#john soap mactavish x female reader

[ryuzakemo128]

MDNI 18+ Omegavere

Note: This is my first try. If it sucks let me know.

Word count: 1705

You were not an alpha, you were certainly were no quivering omega, and you are not even a fucking beta. What in the name of a metaphorical god are you? With no conclusive, definitive answers to who or what you are. You are left to wander the expanse of earth. 

You have a sniper rifle with the initials of your name faded away. Scratched off by your own hand. Dubbed the lone wanderer. As you were often seen by military packs alone. No pack. No, nothing at your side. Did it matter to you? Not really. You were fine. Right?

Things were different when you were adamant in sewing the wound on your leg by yourself. “Don’t like it? Then…… Then you can fuck off.” you growled. Your fingertips worming their way to take the bullet from your leg. After the bullet was finally removed after several messy, painstaking minutes?

You dosed your wound in rubbing alcohol and hissed. But continued to stitch your own wound up. Contemplating whether to put in staples as well to keep the wound from ripping open again. As you finished up, firmly wrapping the bandage in place and thinking of what move to make.

You looked at your digital watch, five hours until sundown and five hours until you have to find somewhere safe enough to sleep. Limping to an abandoned office or one which looked to be in disuse. You weren’t going to let anyone catch you again. Not like last time, either. 

The screeching of the metal on concrete too familiar for your ears, you found a storage closet and shifted the blankets around to hide inside. Falling asleep to avoid hunger building inside your stomach. The cool metal digging into your body in combination to the thin woollen blankets lulled you. 

Lulled you straight into a slumber. An uneasy slumber. But slumber all the same. Hoping the gunshots in the distance would cover the quiet purrs coming from you, your lips and the office which is usually empty at this time of day. Things were soon to get far worse now. 

Things always tend to get worse before they even get the chance to get better. Life fucks you over and leaves you for the vultures to pick at your corpse. Always the victim. Never the victor. Thus, when you escaped the last pack who tried to claim you by force?

You learned to fight, to shoot, throw a knife and to hunt other animals. Living the high life, right? What more could you ask for? Home? Stability? A pack? A family? Ha! That shit was for Aphas, betas and omegas. You had survived this long on your own, hadn't you?

But what about the scent? Your scent? What about it? It's faint, growing stronger every second, it was your time. But you weren’t ready for it. To be fair, you have never been ‘ready’ for its arrival. And you certainly weren’t ready for it to happen now of all times. 

The heat of your core right up to the tightness in your abdomen. Your heat is coming. Fucking perfect. In the middle of a fucking war zone and your heat comes in while you’re injured. The closet wasn’t going to cut it anymore. You needed somewhere better to hide. Now.

Quickly moving, you grabbed your bone knife, your bag, your sniper rifle. You limped your way out of the closet. The sun is setting. You know what that brings? The hounds of Deadlock. The alphas of task force 141. If you could smell them? Then they already smelt you. 

They claimed stray omegas like they were kings of the fucking world, and anyone who had a problem with that?  Well, they'd just blow their fucking heads off. That's what alphas did. But you? You weren’t going to tango with alphas. A death sentence wrapped inside a twisted hand basket case.

You rarely go into heat. As far as you know, it is quite rare for you to get into heat. The medication you took prevented it from showing. Always taking it two days before one came close to showing. Here you are with your large med bottle empty. No warning.

Like your pathetic, absent deadbeat of a father, you hoped you would not have to see it happen to you. The scent grew stronger still, a sweet coppery tang uniquely yours and yours alone. Panic rushed through you, your body and your senses. Urging, willing, forcing yourself to move faster.

Stumbling into the hallway, moving to the medical room three rooms away from the office you forced yourself to hide in three hours prior. Checking your wristwatch habitually. Two hours until midnight comes knocking on your door. Two more hours until your heat comes in full swing. Only two hours. 

Pushing the barrel of your gun into the door. Forcing your way into the medical room, the smell of clinic grade medical rubbing alcohol assaulted your senses. You didn’t have the patience to be slow and steady like you would have wanted. Not with the impending danger at your heels. 

Shoving a chair underneath the door handle to prevent someone from coming in while you stocked up on antibiotics, clean bandages, painkillers, antiseptic, and any other kind of medical supplies you thought were important for your needs. All of them. Shoved into your backpack. You weren’t going anywhere without them.

With your scent growing increasingly stronger. You worried immensely about them being able to kick down the door and drag you away from there by force. If they found you, you would be as good as theirs. Fucked up leg and all. It didn’t matter that you were in there.

You paused, standing at the door, listening for movement, footsteps down the hall. Listening for the sturdy combat boots to come marching right past you, hoping the room’s medical grade antiseptic and bleach would be strong enough to cover your heat. Your scent. The sticky fluid urging to come out.

Yet you heard nothing. It was silent. Too quiet. Suspiciously silent even. You knew better than to let it conquer your sense of self-preservation. You came too far to let yourself get taken again. You had to wait this one out. No matter how long it took or how hard.

Waiting felt like agony, felt like nails on a chalkboard, every second passing did nothing for your anxiety. The windows were covered to prevent flashlights, helicopter lights and other unwelcome visitors from peaking inside the medical room. Your breaths grew shallower, your stomach getting tighter, and your heat is here.

Your body temperature rising to an unbearable, flow of burning heat. Biting down on your thick leather belt to muffle the sounds coming from your lips. The sound of window glass breaking, shattering as you hid in the medical shower underneath the cold water and away from the door’s window. 

Your grimy, sweaty, dirty clothes removed and left into a bath of white vinegar soaking in a plastic tub. As you used the surgical scrub to clean yourself with. You hoped if you cleaned your clothes with vinegar, soaked it inside it and let it stew within the white vinegar.

Silently hoping by time morning came around your clothes would be dried, clean and ready to wear again for the new day. Trapped inside this medium sized room until the first wave of your intense heat passed on by. It would become unmanageable quickly if you let it control you. 

Ghost sniffed the air, they weren’t going to get to you in time now were they? By the time this wave went through your body. You would be gone and the morning would arrive. And they’d have to smell your sweet scent after the fact. After you were long gone.

“If she hasn’t left yet, in the next six hours, the heat will pass, and she’s gonna be long gone by the time we’ve sniffed her out.” Ghost told Price. Taking another long whiff of the sweetest scent he’s ever smelt in a long time. You’re sweeter than he assumed.

“Are you even sure this stray isn’t an omega like the other we’ve found? What makes you so damn sure she’s not another one?” Price questioned Simon, his voice both gruff and sceptical of his comrade’s analysis over the situation. He had every right to be sceptical over this one.

“Her scent is sweet, tooth rotting levels of sweet, think candy bars and cotton candy. There’s some spice to it, like cinnamon or pumpkin spice in those pumpkin spice lattes Gaz loves drinking so much. It's faint. But it is most certainly there. IF you know where to find it.” 

“But what else makes her so special?” Gaz enquired, hinting at the desire to ascertain as to why General Shepherd sent them out here. His burning urge to know more was there whenever something unusual is brought to their attention. Regardless of how they have personally felt about it all. 

“Well for starters, she’s covering her tracks, if she’s smart enough to do that? Then she’s not an omega, she’s a fucking ghost, mate. If anything, you’d think she’s been out there longer than we’ve been in this shithole. This is her playing field, Gaz. Her prime hunting ground now.” Soap smirked, a grin from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat rather than an alpha wolf’s. 

Gaz pulled out the file with your photo printed onto the white page, “This her Ghost?” Gaz asked ghost for confirmation. He wouldn’t budge until his information, he looked into his own time. 

Ghost remembered you, the rancher hat you wore that day and the bandana hiding half your face from his eyes. Shooting him in the shoulder with a tracking bullet. “Put a tracking bullet into my shoulder with her sniper rifle. It took us two weeks to get it removed without it detonating and taking my arm with it. That’s not a move an omega would make, it’s a move done by professionals. And she is a fucking ghost, moving in time with her surroundings. She’s not a sitting duck for us to come and claim her, she’s a fucking wolf in sheep’s clothing, that one.”

[gloomwitchwrites]

They overhear you telling the team how much you like them and want to have their babies.

ANON! The way I screamed when I first read this prompt. I love shit like this because o-m-g. I had so much fun writing our boys in this scenario. Thank you so much for sending it in!

While there are some sweeter moments, these all lean toward the steamy side but don't cross over fully into spice. But, each is left open enough that you can make up your own mind about what happens! (hehe).

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): mild language, suggestive themes, pregnancy, fluff, feelings

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

John "Soap" MacTavish (wc: 651)

John is grinning like a bloody idiot. Has been for the last few days.

He’s caught your attention, and he’s downright smug about it. Every lingering glance and gentle upturn of your mouth has his skin singing with an intensity that can only be described as a tree burning from the inside out. He’s been after you for months, doing his best to gauge your interest in him.

He thinks he has an in because just yesterday, you touched him. Not a passing touch either but a firm grasp of his upper arm. A squeeze that shot heat straight to his toes and sent blood rushing quickly to an already throbbing need.

You looked him in the eye, brow all soft, mouth puckered slightly in the most gorgeous pout. John wanted to kiss you right then.

He turns the corner, heading into the training room, only to stop dead when he hears your voice. Pausing, he backtracks, pressing himself against the wall but leaning around the corner to listen in.

“Johnny’s been sweet on you,” comes Ghost’s voice. It’s slightly teasing, and John frowns slightly. Ghost would never overstep and steal you out from under him, but he would give him or even you a hard time.

“Has he?” you reply, and it’s breathy.

At this rate, his cheeks are gonna hurt for a week from how stupidly big his grin is.

“Don’t tell us you haven’t noticed,” laughs Gaz. “Soap’s been drooling all over the floor and himself.”

You remain silent, and John would give anything to know what you look like right now or what you’re thinking.

“Do you like him?” asks Ghost.

“What?” you exclaim.

“We won’t tell. Unless you want us to,” continues Gaz. “We can tell him to back off if—”

“No. I—” There is a stretch of silence. “I like him.”

When neither Gaz nor Ghost say anything, you keep talking. “I like him. I’m interested.”

“How interested?” asks Ghost, slowly.

“I’d have his babies if he asked,” you blurt so suddenly that it even takes John by surprise.

His grin momentarily slips away, and then it comes back, raging larger than before. He is going to bottle up those words and savor them. John runs his fingers through his hair, tugging on the tips slightly as he comes to a decision.

Pushing off from the wall, he barrels around the corner, making enough noise to not startle anyone. You and Gaz both jump but Ghost remains utterly still, a passive brick of a man. But his dark eyes swivel from you to John, and he sees Ghost’s amusement behind the balaclava.

John approaches you, and it takes every ounce of willpower to keep his grin from seeming too eager. “Price is looking for you.”

“Oh,” is all you say, moving in the direction John just emerged from. He waits until you pass him to start following, but before he can, he catches Gaz’s grin and Ghost’s gentle shake of his head.

When the two of you disappear around the corner, John reaches out, grabbing your arm. He tugs you against him, then shoves open a nearby door, hauling you inside.

“Johnny,” you protest as he shuts the two of you inside.

Leaning against the door, John crosses his arms over his chest. “Heard what you said.”

“Did you?” you counter, placing your hands on your hips.

“Aye.”

“And what did I say?”

“That you wanted to have my babies.” Your face heats and John has to bite back a groan. He surges forward, trapping you against the wall. “Is that the truth? Do you want me?”

You soften in his arms, and he cannot help himself. His arms snake around your middle only to lift you onto a nearby table.

“I want you,” you whisper.

John dips his head and you greet him with your mouth. “Then let’s get to it, love.”

John Price (wc: 420)

Price reclines in his office chair.

His mind is a mess. All thoughts of work are utterly gone. Finished. The only thing in his head is you and what you said this morning. The thing is, you don’t know that Price heard every word, that he listened as you confessed your feelings for him to the rest of the team.

Price is your superior, which means anything between the two of you cannot happen. At least, not while you’re under his command. The rest of the team said as much, and you reluctantly agreed, knowing that nothing could be done unless you or he moved out of the unit.

And Price won’t leave. Not because he wouldn’t do it for you, but because Laswell would have his head if he tried.

But the two of you can still talk. The two of you can still figure something out.

Yet it wasn’t just your interest in him that has Price’s head in knots. It’s what you said, almost absently, like you were speaking to the air and not the rest of the team.

I’d have his babies.

Fuck, he was gone when he heard that. Price walked away immediately and went to his office. Which is where he’s been the entire fucking day. When his phone rings, he refuses to answer. Everyone who has come knocking leaves when Price ignores them. He just needs to get his head on straight but he can only do that once he talks to you first.

Sighing, Price leans forward in his chair, resting his forearms on the table. A knock comes, and everything in him tenses.

He swallows. Turns his nerves to steel. "Come in."

When you enter, Price loses all thought. It isn't until the silence becomes awkward that Price clears his throat and stands. "Shut the door."

You do and then take a few more steps inside. Price isn't one for stepping around a conversation. He just needs to get this shit off his chest.

"Heard what you said this morning."

"You did?"

"I did."

You take a shaky breath. "And?"

"Did you mean it?"

'Every word," you say automatically.

Fuck. He's done for.

Price slowly sinks into his chair. He leans back casually, legs spread. Resting both hands on his thighs, Price runs them up and then back down. He taps the inside of one thigh in open invitation.

Your legs obediently move, and Price's chest tightens. As you straddle him, Price's hands come to rest on your waist.

"Show me."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick (wc: 309)

Kyle heard you wrong. He must have.

The words that just came out of your mouth simply aren’t true.

I want to have his babies.

He shakes his head, the middle of his brow furrowing slightly as he continues to listen. He hears Soap guffaw at your reply and then swear up a storm when you smack the back of his head.

“It’s not funny,” you snap.

“Oh, aye. But it is.”

“Cut her some slack, Johnny,” says Ghost teasingly. “Sergeant Garrick is a handsome man.”

You sigh in frustration. “You’re both terrible. I can’t tell you anything.”

“You just did.”

“Oh shove it, Soap,” you reply.

Kyle covers his mouth with his hand, smothering a laugh. You’ve always been feisty, and you don’t take shit from anyone, especially not from them. But this admission completely catches him off-guard.

He’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t interested. What first began as mutual respect grew into genuine friendship. Now it’s…this. Whatever this is.

But Kyle is a private person, and he’s not going to shove himself into this conversation. He’ll wait until you’re alone and the two of you can talk this out without an audience. From there, he will have the truth directly from your mouth.

And if he's being honest with himself, Kyle is fucking ace to the idea of you giving him a kid or two. Or three.

His mind swirls outward with images of what he’d do to put a baby inside you. Everything in him ramps up, burns hot until he’s aching.

“Sergeant.”

Kyle’s eyes snap open, and he momentarily sways as he rights himself.

“Captain,” he replies, clearing his throat.

Captain Price smirks and then squeezes his shoulder. “Must have been a hell of a daydream.” Price releases Kyle’s shoulder and continues on.

Privacy. Privacy with you.

That’s what Kyle needs.

Simon "Ghost" Riley (wc: 375)

Ghost is a patient man.

But right now, there is a fire beneath his skin.

It itches, radiating outward, even making his bones ache. This is not a wound. Not an injury. He didn’t take a hit. There is nothing physically wrong with him. Ghost is healthy. A solid brick wall of muscle and scars.

This impatient insistence comes from a carnal place. All the blood is rushing to a singular point, and Ghost is going fucking insane with how badly he needs to relieve it. The worst part about it is that you don’t even know. You have no idea what you’ve done, or what he heard.

I’d have his babies.

Ghost is entirely aware that the conversation you had with Soap and Gaz was private. He wasn’t meant to hear it. But he did. He did, and now he can’t stop thinking about all the things you said to them.

Which is why he’s lurking in the shadows, watching your every step, assessing when he should slide on up to you. Ghost needs you alone. He needs to talk but he also needs you in his lap.

So, when you turn the corner, Ghost slips into his namesake, grabbing you by the waist to haul you through the nearest door. Instinct kicks in, and you lash out, but Ghost is so much bigger than you, easily restraining all resistance.

"Stop moving."

"Simon."

His real name on your tongue is perfect. Pressing his face into your neck, he inhales, and you melt into him.

"What are you doing?" you ask softly.

"I heard the conversation you had with Johnny and Gaz today."

"Did you?"

"Is it true?"

Your face shifts slightly in his direction and Ghost draws back a bit. "Yes."

"Mean it?"

"Yes."

Slowly, Ghost removes his arms from around your waist. He gently guides you forward and then spins you around so that you're fully facing him. There is silence and then Ghost reaches for the front of his belt buckle. Your gaze immediately drops and then pops back up as undoes and then removes the belt with one hand.

"Willing to show me?" he asks.

Your lips part, and then you're touching him.

The fire beneath his skin becomes an inferno.

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[luboy7rt]

 How Task Force 141 Would React to You Being Injured on the Field (GN - Teammate Reader Addition)

(Warning? Reader does pass out in one paragraph each, with no big details of any injury involved. Not much detail on the injury, just don't want to accidentally not warn someone of what is involved. So not many in-depth details on the injury :)

(Note:(GN - Reader. These can be seen as mostly platonic but can be seen as romantic and these are just my headcanons, feel free to disagree or agree, thank you) (INCLUDES: John Price, John 'Soap' MacTavish, Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick and Simon 'Ghost' Riley)

Jonathan (John) Price:

- John is quick in dragging you off to a safe point, firmly placing you in a nice nook to ensure no stray bullets hit you. He does protect you, barking out orders for you to cover the wound and apply pressure as he focuses on killing the remaining enemies and makes sure the area is safe before helping you.

- Once it is ‘safe’ enough, he drops on one knee, questioning how you were ‘feeling’, scale of pain, how many injuries, just gives you a hell of a lot of questions to answer as he pulls out his small medical kit.

- He does basic procedures to ensure the wound wasn't fatal, disinfects and bandages as quickly and efficiently as he could as there might be enemies still around.

- He would question if you could stand, if not he has no problems helping you walk, looping his arm either over your shoulders or around your waist to pull you along to the evac point.

- You might owe him a drink, or two. He makes a ‘joke’ about it as you two walk (he isn't joking despite it coming off as one. You will end up paying for a round).

- He does take good care of you, ensuring you weren't in much pain, as he settles you into the evac helicopter, calling for a medic over comms when he could.

- He'd pat your shoulder or head and stay hovering near you until you get back to base, his eyes always coming back to check up on you.

- Depending on how much experience you have in the field, how many injuries you have had in the past, and how bad the injury was, if you were new to the team, he's a bit more ‘eh’ the medics know how to do their jobs but I'll stay nearby. If you are someone that has been on the team longer, he's sat by your side, rubbing your shoulder with one hand or the back of your neck, talking to you, questioning how you were. 

- If it's a ‘small’ injury, he's more relaxed, allowing the medics to do their jobs and not being that overbearing. 

- If it's a bigger injury? Good luck escaping his view, his eyes are on your wound while it gets patched up, ensuring everything goes smoothly while holding your forearm firmly in his grasp. His eyes would go from your injury to your face to see if it was affecting you badly or not. He forces himself to shut up, his jaw subtly clenched trying to let the medics do their job but he has to bite back comments of worry.

- If you pass out? He looks a bit surprised, his reflexes acting quickly catch you, his hand on your lower stomach and shoulder as he moves you to sit back in the helicopter, ends up sitting next to you the whole flight to keep you in place, he stays strong despite the silent worry in his eyes.

John (Johnny) ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

- He's antsy when you get injured in front of him, he swiftly deals with the enemy soldier that caused it, dropping down to your level and taking you into his arms. He asks ‘are you okay’ in many different ways, along with ‘where are yer hurt?’ a few times.

- His hands find your wound to apply pressure, or quickly bandage it, unable to clean it in the fast-paced situation, as enemy soldiers were still around, his main focus was simply getting the bleeding to stop and he would clean and bandage you up better later.

- He'd put his body between yours and the enemy soldiers, trying to block you from getting injured more while also firing back, trying to complete his job but also ensure you are protected.

- He would mutter to himself, as if to keep himself on track on what he had to do first, like a subtle ‘check-list’ on what to do, deal with this group of enemy soldiers, clean and re-patch your wound, run the hell to evac point. 

- He would gently brush his thumbs over your eyes if you cried due to the pain of your injury, quietly murmuring a bit of praise to keep you awake and aware before helping you up. He keeps a tight grip on you while his eyes check on you every few minutes before returning to look around his surroundings. His hand firmly on your back, rubbing slowly as his other hand held his sniper.

- If you needed him to carry you, he would. He would either throw you over his shoulder so he could rush to the evac point or hold you a bit more gently as tightly holds you.

- Once in the evac helicopter, he would let the medics do their job, him sorta being on autopilot as he watches over you. His hand going from the top of your head, to your shoulder, to gripping your forearm, to simply just grabbing at you. You were always in his grip, as if he was making sure you were still around and alright.

- If you pass out? He goes a bit pale, putting you down and yelling for a medic quickly, shaking you to try and wake you up. If you wake up, great, he’ll slowly calm down as he ensures you're safe within the evac helicopter. If you don't? He panics a bit, despite being trained not to, he can't help it when he knows a person so well, his own teammate. He ends up sleeping out next to you, his head on yours as the evac helicopter flies back to base, the medic having had patched you up and Soap there for support. But it wasn't known if he stayed with you for your own comfort or his own comfort.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick:

- He stumbles after you, trying to make quick work to check if you were okay, tugging you down to hide behind a bit of stone. He loses all the confidence he had moments prior as he watched your pained face.

- He would quickly bandage your wound, going into simply just repeating what has been drilled into his mind over the years. He is quite quiet during this, going on his comms unit to request for a medic and backup. 

- His eyes softening and he lets out a quiet sigh of relief if you are awake and aware, he grips your shoulders, while keeping a firm eye out for any enemies about. He smiles at you softly as he crouched down right in front of you, giving a brief side hug before going back to protecting you until backup arrives.

- Kyle pulls you up gently when backup arrives, sneaking you out of harms way while trusting the others to handle the few remaining enemies about. He would give you a soft look while murmuring encouraging words, he doesn't want you to pass out on him, so he was really just rambling to try and catch your attention.

- Promises to buy you a snack, or a round, or any drink you want as long as you don't pass out (he ends up buying you anything even if you do pass out).

- If you do pass out, the look of ‘are you kidding me? I said not to’ Kyle had as he caught you, his arm around the back of your waist, to keep you leaning into him instead of landing on the floor. Kyle ends up dragging/carrying you to the helicopter.

- He sits next to you as a medic does their work, looking at the ceiling as he breathed out, he was sure that was maybe the most ‘scare’ he ever had in his career as he cared about you, you being his teammate, he spent about all his time with you and the other Task Force 141 members, his thoughts went to a horrid place. Thinking about what he would ever do if he lost you or any other member he was close with.. he felt ill at just thinking that. But when his eyes went to you, his eyes softened and he relaxed, shaking those thoughts away as he was simply glad you were alright.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

- Ghost ends up killing the enemies who injuried you himself, having snuck you to a ‘safe’ hidden place in the battlefield before doing so. Having tossed his medical kit at you for you to care for your own injuries as He went off to deal with the dangers that still lurked around every corner.

- He comes back after about twenty minutes, silently watching you (if you managed to actually patch yourself up, he's more relaxed, calls you a idiot if you were too injured to patch yourself up) But Ghost leaned down to clean your wound then patch it up for you. Murmuring half- ‘insults’ but it was only out of care due to the fact he wasn't to sure on what to do with himself other than killing those who harmed you.

- There is indeed an awkward silence between the two of you as he patched you up, awkward eye contact, even more awkward touching. Ghost would quietly grunt at you. Shifting to help you up, if you stumble he sighs. Ends up just fireman carrying you or dragging you off, speaking calmly over his comms unit to get a evac helicopter on route.

- His hand would squeeze your shoulder, he wasn't one to like affection that much, but it was sorta like he was trying to keep both of you calm, he just wasn't sure how to show you..? He wanted you to know you could Indeed rely on him.

- If you pass out.. he forgets to catch you. You hit the floor hard as he made a silent ‘shit’ face under his mask, as he had been walking in front of you, having had not noticed until he heard the thud. He silently drags/carries you to evac point. He doesn't let a soul know he allowed you to fall.. he doesn't even inform you once you wake up. No one will ever know of this error.

- He keeps his hand firmly on you as he brings you to a medic, and watches their every movement, there was no room for error patching up one of his teammates.

[alwaysshallow]

fake dating with Soap will include him going "let's practice kissing. you know, so it seems more real." and him kissing you like you're the love of his life, leaving you both dazed and minds fogged up. then he does it again because "that wasn't quite right. lemme try again." and cue to both of you falling off the couch and kissing on the floor *giggling and kicking my feet at the thought of this*

anon. i had to write something more for this

"'st for practice. It has to look real." he begs you.

You start to think you don't really get the terms of this deal. As Soap determined the meaning of this fake dating thingy, it had to be strictly casual. Every little hug now and then, holding hands, casual kiss on the cheek so his aunts wouldn't suspect him of lying right in front of them (ironic, isn't it?). It worked at the beggining – to be strict, two birthdays, his aunt's and grandma's – but now, he's in your apartment, saying something about this relationship being fake.

"It... is, fake." you say, absolutely bamboozled, which causes Soap to groan and shake his head.

He invades your private space, as he traps you between his arms, his palms on the cushions beside you. If it wasn't a fake thing, you'd probably start making out with him, but it is fake. You have to be professional to not cross a boundary that you set for yourself.

"Come on, hen" his voice drops an octave; you shiver at the feeling of his cold fingers touching the side of your neck. "We have to kiss, eventually. Happy kiss, happy couple."

You want to correct him, but when your gaze crosses with his, his absolute blue, puppy eyes convince you. It's nothing. You've done worse things for the missions, almost had to sleep with the enemy for an intel. It's not like you can't do kissing practice for a simple friend.

The moment he kisses you, you know it's not going to be a practice. It's far from it, he kisses you so deeply, so sensually, like he was a man starved – maybe he is, just like he's a fighter when his tongue absolutely dominates yours, and he lets out a satisfied groan.

You really want to end this. You do, in fact, end it, when you pull away from the kiss, panting, when he looks at you. This look is different than the last; full of lust, there's nothing of that crystal, royal blue that was here a while ago. His pupils are almost black, and you gulp, backing off a little. Trying because he's at you again.

"That... wasn't quite right. Lemme try again, eh?"

Johnny absolutely kills the last willpower you had, when he grabs your neck forcefully, causing you to gasp at the sensation. His lips are hot on yours, and you two land on the floor eventually because there's not enough of space for him – your hiss of pain causes him to laugh at it, and it's the meanest laugh you've ever heard from him.

"Aww, yer ass needs a little kiss too? To hurt less?" he whispers the question right against your lips, when your cheeks are heating up. His actions speaks louder than words, though; his hand is at your ass, and you don't try to correct him.

It's just the beggining.

another brainrot about them

[the-whispers-of-death]

Imagine watching scary movies with Johnny to celebrate it being October.

If you're easily scared, he'll happily allow you to hide under his arm. He laughs in amused, lighthearted manner, happy you indulged him in watching a scary movie. He promises to protect you, giving you a teeth grin when you lift your head from his chest to look at him.

If you like scary movies, Johnny will enjoy watching the classic scary movies with you, a bowl of popcorn in his lap as you both watch the movie. He grins while you both jump and laugh at every jumpscare. He challenges you to watching the scariest movie he knows, seeing which one of you two can handle watching it without hiding their face into the arms of the other person.

He ends up being the one to hide his face, conceding that you're the one that can handle the most jumpscares out of the two of you.

Banners made by @cafekitsune

[silaslich]

The heat of imposition

John “Soap” Mactavish x f!reader x Simon “Ghost” Riley

Summary - Rugby AU. While watching a rugby match with Kyle you happen to catch the attention of not one, but two of the players. Neither of them like the fact that the other wants you too. [part 1/2]

Wc - 4.8k

An - I know fuck all about rugby so ignore any inaccuracies, we’re here for sex not rugby

It isn’t by chance that you find yourself at the pitch.

Your arm had been twisted- hands tied. You’d lie and say you had no choice, but the truth is that you simply have nothing better to do on a random rainy Saturday in October.

Kyle hadn’t given you much of an alternative when it came to making plans; his idea of fun might be sitting in the cold as he nurses a cheap beer and ogles a cluster of beefed-up middle aged men while they run around tackling each other- but you? It wasn’t exactly what you had in mind when he’d texted you and asked if you were free to hang out.

You know him well enough to know that he’s called you in to be his wingman; someone to keep the beers coming to feed his already brimful confidence, someone that will push him if the chance for him to chat someone up arises. It’s what usually happens when the two of you meet for a drink or for dinner, his eyes wander and his intuition carries him toward the closest thing to a decent lay.

You’ll wave him off with a smile and mouth at him to call you when it’s convenient- usually to update you on how incredible or lacklustre the sex he’d abandoned you for was. You’re not bitter about it, not really, you have to give it to him. At least one of you is getting something. You suppose it’s for lack of trying, what with work and a sheltered nightlife- you can’t exactly say you’re putting yourself out there.

Kyle has tried time after time, sliding folded pieces of paper with your number scrawled on it to punters as they sit at the bar waiting for their drinks or pulling you with him as he ventures to the dance floor- accidentally bumping you into strangers, drawing their eyes and their attention. You appreciate his efforts, but you’re not exactly looking, it’s all the same to you. You’d slept around abit at uni and enjoyed it to a point, chasing that high and filling the endless void of assignments and work placements- you need something more now.

Settling is a scary thought. You’re not sure that’s what you’re after, but you don’t want a meaningless one-night stand either. You haven’t found that happy-healthy medium yet, you can’t be sure it exists. At least not to the men in this town, everyone knows everyone- it’s hard to get away from that.

You grit your teeth hard, feeling the way the cold ebbs its way into your bones. Even the beer isn’t keeping you warm, and that usually does the trick.

“Is it nearly over yet?” Your teeth chatter around the words, Kyle tuts at you.

“You can’t be serious” he turns to look at you, noting that you are in fact very serious. He frowns slightly. “It’s not even halftime yet”.

The sound that’s choked out of your throat makes him quirk a brow. Yet, Kyle’s attention is drawn back to the pitch by the sound of a whistle, some kind of swap between players has stilted the gameplay.

You’re not that well versed in rugby. Have kept up with it here and there, mainly because of Kyle and your boss because it’s all they talk about at work. They put it on every telly in the pub when their favourite team is on and they start to become idle when it comes down to the last few minutes of gameplay- stood there like toddlers that are transfixed by dancing fruits on a screen.

It’s quite funny really, watching Kyle as he barely tries to make it look as though he’s still working- rubbing a dry cloth over an already cleaned down table.

“Oh shit” Kyle’s breath carries on the breeze, drifting across your face as he speaks. It’s just that cold.

“What’s happening?” You mimic Kyle in the way he leans forward in his seat, watching carefully at what’s unfolding on the pitch.

Kyle doesn’t answer, instead watching as the away team’s players crowd together, meanwhile the home team congregates closer to their benches- they’re swapping someone on.

You see a wide smile crack across his face from out the corner of your eye, it pulls you to look at him fully. Seeing his wide-expectant eyes and gaped mouth, you grimace, slightly put off by just how much he’s enjoying watching on- you think you’d rather watch paint dry.

“When do they start brawling, ay? This is boring” you smack your lips together and take a heavy swig of your beer. It warms your throat, barely. Kyle turns to look at you, smiling like an idiot.

“Funny you should say that” he raises his brows and jerks his head in the direction of the players they’re swapping- you follow his gaze, it doesn’t enlighten you in the slightest.

You open your mouth to question him but Kyle beats you to it, already preempting your confusion and overall lack of culture for his favourite sport and his favourite team.

“They’re putting their main prop on, Riley” Kyle’s eyes watch the player in question and so do you, observing his team mates as they pump their fists and clap him on the back- following on as he moves further onto the pitch.

“He fight often?” You ask, eyeing the dark ink that stretches across both of his arms and retreats under the sleeves of his jersey.

There’s skulls and bones and snakes and gnashing teeth that make up a portrait of something that might be a dog. It’s hard to tell from all the way up in the stands; you’re sat within hearing distance of their shouts as the players go over strategy- but your eyes can’t quite focus enough to read the letters that brand his knuckles and the blocks of black ink that cover the backs of his hands. Shame.

Kyle laughs, something deliberate and knowing. “Yeah, you could say that”. His smile is hiding something, you just know it. You raise a wry brow.

“That why he was benched?” The look on Kyle’s face alone tells you all that you need to know, he nods as you shake your head with an unamused sigh.

“He’s been benched the last few games, close to being banned altogether from what I hear” Kyle observes Riley as he speaks, they’re about to restart play with a scrum.

You continue watching the game, noting another player that’s almost as big as Riley is. The back of his jersey reads Mactavish. He has a sharp smile on him, even with his mouth guard, you can’t closely see the rest of his features all that well, apart from his grown out mohawk- you didn’t realise this was the 70s.

Mactavish is quick to be on Riley, jumping high and wrapping his arms around the bigger man’s neck, hanging off him like a scarf. Their mouth-guard-smiles are wide and Riley swats at Mactavish, manhandling him until he’s got him hoisted off the ground entirely- that’s when he pushes him away and kicks his legs out from underneath him. Sending him skidding across the grass.

It’s rough housing. Simple play fighting. Kyle tells you it’s common practice for these two in particular, spending half their time butting heads and charging at each other like rhinos. Much to the dismay of their coach by the sounds of it. A whistle blows and it’s shrill in your ears.

“Pack it in bellends! Head in the game!” There’s a gruff looking man shouting from the side lines, he’s tall and broad with a beanie that’s pulled tight over his head- there’s specks of salt and pepper hairs in his mutton chops.

The two men snap their necks toward the coach and do as their told, trying to kick each others legs out from one another as they run toward where the rest of their team is forming up to restart play.

It’s starting to get interesting, because they’re not half bad to look at, these two, not half bad at all. Mactavish especially, bar the haircut. Riley on the other hand, he’s got that unconventional attractiveness about him; with his wonky nose and ashen blonde hair, hooded eyes that contrast heavily- they’re as dark as his tattoos. Perhaps it’s the way he carries himself too- his wide shoulders and thick chest, strong and solid and unbothered by the way the other men move out of his way when he passes the opposite team.

You don’t realise you’re gawping until Kyle waves his hand in front of your face, making you blink. He laughs to himself.

“Like what you see?” He asks, amused, watching as your cheeks flare. You bristle.

“Fuck off” you hate being caught out, especially after giving Kyle gripe this whole time about how boring all of this is. You stand abruptly, “I’m off to get something to eat, you want something?” Kyle eyes you, a smirk creeping up his face.

“Something salty if you don’t mind” he wags his brows and you smother your palm into his face as you squeeze past his legs to retreat down the steps toward the food kiosks. You hear his laugh follow you as you reach the bottom of the steps.

You keep an eye on the game as you walk, flitting your eyes from the pitch to the ground so you don’t slip on the steps. As you steal another glance over toward the home team, you find a pair of bright blue eyes looking right back at you. So blue they practically glow, burning right through you. As blue as celestite, something shines in them when he looks at you- but you’re quick to look away and scurry down the steps. Cheeks heating once again, for reasons even you’re not sure of.

It’s without your knowledge that Mactavish’s eyes follow you the entire time as you retreat. His stare trained on you. Distracted completely. Riley is quick to bring him back to earth, watching Mactavish watch you, he grunts as he steps toward the Scotsman, yanking out his mouth guard with a wet shlack sound.

“You ‘aven’t got a chance, now move your arse” Riley smacks the back of Mactavish’s head when he doesn’t move, watching you right up until the point you disappear out of his view. The Scot smiles wildly around his mouth guard, then spits it into his hand.

“Wanna bet?” he turns to Riley and Riley has seen that look before, many times, and it’s never ended well. Yet, he raises a brow as he looks down at the Scot, matching that same look himself.

After paying extortionate prices for a portion of chips and a burger to split you forego another beer each and go for water instead. It’s blatant daylight robbery.

You make a point not to look out onto the pitch as you make your way back to Kyle, save yourself from embarrassment and ending up falling on your arse. Kyle moves his knees to allow you past and you slump down into the seat, offering up the food to him so you can take a swig of water.

“You okay? You look flush, was it a long walk?” He picks up a few chips at a time as he shoves them into his mouth, chewing quickly and blowing air through his mouth from how piping hot they still are. You throw him a look, an unimpressed look.

“I’m freezing my tits off Kyle and I’m hungry, allow it” it’s a whine that leaves your mouth and Kyle soothes you mockingly, offering you some chips- you take them gladly.

Halftime comes and goes. The food has sated you, if only a little bit, but it saves Kyle from any more of your complaining. You find it easier to follow now, a belly full of food and the rest of Kyle’s beer that he didn’t want to finish- it makes you more palpable, makes you sit a little less stiff in your horribly uncomfortable plastic seat. Kyle appreciates it.

Mactavish and Riley don’t escape your eyes, not for the remainder of the game. It’s easier to gawp at them from up here, if they glanced over they wouldn’t exactly know that your eyes are fixed on them specifically, all they’d see is a pair of eyes looking in their general direction- obviously just following the ball as it passes hands. Little do you know, that they are indeed glancing over, as fixed on you as you are them, they’re just better at being sly with it. Only moving their eyes and not their heads and necks, not making it obvious. Not until Mactavish ups the ante.

It’s as you’re distracted for a second, turning your attention to your phone- your boss, Nik, asking if you can come in tonight. You text back quickly, letting him know you’ll see him at six. Looks like Kyle isn’t getting away from me at all today. That’s when you feel Kyle’s elbow in your ribs.

“Ow” you make a point to overemphasise, nudging his arm away from you like his touch burns.

“Look” his hand pats down repeatedly on your thigh as his opposite hand points towards the pitch, your eyes follow the point of his finger and your face pales.

It’s Mactavish. Waving both arms to get your attention, and when he has it his face beams- it makes you sink down into your seat, beyond blushed and embarrassed. He continues to wave as he rejoins the play, you watch the teams come back his way and then he winks at you, moving to turn fully to flank a teammate.

“Lucky bitch” Kyle’s mouth hangs open in shock, looking from you to Mactavish as he darts across the pitch. You groan.

“You have him then” Kyle laughs but you don’t, as nice as the player is to look at, you’re not in the mood for games.

“He wasn’t waving at me, love” he wags his brows and grabs your arm, flailing it around as he giggles like an idiot, far more excited for this than you are. You sit stock still and ignore Kyle, hoping he’ll pack it in. He does- eventually.

Before long, the game finishes and it’s the home team who are victorious. They jump and shout and knock into one another, again pulling each other into embraces and slapping each other’s backs with closed fists. It’s all well and good, you stand and pull Kyle with you- you’ve had enough of Rugby for one day.

Kyle lets himself be pulled along, filtering out amongst the thinning crowd. You’ve both got a few hours before you’re due to go into work, a quick nap wouldn’t go amiss, you guess it depends how fast Kyle can drive.

You’re walking in step with Kyle, careful of the slippy stairs, you clutch the sleeve of his jacket for stability and then there’s a voice that rings out. Thick with a Scottish accent and with an abundance of audacity to go with it.

“Oi! She yer lass or wha’?” It’s Mactavish, and he’s looking directly at Kyle, jogging over toward the stands.

Kyle stiffens and you glance at his face, he looks startled. Or would it be star struck? These players are celebrities to Kyle, you imagine this isn’t how he would want his first interaction with them to go. You watch Mactavish as he vaults over the first set of barriers, coming closer to where Kyle is now frozen to the spot- you’re stuck alongside him.

The stands are completely separate to the pitch and are raised up off of the ground instead of starting right at the pitch side, so Mactavish can’t actually get that close to talk. He instead has to settle for standing about ten foot beneath where you and Kyle are stood, craning his neck to grin up at the two of you. From this improved distance you can see him a lot clearer. There’s a prominent scar that cuts through his right eyebrow and reaches down his cheek and there’s the slight growth of stubble coming through on his cheeks and chin. He’s more handsome close up, you’ll give him that, it goes with the brashness he exudes. He knows he’s pretty.

He’s out of breath as he stands there, hands on his hips and so sweat slicked that you can see the way it drips down from his chin to his chest. It’s his eyes, still, they’re hardly natural. So bright and pale and beautiful to look at, you could fall right into them.

“Well?” The Scot wants an answer, you’re sure he won’t move until he’s got one.

Kyle wets his lips to speak but you cut him off.

“I’m no one’s lass, mate” there’s certain ways to hit on women, and coming right up to them and asking whoever they happen to be with if they’re single or not isn’t the best way- not in your humble opinion at least.

“Good news f’me then” his smirk cracks across his face, impossibly wide, your face doesn’t change at all. Still not impressed.

“What makes you think that?” It’s a honest question for him, does he think that because he plays a sport (sometimes)professionally that you’ll let him get in your pants? Does he seriously think that?

The man dips his chin as he stands there, shaking his head, it messes up the sweat-soaked length of his mohawk, when he looks back up at you again it’s messier then it had been. His smile is just as wide as before, his eyes crinkle from the autumnal sun as it beams from behind you. He flattens a palm to his chest and taps against it.

“Names Johnny” you raise a brow at him but it doesn’t deter him, not even in the slightest.

You’re not giving him clear indicators that you’re completely uninterested, more so that you don’t appreciate how he’s gone about the whole thing. Again, you must admit, he’s very lovely to look at.

It’s quick when you walk away, a game of chase, he can suffer for his pig-headedness. Kyle stands there, a little more than dumbfounded, while he wants to follow you- he also wants to speak with Mactavish, he’s been a fan for a long time. When he turns to look at the Scot down below, he finds him still smiling up at him, there’s a look of mischief in his eyes.

Only a few feet behind him stands another, it’s Riley, and he’d heard every word of your conversation with Johnny. He guesses the game is set now they know for sure that you’re single, but let’s be honest, they would have both been game even if you weren’t.

______________________________________

“Hold on a second, say that again?” Your jaw is locked tight, molars grinding, he can’t be serious.

Kyle scratches at the back of his head, sheepishly, there’s worry lines that are creasing his forehead as he looks between you and Nik. Good, he should be worried where you’re concerned. He fucked up.

“Look I said I’m sorry, alright? What was I supposed to say to him?” Kyle sits on a stool at the bar, opposite to where you and Nik stand side by side on the other side of it.

Nik throws you a glance and you shake your head at him, he’s just as unimpressed as you are, you both know that Kyle is smarter then this- at least, he is most of the time.

“How about not telling him where I work? Thats a start. May as well tell him where I live, Kyle” your tone drifts, while Kyle is your friend, he clearly hadn’t thought before he’d spoken. Thinking more about impressing his rugby idols than the safety of his best mate, these guys could be any breed of weirdo for all you know.

“I agree with her Kyle, you need to think before you say things like that” Nik folds his arms over his chest, thick brows furrowed as he stares at Kyle, who is scratching a single finger against the polished wood of the bar top.

You aren’t trying to gang up on him, he knows he shouldn’t have told Mactavish anything, but he still did- that wouldn’t change just because he suddenly felt bad. He’s got some grovelling to do, to say the least.

“Do you want to head home? I’m sure we can find a way to manage, doll” Nik’s eyes find yours, he’s always been a softie, always looking out for you like you’re the kid he never had. Your brows furrow.

“Absolutely not, I’m not about to be bullied out of work by a bunch of thick skulled ball chasers. Let ‘em try something Nik, they’ll soon find out” you leave the conversation at that, following the repeated wails of the glasswasher in the back as it lets you know it��s ready to be emptied.

—————————————————————————

For the most part, the night is typical. It’s a busy Saturday night in a louder part of town and there’s everyone from regulars to students to tourists. It’s an easier night for you thanks to Kyle, his want to get back in your good books means he’s doing all of the shit jobs. Cleaning the bogs and serving tables. Clearing the glasses away and scrubbing the sticky tables. All while you’re tucked behind the bar pulling pints and making drinks, it’s something you could get used to, Kyle should piss you off more often if this is the treatment you get.

You watch the clock out of habit and notice it’s almost half nine, only an hour and half before you close, not long before you can go home and wash the day away and sleep all of this off. You just have to get through another hour and a half unscathed, that’s it.

Mactavish dashes those plans.

Before you see them, you hear them. It looks like the whole team might be here, they pile in through the door and already look as if they’re half Irish. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, knowing you’re in full view of not just them but other customers too.

Mactavish squeezes through the bodies as they linger around the booths and seats, not all able to fit comfortably, Mactavish sings your name.

“Fancy seein’ you here, bonnie” he grins wide, no longer obstructed by the mouth guard.

Compared to earlier when he was covered in grass stains and sweat, you hate to admit that he scrubs up well. Dressed casually with a shirt that’s close to matching his eyes, he doesn’t seem like the type if you’re honest.

“Oh yes, what a coincidence” the sarcasm reaches, you watch it in his eyes, the way his jaw flexes. He smiles and shakes his head.

“Tough nut to crack, ain’t ya?” He’s unapologetic with the way his eyes wander, the music thumps loudly in your ears but you can still hear the heaviness the alcohol adds to his tongue.

“What makes you think I wanna be cracked?” You make a point to busy your hands, to do anything to distract you from his eyes, there’s lemons in front of you that need slicing- they’ll suffice.

He raises a brow at that. Sliding his elbows onto the bar, bringing his height down to yours, eye to eye, if you’d just look at him.

“Saw the way you were lookin’ at me bonnie” he drops his tone, practically husks the words, he’s teasing. You laugh.

“Bein’ pretty bold to say I’ve got a knife in my hand” you hammer the point in, bringing the knife down heavier then before against the chopping board only to raise it up to slide your finger across it to catch the juice. He watches you carefully.

“You know how to use it?” He asks, again teasing, seeing how much he can get away with. He wants to soften you up. It’ll take more than that.

“D’you wanna find out?” It’s an open question, depending on how he behaves he could very well lose a finger, you’d deal with any charges he might want to press tomorrow. He just grins at you stupidly.

“I wanna take you out” he leans forward, reaching an arm over the bar to swipe a lemon slice, you watch as he sucks it into his mouth. Never breaking his eyes from yours, he’s got you.

“I want a lot of things, doesn’t mean I can have ‘em” you haven’t clocked him yet, not completely, he seems pretty harmless. But don’t they all?

He hums, sliding the lemon out of his mouth between his fingers, considering you. “Could give ‘em to you” his eyes meet yours but you’re quick to look away, returning to the lemons.

You scoff. “If I agree to a date will you go away? I’m working” just because you agree to something doesn’t mean you’re obliged, you’ll think on it more clearly when you’re not at work- being stared at by those burning blue eyes.

“Pretty rubbish conditions if ye ask me” he slurps at the lemon obnoxiously, you see the flash of a tongue piercing.

“Well forget it then-“ he interjects.

“Chill yerself bonnie, I’m goin’” he holds his hands up in surrender as he stands back to his full height, the lemon slice is replaced back between his teeth- for a brief moment.

He moves to step away but he’s quick to turn on his heel, chewing the lemon down till it slots inside his cheek. “Be back for yer number to arrange that date” he wags a finger in your general direction as he speaks, quickly turning back toward the booth where his teammates are all squashed in together.

—————————————————————————

Half an hour. Just half an hour and you can start to close up. It’s the light at the end of the tunnel.

Mactavish had behaved since leaving you at the bar, hardly looking in your direction, which you appreciated. You didn’t need him and his stupid blue eyes knocking you off of your concentration, not when you’re handling this much glass. You steal a glance over at his table from time to time, hearing his roaring laugh and watching the way he interacts with his mates. They all look close. Perhaps it’s the alcohol, making them soft, sitting on each other’s thighs with arms slung around each others necks. You imagine it’s normal that they’re all so close, they must spend hours and hours and hours together just training let alone at matches.

It’s quietening down now as a whole, some tables still linger to chatter, like the rugby lot. Most have gone now, moving onto the better clubs, this is just a pit stop usually- somewhere to line their stomachs before they get so paralytic that they’re soon laid in the streets laughing their heads off or spewing their guts up.

It’s an opportune time to start clearing glasses, now that the bar is quiet if not ready to close. Gaz is in the cellar doing whatever it is that he does down there, you hate it down there. So you’ll take the better job of clearing glasses and shoving them in the washer, fully prepared to forget about them until you’re back tomorrow.

This is usually the case, balancing a dozen glasses on one tray because you’re too lazy to make two trips. You’re so close to the bar, almost within reaching distance, and then someone from the rugby table throws his hands up and throws you off balance.

You close your eyes as you feel yourself tumbling, you’ve had too many shards of glass blasted out of your eyes by Nik and his saline bottle of doom, so you squeeze them shut tightly. There’s suddenly a warm pressure that coils around your waist but you’re too distracted by the sound of the glasses smashing to think about it. You dare to crack your eyes open, gaze immediately falling to the ground and seeing the mess that you’ve made. For fucks sake. Your eyes skate from the broken glass on the floor to the hand at your waist, gripping you tight, flush with something solid.

From up close you can see now that the tattoos on his left knuckles read soul.

Riley’s breathing is heavy against your spine and you don’t move, you daren’t move, and it seems Riley is much the same. Not until you hear a whistle from across the rugby table.

“Looks real cosy, Simon” that accent, it’s Johnny.

[sexydoffyman]

THEIR FEARS

genre: angst

characters: Simon “Ghost” Riley, John Price, John “Soap” MacTavish

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

He hates to admit his fears to anyone. Alongside the usual fear of losing his loved ones. He mostly fears being remembered. He is scared that people will use him as an example. He feels like he would be depicted as an asshole with no life. He wants to stay hidden for all his life.

He fears that when he dies, people are going to talk about him with spite. He fears that the people who ever loved him are going to be miserable whenever they think of him. He fears that people are going to spread rumours about him.

He fears that whenever someone thinks of him, it will be bad. He would rather no one remember him.

JOHN PRICE

John is scared of losing his ability to be a leader. He fears losing his authority. He wouldn’t be able to stand it. If he’d wake up and suddenly no one would listen to him, he would have a damn heart attack. He was born to be a leader and has kept falling into that role since his early childhood. It feels like it is his identity at this point.

He would lose himself. He would try so hard to gain it back, but when he’d realise nothing was working, he’d feel like it was his fault. He would feel like he failed the people around him. And most importantly, he’d feel like he failed himself.

The only thing that he fears more than losing his authority is the reason why he lost it. If he did lose it at some point, he’d quit his job. He wouldn’t even try to find out the reason. It would destroy him.

JOHN “SOAP” MACTAVISH

Soap is mostly scared of finding the wrong people. He knows he’s way too energetic for some. If he were to find out that people around him hate it, he’d lose it. He wouldn’t be able to take that his coworkers, who became his biggest friends, were annoyed by him.

He’d be in pain if he realised that the one who he thinks is his best mate, Ghost, always lied to him. His whole world would break down if everyone started showing their annoyance now after all the years.

Every day, he thinks about his personality. He wonders if he should change. He fears that his mates are lying to him, but he fears even more that they will never tell him.

[moosereblogsfics]

a little something for soap and gaz i wrote with my pu that i wrote after watching challengers. it's horny it's a threesome what can i say. took “they should be at the club” a little too literally

warnings: minors dni! smut, threesome, soap x gaz, soap x reader, gaz x reader

Your skin feels fucking electric. Bass pumping through your blood vessels like it’s a second heartbeat, the heat of a hundred other bodies twisting in empty space all around you, the faint bitterness of alcohol sitting on the back of your tongue. You haven’t gone clubbing in a while, but something about tonight makes you think that it’s your night. 

You own this. 

Your hands flutter around the ends of your skirt, toying with the short hem as your body gets lost in the music. Music, sweat, alcohol, and you’re cast in a spell that’s dizzyingly intoxicating. You feel like you’re almost putting on a performance, one that’s watched simultaneously by no one and everyone. You allow your hands to trail the length of your body, your dress, teasing and tugging, hinting at something that nobody here will be able to get. You feel giddy at the thought, the control that it gifts you— everyone wants you, none can have you. The thought echoes around in your tipsy mind as your inhibitions fly into the past, and you lose yourself in a world where only you, the music, and the lights flashing above you exist. You’re that-fucking-bitch, and it’s time to get another drink in you. You stretch your hands above your head, moving slowly through the crush of people to get to the holy grail, the club bar that’s illuminated with LED lights that burn at your corneas. 

“‘Scuse me, sorry!” You shout as you pass a group of four men that seem to be towering over everyone else. Maybe it’s their heights, maybe it’s something else, but it’s almost… difficult to look away from them. They feel magnetic to you. Two in particular— a sturdy-built man with a mohawk, and the man standing next to him, with dark curly hair— seem to hold your glance as you squeeze between them and the crowd. 

Neat, manicured nails tap against the bar as you wait to catch the bartender’s attention— it’s taking so long that you’re debating just going back onto the dance floor empty handed when you feel a warmth encase you from behind. 

“Sorry,” A man’s voice rumbles in your ear, just loud enough to float above the din of beats and bass drops. “Jus’ needed to grab the bartender’s attention real quick.” His voice is smooth, and he sounds— what, British? You shift just a little, trying to ignore the way that the ebb and flow of the crowd pushes your body into his, allowing his hips to align with your body in a way that makes you feel confident he’s got something worth hiding under those clothes. 

“You can go after I flag him down, then,” You say, smiling at the bartender as he turns your way. You’re getting what you want, and this man’s just going to have to wait. 

“How’m I supposed to buy you a drink if you do it first, love?” He asks, and the offer makes you turn in surprise. The man behind you is one of the two that caught your gaze earlier, deep brown skin stretched taut over defined muscles that drew your gaze from a more-than-partially unbuttoned white shirt. 

“How presumptuous of you to assume that I want a drink from you,” You respond back, but your hands betray your goal, tracing his collarbone as his skin rippled with the reflection of strobe lights over a sheen of sweat. His teeth catch on his bottom lip as he gives you a smirk, hands finding your waist to pull you closer to him. 

“What’ll it be?” He says into your ear, hands tracing down to the tops of your hips. You’re distracted by a bead of sweat tracing lazily down his neck, by the radiant heat of his body. Something inside you is urging you to lick it, to push yourself closer to him and drag your tongue against his skin, to bite at his jaw. 

“Just a shot of tequila,” you reply. You fight at your sex-driven impulses, choosing to drag your nails lightly down the length of open skin on his chest. It’s hard for you to ignore the way his body responds with a shudder, and you smile coyly, dropping your hand before you reach the part of his shirt that’s buttoned up. 

“I’ll take a tequila shot for the lady, and two shots of whiskey,” He calls to the bartender behind you, lifting his arm away from your body to offer his card to the bartender. You take the chance to slip away from him, lingering nearby but allowing the distance to immerse you in the club’s atmosphere once more. Your heart pumps blood and desire as you drink in the man’s form, letting your eyes drift down to the sight of his ass in those jeans. When he realizes you’re missing, he turns in a near panic but relaxes at the sight of you, an easy smile flooding his face once more. 

“Your drink,” He says, holding the shot glass out to you, but you don’t reach your hand out in kind. 

“I’ll have your name first,” You respond. It’s hard to hear him, nearly shouting at him just to be heard over the music. 

“Kyle, and you?” He asks. You offer your name in response, before taking the shot glass and downing it in one go. A drop of tequila splashes onto your bottom lip, and Kyle’s thumb is quick to find it, bringing it to his mouth as you watch with a sharp inhale. His eyelids flutter shut as he presses his thumb to his tongue, and your breath quickens at the sight. 

“So, Kyle, are you from around here?” 

“We’re military. From a lot of places, and from nowhere at the same time.” 

“We? You talkin’ about the guys you came here with?” 

“Yeah, my mate actually wanted to chat you up instead, but I saw you, couldn’t resist,” Kyle says as he loops his arms around your waist. 

“What if I wanted him instead?” 

“Well, do you?” Kyle asks, dipping his head into your neck. His nose rests above your carotid as he breathes softly into your skin. 

“How can I decide that when I haven’t even seen him myself?” You ask, teetering between teasing and serious. Kyle is fucking delicious enough, you don’t need another man, but it’s too tempting to toy with him. You can feel his lips curve into a smile before he pulls away, drawing you into his gaze once more. 

“Why don’t you decide now? He’s coming this way.” The warning comes only seconds before you feel a second heat at your back, caging you between muscle, fat, and skin. 

“Awright ya?” A Scottish accent drawls from behind you, and you turn to face the newcomer. Kyle’s arms drop from around you. He’s just as handsome as Kyle, the man behind you, but in a different way. He’s fire, while Kyle is ice. It’s the mohawked man from earlier, Kyle’s “mate”. Neither of them are touching you but they’re so close you swear you can feel their heartbeats, in tune with the music, and you lean your head back on Kyle as the stranger moves in closer. Their hips frame you, hard bodies grinding into your own. 

Kyle’s hands start at your thighs, slowly stroking up while the stranger’s hands twist at the fabric at your waist. “An’ wha’s a pre’y bird like yerself doin’ out here?” The man asks you as his hands start to shift downwards. You’re not ignorant of Kyle’s hands opposing the movement, stroking up the insides of your thighs before ghosting over your pelvis and tracing your belly lightly. 

“Wondering what your name is,” You say with a smile. You allow your body to shift and shimmy to the beat, unbothered by their presences, like it’s a privilege that you’re even letting them touch you in the first place. 

“Johnny,” He replies as his hands gain purchase on your ass. You wonder if he can feel Kyle’s thighs, or the evidence of his attraction that presses firmly into you. Kyle’s hands continue their path until they rest just under your tits, a touch that’s only enough to be felt from over the fabric.

“So now that you’ve seen him,” Kyle asks from behind you, “which one of us do you want?”

You tilt your head backwards to look at him. One of Kyle’s hands flies to rest at the base of your throat naturally, like the prettiest necklace you’ve ever worn. You can see everything he’s thinking as it gleams in his eyes, desire undressed and open. All for you. Then you look back at Johnny, whose desire only seems to grow as he looks at the both of you. 

And then it clicks for you. Not Johnny, not Kyle, but Johnny and Kyle. 

You show your decision nonverbally, hands resting at the back of both of their throats as you tilt sideways. You approach Johnny first, lipstick staining his mouth as he devours you hungrily, stealing your breath and taking it as his. His open mouth entangles with yours, and you hum at the taste of him on your tongue. Then, you pull away. 

Kyle awaits you with a poorly-concealed eagerness. His mouth moves quickly against you, that same starved desperation that Johnny had making him twist his tongue against yours. Johnny’s tongue finds your neck, lining the tendons on your neck with a certain thirst that makes your spine electric with desire. You don’t miss the way that he moans ever-so-slightly at the taste of Johnny on your tongue, only solidifying your decision further. 

Both. 

You let them go abruptly to walk to the exit, turning and looking at them expectantly as they recover from their shock to follow you. You’re a siren, pulling at them and they can’t think anything of it. Yours to devour. 

~~~

The Uber to their place is quick, but rife with tension.  

“You ever do this before?” You ask as you lean by their door, Johnny fumbling with the keys as Kyle nips at your neck, hands roving over your body as you hold back moans. He keeps your body pressed into his and rolls your hips close, slowly grinding his bulge into you. 

“Wha’, same bird, same time? Nae— Tha’s nae fair, ye cannae star’ withou’ me!” Johnny complains as he throws the door open. Kyle’s quick to usher you in as they close the door behind you, pawing at your clothes before you bat at their hands and pull their mouths closer to you. They show just a heartbeat of hesitation before you urge them to kiss you in a tangled threeway, a messy dance of tongues and teeth. You pull away, but the two of them don’t stop— lost in passion, and desire. Johnny’s hands find Kyle’s necklaces, twisting into them as he steps closer to the other man. Their noses bend as they kiss, twisting their necks as they seek out more of one another. You watch them for a brief second as desire floods you, too, before tugging sharply at Johnny’s hair. He releases Kyle’s mouth with a gasp, eyelids shut as he moans open-mouthed at your action. 

“Don’t whine, Johnny,” you reprimand him, pinching his cheeks together before you spit in his mouth. He moans louder, and sticks his tongue out, as if asking for more. Kyle presses his tongue to Johnny’s quickly, catching your spit as it threatens to drip from Johnny’s tongue. “Good boys,” you coo, allowing your hands to trace gently at the nape of their necks before you let them go. “Can’t believe you’ve never done this before.” You push straight through them as they stand there, gasping for air. 

You seat yourself at the arm of their couch, spreading your thighs enticingly. The two men find themselves kneeling between your knees, pressing kisses to the insides of your knees. They look at you adoringly, like they’re competing for your attention. They’re not getting it. But it feels good, the way they mouth and shift further into the apex of your thighs. Johnny’s the first to bully his head below your skirt, pulling the lace of your gusset to the side to lap at your cunt. Kyle watches Johnny, transfixed, watches the way Johnny grips the back of your thighs and pulls you deeper into his mouth. 

“Kyle,” you half-moan as Johnny begins to suck at your clit. Johnny whines at the perceived dismissal, but he shifts to eating your cunt with a furiosity, nose bumping against your mound as his tongue dips into your hole. “Why don’t you be a good boy and take care of Johnny?” Kyle’s gaping mouth is an obvious tell of his shock and reluctance, but the darkening of his pupils betray his desire. You lean forward to thrust your thumb into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue. He lets your finger rest on his tongue as he leans into Johnny’s body, and you watch as Kyle’s hands trail along Johnny’s hips. “All that military training made you so obedient, didn’t it?” you praise him, watching the way his eyes squeeze shut as he finally grabs Johnny’s cock through the fabric. 

Johnny’s loud groan draws your attention away from Kyle, to the man who’s buried under your skirt. You tug at the hair of his mohawk sharply, pulling him away from your thighs as he gasps at the slight pain at his scalp. 

“Good boys share,” you say plainly, pushing him back so that Kyle can find his way between your thighs. Kyle lets go of Johnny in his haste to get to you, but the sharp click of your teeth makes both men freeze. “I didn’t say let go of Johnny, did I?” 

Kyle nods dazedly, placing one hand at your hip to stroke at your clit easier, before he turns to Johnny and begins to undo Johnny’s pants. Johnny helps him as he leans back to sit on his heels, transfixed by you like you’re some sort of angel. The thought makes you laugh. How sacrilegious. Kyle’s fingers sink into your cunt at the same time that he strokes at Johnny’s bared cock, and Johnny’s and your moans intermingle, choral in pleasure. You throw your head back as Kyle finds his way back to you, heat diffusing from his tongue and mouth into your skin. The initial shock wears off quickly, allowing you to watch Johnny’s reaction. He’s watching Kyle devour you, and you quickly tug the skirt further up your body, allowing Johnny to see Kyle eating your pussy like a man starved. He hisses through his teeth as he watches Kyle, knuckles turning white as he keeps his hands firmly planted on the floor. His restraint is tearing into him. 

“Johnny,” You coo, and Johnny’s head snaps to let him look you in the eyes. The power he gives you is intoxicating, and the tension builds in your spine as you breathe in the scene unfolding in Kyle and Johnny’s place. “Why don’t you show Kyle how you want him to stroke you?”

Kyle’s fist loosens around Johnny’s cock, but doesn’t let go— a fact that Johnny takes advantage of as his palm wraps around Kyle’s fist, tightening it the way he wants, stroking it faster. Kyle’s a fast learner, he manages the pace even when Johnny lets go to tug at his balls, squeezing and pulling. His face twists into obvious signs of pleasure, gasping and screwing his pretty face up. That’s enough, you think, and pull Kyle away from you by the nape of his neck. 

You stand, but they remain kneeling by your feet. They’re perfect, so well-trained that they won’t move a muscle without you telling them to. Hm. It’s too perfect of an opportunity, served on a fucking platter— you want them to figure out whatever it is they have going on. You sigh, tugging at your bottom lip with your index finger while you look down at them. Kyle’s still stroking lazily at Johnny, that desperate connection threading between the two of them. Honestly, you don’t even need to do anything. 

“Confess,” you say, looking at Johnny. His tongue darts between his teeth as he breathes hard. The effect of Kyle’s hand gripping his shaft is lost on nobody, but it’s fun to play this game. 

“Come on,” you coax, looking at Kyle now. “All those months away from people, from civilization, and you expect me to think nothing’s happened between you two?” 

Kyle answers your question with a nervous laugh, stuck in his throat as he coughs it out like an excuse. Johnny, however, is silent. He looks to you for salvation, and you know he’ll do it— he’ll confess. Your eyes narrow as you focus on the brunet, connecting him with him silently. There is no world apart from the three of you, the surroundings fading as you become his central focus. 

“I can hear ye,” Johnny says slowly. He’s talking to Kyle, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “When yer in the shower, and ye think yer alone. When yer—” Johnny breaks eye contact with you to look at Kyle, who’s now staring at him intently. “An’ I cannae help it, really, but I…” 

“You what?” Kyle asks him, leaning in to Johnny so that he’s almost an inch away from the Scottish man. A fool would think it was intimidation. But you know better. “You touch yourself the way I’m touchin’ you now?” 

You almost don’t want to breathe. The confession lingers between the two of them before Kyle’s eyes drop to Johnny’s lips, and he leans in, open-mouthed, to kiss the other man. 

Their kiss is different now. Hesitant, a kiss that follows once everything has been said. But it quickly deepens into more as Johnny paws at Kyle’s clothes. 

“Stand up,” You say sharply. Your voice cuts through their desire as they stand up, their quick breaths and swollen lips betraying the effects of their dizzying lust. You undo Kyle’s pants, tugging the clothing down to free his cock as you take both Johnny and Kyle into your hands. They’re quick to kiss along your jaw, face, shoulder, neck, before they return to kissing you, tongues tangling as you all get lost in the kiss. Johnny’s panting—or is that Kyle? as you steal each other’s breath, suffocating one another as you consume each other.

Kyle and Johnny move closer to one another almost gravitationally, until it’s difficult to fit both your arms between their bodies. They don’t leave you forgotten as their hands roam and squeeze at your ass, stroking and cupping your cunt through the soaked fabric of your panties. While you kiss them, you take both of their lengths into one hand, stroking them both in one fist. Kyle and Johnny both fall away from the kiss, allowing their heads to fall onto the others’ shoulders. Their fingers slip into your dripping cunt, curling as they heed the pursuit of your desire in addition to yours. Johnny’s thick fingers work in tandem with Kyle’s slender ones, stroking at your walls, thumbing at your cunt. Your pleasure is harmonious now, intricately entwined with the pleasure of the men before you. Their gasps and moans electrify your spine, blood roaring between your ears as white-out pleasure meets you. And as you find your release, so, too, do they, cum dripping down skin and scar on their torsos. 

They slump into you, exhausted, as their muscles relax. Their heads feel almost right like this, slotted into your neck as they catch their breaths. You bring your hand to their mouths, covered in their cum, and they carefully tongue off their release from your skin, moaning slightly at the taste of both of them combining on their tongues. 

And then you step forward between them, grabbing your purse from the barstools at their kitchen counter before you turn to them, rattling off a series of numbers in quick succession. 

“Call me,” you say with a smile, letting yourself out and laughing at the sound of scrambling from inside their apartment.

banner by @cafekitsune !!

[ethereal-night-fairy]

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish

AGELESS BLOGS AND MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED.

Forgotten sorrows - Fae!Soap X Female Reader

A Lick and a Promise - Ghoap X Female Reader

All bruised and broken up, Soap and Ghost are on the run from the sheriff and his posse. They finally come across a run down shack to rest in. Only to find a pretty little lady sleeping there already. (Darkish but also fluffy)

Broken Vows and Promises - Ghoap x Female Reader

Excitedly awaiting the arrival of your boyfriend, you get yourself ready in the hopes of receiving a wedding proposal. But you didn't even make it out the door before your world comes crashing down.

Slasher!Soap with a passively suicidal college girl. Inspired by @ghouljams drabble.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Copyright © by ethereal-night-fairy. 2023. All Rights Reserved. Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or to use with AI technologies.

[ryuzakemo128]

MDNI 18+ Omegaverse Part 2

Part One

Note: Big things happens in this continuation.

word count: 1542

Ghost still remembered how you were standing on top of the building when you shot the tracking bullet into his shoulder. You didn’t aim to kill, maim? Sure. You don’t take lives. You just run from others and keep them tagged for as long as possible to know where they would be. You didn’t care if they were special operatives or the Queen of fucking England. No one had the right to have you or own you. Ever. 

“I still remember how Price thought you were seeing things.” Soap snickered, “I still can’t believe it.”

“Well, whatever it is, just produced a strong smell of vinegar and my nose is hurting.” Gaz complained, whined, even. Your makeshift solution is working to your advantage. Even if it's drowning your dirty, grimy baggy clothes under hot water and white vinegar. They’ll end up trying again quite soon.

As you got changed into clean clothes, your naked body came into the view of the door window. Which to Soap? It was like he hit the fucking jackpot. Watching you pull on medical scrubs. Soap saw your back tattoo, “The gates of hell are open night and day; Smooth the descent, and easy is the way: But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labour lies.”

Soap yanked Price over to take a look at your tattoo. His hunch told him something, you weren’t just anyone, and you weren’t just a random omega the General wanted to contain. “I don’t think we know nearly as much about her as we think we do.” Soap told him, dragging him to the window and shoving the binoculars into Price’s hands. 

Gaz remembered your herbal cigarettes, the lavender burning and how Price would try to scold you for your habit. “And what? Leave you smoked up like a bastard in heat or somethin?” you told Price. Breathing lavender scented smoke into Price’s facial direction. Dodging his attempts to snatch the cigarette from you.

Price, at the time, growled, “What is with you? You’re slipperier than a greased-up pig at a county fair, and more elusive than the fucking Loch Ness monster.” The spunk you had before? Increased tenfold. 

“Look at you, tripping over yourselves still, fucking alphas who can’t track for shit huh?” you taunted with your walkie-talkie you found in the office. “Round And Round It Goes... Where It Stops, Nobody Knows. Round and round you go, when will I stop? Nobody knows.” 

You grabbed your stuff, and you left really fast, “Tell your mother I’ll fuck her soon.” you spoke into the walkie-talkie. 

“We’ve got to get to her before she’s gone. She’s a fucking ghost, we’ve been tracking her for months, and she’s always one step ahead of us. This might be our only chance before she disappears again.” Price told them. Soap was too distracted by the fact you flash banged him with your gorgeous fucking tits. 

Which Price had to admit? A smart thing to do when you’re dealing with four hungry, aroused alphas on your tail. Your tits were a flash beacon even after you headed out of the room with your gear. The limping of your leg and once soap has you in his grasp again? He wouldn’t let you go again. 

Crawling through the ventilator shaft, until you were dragged out by your feet by someone strong enough to get you out of there, and his deep voice hitting the base of your skull like a drum. 

Dragging you from the vent, one swift tug at a time. Before long, you were carried over to Price and Ghost. With Gaz stalking right behind him, intensely staring at you from behind Soap. He had you draped over his right shoulder and your belongings in his other hand. While Gaz carried your sniper and bone knife. 

Once Price taken a closer look at you, removing your shirt and replacing it with a clean, warm, dry shirt. As Price looked for one suitable. 

Soap’s eyes widened as he recognised the tattoo. He’s seen it once before. It’s an incredibly specific tattoo. Only one person he knew of had it. Someone who was thought to be dead. Yet here you were. Very much…..alive. Running around like a scared rabbit. Soap’s heart is racing. 

He knew you weren’t going to go with them quietly. Not with that tattoo.

“Guys, I think we might have stumbled upon someone important, she’s not what we thought she was.” Soap whispered to Ghost outside the medical examination room. 

Ghost looked at Soap sceptically, “What do you mean, Mactavish?”

Soap took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice calm, “The tattoo on her back. It’s not from a book, it’s from a person. The person who had it is... or was... a legend around these parts.” He paused, his eyes searching the room as if he could see through the walls. “Her callsign was Venom, one of the best snipers the military had, until she disappeared. She was thought to be dead after her last mission, but if this is her... she’s been hiding here all along.”

Price’s eyes narrowed as he digested the information. “Venom? That’s a name I’ve heard before. If she’s who you think she is, then she’s worth more than gold to Shepherd. We can’t let her go.” He turned to Gaz, his voice low and commanding. “Keep an eye on the exits, she’s clever. We don’t want her slipping away again.”

Still processing the information, his gaze sharp and calculating. “If that’s true, then we might have a bigger problem on our hands. Get a clearer visual, Soap, and make sure it’s her. We don’t want to spook her before we get a good look at her face and confirm her identity.”

Soap nodded, his eyes glued to the small window in the door of the medical examination room. “On it, boss.” He whispered back, his heart racing with excitement and a hint of fear. Venom was a legend, known for her sharp-shooting skills and unyielding spirit. If she had indeed survived, she would be a powerful ally or a formidable enemy.

Then she would be you, wouldn’t you? When he saw your face? Soap held the new photo with the one they have. They were a perfect match. You were indeed ‘Venom’. A legend from their annals of history straight into his sight. 

He felt his cock thicken, a growling in his chest, his animalistic instincts were now coming to the forefront.

“It’s her, boss. No doubt about it. She’s Venom. I’ve seen that tattoo before, on the back of the woman who trained me.” Soap said with a mix of awe and fear. “I don’t think anyone is crazy enough to be out here for this long. 

Price's eyebrows furrowed, “Venom… I thought she was dead. General Shepherd killed her.”

“So did everyone else,” Soap replied, “But she's very much alive, and she's in heat. We need to handle this with care. She's not going to come quietly. Or willingly for that matter.”

Price nodded in understanding, his mind racing with the implications of this revelation.“Alright, keep an eye on her. She's a ghost for a reason.” He turned to Ghost, “What do we know about her other than that she's a damn good shot?”

Ghost's eyes narrowed as he recalled the intel he had read, “Venom went dark after her last mission. Rumour has it she took out a high-value target that was off-limits. Her disappearance was sudden, and her file was sealed tighter than a drum. If she's the one in there, she's got a vendetta with someone or something, and it's not us.”

“But she's in heat,” Gaz pointed out, his voice thick with the same primal need Soap had felt earlier. “That….. That changes things completely.”

Ghost nodded, his voice a low rumble, “It does. She'll be more… vulnerable. Hesitant to trust.”

“Vulnerable or not,” Soap said, “We can't just barge in there. We need to earn her trust”

“But how? She’s not going to listen, and she’s stubborn like Price.” Gaz said, stroking his jaw, contemplating their next move.

“You’ve been out here the entire time?” Price asked you, both in awe, frustration and a little admiration in his tone. “You’ve been living out here alone all this time?”

“You make it sound far harder than it actually is. Did General Shepherd let you think that, or are you really that stupid enough to think it?” you answered. “With the right kind of knowledge, you can go far and wide. Took out the tracker from my neck, day one, surprised you pups are still working for that bitch.” 

General Shepherd. You were at odds with him from the sound of things. Whether that was a good thing or not? Another thing entirely. Another thing which now had to wait until they had you removed from this ancient building. Regardless of whether you wanted to leave it or not.

“So are you workin for him or what?” you growled. 

“That’s none of your fucken business.” Price snarled at you.

“I think it is and you’re going to tell me regardless of what you think or how you feel about it too.”

[gloomwitchwrites]

You start sending them spicy texts a few minutes after they've left for work. Now they're home.

Bonus if you can have them say "You started it..."

Oh, anon. I am more than happy to fulfill this request. Spicy texts just before leaving work. Them walking in the door with the most feral energy. please. I am here for it. I am salivating. I am barking at the damn moon. I am running around on all fours. I am hanging from the ceiling. I love this prompt. Love love love. Thank you for sending it in!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: dirty talk, sexting, oral sex (female & male receiving), sex toys, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, vaginal fingering, knife play, spanking

Word Count: 2k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

You sent the texts to be funny—to tease John. He’s leaving work, and you want him thinking about you the whole way home.

Instead, you have an animal on your hands. A man starving for you. It’s far more than you anticipated.

I always want you.

I wish you were here with me. Naked.

Will you fill me up when you come home?

“You started it, love. I’m just finishing it.”

John grasps the back of your neck, pulling you close. Your fingers cling to the front of his shirt, the fabric twisting in your fist. John doesn’t even glance down. He’s entirely focused on your lips.

John smells of work. Of sweat. Of manly musk. You want to breathe him in.

He holds on the back of your neck tightens slightly. “I want you on your knees. Mouth open. Understand?”

You give a little nod, and John eases his grip. His hand transitions to the front of your throat, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. When his hand drops away, John takes a step back. You obediently descend before him, softly landing on your knees.

John won’t move. He won’t take the lead. You’re to do everything.

That’s how he likes it, and that is always how you do it.

With gentle hands, you caress the front of his thighs. Beneath his pants, you feel the strength and power there. John is all corded muscle. Bulky. Thick. Already you’re salivating. Your fingers find his belt buckle. It’s easy, and it’s soon gone. Zipper comes next, and then you’re opening up the front of his pants.

The moment John is in your hand, he groans. You don’t want to tease him now. You only want to make him come. You place a kiss on the head, and then give it a little lick. A tiny bead of precum appears. You take that for yourself too.

Slowly, you run your tongue along the underside of his cock along the vein. John isn’t touching you but his fists clench and unclench. He’s restraining himself. You swallow him down, and John immediately grasps the back of your head. The grip is strong, and you’re unable to pull back.

John wants you to throat him. And you will.

Clinging to the front of his thighs, you go all in, hollowing your cheeks and taking him deep. You are messy. Eager. Showing John exactly how much you missed him today. This is your little gift to him, because after, you know he’s going to fill your pussy until you’re dripping.

You did start this.

And you’ll happily do it again.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Leaving work in ten.

Ten minutes. And then twenty to drive home. That gives you thirty minutes to fuck with your boyfriend.

Grinning, you start devising a series of texts. Kyle is good about not texting and driving. He hates people that do it, so you know he won’t answer, which makes it that much better. You’ll send him these texts, and he won’t be able to respond at all.

It’s perfect. Brilliant.

You send the first one off.

Miss you. Been thinking about you all day.

It’s sweet. Something to make Kyle smile, but that’s the whole point. Draw him in, and then make him hungry for you.

Kyle responds immediately. Miss you too, love.

Not in the car yet then. You wait a few more minutes and then send a response to him.

I’ve been horny all day. Can’t wait for you to get here.

You give it some time but Kyle does not answer. Means he’s in the car.

Kept touching myself. Couldn’t stop.

Still, nothing.

You have no idea if Kyle is reading the texts or not but you hope that he is. His phone connects to his car when he turns it on, so the texts have to be coming through. If anything, he’s listening to them, the system reading your texts aloud to him.

I’m using that new toy you bought me right now.

Lie. You haven’t tried it out yet, but you’ve been wanting to.

Thinking about you while I use it.

So wet.

There isn’t any response, but that’s no surprise. You’re on edge though, every limb tingling, heart racing with the anticipation of Kyle’s arrival.

Twenty minutes feels like an hour, but you hear the front door open from your place in the bedroom. By the time you bring your feet to the floor, Kyle is already in the doorway. His chest heaves, posture poised as if he wouldn’t find you home.

“Kyle—”

“Get out of your clothes and get your ass back on the bed,” he nearly growls, yanking off his shirt before the sentence is even out of his mouth.

“You got my texts?” you ask with a sultry purr, moving slowly to remove your clothing.

“Oh, I did, love. Sure fucking did.”

When you’re down to just your underwear, Kyle is already naked, reaching for you. You shriek playfully, and then you’re flipped onto your stomach.

“I want to see just how wet you are,” he murmurs, bringing your hips up, and spreading your legs wide, revealing your pussy to him.

He groans. “I can do better.”

Kyle’s tongue is on you, and then he’s licking, swirling his tongue up and down your pussy. You cry out, hands fisting the sheets beneath you, toes curling. Kyle kisses your clit, and then sucks it into his mouth before tonguing you to orgasm.

He draws back, and you hear the drawer in the bedside table opening. Kyle rummages around, then you hear the gentle vibration of the new toy he just bought. You swallow, and push up to look over your shoulder.

Your gazes meet and Kyle grins.

“You started it.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You’ve been stuck in the house all day.

Simon is supposed to be off work shortly. And you want to stir up a bit of trouble.

Coming home soon?

Simon’s answer returns swiftly.

Leaving in five.

It won’t take long for Simon to get home. The man has a streak for breaking every traffic law imaginable. He just doesn’t care. At times it’s down right sexy, but other times it scares the piss out of you.

Biting your lip, you wiggle deeper into the couch, texting out a reply to Simon.

Hurry home, Simon. I need you.

I want you to use me. Your own personal plaything.

Can’t wait to feel you inside me.

You send the texts one after another. Pressing your phone to your chest, you giggle, knowing what you’ve done. Simon is going to storm through that door and make you squirm. And it’s the best fucking feeling in the world.

A few minutes later, his response comes in.

Be ready for me.

You know what that means. Simon wants you naked and on the bed, presented to him like an offering. But you won’t do that. He needs to work for it. If he wants you naked and wanton, Simon will have to do it himself.

But all that confidence disappears when Simon barrels through the door. He is a phantom. A wraith of desire. Simon has you off the couch and over his shoulder in seconds. In the bedroom, Simon drops you on the bed.

By the time you go to sit up, Simon removes his hunting knife from his boot. The tip of the blade catches under your shirt and then it’s gone, your bare breasts on full display.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, twirling the knife end over end before closing it and dropping it onto the bedside table.

You’re just in your underwear, and Simon’s gaze is heated.

“Off,” he demands, and you comply, sliding off your underwear and tossing them aside.

Simon reaches for the front of his belt. It’s off in moments, and then he’s undoing the front of his pants. His cock springs free of its confinement, and your pussy automatically clenches at the sight. Simon grabs your ankle and pulls you to the edge of the bed, pushing your legs wide.

“Fuck. Look at that.” Simon parts the folds of your pussy with his fingers. The sound of your wetness is loud in the room. He brushes against your clit and you moan, head falling back.

And then you’re moaning for a completely different reason. Simon’s cock notches at your entrance, and he slams home to the hilt. Using his natural weight, you’re pinned, taking each brutal thrust.

You said you wanted him to use you. To be his plaything.

And he is. He’s fucking you for his own pleasure. It’s a punishment as much as it’s a reward. You fall back and take it, your breath leaving you in gasps with each thrust. Simon’s hand wraps around your throat, and then you’re being lifted off the bed, his lips nearly touching yours.

“Don’t forget, love. You started it.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

I love it when you grab my hair. When you push me up against the wall. When you take total and complete control.

You send the texts with a mischievous grin on your face. Johnny is at work—about to leave if he’s on schedule. And these texts will only stoke his blood—make him hunger for you.

It’s just a tease. A way to get what you want.

You want him to fuck you, but not slowly. And not with any sweetness. Johnny needs to come home and bend you over the nearest piece of furniture.

Every time I fantasize about us having sex, I imagine you tying me up and having your way with me.

You don’t expect Johnny to respond. He doesn’t usually text and drive. But he does, and you giggle at his reply.

Naughty girl.

Every minute twists in your stomach, making you anxious with longing. You have to stand up and pace around the coffee table to try and expel some of the excess energy. You are so focused on trying to clear your mind that when Johnny enters, you momentarily freeze, surprised at his sudden appearance.

His mouth turns upward into a knowing smile, and then you bolt. Johnny is right on your heels and there is no escape from him. Johnny has you in the air and over his shoulder is less than a minute.

You shriek, and Johnny’s large palm comes down in a hard slap against your bare ass.

“Johnny!”

He laughs, and then smacks your ass again, this time with a softer hand.

“You started it,” he says, carrying you into the bedroom.

Johnny tosses you down onto the bed, and then he’s on you, pinning you beneath him. You giggle under him as Johnny nips and kisses your throat and lips. Playfully hitting him does nothing. Johnny only grasps your wrists and pins them above your head. He transfers both wrists to one large palm, holding you in that position.

“Spread those legs for me,” he croons against your lips.

You instantly widen and Johnny shifts back. With one hand, Johnny pushes your underwear to the side. You’re already wet—already in need of him. Johnny tests with one finger and then a second. They disappear inside your pussy, and reappear glossy and slick.

“Fucking look at you, love,” he murmurs, repeating the motion until your hips buck and move with him.

Your breath hitches and Johnny removes his fingers. He brings those slick digits to your lips.

“Open.”

You comply and taste yourself.

When his fingers are clean, Johnny reaches between your bodies and undoes the front of his pants. He slides home, and then he’s fucking you relentlessly, pounding you into the bed. You take it all, restrained and moaning underneath him.

Johnny groans, his body tensing, and then he’s flooding your pussy with his cum. You’re so full, and it’s only the start.

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[luboy7rt]

Task Force 141 as Your Roommate! (Gn!Reader - Headcanons)

(Includes: Jonathan (John) Price, Johnny (John) ‘Soap’ MacTavish, Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, and Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley)

Jonathan ‘John’ Price:

- He is a clean roommate, whatever he dirties he always ends up cleaning it immediately. He folds laundry very tightly, everything he folds would be able to fit into a duffle bag. 

- John ends up buying quite a lot of the replenishables around the house. He just tends to spot the fact you need more things before you do, he replaces it without you even noticing half the time.

He knows if you have a schedule or not; he just picks up on things. He will attempt to subtly help you if you need it.

- John's great at communicating, every little issue you have with each other can and will be solved easily so there is no issue between you two. 

- He tries to sneak in quietly whenever he returns home late from missions, yet every time it’s one small thing that always happens that ends up catching your attention. (Ex: Accidentally smacking his boot against the door, or placing his duffle bag down too heavily) It’s always a different thing every time. This agitates him to know the end, he is not a clumsy man but it's just a bad habit he accidentally got into as he's not used to having a roommate.

- If you guys have a camera, before he leaves for missions he always says something to the camera, always something sneaky or something he found funny to try and bond with you even if hes away often. If you catch him doing stupid while leaving your apartment, no. No, you didn't.

- John is gone a lot on missions (like all of them are) so he really trusts you to take care of your shared home as he leaves his most important possessions there and will always return back to your shared space.

Johnny (John) ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

(Just using Johnny to not mistake him with Price) 

- Johnny eats all your groceries whenever he is home. He apologizes and gives you money to repay for it, but he also doesn't stop. Tries to make a conscious effort to do so, but he gets to comfortable and ends up eating them all anyway. Always makes it up to you though, gives you money or goes shopping for you whenever you need it.

- Leaves sticky notes around the house of tasks for himself or you to do, some of the notes of just really sweet reminders, requests, or compliments.

- He sometimes would forget to send you his half of the bills, he always apologizes for it and quickly makes up for it, pays it, and ends up buying you your favorite snacks/drinks. 

- Type of guy to sing at 2AM before realizing you probably might be trying to sleep 30 minutes into his amazing set. Peeks his head into your room with a sheepish smile to apologize under his breath if you're awake, and might even mutter an apology if you're asleep.

-Johnny would leave his stuff everywhere, despite the fact he's usually good at knowing where his stuff is. He's a messy ‘I know where everything is’. Will try to clean up If you ask though if you decide you both can't live in messy organized chaos.

- Johnny tries to do the dishes, cleans the living area, and takes out the garbage before he goes away on long missions because he doesn't want to leave it all on you when he knows he leaves it messy.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick:

- Pays the bills on time, he will pay your half but expects you to repay him if you forget. (if you both are 50/50 on bills) he would be willing to change up on what you guys buy or pay for.

- He dances when cooking, and sometimes you wake up to him vibing in the kitchen getting it down while he blasts music, he apologizes a lot if he wakes you up and tries to lower the volume every time he does want a small cooking party. (You will go to sleep one night while Kyle is away on a mission and might wake up to his music in the kitchen while he's partying like he hasn't been up for 42 hours and just returned from a long mission) 

- You'll know when Kyle's home, he tries to make himself known by humming or talking to you randomly to just try and check up on you. Really tries to get on your good side to make up for the fact he's not around very often.

- Kyle leaves you cooked food for when he knows he's going away on missions for long, leaves personally cooked containers in the fridge to try and ensure your caring for yourself while he's gone.

- He likes just being around when he's home, even if it just means silently sitting In the same room doing separate tasks. Kyle likes the ‘normalcy’ of it all.

- Kyle likes hiding nice things for you to find around the apartment (ex; flowers, pretty rocks, money that he definitely didn't place on purpose) he doesn't even tell you, just likes waiting for you to find it and texts him a picture because he gets giddy about it.

- Will always pick up the phone when you need him, sends you a text instead if he's doing something important. Will do you favors. If you ask for snacks on his way home? Yeah, he is getting it for you, doesn't end up letting you pay for it though.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

- He eats your food accidentally some times, he always replaces it before you notice, if you cooked it? Oh wow, You have a totally different color food of the same thing from Simon attempting to re-make it for you. He ends up just leaving cash on top of it as an apology.

- He makes sure not to leave too much of a mess for you, he's busy but he really tries to clean before he goes away on longer missions. 

- You don't know when this man is home he is so quiet, you go for water at 4AM? You'll see him standing in the kitchen like a ghost staring at you until you notice him. (If you freakout, he flinches back but gives you a offended look like he wasn’t the one standing in the pitch black room)

- He moves stuff around sometimes when he's antsy, the living room might be rearranged by the time you leave your room. And he's already gone on a mission so you can't complain until he comes back. (He does try and keep this to a minimum and fixes it if you need him to. If you annoy him enough he ends up just changing his room and leaving the rest).

- He randomly leaves you money to find, simply plopping a 50 in your bag, or in your closet. Simon just doesn't tell you You randomly find it through the weeks. If you try to text him about it he simply doesn't give you an answer about it (also refuses if you try and give it back to him).

[alwaysshallow]

Hiya! I was wondering if you could do a soap fluff where he never sees the reader sleep, he’s seen her up at such ungodly hours yet he doesn’t confront her because she scares him a bit, she’s quiet and only talks when spoken too, not too much like Simon though, she isn’t mean, just a little arrogant and snarky.

Soap has a little crush on her but he pushes it away most of the time, questioning himself for it but the girl never normally shows affection only little nods toward price, it’s obvious she looks up to him.

Anyway on one mission they get in the plane from Mexico and she sits down, soap sits next to her as he talks to Gaz, he feels a weight on his shoulder and she’s fast asleep, he doesn’t think much of it until she wraps her arms around his bicep, nuzzling her self into him and Gaz notices his stuttering mess and nervousness.

ignore me if you don’t wanna write soap!

John "Soap" MacTavish x f!reader

He tries to get to know you more. (1,9k)

AO3 version

A/N: I could never say no to my beloved Johnny; AND it's first request, very thankful!! I had to turn it into oneshot, I just had to. I hope you will enjoy <3

It's probably the way you're unavailable for him. Out of reach, he can say, but he's working on getting to it, slowly.

It's probably the way you practically don't smile, the way you're quiet, the way you're devoted to your work, just like he is.

Johnny is the type of person to be friends with everyone in Task Force 141; might be his charming nature, might be his talkativeness, but all in all, he's just everyone's friend. He likes late night talks, going to bar with squad, pretty much everything suits him and his nature.

You're kind of different. Quiet, methodical, just like Simon, but also different – you seem like you're more open than him. It's the way you gave him a comment after his missed shot when you were on comms, asking if he really was one of the best shooters or he just pretended to.

Somehow, that didn't offend him at all. Normally, it would even cause a conversation and a bit of banter, but all he gave you was a laugh and a question if you're feeling cheeky, if you need some proof that he's the best. He almost heard your eyes rolling at that moment. It was another thing that interested him in you – for fuck's sake, he loved people talking back to him. If they were ladies, maybe even more. He knew you like working with him, though, despite your irritation sometimes. Most of the time, he irritated you to the core with asking questions, on purpose, just to get a rise out of you, just to get you to speak since you did it rarely. Soap was pretty convinced that you believed in speech is silver and silence is golden type of shit, but he liked silver better anyway.

It was Christmas when he got you a little gift – he did the same for everyone to not raise suspicion, but every pin was personalized. Skull for Ghost, helicopter for Gaz (obviously, he had to continue the joke), cigars for Price and for you... a cat.

No one knew that you had a cat – it was more of observation, when you had your civilian clothes, your shirt had some of white fur on it, Soap realized. He almost immediately though of asking you what was the race, if it was he or she, but he decided to drop it, so he could surprise you.

And it was worth it.

He knew you liked it, when you sent him a look, full of questions that he could answer if you'd only ask them. He could explain that he pays attention to detail, despite the public knowledge, their jokes about it.

Soap was so calm back then. Everyone liked their pins, everyone had them, so no one would question gift for you.

It was enough he was questioning himself all the time.

Like, how can he know so little about you, but yet, feel so giddy whenever you're around?

How can he not turn his head in your direction when you're walking next to him, so gracefully, focused on something, a gun strong in your hand, prepared for every occasion that would happen. You would die for your people, that much was clear, and so would he.

Johnny is almost ashamed at his feelings and hitting on you – you can't take it seriously, considering that he hits on everyone in your mind, but this type of hitting is different. You obviously don't know that, but he thinks twice before he says something to you.

He thinks twice before giving you a cheesy pick-up line that:

a) you usually ignore,

b) you roll your eyes at,

c) from time to time, you ask if he has something better, and he just grins like a kid that got candy, telling you another one.

What he doesn't know though? He doesn't know that you smile every time in your dorm at it, when you remember what he has said to you, it's a sweet secret that you're willing to keep.

As long as you can.

You're the first one who takes seat in the plane that is supposed to go back to your main base; you're grateful that you're going home. You like Mexico, obviously, as well as the adrenaline it brought, but you were tired as hell, fighting with yourself to not fall asleep after draining mission.

At least, you planned not to fall asleep until everyone will be here, and the plane will be in the air.

First ones to come after you, are Ghost and Price. They are talking about some machines that they "have" to buy. You're not interested, so you mainly observe your surroundings, or you just play with your hands to make the time go faster.

A little scolding goes to Soap and Gaz for being late; it's not serious obviously, but it's something that Price likes to tell them, praying that someday they wouldn't be late.

"Feelin' sleepy, ace?"

"Always, Gaz. Pretty tired" you reply, your eyes darting between him and Soap.

"We played those fuckers like kids. I do not believe that they gave up so easily" Gaz rolls his eyes with amusement, as he takes a seat nearby.

"Yeah, we got 'em. Motherfuckers thought they had a chance" Soap laughs, shaking his head. It's the first time he's so happy with the mission, despite being tired and a little beaten up; he takes the seat next to you, nodding in respectful manner. A greeting, you could say.

His head turns back to Kyle.

"Just like you in poker." Garrick responds, grinning. Soap can't help but roll his eyes at this statement, even if it's true – yeah, maybe poker wasn't really his best, but he was the best in other things.

Uno, for example. Or Monopoly, even if he got easily irritated by Simon taking his favorite places just to rile him up and pay the taxes or beg for buying it from him in exchange for something. Despite all that, he's pretty good at it. Poker is a different story, everyone cheats here, mostly Gaz and Price.

That's what Johnny thinks. Captain and his "son" cheating, ain't that surprising?

"Won't comment on that, Gaz" he manages to mumble; there's something else in his mind too, but he forgets it the moment your head rests on his shoulder.

His gaze goes to you immediately and with the rest of his willpower, he tries not to smile. It's pretty sure he lost count how many times in just one minute he told himself to not daydream over this little gesture. After all, it happened only because you are tired, right? It happens to everyone.

Soap's mind is filled of memory when he fell asleep on Price; the great surprise he had after that, tells him to not overthink. It's just probably because you feel safe around him. Your body is weak after such an intense mission, no doubt that you want just somewhere to lay your head on.

"Because you have nothin' in your defence, man." his friend laughs, pointing at him. "I'd play even now, if you want to. I think I have cards somewhere. Price, you want to play?" he raises his voice.

"Gaz, for fuck's sake, she's sleeping" Soap hisses, looking at Gaz with furrowed eyebrows.

"Jeez, calm down, man. She's sleeping like a damn rock here." he rolls his eyes and nudges Johnny. "What are you, her protector?

Scot sighs. "She did a pretty good job today. 'st want her to get a proper rest before we will hit our base, you know? It's..."

He trails off just in the moment you nuzzle into him – consciously or not. More to his bicep, considering that your arms wrap around it tightly, and your head claims it proudly as a pillow, but it's enough.

It's enough for Soap to lost the track of his thoughts, to lose his composure. You never did things like that, hell, you never even hugged, and there you are. Skin to skin, so close, sleeping, vulnerable for everything around. It's the way he feels sudden urge to protect you, even if nothing dangerous is around, just men who would give everything to protect their team.

He knows you can protect yourself on your own, you're perfectly capable of doing that. He saw it multiple times, how easily you could take down a guy twice your size, and he adored that. More than he would ever admit, considering that he keeps his feelings to himself. It's easier this way, less complicated, Soap needs to think how he will approach you.

Not an easy job, no. Especially that you're not the one to show affection, he has to have a better plan than pick-up lines. Or maybe the time will help?

Something shifts in the air, and he knows it. He's bad at hiding emotions like this, unexpected ones, so when his gaze drifts back to Gaz, already observing him with curiosity, he gulps.

"What you wanted to say? About..." he points with his chin at you, wrapped around his arm.

"What? Nothing." he replied immediately, biting his cheek from inside.

"No, you certainly wanted to–"

"–mm, can you be a little bit quieter, Gaz? Just a little bit." you murmur, sleepy; you don't even know what they are talking about, you're more than focused on sleeping and warmness that Soap gives you.

"Yeah, sorry, ace. Got some really good pillow over here, eh?" Garrick smiles widely, looking at Johnny, whose gaze is at you.

"Mhm."

Oh, if you'd only know. You don't even realize how this little gesture, how your blurred mhm affects him. Your close proximity, soft skin of your cheek on his bicep, it all makes him feel like crazy one because he thinks if it's something normal for you, or you just like-like him. He has a million questions.

Could it be it?

"Soap?" he hears Gaz.

Soap is not sure if he spoke something before calling for him. "Y-yeah?" For the first time, he fucking stutters, which is embarrasing enough when Kyle looks at him.

"You good, man? You seem... tensed up."

"What? No." he laughs quietly, nervous that his friend might be onto something. He wasn't dumb, but Johnny would hate for him to know. It's not like he will tell you, not at all, but he could make comments, and that... nah, not an option.

Gaz would try to and be a wingman, but Johnny needed to charm you on his own, without any help; he needed time to figure things out.

"Sure of that?"

"Gaz, really. Leave him be and shut up." you spoke up again; boys aren't sure if it's mumbling from your sleep or something, but what they know is that you mean it, so Kyle just rolls his eyes.

Yet, he gives Soap the biggest grin once again, and he knows that he will be insufferable, when he gets up from his seat and he takes the one near Price and Ghost.

MacTavish is more focused on you, though. He smiles under his nose, and with a little bit of hesitation, he rests his head against yours.

"Is it okay?" he whispers, trying to get an answer from you. It's risky, he doesn't even know if you're awake, but he would hate to overstep a boundary with you.

You don't give him verbal answer; instead, you just nuzzle into his arm more, and it's all he needs.

He decides that he will ask you out sometime – for something simple, maybe coffee, maybe he will find an excuse to go with you to the movies.

He will, he just needs to find a right moment, but he knows it's gonna happen.

[the-whispers-of-death]

worshipper!soap plsplspls i beg u

No need to beg, friend! Worshipper!Soap, coming right up.

Johnny is someone who likes to joke, everyone knows about it. He's on battlefields constantly, places where hope and light is far away, where it's so dark and dreary. He and other soldiers need the lightness of his jokes, just to remind themselves of what's waiting for them back home—life.

But he absolutely does not joke about his partner and how divine you are.

As previously stated, Johnny's usually the one who gets everyone laughing and feeling good, but You? Your light is unlike any other's.

Your laughter makes the air feel so much lighter, Your smile brightens up any room, even one that had been previously dark. He can't get over Your divinity and he never wants to.

I imagine You stumbled into his life, quite literally.

You were just bringing up Your groceries home to Your flat, walking up the stairs and stepping onto the landing of Your floor just as Johnny was about to step down onto the stairs. He hadn't seen You (because that's the only way he would've missed Your divine self) because he had been talking on the phone to Gaz and you two collided.

He had been quick to reach out and steady You, his blue eyes moving to look into your eyes (no matter what eye color you have, it's now his favorite eye color and he insists that no one else's eyes are as bright and benevolent as yours). His breath caught in his chest at the sight of You, his only thoughts being on how bright You seemed to be.

You exuded divinity and benevolence, it wafting off of You in waves. He could tell that You were one of a kind, a deity. And so, he was quick to start worshipping You right then and there, helping You gather Your groceries and helping You take them inside.

For days afterwards, Johnny gravitates towards You, aching to be in Your divine presence. He memorizes which of his jokes make You laugh the hardest, memorizes what You tell him are Your favorite food, color, etc. If You tell him Your favorite food is pink, he's buying pink things immediately. He's buying—or cooking Your favorite foods, feeling so blessed whenever he sees Your bright smile when he brings his offerings to You over.

He'll talk the 141's ear off about You, growling and snapping if they even dare to suggest You're not the deity he insists You are. How can You not be a deity? They just don't know what they're talking about, Johnny decides. They haven't met You after all, only Johnny knows how divine You are.

Speaking of growling and snapping at others, Johnny is a mix of devotee and guard dog. You're so kind that You must be worshipped, but You also must be protected. He sees the way others rake their lecherous stares up and down Your holy body, and he won't have that. Even if You're not yet dating, he's not letting any creeps around You. He won't let Your divinity and kindness be taken advantage of, not that You're helpless.

No, You can take care of Yourself when defending Yourself from creeps, You just don't have to. Your most devoted servant is here for that.

When you two finally start dating, You're the one who musters up the courage to ask him out. And Johnny swears he's in heaven at that moment, but no, You're just so kind to deem him worthy of being Your lover. He easily scrounges up whatever money he has and takes You out to the fanciest restaurant he can afford, because a deity like You deserves the best of the best! He's in heaven the entire time, cherishing every single moment he has with You.

Thank You, Kind and Merciful One. Thank You for gracing him with Your beauty and divinity. He's kissing Your feet and worshipping the ground You walk on. He's Yours forever and he never wants that to change.

[ghostsforghosts]

Worshipper!Soap

This is the masterlist of all of the Worshipper!Soap Drabbles. This reader is gender neutral.

(Yes, I know that I've made masterlists on my main blog and could just link the masterlist to my pinned post, however, I'm making new masterlists so that I can just update this instead of the old one when/if I expand this series. Yes I am linking posts made from my main blog, yes this is me.)

First Thoughts About Worshipper!Soap

This may not be a completed list (it may be expanded upon)!

[pfhwrittes]

oh god here we go. alright read the fucking warnings. 

TW: noncon, somnophilia, male masturbation, spit, facial, alcohol mention.

pairing: john “soap” mactavish x female reader

word count: 966 words of smut.

AN: this is @kaadaaan's fault. also i wrote this all in one go with minimal editing because my brain was being rotted and i needed to get it out. poor grammar and typos are likely, for that i apologise.

johnny is your friend, he’s been your friend for a long long time and as such he has a key to the door to your house to use and your blessing that he can just drop in whatever time he likes when he’s on leave. it’s not uncommon for you to come downstairs in the morning to find him sprawled out on your sofa wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, one foot planted on the rug under the sofa and the other hanging off the armrest. 

he’s larger than life, your johnny. the other half to your brain sometimes. jokingly referred to as your brother from another mother. you love him, but only as a friend. despite that, he’s got a key to your house and a piece of your heart because you know he’ll never do anything to hurt you.

johnny on the other hand doesn’t love you like a sister. he loves you with a capital L and something feral behind his eyes. his smile always goes a little too sharp whenever you crack that “joke” that you love him like a brother because he knows if you knew the way he’d been thinking about you for years you’d have locked up your heart and house tight instead of inviting the wolf to stay. 

-

that obsession is how he ends up in this position, just like he has countless times before, standing like a sentinel at your bedside. the only light to see your gorgeous face is the streetlight that curls probing fingers through the thin curtains of your bedroom window. you’re beautiful like this. he honestly doesn’t know how his gaze hasn’t woken you yet, surely you can feel the way he traces every shadow and highlight on your face. surely you can feel the way he stares at your open mouth, driven to madness by the slight spit at the corners of your mouth. fuck it’s almost too much for him. but still he stands frozen, just watching. never touching. not until tonight.

you’d both been drinking. johnny had switched to water part way through the night, you hadn’t and so with johnny’s help you’d stumbled up the stairs to your room and passed out flat on your back. not terribly unusual, he’s seen you do it before when you’ve been drinking. he’s heard your snoring through the walls before. but tonight is different. 

later, when he creeps down the stairs to slump onto the sofa, he’ll blame the lingering buzz of alcohol in his blood for daring to do what he’s thought about for so long. but right now, he’s staring at your open mouth watching a faint glimmer of light hit your wet pink tongue and fisting his cock over your sleeping face. grateful for the fact that you always sleep like the dead when you’re drunk and nothing except the world ending could possibly wake you. 

despite the reassurance that you won’t wake - can’t wake - the sound of his hand moving over his cock is loud in his ears. he’s sure the slick noises are drowning out even the gentle open mouth snores you offer into the air. he positive that in mere moments your eyelids will flicker open and you’ll look up at him, your corrupted sentinel, to see the way he’s gripping his cock desperately. his hips jerking in aborted thrusts as he thrusts into the tight fist he’s made around himself.

a groan slips through johnny’s gritted teeth as his thumb swipes another bead of precum over the flushed head of his cock. 

fuck. 

if he doesn’t slow down he knows without a shadow of a doubt he’ll end up coming on your sleeping face. a spurt of precum dribbles from his cock at the thought. oh fuck. he wants that. he wants to come on your face. he wants to let the thick white ropes coat your cheeks and chin. maybe even cover your open mouth with some of his come so you wake up with the taste of him on your tongue. 

johnny’s hips jerk forward as his orgasm blindsides him completely. his eyes roll back into his head and he whines desperately through his nose, teeth sinking into his lower lip to trap the moan that's burning his throat. 

moments or maybe aeons later, his vision clears and he looks down at you. 

“fuckin’ hell” it’s whispered, part reverence for the sight that greets him, part fear of waking you prematurely. 

your face is covered. johnny’s come drips from your cheeks. it slides down the curve of your jaw onto your neck where it pools, glimmering in the low light, before dribbling onto your pillow. a pearlescent string clings to your top lip and then - and johnny swears he feels his cock twitch out another dribble at the sight - you lick it off.

johnny takes a step backwards from you on shaky legs. he needs to leave, now. if he doesn’t, christ he doesn’t know what he’d do to you. he doesn’t want to find out how far the depths of his depravity go. he doesn’t want to know if he could get away with scooping some of his come off your chin and pushing it into your mouth. he doesn’t want to know if that would be enough for the taste to linger in the morning when you wake up.

with one last lingering look at your face he tucks himself back into his boxers and leaves you. covered, marked, his. 

-

in the morning you wake with blurry eyes and a thick head. god you’d really had too much to drink last night. you smack your lips together and frown at the taste in your mouth. it’s sour and slightly musky. 

oh well, you must’ve fallen asleep with your mouth open again.