?”

Kyle folded his arms, his expression a mix of resignation and exasperation. “At the right moment,” he said, his tone heavy with experience. His eyes tracked Soap’s progress as the Captain closed in on the woman. “Knowing Johnny, he’ll need to stick his foot in it first.”

----------

Soap reached the bar with his signature swagger, his broad grin in place as he sidled up next to her. “Evenin’, lass. What’s a woman like you doin’ in a place like this? Slummin’ it, are we?”

She glanced at him, then raised an eyebrow with a sly smile. “Slummin’ it? Bold of you to say that. Even bolder to approach me.”

Soap chuckled, clearly unbothered. “I’ve got plenty of boldness to spare, love.”

Soap leaned in, still wearing that cocky grin. “Johnny MacTavish, by the way. And you are...?”

She shot him a look, the smile still playing on her lips. “Name’s not your business,” she said, voice light but teasing. “But you may call me whatever you like.”

Soap couldn’t help but chuckle at her tone. “Oh, I’ll keep that in mind, love.”

He tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes with mock curiosity. “So, what’s a lass like you doin’ in a place like this? Surely this isn’t your usual haunt?”

She arched a brow, meeting his gaze with a challenge in her eyes. “Why can’t I be here? Have a pint like the rest of ‘em?”

Soap smirked, giving her the once-over. “You look a little too posh for this joint. I’m guessin’... rich spoiled brat, or a high-class escort?”

Her smile didn’t fade. Instead, she leaned in, her voice smooth and cutting. “Bold of you to say. Maybe I am, but if I am, either way... you can’t afford me.”

----------

Back at the pool table, Gaz and Roach were barely holding it together. They exchanged amused looks, stifling their laughter, as they whispered among themselves, not wanting Johnny to catch on.

Roach shot a smirk at Gaz. “Bloody hell, Johnny’s got no shame.”

Gaz snickered quietly. “Aye, but she’s givin’ him a run for his money, isn’t she?”

----------

Soap’s grin only grew wider, his voice low and teasing. “Well, if you’re that expensive, love, I reckon I could afford you for a night, but you’ll be getting more than just a view. How about I show you how wild a Highlander can get? I promise you, it’ll be... less polished, but a whole lot more memorable.”

She glanced up at him, and despite the heels, she was still dwarfed by his towering figure. His broad shoulders, the way his muscles moved under his shirt—it was all there, every inch of him commanding attention. And those blue eyes. Electric. Like they could strip her bare with just one look. He wasn’t just good-looking; he was the type of man you wouldn’t say no to if you were brave enough.

Her lips curled into a smile, and she leaned in just enough to make sure he caught her next words. “Bold of you to think I’d be interested in that... But go on, keep talking. I’m listening.”

Soap chuckled, loving the fire in her eyes. “Oh, I’ve got plenty more where that came from, love. Just say the word, and we’ll see if I can’t show you a wild side you’ve never even dreamed of.”

She arched a brow, her smile teasing, but the way her eyes held his made it clear she wasn’t backing down. “You really think you can handle someone like me?”

“Love,” he said with a smirk, his voice thick with the accent of his roots, “I’ve handled far worse. And I don’t back down from a challenge.”

She met his gaze, her own confidence matching his as she spoke again. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that... after you buy me a drink first.”

Soap leaned in, ordering her drink with a wink. “Whatever you like, love. It’s on me.”

The bartender returned shortly with two drinks, placing them on the bar with a polite nod. Soap slid one toward her with a confident grin, his eyes never leaving hers.

She took the glass, her fingers brushing against his. “Cheers,” she said smoothly, her voice almost a purr. Soap raised his glass in response, clinking it lightly with hers before taking a long sip.

----------

Meanwhile, not far from the bar, at the booth where Ghost and Price sat with their wives, the scene was unfolding just as expected.

Mrs. Riley, ever the character, popped a piece of fresh crawdad meat into her mouth, chewing with evident enjoyment as if she were snacking on popcorn. Mrs. Price took a slow, thoughtful sip from her pint, clearly entertained by the situation unfolding before them.

Price, leaning back slightly, gave Ghost a sideways glance. “What do you reckon, Simon? Is Johnny gonna manage to take this lass home, or is he gonna make a right fool of himself?”

Ghost raised an eyebrow, watching the exchange intently. “Aye, he’s got the charm for it, but we all know how Johnny is. He either gets what he wants, or he trips over his own feet trying.”

Price chuckled softly, eyeing Soap with a knowing look. “I’d say he’s got no chance of walking away from this without a few bruises to his ego. But, then again, she’s holding her own pretty well, eh?”

Mrs. Riley looked up from her seafood, her eyes twinkling as she smirked. “You both bettin’ on Johnny? I reckon she’ll either take him for a ride... or leave him in the dust.”

Ghost gave a small nod, glancing at Soap as he chatted up the lady. “Looks like the lady’s a tough one.” He turned to Price. “Should we step in? Drag Johnny back to the table before he makes a fool of himself—or worse, ruins her night?”

Mrs. Price, always one to watch the drama unfold, leaned in a little closer, eyes fixed on Soap and the woman at the bar. “Let ‘em be. It’s too entertaining watchin’ Johnny try and work his so-called 'charm.'”

Price chuckled quietly, raising his pint in a small toast. “Aye, you’re right. If she’s handling him this well, she’s got him wrapped around her finger already.”

----------

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a teasing smile. “And if I am a spoiled rich princess, what would you say then?”

Johnny’s grin spread even wider. He leaned in a little, his voice low and mischievous. “Well, if that’s the case... I’d say I’m the wildest adventure you’ll ever have. The kind you’ll never forget.”

She giggled, shaking her head, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You might just be all talk, though.”

Johnny sighed dramatically, then chuckled, leaning back in his seat with a playful challenge in his tone. “Ah, well then, lass... you could always come with me and find out for yourself.”

She leaned in closer, her lips almost brushing his ear. “And what if you disappoint me?” she asked, voice dripping with playful skepticism. “What do I get? I’m not doing the walk of shame in the morning, am I?”

Johnny gave a theatrical sigh, his grin never fading. “Well, if I disappoint you, I’ll make it up to you with breakfast in bed. But either way—disappointed or not—I’ll pamper you in the morning, love. You’ll be spoiled.”

She smiled, the thought of a leisurely morning in bed tempting her. Truth be told, it had been a while since she'd gotten laid, and this handsome MacTavish stranger seemed like just the thing she needed. A little adventure, some fun, and maybe a good night to get her back into the swing of things.

Single? Definitely. Needed to mingle? Absolutely. And well, if she was going to enjoy herself tonight, why not with a bloke who could keep up with her banter? A laugh, a good time, and possibly more? She could certainly get on board with that.

“I like the sound of that,” she said, her smile growing as she slid her fingers around her drink. “Might just take you up on that offer...”

She raised an eyebrow, a sly grin playing on her lips. “What if you’re a serial killer, though? I mean, with that mohawk and your good looks, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Johnny chuckled, his usual confidence not faltering. “Serial killer, huh? Well, I promise you, love, I’m no murderer.”

But she didn’t let up. “I don’t know... that mohawk's a bit suspicious. Still, I gotta admit, it suits you. You’re still handsome despite it.”

Johnny blinked in surprise, then a sheepish grin tugged at the corners of his lips. Did she just—? No one had ever dared to compliment him like that before, especially after the whole “wild man” routine.

"Well... thanks," he muttered, a little flustered now.

She grinned wickedly. “You're welcome, handsome. But seriously, how can I be sure you're not one bad night away from chopping me up and turning me into stew?”

Johnny let out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to shake off the awkwardness. “Alright, alright, what can I do to prove I’m not some serial killer, then? You wanna see my ID or something?”

She tapped her chin thoughtfully for a moment, before smirking. “Yeah, actually, that sounds good. Hand it over.”

Johnny dug into his pocket, pulling out his driver’s license. He handed it to her, and in a quick motion, she snatched it from his hand, raised her phone, and snapped a photo.

Johnny’s brows furrowed. “What are you doing?”

She smirked, showing him the screen. “Sending this to a trusted friend. You know, in case something happens to me tonight. They’ll know exactly who to look for.”

Johnny’s eyes widened in surprise. “That’s... smart,” he said, nodding appreciatively.

She then snapped another photo, this time of him, and he raised an eyebrow. “What’s that for? Sending it too?”

She shook her head with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Nah, not sending this one. I’m keeping it for myself.”

Johnny blinked, his heart skipping a beat as he realized she was serious. “For yourself, eh?”

She winked at him, the playful spark in her gaze undeniable. “Oh, yeah. It’s not every day I get to keep a picture of a handsome guy like you.”

Now, Johnny was definitely blushing. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, but the warmth creeping into his cheeks betrayed him. “Well, I suppose that’s fair enough.”

She took a sip of her drink, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Seems like you’re finally caught off guard, MacTavish.”

He let out a chuckle, shrugging. “You’re not making it easy, love.”

After a brief pause, they both finished off their pints, the air between them charged with flirtation. She set her empty glass down first, a playful glint in her eyes. “Well, looks like we’ve both had our fun for tonight.”

Johnny followed suit, his own glass hitting the counter with a soft clink. “Aye, reckon so. What do you say, we call it a night? I’ve had enough of this place... might be time for something... less crowded.”

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smile. “Sounds like a plan, MacTavish. Lead the way.”

They both stood, an unspoken agreement between them. Johnny offered her a confident smile as they headed toward the door, ready to take the night wherever it would lead.

As Johnny and the woman stood up to leave, Gaz and Roach exchanged glances. They made half-hearted moves as if they were about to stand up and stop him—an awkward, wordless attempt to intervene. But as Johnny turned around and caught their gaze, his usual cocky grin faltered just a fraction.

His eyes narrowed, and he shot them a look that could melt stone. The boys, momentarily caught off guard by the intensity of his glare, quickly backed down. They sat back down in their booth, giving him a silent, almost apologetic shrug, their faces filled with that familiar "we tried" expression.

Price and Ghost shared a similar moment of hesitation, both standing up as if to offer some sort of assistance, but seeing the look on Johnny’s face made them rethink. They sat back down, shaking their heads with a knowing chuckle.

Without another word, Johnny placed his hand possessively around her small, curvy waist, guiding her out the door. She glanced up at him with a smirk, enjoying the rush of walking out with him, feeling his confidence radiate off him like an aura.

They stepped into the cool night air, the warmth of the pub already fading as they made their way down the street. Johnny’s hand never left her waist, his grip firm, and she couldn’t help but feel a thrill from how he held her close.

Gaz glanced at Roach, his expression a mix of concern and disbelief. “I’m kinda worried for Johnny…”

Roach snorted, rolling his eyes. “Aye, worried he might actually get lucky tonight?”

Gaz shrugged. “More like worried he’ll be too embarrassed to show his face tomorrow.”

Roach chuckled, shaking his head. “Either way, it’s gonna be bloody entertaining.”

----------

SMUT here....

They decide to go to Johnny's flat instead, entering the front door laughing and kissing. The kissing turns passionate, clothes start flying off in every direction, and before she knows it, she's swung over his broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Johnny, put me down!" she laughs, playfully smacking his back as he carries her to his room.

"Not a chance, love," he grins, giving her a light smack on the bum. "You're mine now."

As they tumble onto the bed, she can't help but appreciate the view. Johnny MacTavish might be a cocky bastard, but he's got the body to back it up. And as for his... equipment... well, let's just say she's impressed.

"Bloody hell, Johnny," she murmurs, her eyes widening as she gets a glimpse of what's to come. "That's... that's not going to fit."

Johnny chuckles, a wicked glint in his eye. "Don't worry, love. I’ll try to be gentle.”

And true to his word, he doesn't rush things. He takes his time, worshipping every inch of her body. He's surprisingly patient, which she wouldn't have guessed from his usual demeanour. He starts by kissing her deeply, his hands exploring her curves with a gentle but firm touch.

He moves down to her neck, planting soft kisses that make her shiver. His hands find her large, soft breasts, squeezing and caressing them until she's gasping with pleasure. He takes his time, sucking and nipping at her nipples, making her arch her back in response.

"Johnny..." she moans, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Aye, love?" he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

He continues his descent, his lips trailing down her stomach, his fingers expertly rubbing her clitoris. She gasps and writhes beneath him, the sensation almost too much to bear. He takes his time, building her up, his touch both fierce and gentle.

When he finally reaches her most sensitive spot, he doesn't hesitate. He dives in, his tongue licking and teasing her until she's on the brink of ecstasy. He sucks and nips, his fingers working in tandem with his mouth, driving her wild with pleasure.

"Johnny... you're... you're actually quite good at this," she admits, a laugh escaping her lips.

Johnny grins, looking up at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, I do aim to please, Birdie."

He intensifies his efforts, his tongue flicking faster, his fingers moving in rhythm. She can't take it anymore. Her body convulses, her hips bucking against his mouth as she cums hard, a wave of pleasure crashing over her. She tries to push him away, the sensation too intense, but he holds her firmly, riding out her orgasm with her.

Her body arches, her breath coming in heavy pants. She shakes and squeaks, the sounds escaping her lips a mix of pleasure and desperation. Johnny finds it hot and cute, his grip on her tightening as he continues to lick and suck, drawing out every last tremor of her climax.

"Johnny... oh gosh, Johnny..." she gasps, her body finally relaxing as the waves of pleasure subside.

Johnny looks up at her, a satisfied smirk on his face. "That's just the beginning, Bonnie," he says, his voice husky with desire.

The room fills with the sounds of their passion—laughter, moans, and the occasional playful smack. Johnny might be a "wild Highlander"(what he claimed), but he's also surprisingly tender, his touch both fierce and gentle.

"Johnny, please..." she whispers, her voice desperate.

He grins, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Alright, Bonnie. Let's give it another go."

He moves down her body again, his tongue and lips tracing a path of fire. He licks and sucks at her clitoris, his fingers teasing her entrance until she's soaking wet and begging for more.

She looks at him, her eyes filled with desire. "Johnny, let me please you too," she says, her voice husky. "I want to reward you."

Johnny's eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn't hesitate. He flips them over, positioning himself so that they're in a sixty-nine, his mouth hovering over her pussy, her lips inches from his cock.

He dives back in, his tongue licking and sucking at her clitoris, his fingers working their magic. She takes him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around his length, her hands gripping his shaft. They move in sync, each trying to outdo the other, their moans and gasps filling the room.

What shocks him is how she takes his full length, deep throating him despite the struggle. She's so into him, her enthusiasm driving him wild. He doesn't want to disappoint, so he gives as good as he gets, his tongue and fingers working feverishly to bring her to the brink again.

The competition is unspoken but intense. They're both determined to make the other cum first, their bodies writhing and bucking against each other. The room is filled with the sounds of their pleasure, their moans and gasps echoing off the walls.

Johnny can feel his own orgasm building, his body tensing as she sucks and tugs at him. He redoubles his efforts, his tongue flicking faster, his fingers moving in rhythm with her mouth.

She's close too, her body trembling, her moans growing more desperate. They're both on the edge, their bodies coiling tighter and tighter.

With a final, intense suck, she sends him over the edge. He cums hard, his body convulsing as she swallows every last drop. At the same time, he sends her crashing over the edge, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm.

They collapse together, breathless and satisfied, their bodies still entwined. Johnny looks up at her, a grin spreading across his face.

"Well, Bonnie," he says, his voice husky. "That was... incredible."

She smiles back at him, her eyes shining with satisfaction. "You're not so bad yourself, Johnny."

He pulls her close, his arms wrapping around her. "And I promise, Birdie, that was just the beginning."

----------

Seeing that she was already prepped and soaking wet, Soap kisses her passionately, pinning her down on the bed. He leans back, admiring his handiwork. She's sweaty, her skin glistening beautifully, her petite but voluptuous frame a sight to behold. Her beautiful face, framed by messy hair, makes her look even sexier. He couldn't help but want her more.

Slowly, he enters her, and she gasps, sighing at how large he is and how tight it feels. Soap holds her waist, his thumb reaching across her swollen clit, rubbing it gently as he moves deeper inside her.

"Oh gosh, Johnny..." she moans, her fingers digging into his shoulders. The sensation of him filling her is almost too much to bear, but she wants more. She wraps her legs around him, pulling him deeper.

Johnny groans, his eyes locked on hers as he begins to move. He starts slowly, giving her time to adjust, his thumb circling her clit in rhythm with his movements. Her moans grow louder, her body arching to meet his every thrust.

"You feel so good, Bonnie," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

She can feel the tension building again, her body coiling tighter with each thrust. Johnny's movements become more urgent, his hips driving into her with a fierce intensity. He leans down, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue mirroring the movements of his body.

The room fills with the sounds of their passion—moans, gasps, and the occasional playful smack. Johnny's relentless, his body moving in perfect harmony with hers. She can feel every inch of him, every powerful thrust driving her closer to the edge.

"Johnny... I'm close..." she gasps, her voice breathless.

He increases his pace, his thrusts becoming more powerful. "Come for me, Birdie," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "Let me feel you."

With a final, deep thrust, she shatters, her body convulsing with pleasure. He follows soon after, his own release washing over him. They collapse together, breathless and satisfied, their bodies still entwined.

Johnny looks down at her, a satisfied smirk on his face. "That was... incredible," he says, his voice husky with desire.

She smiles back at him, her eyes shining with satisfaction. "You're not so bad yourself, Johnny."

He pulls her close, his arms wrapping around her. "And I promise, Bonnie, that was just the beginning."

----------

Johnny wasn't done yet. He guided her through a night of endless pleasure, each position driving her to new heights of ecstasy. She came hard, shaking and even squirting, which he found incredibly hot. By the end, they were both overstimulated, but it was worth every moment.

First, he positioned her on all fours, her head buried in the pillow. He mounted her from behind, his body pressing down on hers, just the way she liked it. He rubbed against her, his nose nuzzling her neck, inhaling her scent. He grabbed her chin, turning her face to kiss her deeply as he moved in and out of her. The sensation was intense, her moans muffled by the pillow.

Next, he lay behind her, his pelvis moving in a fast, pistoning motion. His hard length drove in and out of her, his fingers expertly rubbing her clitoris. She could only gasp and whine, her body trembling as his strong arms held her waist. Soon, her legs began to shake, her toes curling as she came hard, squirting. Johnny continued to rub her clit and piston into her, drawing out every last tremor of her orgasm.

They moved to the floor, the chair, against the wall—each position more intense than the last. She came hard every time, her body convulsing with pleasure. When it was finally time for him to cum, she begged for them to do it together. She asked him to cum inside her, assuring him she was on contraceptives. Johnny liked the idea, feeling her so deeply.

And so they did. They came together, gasping, shaking, and panting. Her body writhed beneath him, and he let out a primal growl, shuddering and releasing inside her. They collapsed onto the bed, breathless, her smiling weakly, and him smiling back at her, cupping her face.

"Bonnie," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You're incredible."

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with contentment. "You're not so bad yourself, Johnny."

They lay there, entwined, their bodies still tingling with the aftermath of their passionate night. Johnny pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her, feeling a connection he hadn't expected.

"That was... something else," she whispered, her voice soft.

Johnny chuckled, his chest rumbling against her. "Aye, it was. And Bonnie, there's more where that came from."

She smiled, her eyes fluttering closed as she drifted off to sleep, safe and content in his arms. Johnny held her tightly, a sense of peace washing over him.

----------

Johnny woke up the next morning, his eyes fluttering open to catch his Birdie trying to slip out from under his large arms. He playfully tightened his grip, pulling her back to him with a low chuckle.

"Where do you think you're going, Bonnie?" he murmured, his voice still husky from sleep.

She giggled, turning to face him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Nowhere, it seems."

They shared a passionate kiss, their bodies already responding to each other's touch. Johnny couldn't get enough of her. He rolled her onto her back, his hands exploring her curves as he moved inside her once again. Their lovemaking was slow and intense, each touch and kiss building the tension between them.

After another round in bed, Johnny scooped her up and carried her to the shower. The hot water cascaded over their bodies as he pressed her against the tiles, his hands roaming over her slick skin. He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he entered her again. The steam filled the room, their moans echoing off the walls as they lost themselves in each other.

Johnny couldn't believe how much this girl was driving him crazy. She was sexy, beautiful, cute, petite, and voluptuous—everything he could want. They eventually stepped out of the shower, their bodies still tingling with pleasure. Johnny dried her off gently, his touch lingering on her skin.

They slowly got dressed, Johnny unable to keep his hands off her. He found himself forgetting that they weren't a couple, his actions more intimate than he'd ever been with a one-night stand. He carried her back to the bed, asking her to wait while he made breakfast.

Humming quietly to himself, Johnny headed to the kitchen. He cooked with a sense of contentment, the scent of bacon and eggs filling the air. When he returned upstairs with a tray of food, he found the bedroom empty, the window leading to the outdoor fire escape wide open.

He stood there for a moment, his brows furrowing in confusion. For a moment, he thought everything had been a hallucination. Had the head injury from Makarov's shot, years ago, affected him more than he thought? He had survived it and gone through therapy, and meds, but this felt too real to be a hallucination.

His eyes fell on the bracelet she had left behind, a tangible reminder that she had been there. Johnny picked up the bracelet, a mix of relief and determination washing over him. He felt a possessive urge, slightly offended that she had run away after such an incredible night. He swore he'd find his Birdie, but then he remembered—he had forgotten to ask her name or any information about her.

Well, he'd find a way. Johnny was never one to back down from a challenge, and this was no exception. He'd find her, no matter what it took.

A/N:

Oh no, Y/N, looks like Johnny’s offended you ran off after everything that went down. But don't worry—he’s not the type to let things slide. He swears to find you, and he’s not going to rest until he does. So, you might have left in a hurry, but Johnny's on your trail now, and he’s determined to get answers… and maybe a little more. 😏

What will happen when he catches up with you? Well, let’s just say, the chase is about to get real interesting. Stick around to see how Johnny handles getting his Birdie back.

[springtyme]

Hi spring! I really love your 141 baby fics, especially the soap ones. for your autumn challnege can you write reader telling soap that she is pregnant ? pretty please🥺

𝐀 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 ♡

John "Soap" MacTavish x reader || Main Masterlist || Spotify

summary: After a month apart, you can finally tell Johnny the secret you've waited to reveal.

word count: 1.3k

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟖) 𝐅𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

You lie curled up in the soft warmth of your blankets, the gentle autumn sunlight streaming through the curtains. You dwell in the faint sound of breathing beside you—steady and deep. It’s calm and comforting, a sound you have missed so much. Johnny had returned home last night after a month-long deployment, and you still can’t quite believe he’s finally back, in your cosy little bedroom, right here next to you. 

As the dim light dances across his face, you take a moment to admire him. The shadow of his stubbles outlines his strong jaw, and you can’t help but trace the line with your fingers, careful not to wake him. His features have softened in slumber, though even in sleep, there’s a distinct aura of strength about him. A sense of joy swells in your heart, and you lean closer, resting your head on his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of him—warmth mixed with a hint of clean soap and something uniquely Johnny.

But despite the content, happiness blooming within you, your mind is racing with thoughts you can hardly contain. A life altering revelation you’ve kept for weeks, a hidden truth that has grown heavier with each passing day. You can almost feel it pulsing beneath the surface, begging for release.

You have spent countless nights these past weeks imagining what it would be like to share the news with him, but now that the moment is finally here, your heart races. You can hardly believe that just two weeks ago, you had taken that little white stick from the chemist, waited under anxious breaths for it to change, and when those two lines appeared—joy flooded through you like a tidal wave. You are pregnant.

As you listen to Johnny’s rhythmic breathing, you bite your lip, torn between letting him sleep peacefully and the burning desire to spill your secret, to share this monumental news that will forever change both of your lives. You know how much he wants this, and the thought of his reaction fills you with excitement and nerves in equal measure. In this moment you regret not having told him last night, but you didn’t want to overwhelm him right after he’d come back home, to give him a chance to reacclimate and enjoy the sweetness of being back home, yet the weight of the truth feels unbearable under the tenderness of this moment.

You carefully push yourself up onto one elbow, leaning in closer to him. You brush a strand of hair from his forehead and plant a gentle kiss there, hoping to rouse him from his dreams. His eyes flutter open, their deep blue locking onto yours. There’s a short moment of groggy confusion, followed by blissful clarity, a slow smile breaking across his face as he takes in your tender gaze. He pulls you closer in his embrace, almost instinctive, as if anchoring both of you in this fleeting moment.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his deep voice thick with sleep. There’s an undeniable warmth in his gaze, the way the blue of his eyes brightens as they sweep over your face.

“Hey,” you reply, your heart racing as you lean in to plant a gentle kiss on his lips. “Welcome home,” you whisper into his mouth before pulling back. 

“God, I missed you,” Johnny breathes, his voice still husky with sleep. He pulls away just enough to look into your eyes. You can see him trying to read the emotions swirling in your gaze, and it makes the weight of your secret even heavier.

“I missed you too,” you say softly, brushing your fingers along his jawline again, wanting to memorise every minute detail of his face after being apart. 

“Did I really sleep through the night with you next to me?”

You chuckle softly, nodding. “Yeah, you did. I think you were pretty tired.”

Johnny stretches, his muscles taut under your fingertips. He sighs contentedly and shifts his weight, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you more closely. You can see in his eyes that he has noticed the tension beneath your calm demeanour. The way he studies you makes your heartbeat quicken; his gaze is unwavering, filled with a mix of love and curiosity. “What’s going on in that bonnie head of yours?” he asks, his brow slightly furrowing with a mix of curiosity and concern as he studies your expression.

You chew your lip, the moment of truth dawning on you like the sunlight spilling into the room. “I have something important to tell you,” you say, your voice steady despite the thud of your heart.

He tilts his head, eyes glinting with curiosity and apprehension. “You’re scaring me a little now,” he admits, a playful smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “You know I’d take on the world to protect you, right?”

The sincerity in his tone makes your resolve strengthen, and you smile softly back at him. “I know, and that’s why I’m so excited to tell you.” You take a deep breath, steeling yourself, and let your hand cradle the side of his face for assurance. “I’m pregnant.”

The words hang in the air, swirling around you like a gentle breeze, and for a moment, silence envelops you both. You watch as his expression shifts from surprise to a grin that splits his face wide open, his eyes sparkling with an emotion you can barely decipher.

“Are you serious?” he breathes, almost as though he’s afraid to believe it.

You nod, biting your lip to suppress your own excitement. “I took a test two weeks ago… and then a few more after that to be sure. I wanted to wait to tell you in person.”

He sits up fully now, something electric weaving through his features. “Really?”

“Really,” you confirm, your voice steady and filled with warmth as you find your grounding in the gravity of the moment.

In an instant, the surprise morphs into pure elation. Johnny’s smile widens, his eyes shimmering with light, and he lets out a breathy laugh that resonates through the space between you, bright and rich, a sound filled with joy and disbelief all at once. “Love, you’re really serious?!” His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as he inspects your face for any sign of jest. The sincerity in your eyes reassures him that this is no joke. “I cannae believe it! This is—this is pure brilliant! He wraps his strong arms around you, lifting you off the bed, making you squeal with a mix of surprise and joy, and spins you around in a joyous whirl, as you laugh along with him, both of you lost in the sheer magic of the moment.

When he finally sets you back down, he holds you tightly, his face buried in your neck, and you can feel the tremor of his excitement in the way he hugs you. 

“We’re having a wean,” he breathes, and there’s an awe in his voice that sends shivers down your spine. You can hear how much this means to him, to you both, and it ignites a fire of hope and dreams that you carefully begin to weave together with him.

“We are,” you reply softly, a smile breaking across your face as his words wash over you like a soothing balm. You can feel the warmth radiating off him, and everything beyond your embrace fades into oblivion. “I know we have talked about it, but I never imagined it would happen so soon,” you admit.

Johnny pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes alight with wonder. “Do you know how far along you are?” he asks, a mix of concern and excitement lacing his tone.

“About seven or eight weeks,” you reply, the reality of the timeline settling in, although it feels strangely surreal. “I was going to schedule an appointment for that first ultrasound, but I wanted to wait till you got home.”

A blend of awe and protectiveness washes over Johnny’s face as he absorbs the news. “Aye, we’ll make the appointments together, figure everything out. You, me, and our wee one.”

[gloomwitchwrites]

By the Belt (3 of 4)

Mechanic John "Soap" MacTavish x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: married couple, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

Soap needs a distraction, and you’re going to give it to him.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // by the belt masterlist

It’s Sunday. John’s shop is closed on Sunday.

Even so, he’s always working on something, his hands unable to lean into idleness for a moment. They desire something to hold, to tinker and learn and explore.

It’s the late afternoon, and you stand in John’s personal garage located at the back of your shared property. His actual shop is nearby, just a mile or so down the road. This is sacred space. The place he goes to work on all sorts of personal projects. You are off to the right of him beside his knees. John is on his back, partially submerged beneath a lifted car.

That always makes you nervous, even though you know he’s careful about his safety. You always imagine the machine keeping the car aloft breaking, sending the vehicle down to crush him. The car itself is vintage, a special project that John has been working on for months. The paint is stripped and its mostly bare bones.

Beneath the car, you hear John sigh heavily. He rolls out from under the car, the wheels on the rolling bed squeaking as he does so. When he notices you standing there, he immediately grins.

“Hello, wife,” he croons, sitting up and draping his forearms over his bent knees.

“Hello, husband,” you reply, matching his tone. His smile widens and a warmth blooms in your cheeks. “Thought you could use a break.”

Grinning, he pushes up to standing, crossing his arms over his chest. “What kind of break?”

With boldness in your blood, you reach out and slide your fingers in the belt loops of his dirty jeans. John stumbles forward, nearly knocking into you. That grin briefly transforms into surprise before settling into a sultry smirk.

“Oh, aye. I could use a break.” He leans in, your mouths meeting in a lovingly gentle kiss that warms you right down to your toes. When he breaks apart, that lovely grin is back. “But I’d hate to dirty your pretty skin with my hands.”

You tug on his belt again, smiling. “What if I want to get dirty?”

John laughs, his stained, oiled fingers hovering just shy of your skin. “You sure, love? Because I can do that.” Your answer is a brief yank on his belt. John shakes his head. “I warned you.”

You unthread your fingers and John makes a turn-around gesture. You comply, eagerness in your bones.

“Bend yourself over that table.” John points directly in front of you. It’s a workbench. There are a few tools but they’re off to the side, leaving the middle completely open.

Stepping up to it, you place your hands flat on the surface, bending forward, the angle forcing you up on your toes. John leaves you there. Lingering. Hanging. You have no idea if he’s watching you and enjoying the sight, or if he’s simply turned around and walked right out of the garage.

But you have your answer when John’s voice floats toward you.

“Lift up your dress,” he instructs, some rasp in his tone. He does not touch you, but you feel his presence. He’s close. You swear that you can feel his heat of the backs of your thighs as you reach back with both hands and lift your sundress up to your hips.

You are exposed to him. Utterly bare.

“Fuck. You dirty girl,” croons John, and you know exactly what he sees—or rather, what he doesn’t. “All bare under there. You knew what you were doing. Didn’t you?”

You did. You absolutely did.

Still, John does not touch. You hear the soft crinkle of his jeans as he goes down on his knees behind you, his warm breath brushing lightly against your pussy as he exhales.

“Spread for me a bit.” You shift your legs apart slightly. “Good,” he praises. “Like that.”

The moment you’re in position, John’s tongue parts your pussy with a slow stroke. He begins at your clit, moves upward, dipping the tip of his tongue into your sex before retreating. His hands rest on the table on either side of you, unmoving. Staying true to his word, John isn’t dirtying your pretty skin, but doesn’t mean he might not lose some control and touch you anyway.

Really, that’s what you want after all.

Using just his tongue, John traces circles, swirls up and down your sex, moves in languid motions that have you guessing. Every nerve is burning up like a sparkler. Your husband is teasing you, and fucking enjoying that he’s doing so.

He leaves nothing untouched, nothing untasted. Whimpering, John lightly kisses your clit, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. It’s not nearly enough.

“Stay still,” he chuckles, when your hips buck with wanton irritation. “Let me finish my meal.”

John’s mouth promptly returns, and you know you’re done. Utterly done. Brain dead. Air rapidly leaving a balloon. He sucks on your clit, then penetrates you with his tongue, only to do it all again. With each, he sucks just a bit harder, bordering on painful pleasure.

The next one has you nearly coming off the table.

“I’m gonna fuck you after this, love,” groans John. “Bloody hell, you’re sweet.”

He dives in and your nails dig into the tabletop, your voice cracking as you orgasm. You feel his smile against your flesh before his mouth disappears from it, only to be replaced by the familiar sound of unzipping jeans.

The head of his cock presses at your entrance but doesn’t penetrate. John lightly guides the head back and forth through your slickness, the sound of it echoing loudly in the garage.”

“Will you be a good girl and take it?”

You nod enthusiastically, strands of your hair shifting to stick against the back of your neck. “Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

With a low moan, John starts to press in, your body not resisting, only wanting him inside. You both groan loudly as he bottoms out. Adjusting, John places his hands firmly above your head, anchoring himself.

He breathes deep, and reaches for your wrists, one at a time, trapping them against the table. John rolls his hips, thrusts lightly against you. It’s the perfect angle. You feel everything.

John increases the pace. Those light, almost shallow thrusts become languid and long, hitting deep when your bodies come together. From there, his thrusts turn sharp, a smacking pace that stings your flesh. You hardly care. John’s cock inside you is heaven, the thing just to ease the lust in your bones.

Every stroke is lovely, sending shivers of pleasure through your limbs. Your little moans become breathy exhales, your words leaving your lips silently, delivered only to the quietness of the air.

John’s head dips, his lips brushes over your exposed shoulder as he continues to thrust. “Gonna come inside you, love.”

It is not a question, and you will always say yes even if he asks.

His last few thrusts shake the table, the legs scaping against the concrete just before John holds his hips flush to yours. The groan as he finishes comes from deep within his throat. It’s a primal sound.

Glancing up, you watch as his grip on your wrists shift. He’s left some of that grease behind from working on the car on your skin. He said he wouldn’t mar it, but he couldn’t resist, and that feels like a victory.

John presses a kiss to your shoulder, and you tilt your head in his direction, seeking his gaze, even as he keeps himself inside you.

“Good break?” you murmur.

John chuckles. “Oh, aye.” He shrugs, nods toward your wrists. “But we need to get clean.”

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @miaraei @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06

[criminalamnesia]

so after comparing price/simon to tolerate it, I’ve been wondering what song to compare gaz/johnny to

may I present: Johnny and Gaz giving lover vibes

(also I am working on ending 2 for tolerate it!)

he’s obsessed with you. the first time he saw you, in some dingy little bar he couldn’t believe someone as beautiful as you would be in— he was hooked. hopelessly in love, already throwing back a shot and sauntering over.

you’re alone at the bar, and he thinks that’s a damn shame. tells you that in those words. you laugh, and he cracks a smile— and the conversation starts to flow.

has he known you twenty seconds, or twenty years? there’s a natural spark between the two of you, something that makes it feel as though you hadn’t just met.

he buys you a drink, and before you know it, the two of you are on the dance floor. a slow song is playing, and you smile as his hands find your waist. his grip is gentle, reassuring.

he spins you around and you laugh, throwing your head back as he nearly drops you. by the time the song ends, the two of you are flushed and laughing like newlyweds.

an older woman comes up to you and tells you that you two are the cutest couple she’d ever seen. you play into it, giggling and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek while he slings an arm around your shoulders.

needless to say, he goes home with you that night.

and when you wake up in the morning, he’s still there. standing in his boxers in your tiny apartment kitchen, cooking eggs and brewing coffee.

you swear you fall in love right then and there.

the two of you eat, and the conversation is easy. you almost don’t want him to leave— you have to fight the urge to ask him to stay.

you think it’s a little ridiculous— you don’t know him! but it feels like you do. and you think he feels the same way, because he taps his number into your phone and tells you to call him later to talk about a proper date.

you’re fucking done for.

the first date is perfect. he brings you flowers when he comes to pick you up, and you roll your eyes but can’t hide the blush that rushes to your cheeks.

you swear you’ve never met a man this nice. never gone on a date with someone so kind, so charming. sure, he’s a flirt— but it’s not distasteful. he’s a people person, that’s what he tells you. you believe him.

he pays for dinner, of course, even when you try to pay for your half. he walks you home afterwards, and gives you a kiss goodnight, and you feel like you’re living in a fucking movie.

all your friends think you’re crazy. they start to talk some sense into you— he’s just luring you in! just trying to get in your pants! he’s hiding something!

their words creep into your brain, and the next date you have with him, you’re quieter. more detached, more calculating. and fuck, if your friends weren’t completely wrong.

you go on date after date, and before you know it, you’ve been with him for a year. you’re moving into his flat, and although you know you’ll be home more often than he will, you don’t mind.

when he gets deployed for the first time during your relationship, the honeymoon phase starts to crack. you try to cope with the loneliness; with the boredom that his being away brings. you didn’t realize how much time you spent together until he left.

you call when you can— but it’s not often. he’s somewhere he can’t say, and the cell reception isn’t exactly spectacular. you send letters, and receive a few back, but communication is few and far between.

and then he surprises you one day by bursting through the door, nearly giving you a heart attack as you jumped off the couch.

you scold him as you jump into his arms, complaining “I thought you were a robber! I was prepared to kill you!”

and he just laughed and gave you a kiss.

your life together isn’t perfect. you have fights and disagreements. you refuse to let him meet your friends for the longest time because “they still think you’re playing the long game of deception.”

but you make up because you can never stay mad at each other for long. you finally get your friends to come around to the idea of him, and they instantly hit it off with him once you force them into the same room.

he wrangles his squad into meeting you, and they make sure to embarrass him. (they also love you, and when you excuse yourself to the bathroom, they tell him how happy they are for him.)

“so, you’re the one he never shuts up about, aye?”

he proposes after three years. it seems short to some, but you don’t care. you’ve loved him three summers now, and you sure as hell want all the rest of them, too.

so you get married and it’s nothing huge. an intimate ceremony with family and close friends. his teammates are his groomsmen. they each takes turns spinning you around the dance floor later that night, and they tell you that if he ever breaks your heart, they’ll kick his ass. you throw your head back and laugh.

at the end of the night, after all the guests have gone, he asks you for one last dance.

it’s to the slow song you’d danced to the first night you met so long ago, in that dingy little bar. he spins you around, and you step on his toes because of all the wine, but neither of you care. all you care about is each other.

he’s deployed a week after your wedding, and you hate to see him go, but you’d never put yourself between him and his work. his team promises you they’ll get him back to you safely. you trust them with all your heart.

when he returns months later, he’s sporting new scars and stitches. he’s the most beat up you’d ever seen him, and you hold back tears as you patch him up. only when he’s soundly asleep do you let the tears fall.

but life continues. you make the most of his time on leave, and anxiously await his return on deployment.

and although you would never dare utter the words, you know that the day he doesn’t come back to you is the day a piece of you dies, too.

you didn’t believe in soulmates until you met him.

[serialkilluh1996]

⌕Soap fluff

This thought came to me months ago when I was daydreaming, but now I'm gonna apply it to my hyperfixation.

Imagine Soap giving you a cup of heavy alcohol, knowing you'd be too prideful to decline. Of course, his lovely darling could handle some simple drinks. You never shy from drinking, especially when it's a matter of proving your strength.

"Atta girl." He cheers you on as you bring the glass to your lips, earning him a smug eye roll from his beloved. It couldn't be THAT strong. And yet, the tears began to prick at your eyes. It felt like all of hell was swimming in your throat.

As much as you want to play tough and force it down, your body reflexively spits it all back in the cup, allowing you time to choke and gasp, struggling to catch your breath. "Damn, you alright?" He teases, which only angers you further. But it wasn't like you could fuss under these conditions.

Soap smirks, pulling the cup closer to himself before pouring the entire thing down his throat. Your face held much emotion, a harrowing look of pure shock and disbelief in your teary eyes. "Did..did you just– why the fuck would you–" you began to cough again. You couldn't believe he just drank that after you spat it out. You couldn't even decide if you were disgusted yet. "You taste amazing," he pats your back, hitting it just enough to knock out whatever cough you had left in you.

That would be one of the many times you questioned why you were dating him.

[wishful-sinful-9]

I read this soap x reader fic a while ago where the reader's bf works w Johnny and he wants the reader to make a sex tape w him, so Johnny and reader fuck on the couch and record it – can someone help me find it lmao

[babybatgrimm]

New Years Party

Summary: The night of the New Year's party.

Warnings: Fluff, GN!Reader, PDA

A/N: Happy New Year everyone! Hope you enjoy the mini party~

Johnny ‘Soap’ Mactavish

He's taking a deep breath and fiddling with his shirt cuff as he steps up to your door, the dress shirt feeling tighter than usual around his throat as he gently knocks his knuckles on the wood. “Just a minute.” He hears you call from inside.

He waits patiently, doing his best to control his heart rate as he stares down at his shoes. Moments pass by before the door creaks open, and his eyes are now met with your sleek black shoes. Trailing his gaze up your figure, noting the dark jeans and emerald green shirt, before his eyes connect with yours.

“Well don’ ye’ look dandy,” he smiles down at you, glad he wasn't the only one who chose jeans. “Shall we be off then?” And with a nod the pair of you leave for the party.

The hours passed by fairly quickly in the livelihood of the crowd. Soon enough, someone shouted it was time for the countdown to midnight, and of course, Soap being the social butterfly he is, had managed to lose you in the crowd.

His eyes scan every face before they land on you, standing off to one side with a drink, calmly chatting with someone.

He made a B-line to you, weaving through the various bodies in his best efforts to get to you. “I'll be damned if I miss this.” He internally scolds himself for being so far away so close to the moment he'd invited you for.

The countdown had gotten to ten by the time he'd made it to you, and with a strong grip he gently pulled you by the wrist to his chest, drawing you away from your conversation.

“Johnny?” A questioning gaze up at him as a warm blush heats your cheeks. The shouting of the crowd counting down in the background almost drowned out his reply.

“Almost missed the moment.” he says, and as the crowd shouts one, he dips you low, away from most everyone's eyeline, and connects your lips in a soft, but somewhat messy kiss.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

His posture is stiff as a concrete wall as he almost robotically knocks on your door, his hand falling back by his side as he waits, hearing you shuffle behind the door before replying “Hold on a second” before your footsteps get louder.

As the door swings open, his eyes lock onto yours before taking a quick scan of you. His gaze lingers on your shirt for a moment, studying the words printed on the front before connecting with your eyes again.

You giggle at him, raising a brow for a moment. “At ease, LT, it's just a holiday party.” You tease before stepping past him and closing the door. Your words pull a quiet grumble of a laugh from his chest before he motions for you to lead the way.

The night passes somewhat quietly for the pair of you. Ghost being the way he is, preferring to stay out of the way from most of the crowd, instead opting to sit at a table, drink in hand as he listens to you chatting away.

When the countdown begins, Simon stiffens, realising it was now or never for the moment. In a quick motion, he has you on your feet and in a darker corner of the room, away from prying eyes.

Before you could get a word out, the countdown ends, and the room erupts in cheers around you as Simon slips his balaclava up over his nose, planting a soft, but rather ungracious kiss.

He holds it for a moment before pulling away, peering down at you with unusually tender eyes. “Happy New Year.” His voice is quiet but loud enough amongst the cheering crowd.

John Price

He's already knocked on your door by the time it's in range, a little too eager, before fixing his shirt cuff. It only took a moment for you to open the door, your smile bright up at him as he gazed down at you, his eyes scanning down you for a moment before he smiles back. “Ready to go then?” He asks, gesturing to the side for you to step out.

Your smile grows as you giggle softly, you reply “such a gentleman today,” with a tease in your tone as you head down the walkway.

“Am I not every day?” He questions, following quickly behind you, now needing an answer to his, clearly very important, question.

The evening is shared with drinks and the smell of Price’s cigar smoke lingering in the air by the window you sat by. As the last of his cigar burns to ash, the countdown begins, prompting him to crush out the last of the smouldering ash.

He moves to your side, sliding across the edge of the table. “You know kid, I think you should stick around the team for a while longer.” He says, rather quietly next to your ear.

“Oh yeah?” You ask, looking up at him in question. The crowd shouting the countdown reaches zero, and as cheers erupt in the room, Price pulls his hat off, using it to hide your faces from the crowd as he connects his lips with yours.

A moment of surprise makes you stiffen before melting into the kiss, warm but controlled, measured. After a beat passes Price pulls away.

“Yeah, I do.” he says with a husky chuckle by your ear.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

He shuffled on his feet outside your door, revving himself up before finally making contact with his knuckles on the panel of wood. He listens to your shuffles behind the door for a moment before it swings open, and he's met with you smiling up at him. “You're late.” You tease with a small smirk.

He chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Only by a minute.” He retorts with a grin. “Ready to go?” He asks, taking in your form and noting the dark blues in the fabric with a quick once-over glance of you.

You nod, moving out of the doorway and heading off toward the party, Gaz following close on your heels.

The pair of you spend your time chatting with others and occasionally dancing for the evening. The music loud and the crowd dense as everyone shuffles around each other. Gaz manages to guide you both away from the bulk of the crowd, finding a somewhat clearer area to stand in.

He gazes at you, a small grin pulling his lips as the countdown begins. “What?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

“I ever tell you how much I like your face?” He asks nonchalantly, grin growing slightly as he studies your expression. Your cheeks flush with heat as he scans over every detail of your face.

“N-no, you haven't.” You say slightly stunned at the question, leaning back slowly as Gaz continues to get closer.

“Well I do.” He says as the countdown ends, pressing his lips to yours in a hasty crash of soft skin. His hand snaking to the top of your hip as he holds the kiss for a few seconds, listening to the cheers from the crowd before pulling away.

Konig

He'd shown up earlier than he'd intended, too eager to get to the end of the night, so he decided to stand nearby. 'Until a more appropriate time.' He affirms himself, denying that he was just stalling.

A few minutes pass by before he finally knocks, harder than he meant to, hearing you call from the other side. “Hold on.” You say, moving around the room.

He takes a small step back to give you space when you open the door, looking up at him with a smile. His eyes crinkle at the corners of his eyes, peering down at you through his hood. “Evening. Ready to go?” He asks in his thick accent.

You nod, stepping out and closing the door behind you, “ready,” you say, smiling a little wider before walking away, Konig easily keeping up with, and then sort of struggling to walk slow enough for you as you make your way to the party.

Konig being the quiet creature he is, the evening was spent near the edge of the crowd near the large windows at the side of the hall. He'd listen to you talk the whole night, about whatever you wanted to, and when someone among the crowd shouts it's time for the countdown, the room cheers before the numbers are called out in unison.

Konig looks over at you, piercing blue eyes staring you down as he straightens up slightly in his place. Tilting your head in confusion, you look up at him and ask “you okay Konig?” He nods.

“You know, I invited you here fo’ a reason.” He says simply, turning to face you fully, towering over you with his stature.

“O-oh?” You question, a bit taken aback by his statement. “Well I didn't think there wasn't one I suppose.”

He chuckled softly, leaning down closer to you, encircling you against the window, shrouding you from the crowd behind his frame. Your eyes widen slightly at the proximity, leaning your head back to peer up at him.

“Koni-?” You're cut off before you can finish, the crowd erupting in cheers as the countdown ends, his hood pushed up to his nose and his lips colliding with yours, small stubble scratches at the soft skin as you melt into the kiss. You lean up onto your toes to reach him better as he pulls away, breaking the kiss with a chuckle.

“Yes, Liebe?” ‘Yes, Love?’

A/N: Sorry for the late post today, had a few things to fix before I could post it!

[letmedownslows]

i just wanted some complex fics of soap but it's so hard to find! the only ones i get are the ones where he's either too dumb or annoyingly (don't get me wrong) optimistic

the complex character ones always are for ghost, and i really get it, but like... why can't we get more of those for soap too???

[bloodycassian]

Keys - COD fic

6k words. Porn with plot. Ghost x F!Reader x Soap.

PinV, oral, threesome, pussyworship, fingering, slight mention of anal, cuckholding? If you squint, angst/tension, unspoken love, It's a cod fic you should know it's going to have SOME violence

NSFW, MDNI. 18+

“This better be a fucking joke, LT.” Soap’s fury over the comms made you wince. If it weren’t clear that you’d been having relations before, it sure as hell was now. The rope around your torso thankfully had enough room to allow you a deep breath. Steady. That was what you had to be right now, steady and somber. Your life and all of 141’s depended on your acting ability. And the man who now stood at your side with a gun, waiting for Ghost to begin recording. 

“It’s all fake, Johnny. Pull it together.” Ghost scolded, but took a shuddering breath himself. He didn’t like risks, especially not where a squadmate was concerned. He handed the stranger the gun.

Price’s plan seemed the only believable way to draw out the enemy. It didn’t mean you were any less nervous for the inevitable encounter with them, though. 

The video recording would be sent to a dummy receiver by Soap at a vantage point on a cliffside. intended for the enemy to intercept, a local ‘volunteer’ of the area with an empty gun was to make demands from 141, the script Price wrote sounded convincing enough while you half listened. Your eyes had been glued to the way Ghost and Soap were playing cards, bantering together in the corner while Price scribbled different threats and demands for your scene. 

Your staged captor - a man at least four inches shorter than Ghost - was more than happy to help with the money price had presented. You only hoped he’d make everything look convincing. 

“Right, let’s keep it quick. Johnny be ready for DL.”

And the scene played out. The man shouted and you let a few tears fall, flinching when he raised his voice or came close. Less than a minute total, you couldn’t imagine anything looked amiss in such a short time.

“Box office worthy, now let’s get out of here.” Price praised, handing the man the rest of the money and thanking him in his language. 

Ghost began untying you with adept hands, his gloved fingers brushing over your heated skin at times, making goosebumps rise there. 

“May have to keep this, eh?” Ghost held up the sodden gag that you’d drooled all over while the lines were read. You looked from him, to the outstretched hand.

You cocked your head to the side, and stepped closer to him. He straightened, but didn’t budge. The smirk that appears on your lips has his chest fluttering. Before he can protest, you’ve pushed the piece of cloth to his chest, winked and turned back to cleaning up the camera gear.

The hardon in his pants is painfully uncomfortable, but he was thankful that the material hid it well.

The scent of Soap’s jacket had you longing for him on the short ride away from the trailer you’d filmed inside of. You leaned back against it, hoping to agitate the smell of him from it. Beside you, behind Price, Ghost shifted while eyeing you. His hands were still on his gun but he seemed distracted. The moment Price swore and lights flashed ahead, Ghost’s head whipped to the dirt road in front of you. 

There was a bright flash a second before your face slammed into the headrest in front of you. Things went dark, your vision doubled when you finally opened your eyes again. A pounding headache set fire to your nerves, nausea overwhelming your senses. Voices were shouting, yelling something in a tongue you didn’t know, and there was Price, being hauled away. You fought against the arms that dragged you from the wreckage of the burning car, but your weakened body was already overwhelmed with the splitting pain in your head. 

“It’s alright-” A familiar accent commanded more than soothed. Ghost. He’d gotten you out, away from the enemies somehow. And he’d left Price. 

Rage simmered deep in your gut, but instead of shouting at him once he let you go, you could only vomit onto the ground, then promptly pass out. 

+

Voices prattled quickly, hushed tones and words spoken sharply through teeth. Both hard to hear, but two distinct accents. Ghost, and Soap. Both doing their apparent best to quiet their growing argument. You rise from the stained bed, gripping on to the giant hoodie that had been covering you. The smell is different from Soaps, it’s a harsher, darker smell that makes shivers crawl along your spine.

You lean against the peeling wallpaper, afraid you may fall through for a moment as you listen to the conversation.

“Then one of us leaves, the other stays with her.”

“I’m not fuckin’ lettin’ ya Simon.”

A long, long silence falls after that. You can feel the tension through the thin wall. Your head pounds, waiting for more, straining to hear if either of them have even moved. A chair creaks, and someone sighs. 

“You get to wake’r up then, have fun with that one, Johnny.” 

You rush back to the bed, making your head swim in the process, Your heart roars and an aches all over your body and between your along the bridge of your nose beings drumming in time with it. You pull the blanket over you and pretend as if you’re just waking when Soap opens the door. 

“Jobs done for me then. Good morning, beauty.” He grins wide and it melts you. You can’t help the tears that prick your eyes, the flush of heat that creeps from your throat to your cheeks at the sight of him. You couldn’t remember what exactly had happened, other than the crash and Price being dragged away. 

“Where is he?”

“Cap is halfway across the country, interrogations already in process.” Ghost appears at the door behind Soap and the latter nods slightly when your eyes dart to him, seeking reassurance. “We need t’ move, Rook.” You cringed at the nickname he’d given you when he actually started talking to you after your first year as a part of 141. Rookie. When you’d asked him why he’d not spoken to you before, he’d only shrugged and said something along the lines of wanting ot make sure you’d make it through that first year. 

“Give’r a damn minute.” Soap scolds. The lieutenant gives him a long look, the eyes shrouded by smeared eyeblack boring into the back of Johnny’s head. When Ghost drags his eyes to you, they’re just as intense but less seething. 

“You can stay, go back to a safehouse, come with us,  whatever you’d like. I wouldn’t blame you after what happened to Price. We don’t know the threats as well as we thought we did. You need to make the choice for yourself, though. We won’t order you, we can’t.”

“You can’t.” Ghost corrects. 

Your eyes narrow on him. It’s clearly a challenge, and you want to give him the same burning look he gives you. but with the pain in your nose that stretches to between your brows it makes it hard to glare.

“You-” Soap begins his counterargument, likely the same one they’d been having in the other room.

“I’ll go wherever you both go. I am not leaving Price.” You say firmly. They both look to you, and a small smile spreads across Johnny’s face. Ghost’s eyes reveal a relieved smile beneath his mask, but truthfully he’d preferred to handle the op on his own. He is competent alone, he can kill unguarded alone. When he needs to account for Soap and you… it changes him. He’s noticed it before. The hesitation, the twinge of shakiness he gets whenever he hears a grunt or shout that he recognizes. 

It makes him fucking insane. 

“Let’s load up then.” Lieutenant's orders. 

+

An icepack rests on your face for easily half the drive. Soap holds it there, then Ghost when they switch driving. They’d both argued against your insisting upon taking a turn, citing the slight swelling of your eye and what happened the last time you’d been allowed to drive in a foreign country. 

“It wasn’t that bad.” You mutter into the clip. The road goes on endlessly, the sun casting square patches of pale light from one side of the car’s interior to the other, until it ceases completely and Soap groans, rolling his neck. 

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but your small patch of drool is cold against Ghost’s shoulder. You bolt upright, scooting back onto your side of the bench seat as the masked man stretches beside you. Embarrassment licks at your cheeks when Soap glances back at you in the rearview. He’d surely seen you lying on the other man’s shoulder, and had politely not said a word. You only hoped that Ghost wouldn’t receive the bitter end of Soap’s jealousy later. 

“We have a room with two Queen beds, will-”

“We’ll take it.” Ghost agrees and hands over a thin stack of money before the receptionist can offer anything else.

+

Streetlights painted the inside of the bathroom in a shade of orange that had Soap’s rippling muscles seeming ever more lickable. Your hand caressed his chest while you took him deep into your mouth, reveling in the weight of him there. His head tilted back and he swore obscenities in his mother tongue. 

He returned the favor, ordering you over the edge of the tub while his tongue prodded at your hungry pussy. It’d been so long since you’d had him. With back to back missions he’d only been around for a few days max, and it was always at a safehouse where he’d only have time to clean himself, eat properly and sleep.

With Ghost being the only other operator on mission, it was a rare chance to be almost alone with Soap. You couldn't resist when his hands began their journey over your body in bed. Sure he’d woken you, but he’d done it in a way that you couldn’t complain about. You’d been grinding back against him, forcing yourself not to gasp or pant too loudly when he rubbed you in the wicked ways he knew best. When you’d had enough of his teasing, you’d dragged him to the bathroom only a door away from where Ghost slept 

He slapped your ass, and it left you hissing at him. “Are you trying to wake him up?” You whispered as he lined his cock up with your entrance. 

An animalistic moan escaped both of you when he slid in, your wet cunt stretching around his length perfectly. He muttered something in Scottish again, and you grinned. He always did this whenever he was absolutely losing himself in the experience. 

“English, MacTavish-” You gasped out, as he slid his length out, then slammed back in. He leaned down, his the weight and warmth of his chest against your back. 

“I said-” He gripped your hip hard, his nails digging in slightly to your soft skin as he thrust forward, hilting himself inside you and making your eyes roll back. “Maybe I would.”

His words leave you confused, but you’re so lost in the pleasure of his cock remaking you that the subject isn’t brought up again once you return to bed after a shower. 

+

“Let’s get fuckin’ movin’.” Ghost barks when you appear in the doorway, squinting into the blistering daylight. It’s already much too warm out, and the car’s lack of air conditioning is bound to make the final part of the drive brutal. 

“Bit grumpy today are we LT?” Soap walks with you down the few steps to the street, handing you a coffee from the lobby.

“You’d be the same if two bunnies been wakin’ you up all night.” Ghost’s reply is surly, but you see the way he glances up at you, and the way his eyes crinkle when they drag over your figure. Your heart kicks into another gear at that gaze. 

Soap huffs a laugh, and a very familiar hand pinches your ass as he walks past you, around the car. You react too slow to catch him with a smack to the chest. 

You took the backseat beside Ghost, who’d already stripped off his tac gear in favor of just a worn out T-shirt and his vest. You were all dressed quite similar, the only difference being Ghost’s lack of skull mask today, only the balaclava hiding his features, revealing his browline and impeccable brows. His hood always managed to say up somehow, like the grim reaper himself couldn’t rip it away from him. 

Since the accident, it was an unspoken rule that no one other than the driver sat in the front. Honestly, you debated doing it anyway. You were not looking forward to sitting right beside the man who’d surely heard you begging Soap for his cock the night before. You leaned your head back and sighed as the car began rolling.

Tension laced the car with each mile. Ghost hadn’t said a word, and only stared out his window the entire ride. Noon came, and it was finally his turn to drive. Soap rested against the same window, snoring softly as the sun began falling, painting the landscape in hues of orange and pink. You tried your damndest to ignore the way Ghost’s eyes seemed to always catch yours in the rearview when you tried spying on him for a change. 

“What is it that you want to say?” You demand of him when you spot a wooded area in the distance. You’re sure he’ll stop at for a break, your own legs growing restless in the back seat. You glance to Soap, making sure he’s still asleep before looking back into the rearview, at Ghost’s piercing brown eyed gaze. 

“What’d you like me to say, Rook?” There it is again, you can hear the smirk behind the nickname and it makes your temper flash. 

“Whatever it is you’re thinking. You’ve been weird all day, I can practically feel the irritation on you.” It’s hard not to raise your voice at him, to shout when you’ve been so tense for the last eight hours at least. 

His hands tighten on the steering wheel, and you hear the leather creak beneath his grasp. “Oh is that right?” His voice is gravely, unchanged in tone but you can hear the slight irritation there in his word choice anyway. Perhaps you know him better than you thought you did. 

“Let me fix whatever the fuck-”

Soap’s snoring spikes, then he adjusts his position and he settles back against the window. The ferocity in your eyes has Ghost ready to pull the car over and really, genuinely show you exactly what he was thinking. 

“You can’t fix anything ‘bout it Rook. I don’t think Johnny’d let ‘ya anyway.” He grins, and it eases his irritation a bit. If he can joke, he can let this pass. He can get through this damn car ride without staking his claim upon you, no matter how much he’d love to. 

“What does that even mean, Ghost?”

He pulls the car off to the side of the road, dust kicking up and painting the breeze in golden light. Soap sits up quickly, his brows pulling together as he collects himself, rubbing his eyes of sleep. You watch as Ghost moves, tossing the keys to the back seat before getting out.

“Gotta piss.” He mutters. 

He’s to the opposite side of the car and into the trees before you can even get the door open. “Me too.” You say, not looking back to Soap as you exit and follow the Lieutenant. 

His footsteps are silent but his tracks are easy to follow into the pale shrub brush and trees. “Ghost tell me what the hell you’re talking about.” You call out, eyes following each of his booted steps deeper into the shrubs. How had a man so big gotten away so quickly? You cursed under your breath, scanning the small archway of thorned trees where his tracks disappeared into. 

There’s a hand on your shoulder, an arm around your waist and you’re being crushed in the next instant. Your panicked heart leaps and you thrash against the body pulling you backwards. Your legs find their mark on something, but the thick arms don’t release their hold. You’re grunting and shouting obscenities, flinging your head backwards hoping to catch a nose, but your body is still sore from the crash. 

“Relax.” The low voice isn’t a strangers. “Tell me why you left the damn car without your knife.” You nearly collapse with relief, then you’re falling, being let down by the massive man who’d already had you irritated before, but now you were furious. 

Ghost holds out his hand to help you back up from the dusty, cracked earth but you slap him away. “Tell me what the fuck is wrong with you!” You shout, panic and adrenaline still lacing your system. 

“You really want to know? You really think you can handle what's wrong with me?” He steps close, his chest heaving though you doubted lifting you took much effort for him. His eyes are searching yours, as if he can tell you whatever it is without actually saying it. God he wished he could. If it were left unspoken then maybe he’d be spared. Then maybe he wouldn’t have to live with the guilt.

“Just talk. It doesn’t matter if I can handle it or not-”

He’s moving then, catching your waist in his arm, leaning you back and supporting your neck with his other hand. His mask hasn’t moved, but when it collides with your lips the intent is clear. A kiss, hot and wet and packed with every unspoken want and desire that he’d had since the moment he’d met you. 

You melt to him, hands gripping his biceps, your body unintentionally responding to him with eagerness and an equal want. Your head swims. The mask tastes the same way he smells, the cool metallic, and wild scent of whatever deodorant he wears. The unmistakable hint of firearms is practically a piece of him, and he has you wanting more of it two seconds into the embrace. His lips are skilled, even though the thick cloth, he’s lining himself between your lips with ease. You could only imagine what it’d be like without the damn thing on.

There’s a snap of branches and you both stiffen. Your hooded eyes track his gaze, to where Soap stands frozen, his brows high and mouth slightly agape. 

+

Ghost supports you while you right yourself dizzily, then steps away. 

“Johnny I-” He begins to explain what, you don’t know. 

“D’ya tell him?” Soap is staring at you, and the question has you searching your memory for what he’s talking about. 

Ghost is deathly silent, you’re not sure if he’s even breathing beside you. 

“Tell him what?” You say, and clear your throat. The heat in your cheeks is nearly painful. 

Soap’s gaze darkens, and he lowers his chin. You know that look. You know exactly what that look leads to, and it makes your throat dry out instantly. “English?” He hints, his rounded accent making the simplest words sound exquisite.

Your mind spins, recalling the night before.

“Are you trying to wake him up?”

“Maybe I would.” 

Your pulse skyrockets. “I-” You stammer, glancing between the two men. “I didn’t.” You admit, shame lacing the words. 

Soap’s hand falls to his pocket, his thumb hooking there and resting. Ghost tenses, but he doesn’t move otherwise. 

“Johnny-” Ghost tries again to salvage something from the interaction, but you cut him off. 

“I wouldn’t be opposed, though.” You lower your gaze on Soap, scanning over him, how his muscles look so damn good in what he’s wearing, how sexy he is freshly woken. 

His tongue flicks over his lower lip and the mix of adrenaline and arousal nearly has your knees buckling at the sight. The hand in his pocket palms his cock and adjusts his pants as he slowly walks over, glancing to Ghost as he does. “LT, I’m not opposed to sharing.” He says, voice low in the way you only know when you’re alone together. Your body shudders at the tone, but you keep yourself in check, your muscles tensing and heart galloping as you glance between the two men. 

Ghost eyes him for a long while, then glances to you, his hands going to rest on his vest. “Y’cant make that choice for her, though Johnny. Ain’t no fun sharing a toy then.” Just the way Ghost says it has your body heating, readying itself to be just that, a toy for them both. 

“Did I seem opposed to your kiss, Simon?” You narrow your eyes at him, challenging him just as he had to you this morning ago about coming on this mission at all.

His massive figure is all you can see when he steps closer, craning his head down to look at you. “Wasn’t long enough for me to tell.” 

“Let’s see it then, LT.” Soap is grinning, you can hear it in his voice. “The mask-”

“Stays on, Johnny.” Ghost’s answer is gruff, then he’s upon you again. This time though, you take it in thoroughly, no longer overwhelmed with the adrenaline you’d had before. Now, all that fueled you was the desire that they both had injected into your veins. 

It’s heated and needy and wet. You can feel the heat and pulsing of his cock against your stomach when he pulls you flush to his body. His hands tangle in your hair, tilting your head back to expose your throat. The sound of his sharp inhale only drives your need further. He pulls away to nibble at your neck, then down, pulling your shirt aside as he moves.

“Don’t think it’ll be when you get a sight of her pussy.” Soap’s words are accompanied by him sliding up behind you, his hands placed just where he’d mentioned. Ghost groans into the kiss he places atop your breast, and it leaves you wanting more, more, more.

You can feel Soap’s cock as well, slotted between your cheeks as he watches Ghost work you from over your shoulder. You catch his lips with yours and he rolls his hips forward, groaning into your mouth. “This is what you wanted?” You ask, hooking your arms around his neck and giving Ghost full access to your body. 

“Fuckin-” He garbles something in Scottish again, and before you can correct him Ghost has your pants around your thighs, exposing your thin panties to the cooling air. He breathes out a long sigh and begins worshiping you there, soaking your underwear with his saliva. Soap’s hands twist your nipples, squeezing the weight of your breasts while he grinds into you from behind. 

“Smell fuckin’ amazing sweetheart-” Ghost’s voice is somehow even more gravelly than normal, and Soap steps away for a moment before returning to you. He’s stripped off his pants, and slides himself between your thighs. The sight of him on his knees before you is something of a sick pleasure, knowing just how deadly, just how powerful he is and he’s here before you so vulnerable. Any final pieces of your inhibition melt away at the sight of him.

“Get’er up Johnny-” Ghost is hooking your legs over his shoulders, and the man somehow delicately rips your panties apart with his two hands. The only pain a snap of elastic against your hip before he’s got his mouth buried into you, lapping and sucking at you with a hunger you’d only experienced when Soap returned after long weeks away. The shock of his tongue darting at you instead of the dull sensation of the mask pulls heady gasps from your lips while your thighs lock together around his head. He loses himself in the sensation of it, the crushing against his head makes his efforts double. He’s consumed by you, everything he sees, smells, wants in this life right now is you. His breathing gets thin for a moment, and he truly, fully wishes for this moment to be how he dies, if he ever could. 

The only damn reason he holds your damned thighs away from his head is so he can hear the sweet song you’re making for him while he drowns himself in your pussy. He flattens his tongue out, reveling in your taste. He holds you steady for a few wicked moments so he can play with you, make your hips buck and roll, then lets you fuck his face while he watches, starting at your flushed cheeks and reddened lips while you bounce on him. Christ, he hardly needs to do any work, he just supports your rear while you grind down on to him and it’s the hottest thing he’s ever fucking seen - that he’s ever tasted.

He has to stop himself though, not wanting to be the man stealing all the pussy worship, he pulls away though it feels like pulling himself from the heavenly embrace of a god. He allows your shaky legs down slowly, taking pride in the work he’s done thus far. Your legs quake and you lean back against Soap for support. Ghost- god, he heaves his middle finger inside you, rocking it softly while he grinds the palm of his hand against your clit, allowing you to desperately flex on it for the friction you desperately crave. 

“You weren’t fuckin’ kiddin’ Johnny.” He says, planting rough, wet kisses with his sodden mask along your stomach and up to your breasts until he reaches your lips, and catches your chin with his thumb and pointer finger. “She’s got the sweetest cunt I’ve ever tasted.” He eyes you, his pupils enormous from what you can see in the growing darkness. His eyeblack has worn off slightly, making his eyes stand out more where his skin shines though. 

When he rubs his thumb over your lower lip, you jerk your head and catch it between your teeth, and watch his expression change. His tongue flicks over his lip, and his brows narrow. He can see the challenge you’re presenting, daring him to go further with you. To what, to punish you? He could only hope that was what this was. He could only pray that this would ever happen again and he would have a chance to. But he won’t - not until Soap encourages him to. 

He eyes you for a moment, observing the cocky grin upon your lips. He’s not one to be shown up, and for a moment his competitive self takes over. He takes a breath, then lifts the mask just enough to uncover his lips. He ignores the widening of both you and Soap, focusing on the idea that now he could fully taste you and the man whos cock has been rubbing against the back of his hand while he finger-fucks you.

He smiles, and flicks his tongue out over his lower lip. That wipes the grin right off your face, but he’s not satisfied yet.

So he catches the back of Johnny’s neck and pulls him forward, forcing their lips together in a hungry kiss full of tongues and teeth. The thumb between your teeth flexes down, meeting your tongue with further competition. Soap groans when he tastes you on Ghost’s mouth, a bead of precome sliding over the thick head of his cock.

Your mouth opens at the sight of them fully enjoying each other, setting Ghost’s finger free from your teeth. Ghost grins wide when he pulls away, knowing exactly what he’s done to you based off how much you’re squeezing the digit filling your aching pussy. Strings of his and Soap’s saliva dribble from his chin and then he brings his beautifully even lips to yours, forcing his tongue into your mouth and thrusting his fingers rhythmically inside you.

There’s an unspoken war going on between you and Simon, but you’re not sure what it is. Your only thought is that you need to win. So you grab his cock through his pants and pump it once, twice before his hand slips from your pussy and he’d captured your wrist in his enormous, capable hands that you can’t stop staring at. The thick digits that were just making your core a living fire. You shudder at the thought of them entering you again. 

Soap laughs at the interaction and pulls his cock free from between your thighs, turning you to face him instead. “My lovely, filthy girl with m’ best mate.. It’d infuriate most men but I can’ stop watchin’ you touch ‘im.” He says between kisses all across your face and neck and ears. 

You hear laces being ripped free from their boots, then the click of a belt and rustling of clothes. Ghost returns, the delicious warmth of his cock pressing against your back. There’s still the friction of his tac vest and shirt, something you desperately wished to rip off of him. Soap’s is still on as well, and you can’t help but pout a little. Another unspoken rule of the moment, apparently. 

Simon caresses your hip with a hand and when you arch back to meet his touch, Johnny thrusts his tongue in your mouth and guides you forward, then down to the ground. Simon follows, hissing when he gets to see you fully on display for him. Johnny guides you to his cock, pulling your hair out of your face while he watches Simon admire you.

“Fuckin’ perfect ‘int she?” Simon praises, his fingers sliding over your soaked folds, then pumping the wetness along his cock. God he can’t believe how close he is already. He bites the inside of his cheek when he slides himself gingerly forward, hissing when he finally fully feels you. The tightness, the heat of your arousal - all of it makes his head swim.

He feels incredible. The stretch of Simon’s cock as he slowly enters you is absolute. It’s final, it’s fucking everything you’d wanted and needed from the moment he’d kissed you. He takes the first few thrusts slow, leisuring in the sight and sounds you made, muffled by Johnny’s cock in your mouth. And god, he tasted amazing. Sweat and salt and the essence of him, the safety net in the back of your mind that told you this was all okay. 

The safety of both of them. The bliss of only pleasure without giving orders. They were both here for you, to use you. To be with you. Being desired by Johnny was more than enough, but having both of them made your mind catapult into bliss as Simon started pulling you back into him, his fingers digging into your hips in a remarkable balance of pain-pleasure that had you squeezing his cock and drooling on Johnny’s. 

Thankfully the man before you held you up by the hair and jaw, thrusting in time with Simon, biting his lip when you swirled your tongue over the underside ridge of his member. A hand left your hip, jarring the rhythm for a few strokes before Johnny’s cock twitched inside your mouth, renewing the salty mix of him.  “Do it, Simon.” He encouraged. 

With the Lieutenant's next thrust, his hand cracked against your asscheek, and you moaned too much to keep Johnny’s cock in your mouth. Drool fell to the ground and you went to your elbows, arms shaking too badly to hold yourself up any longer. Your pussy clenched around him, drawing a low grown from Simon, along with muttered curses through his teeth. His thrusts becoming more erratic as you raised your ass higher in the air, giving him a new angle. The keening deep inside you was growing impatient, desperate. The next thrust was deeper, more deliberate with where he angled himself, and with the next he was rutting himself against the spot inside you that made your mind go blank.

Simon was hardly a help while Johnny moved, sliding over to be at your side and rub at your clit. He took in the sight of Simon fucking you, watching your lips grip the other man’s cock. He nearly came from the knowledge alone that he knew just how Simon’s cock felt at this moment. He pulled at his own member, flicking his fingers over your clit in a more determined pattern.

 “John-” Your words were a plea, and when your hand went to his wrist to stop him, it was instead caught by Simon’s. 

“You’re gonna fuckin’ come sweetheart, don’t stop him.” Ghost’s voice was nearly unrecognizable. And that wasn’t a request for you to stop. It was an order, it was the leader that you followed into the darkness and beyond. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from the exquisite, quick approaching orgasm that loomed just a few touches - a few thrusts away. He released your wrist and adjusted his position, his foot going beside your knee so he was propped up higher, pounding into you at a downward angle and making your eyes roll back at the feeling of being so fucking full.

“I-” You could hardly make the words work, but Johnny was right at your ear a second later. “I don’t want this to be over.” You whined.

A sweet smile pulled over his lips, then he was at the cusp of your ear, making shivers dance along your arms and base of your neck. “Don’t think we’ll ever be done with ‘ya.” He promised, then returned his hand to your clit. 

You weren’t sure if you’d even need it. Simon’s thrusts quickened and with every one of them he was pushing against that soft spot inside your walls, every one of them making you see stars. “That’s it-” Johnny’s fingers dipped to the wetness that both you and Simon were making, drawing the mix up and to your clit where he played over you with flattened fingers darting back and forth. The heat inside you wasn’t just that any longer, it was molten need that had Simon’s cock coated. That had Johnny’s hand sliding easily against you.

The two of them were too much. The situation was too much, yet you wanted more. Your breathing nearly stopped as you reached the next level of pleasure, the wanton need nearly cresting now.

Simon’s wet thumb grazed against your asshole and you were convulsing a moment later. The sensitive touch of him making your waves of ecstasy crash upon you like a tsunami. Your legs shook, your scream ripping into the night as the white-hot pleasure tore through you. Your walls milked his cock greedily, drawing Simon’s own orgasm nearly to the brink. Johnny held you up with one arm while Ghost snapped his hips forward once, then again before pulling free from your cunt.

Before you could stop shaking he’d come across your back, and was trembling himself. To your surprise, Johnny hadn’t finished yet. You were sure watching something he’d openly spoken of fantasizing about would make him reach his orgasm, but-

“Don’t gimme that look.” He scolded, going to his trousers and flapping them free of sand. “You made me come last night, remember?” He grabbed your clothes next, and brushed them off as well. 

“No excuses, soldier.” Ghost harped, then shot you an amused look. His gaze darted to your thighs, then back up. He got up and found his own clothes, then helped Johnny get you dressed. Your body was shaken, worn and tired by the time you reached the car.

“I’ll drive. You two get some rest.” Soap offered, patting his vest pocket for the keys. 

Though Ghost’s mask was pulled back down, it didn’t stop you from looking to where you knew his lips were. IT didn’t stop your body from very actively responding to the knowledge that the mask was very much coated in your wetness, still. 

“Ahh, Ghost?” Soap’s tone was different now, and your eyes whipped to him. 

“Don’t tell me-” Ghost’s voice was a mix of amused and dread as he searched his own pockets. 

+

With the passenger side window smashed, you were pressed tight up against Ghost to hide from the cold of the night air whipping inside the car. 

His arms wrapped around you, holding you to his chest, made for a high quality blanket. Soap’s approving stare in the rearview was the final piece to the most restful sleep you’d had in months, even with the brisk wind.

[thebookbutterfly]

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

[lapetitepatisserie]

cod × fem!reader ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

The familiar sound of keys in the door alerted you to your husband’s return.

“My love?” he called, looking for you, boots making heavy footsteps as he made his way towards you and your child. His eyes soften once they land on you and your baby girl.

“How’s my princess?” he drawls, voice deep with exhaustion from work.

You look down at the child sitting in your lap, occupied with trying to fit a chubby foot into her mouth. A steady finger reaches underneath your chin, lifting it to meet his warm, intense gaze.

“I’m talking about this one.”

[swordsandholly]

Been thinking about the 141 boys coming to visit your southern family…

Price ends up out back with your papaw and uncles staring at a riding mower that they haven’t been able to get back up and working. Beer in hand, hip cocked, mimicking their ‘uh-uh’s and ‘yep’s. He tries to help with grilling but your dad won’t let him anywhere near it because “damn brits can’t cook out to save their lives. I’ve seen what y’all eat.”

Ghost gets a little overwhelmed by the women fussing over him. He’s on his third plate of food and your mimi is still loading him up with more mac n cheese because “He’s just such a big boy - he really needs to fill up! Are you sure you’re feeding him enough?” Luckily Simon is a literal human vacuum - a total garbage disposal. He drinks about a pitcher of sweet tea by himself because you can’t tell me that man doesn’t have a deadly sweet tooth. You have to drive home after the food coma they put him in.

Gaz is the decided favorite son-in-law (never mind that you aren’t married yet.) He’s just so polite, happily helping wherever needed. Quick witted and more than prepared to participate in the small town gossip. Giving genuine, dramatic gasps at the news that the preachers son of your family’s rival church took a trip (went to prison). It just makes sense that boy always had a screw loose, after all. He picks up on the cooking easily enough, asking your mom for all her recipes to make both you and her a lovely custom cook book of family recipes.

Soap goes absolutely hog wild on the four wheelers with your cousins. Regaling the younger ones with stories of his ‘adventures’ (pranks on the other 141 members.) He picks up some of your slang for the fun of it. After all, sigogglin’ just works with a Scottish accent so well. Unfortunately he can’t handle the jalapeño corn bread - it’s just too spicy for the poor boy.

[loves-alibi]

🫢🫢🫢🫢omg. hey yeah so i’m gonna be thinking about this for a while.

Well, I Wasn't On That Tunnel ❤️

Masterlist - Taglist Form

Please don't look too much into the plot holes. Canon can suck my ass, I'm making my own, xoxo 💋

“THE TUNNEL IT'S COLLAPSING! FOLLOW MAKAROV! I'LL TAKE JOHNNY OUT!”

That was the last thing Ghost heard of you.

It's been months since Johnny and you were declared KIA on that mission. 

You weren't even meant to be inside, you were the medic, you were supposed to wait outside. 

But the moment Makarov shot Johnny he panicked.

Ghost panicked.

And Simon panicked.

You came in running, panting for the effort of carrying with you the medical bag half your size. 

You were the one who told them to run. To go after Makarov and kill him. 

You were trying to wake up Johnny, Ghost knew it was a lost cause. He couldn't find the pulse, he was gone.

His Johnny was gone.

The last thing he expected was that he was about to lose you too.

Once outside, he kept looking at the tunnel. Waiting for you to come out, whether it was dragging Johnny's body or alone; it didn't matter. You needed to get out.

But after the tunnel collapsed and you didn't get out, it was Price who finally pushed Ghost away.

He barely remembers getting back to base, doesn't remember what Price kept telling him on the helicopter, doesn't remember skipping meals for days, doesn't remember crying himself to sleep for weeks.

But he remembers your face, he remembers Johnny's face.

Oh, what a coward he was. 

Two people that he loved, that found their way under his skin right into his heart. Two people that Simon wanted to grow old next to, two people that made Simon want to wake up every morning. 

And he was still not brave enough to confess his feelings to neither of them.

He used to stay awake late at night dreaming about how he would do it. After a long time of debating with himself, figuring out what those feelings inside of him were.

Until he figured out it was love, only to them have to face the complex situation of loving two people at the same time.

But even how complicated of a man Simon Riley was, when it comes to his wants it all turns simpler. If on the menu there are two dishes that he likes? He is getting both, obviously. Why choose?

So if all his lonely and twisted life he had never loved anyone, now he suddenly fell in love with two people. He wasn't going to give up one of them and their love just for society's norms.

Murder is also against society’s norms, and he gets paid for it. 

But it was too late now.

Maybe it was for the better.

He could lie to himself, agree that he never confessed because it was not his destiny. 

Not because they would have not loved him back. 

Not because they would have been scared of him.

Not because they wouldn't have been able to see past his mask. 

Not because they would have rather dated each other than him.

It's easier like this.

Simon knows how to mourn a loved one. 

What he doesn't know is, how it's possible he got a message from you this morning when you died four months ago.

You are stepping out of the shower, skin warm from the water and baby hairs sticking to your forehead; when someone knocks on the bathroom door.

You furrow your eyebrows at how hard they knock, the whole door shaking with it.

“Calm down, I'm almost finished.” You grumble, pulling the towel around your body. 

You drag your feet over the towel on the floor to walk closer, and open the door annoyed by the insistent knocking.

“I told you I am almost finish-” Your words are cut off by the barrel of a gun right on your face.

You don't even have time to panic, because you immediately recognise the stupid skeleton gloves holding the gun.

“Simon?” You whisper,scared that if you talk any louder he will disappear. Price and Gaz are behind him, slowly lowering their gun when they see it's you.

There is a glistering layer over Ghost's eyes that if you didn't known any better you'd think are tears.

You push his gun down, the man still immobile as if you were the ghost; and you jump into his arms, circling his neck with your arms.

“It worked! It finally worked!” You exclaim, tears slowly running down your cheeks. “I have been trying to contact any of you for months, it finally fucking worked!”

Ghost struggles to tell whether you are laughing or crying, a mix of the two. But he can't focus on that, he can only focus on your skin under his gloves.

God, how he hated his gloves right now. 

He bites the tip of his finger, pulling the glove off spitting it somewhere. And he snakes his hand under your towel.

He knows is improper, perverted even; but he needs it. He needs to feel your warm skin under his palm, your heart beating loud and fast. 

He surrounds your waist, hands big enough to rest on your ribs, right under your chest. 

Boom, boom… boom, boom… boom, boom…

He sighs, melting onto you, his tears getting absorbed by the mask on his face. He hugs you tighter, daring you to slip from his fingers again.

He bites his lips, copper taste on his tongue, to prevent himself from sobbing.

But the sobs can be heard, and Ghost it's almost disappointed with himself until he notices your body shaking.

It's you who is crying.

And he panics again, pulling back to look at you and you cup your face, apologizing. 

“I'm sorry. I tried my best, I really did.” He can barely understand what you are trying to tell him between sobs. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

He shushes you quickly, he understands; the survivor’s guilt is a special kind of poison. But he understands, he feels it too. 

“It's alright, love. You are alright, everything is going to be alright.” He hugs you again, resting your head on his chest. Mourning Johnny will be easier if you are together, he now hates himself for thinking you were dead; for accepting it.

For mourning you for months and now having you on his arms. 

Warm and breathing. 

He can only imagine what you went through. 

You entered the tunnel because he called for you, and then he left you inside with a corpse. 

How did you get out?

How did anyone see you get out?

How did you find a house?

How did you survive alone with the guilt?

Are the scars on your shoulder for getting out or were they always there?

Were you trapped under the debris?

For how long?

But that doesn't matter, he knew you were strong. That you were clever. That you were better than him. 

He already knew that. 

Gaz and Price remain silent, reading in the situation that there is something underlying that they don't know. Letting the two of you, have your moment. 

It's only when Gaz hears the almost unnoticeable steps get closer that he moves, turning his body and almost dropping his weapon in the process when he sees him.

“Johnny?” That's all he is able to see.

And that's all that is needed to hear.

Price and Ghost whip their head around like they have been smacked, coming face to face with the man.

There are still bandages on the side of his head, he looks thinner, less muscles, sunken eyes and dark bags. But it's Johnny. 

A scarred, angry Johnny. 

Holding the pistol on his hands pointing to Ghost's head.

Looking at him as if Simon was his greatest enemy.

“Johnny…” He tries to talk to him, keeping you behind his back by instincts.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP! WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?” Johnny shouts, his hands are shaking.

That explains it, why he look like a madman, why he looks so scared under the rage, why he keeps trying to look under him.

“Johnny, it's alright.” You finally say, moving from behind Ghost, softly pushing his arm back. You walk ahead, still only on the towel; and you walk up to Johnny. You rest your hand on the pistol, pushing it down with ease. 

You raise your other hand to the men, the signal of “wait”.

Johnny looks at you with utter confusion, eyes shaking moving around your face for any kind of explanation. His hand move around you, checking for any damage; the hand that doesn't have the gun clinging to the towel. 

You cup his face between your hands, the man bending down slightly to make it easier for you to reach; you whisper something to him making him relax almost immediately. 

And then you kiss him.

On the cheek, right beside the nose making him close his eyes for a second.

But it feels like a stab on Simon's heart. 

He tries to think rationally, you were just calming him down. He knows Johnny is always desperate for physical contact, that's all. Nothing else. 

He really tries to think logically, but logically the two of you are dead and buried under a tunnel. Not standing at the end of the hall, kissing and comforting each other. 

Something about it, about the possibility there is something more going on between Johnny and you; sends Simon's inner gears spinning. 

He sees the virtual space between the two of you, slowly getting in the shape of his body.

You whisper something to Johnny, he nods, touching your forehead with his for a second, before walking back. Looking at Simon with hate on his cerulean blue eyes. 

You sigh, watching Johnny move and turn to the three still shell-shocked. 

“As far as I can tell…” You whisper, once you are close to them. “He only remembers up to when he was 20, little more, little less.”

“So he doesn't remember anyone?” Price asks after a moment.

You shake your head. “Not that he hasn't asked me about, he asked about some people but I don't know them. He thought I was a nurse when he woke up.” You explain.

“What happened in the tunnel?” Gaz asks, looking behind you to check Johnny is not back. “How did you get out? And him? He was dead.”

You shake your head again. “Not yet. Almost… but not yet. I-”

“Bonnie! You want coffee or tea?!” Johnny's voice makes everyone jump.

“Coffee, please!” You answer without skipping a beat and turn to them. “I'll explain it later, alright? It's not the place nor the time.”

Price nods once. “Get dressed, I'll contact the pilot to let them know we are flying back tonight, right?”

“Roger that.” The three of you reply almost by muscle memory.

“I'll be fast, don't rile him up.” You say, before entering the bedroom closing it behind you.

Ghost feels Price's eyes on him. 

Wondering.

Asking.

What's between you and him?

What's between you and Soap?

What's inside his mind?

“Tea is ready.” It all gets interrupted by the amnesiac man calling them to the kitchen.

They walk together, sitting around the table. Gaz and Price find it almost easy to talk to Soap, about how happy they are to see him again, about how they are flying back later, easy chatter.

But Ghost can't. 

Not when Soap finally smiles at Price making fun of Gaz's cap and Ghost's breath is knocked out of his chest. 

That's his boy.

Breathing and warm.

Just like you.

He knows it's the universe talking, telling him not to fuck it up again.

Still, he feels his heart sink every time Soap looks at him with such a sour look. Offended even. His boy.

That would jump at any opportunity to impress him, to earn his respect, his affection. Now locked like he wanted to stab him on the chest, twisting the knife in the process.

He knows it's because of you, the way the man stared at his hand as you pushed it out of the towel didn't go unnoticed by Simon. 

Not the greatest first impression. 

Does it count as a first impression if he has known the man for years? 

You walk into the kitchen not much later, Johnny's eyes lightening at seeing you; his saviour. 

You walk past Ghost, your arm resting on his shoulder as you bend down to slightly knock your head against Soap's.

And that's it, that all Simon's needs. To be involved. He doesn't need to be in the middle of you two, he is fine with being in the sidelines, but he needs to be a part of it.

He knows you are on his side, you remember him unlike Johnny. You can be the bridge to get him to Johnny; to keep Johnny from running. Make a pack with him; keep the two of you close.

A turmoil of emotions keeps spinning inside Ghost's head, all the versions of himself wanting to be right.

The part of him he thinks is unable to love telling him to let the two of you alone, you are better of without him.

The part of him he thinks is unable to be loved telling him to not even try, save himself the rejection. 

The part of him that is still unsure of what even are his feelings telling him to not get involved, that it would only confuse the two of you.

But then there is also that part of him. The part called Simon Riley; that still holds onto the chance of loving and getting love.

And he looks at you and Soap, the way Soap looks up to you. The way he used to look at him. 

“Let's pack our things up, Johnny.” You say, patting Soap’s back. “The sooner we are back home, the better.”

And you smile at Soap so kindly, so wide, so warm.

He understands how you managed to calm Soap down. Waking up from what he assumed must be something close to a coma after getting shot on the head, not remembering anything, in pain, alone. And then you appeared, so soft and so kind.

He wouldn't blame Johnny if he was already in love with you, with you being literally the only thing he knows since waking up. 

Johnny stands up, walking out of the kitchen but looking back to make sure you are walking behind him. 

The two of you disappear down the hall, voices low as you move away.

“I can't believe they are alive…” Gaz comments, sipping his tea.

“Neither do I…” Price answers, sipping his. “Bloody necromancer…”

And you are, Simon was also dead before meeting you. 

“I'm gonna check on them.” He says, downing the beverage on a gulp that burns down his throat. 

He stands up, Price and Gaz look at him as he does. They are going to talk about him as soon as he gets out, but he doesn't care. 

He has made his choice.

He loves you.

He loves Johnny.

He walks down the hall, seeing the door ajar.

His hand reaches the knob when he hears it.

His blood running cold.

“Johnny…”

It's your sweet voice moaning the name. 

The unmistakable sounds of kisses inside the room.

“I don't like how he looks at you, bonnie.” The man whispers, his breathing unstable.

“He's your best friend, Joh-Ah!” You moan, interrupting yourself as you speak.

“I don't care! I don't know him. You are mine!” The man grunts, the sound of skin slapping slowly becoming more and more clear. 

“Johnny…” You moan again, and Simon is sure that he can hear your cunt squelch around Johnny's length. 

He opens the door the slightest bit, just enough for his eyes to see the way Johnny has you bent over on the bed. 

With you laying on your stomach on the bed, legs hanging from him without strength to push yourself up. Johnny behind you, a foot on the ground and the other on the mattress as leverage to keep sinking into your weeping cunt.

Neither of you bothered to take off the clothes, simply lowered the pants enough for Johnny to get inside of you. Your pants pooling on your ankles, legs limp with the rhythm Johnny has settled.

Simon wishes he could see your face, pleasure painted on your expressions with your face buried on the mattress. Johnny keeps your hands on your back, keeping you pressed against the bed. But the only thing he can see is Johnny's back.

So he sees perfectly fine when the man turns his torso around, still thrusting into you, and looks at Simon.

He looks straight into Simon's eyes, who panic just for a second for getting caught peeking into their room, into them together.

But the Johnny smiles, not the adoration-filled smile he used to gift Simon with. Instead, is the smile filled with pride that he only kept for after winning a match or catching an enemy.

Johnny raises his hand to show him his middle finger.

As he mouths “Fuck you.”

And Simon wants to laugh.

Johnny wants to play?

Then they'll play.

Game's on.

@waiting-so-long

Taglist: @whos-fran @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @kayden666 @dumb12bvtch1212 @thatonepupkai @darkangel4121 @risingofjupiter @spadekip @herefor-tojis-tits @soupinasock @marymustdie @arbesa-mind @cmbghost @multifandomheathenannie @tooloudarts @panikk-attackkk @reap3erslov3 @mothsdrabbles @ghosts-hoe @cassiecasluciluce @sleepdeprivedkat @lunamoonbby @hatterripper31 @contractedcriteria @cod-z @jaguarthecat @savagemickey03 @fraserbraw @rosiehale23 @keiva1000 @sw33tsnow @viisgrave @theloneshadow24 @loveandplanet @sobbingnshtting @dprmoon @simpsallthetime1997 @ladyxtiger @soapsmohawk-16 @nina6708 @katreintjie @sacvh @mothymunson @archenillo @thesinsoflust @sodavrr @yuki2129 @mikaronn

[morimementa]

The fun thing about COD is that everyone who calls the 141 and every other operator their precious little mew mew skrunkly is fully aware that Soap once used an enemy soldier as a meat shield, Price responded to a barricade by attempting vehicular manslaughter, Gaz saw one terrorist attack and decided going feral was an option that should be on the table, and Ghost is, well, Ghost.

They know their little mew mews are war criminals and they do not care.

[simonbrain]

you rarely call price by his first name. it's usually just a very cheery cap! or a stoic price when you need to remind him of the objective, but whenever you do call him john—you tried jonathan once as a joke, and the piercing stare he gave you made that the first and last time—it's warm, earnest. you almost seem shy uttering it, judging by the softness of your voice, but he calms your nerves with a fond look and an affectionate squeeze on the back of your neck.

getting the privilege of calling soap by his first name, let alone johnny, was an accomplishment in itself. you noticed how ghost was the only one who called him johnny, and so you took that as a sign to never refer to him as anything other than his ridiculous callsign and occasionally an incredulous bloody hell, mactavish, whenever he says something outrageous.

until you did slip up one night, but soap didn't seem to mind too much. he quite liked how his first name sounded in your voice, and when he offered you to call him johnny instead, which you mumbled under your breath to test it out, his surprised expression morphed into a genuine smile, one so pretty a rush of energy zipped through you. now, he won't let you call him anything except johnny—pretty much threatens you.

gaz was the first one on the team who allowed you to call him by his first name. hearing you mumble a tired morning, kyle or a warning but unserious kylie... when he's being a little shit makes his day a little brighter. you'd think the two of you were good mates with many years of friendship under your belts with the way you mock and poke at each other—especially when he lets you get away with calling him the most ridiculous pet names, like pookie, of all things.

while you seem to maintain good relations with your team, close ones even, there's just one person who stumps you. one big, enigmatic bastard who gives you creepy looks and speaks in nothing but cryptic language.

it honestly feels like your lieutenant dislikes you; no wonder you're still stuck with calling him by his callsign.

(poor ghost has been waiting for weeks for those plush lips of yours to utter his name. not ghost, not lieutenant or sir, but simon.

it's getting painful how oblivious you are to his attempts at giving you the green light to use his first name; the hard stare he gives you after hearing yet another formal greeting fall from your lips only seems to make you straighten up even more, and the annoyance radiating off of him every time you call him ghost scares you further away from him.

you're so formal with him, and he doesn't know what else to do—he just wants to be called a cute stupid nickname, too.)

[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.