#sergeant mactavish

[nrdmssgs]

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Scenario 🎞️

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Angst 😭

Heavy TWs ‼️

Short story 📄

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Drawing 🎨

3D 🖥️

Running together out of the theater in the middle of the movie 🎞️

Soap comforting reader 🎞️🌸

Before he snaps 😭‼️📄

Reader denying her crush on Soap 🌸📄

Soap dealing with reader, who is never too shy to talk back 🌸📄

A good wolf (werewolf soap x handler reader) 🌸📄

It's melting outside 🎨

Soapy boy 🎨

Sleepy boy 🎨

The best of us 🖥️

Halloween special 🎨

Ifrit!Soap (commissioned) 🎨

King!Soap (commissioned) 🎨

Thirsty 🎨

[hooty-duty]

Simpler Times

Someone yelled "the floor is lava" two hours ago, and Soap refuses to touch the ground until he's declared the winner.

I've had this in my 'almost finished but not quite happy with it yet' group of drawings for far too long

[konigsblog]

Heya! Sorry if it's stupid ask, but I have read your post a while ago that you're Scottish (If I'm wrong then I'm sorry and I would feel embarrassed.🙃) And I want to write Sergeant Johnny Mactavish and Captain John Mactavish x reader. And since they are also Scottish I want to write/them say some Scottish lines, or just words. So I was hoping what usually Scottish people will say, I don't want to mess up. I only know aye, shite and lass but that's much about it.

Sorry if my English is bad.

And I wish you an great day/night/evening!😊

SCOTTISH PHRASES AND WORDS TO USE WHILE WRITING FOR SOAP MACTAVISH.

— yes! i am scottish, so here's some phrases and words i hear, and say, in scotland and what other scottish people usually say. :)

bonnie = that means calling someone pretty, like bonnie lass means pretty girl, since lass means girl. i'd say this is usually aimed towards girls, like a man would call a woman a bonnie.

lad means boy, like a friend usually. lads is plural ofc, and you could use it to say soap and the lads, or his pals. — “me and the lads.” (lads isn't scottish, it's british - which obviously being scottish means your british, but anywhere in great britain you'd hear this. as well as the one below.)

pals means friends, friend is a pal. — “thought he was yer pal.” = “thought he was your friend.”

dinnae = don't, it's how we say it in our accent. “dinnae do that.”

dae = means do, again, how we say it in our accent. “dae that for me.”

“haud yer wheesht” means shut up, like be quiet.

blether means talk, you might call someone a blether if they gossip or they're a chatterbox. — “stop blethering.”

crabbit means to be annoyed or grumpy. — “why ye crabbit?”

aye means yes. — “aye, dae that.”

ken means know. “a ken that.” not the barbie doll, it means know :) — “a ken that.” means “i know that.”

eejit means idiot. — “yer' an eejit.”

“ah umnae” means im not. ‘ah’ means im, or i, ‘umnae’ means not. it's hard to explain, just our accents though.

‘peely wally’ means pale. (heard this too many times towards myself, im pale as paper..) — “yer' lookin' a bit peely wally.” honestly, i don't think you'd need to say this that often in fanfics with soap, but maybe if someone is ill, you'd say that.

“gonnae no do that” means don't do that. “gonnae” means gonna, so like “gonna not do that” you'd say to someone if they did something you didn't want them to do.

“yer bum's oot the windae!” you're lying, being dramatic, or over exaggerating something.

“dafty” means stupid. — “yer' a dafty.”

VIDEOS TO WATCH FOR HELP AND UNDERSTANDING OF THE ACCENT:

it shows the accent differences between a scottish person, an english person, and an irish person.

https://youtu.be/Z-WliS0HHF8?feature=shared

[lunarw0rks]

i like how we collectively agree that soap is the type of friend that would fuck you if you asked. no argument, no negotiation necessary. he just will.

and you don’t even have to be a bestfriend; johnny is slutty like that.

[skauni]

Ghost being a girl dad and Soap being a boy dad and their kids have a play date 😋

Ghost being a girl dad meant that his daughters were pampered in most senses except one: if he says no, there’s no persuading him, not even with their adorable doe eyes. Ghost had 2 daughters, Sydney and Kacie. Both practically exact carbon copies of him. And boy was he dedicated. He even played dress up with the girls and has tea parties with them.

Soap was a boy dad. Three boys. Ferris, J.J.(John Jr.), and Cody. The boys are nothing like Ghost’s girls. They’re all about roughhousing and pranking. And Soap absolutely joins in on that.

Soap and Ghost eventually decide their kids should have a play date, though Soap has to show his boys how to be nicer with the girls and Ghost has to show his girls how to handle the boys. When Soap brought his three boys to Ghost’s house the boys kinda just… stared at the big man dressed in all pink and two girls clinging to his legs. Trying not to giggle, obviously.

Soap and Ghost start to catch up and the kids go off into the back yard. Cody and Ferris had no interest in playing with the girls. But J.J. let Sydney and Kacie play with his hair and, as Ghost says, “make him look pretty.” His brothers laugh at him for it and try to take one of his hairpins out, but are quickly met with a grumpy scowl and an aggressive swat from J.J. When his brothers left him alone he leaned back down for Kacie to do his “makeup” and Sydney sat on her knees as she continued playing with his hair. The girls genuinely having fun with J.J. because he was just accepting whatever they did to him.

The 5 of them were all the same age—except for Kacie, who was 2 years younger than the other 4. Ferris, Cody, and J.J. were triplets and were 7 years old. Sydney was 7 years old as well and Kacie was 5. While Ferris and Cody preferred to play pirates, J.J. actually liked playing dress up, tea party, pretend, all that—with Kacie and Sydney. Liking their calmer personalities more than his two brother’s aggressive personalities.

But, when the girls asked, he played tag with them—purposely going slower when he chased Kacie so she didn’t feel targeted for being slower than her sister. Ghosts and Soap sat on the porch chuckling and sipping on a beer as they watched the 5 kids together. Eventually Soap slipped his hand into Ghost’s. “It’s been lonely withou’ life oon the base, ain’t it? The boys are the oonly company I have left.” Ghost nodded. “My girls are my only company I have left too. But our kids are the ones tha’ brought us back together today. So let’s focus on tha’, aye?” Ghost replied. “Aye.” Soap agreed.

[creme183]

“Close your eyes, Soap…” 👥

[guppybibi]

𖦹 pairing: John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x fem!reader

𖦹 content: Crack & fluff, not proofread, ooc i think

𖦹 notes: more self indulgent fics, posted this later than expected

The phrases “I’m hungry” or “I’m starving" will practically be non-existent to you once you get together with John. You, his missus, hungry? Oh we just can't have that, that's as bad as the world getting striked by a humongous meteor! He needs to make sure his beloved missus is well fed, what kind of husband is he if otherwise?

Don't even move, he's already mixing up a bunch of different ingredients to make some sort of Scottish concoction that's usually either a hit or miss for your personal taste. The next second, you're getting a spoonful of whatever he made stuffed in your mouth.

So when he sees you reject the airplane of food whooshing towards your mouth, a baffled look is on his face. He swore he heard your stomach grumble, he's positive! “Urr ye nae hungry, bonnie? Ah swear ah heard yer tummy rumbling.” He gulped, setting the bowl and utensils aside and going right over next to you.

“I’m alright, not hungry today.” You snappily reply, as if a worm was in your brain telling you to chop-chop. Turning your head over to the TV, you leave Johnny to purse his lips in disapproval. Did you not like the food he made? No, you would've directly told him that. His mind starts to wander, like it was on an adventure to find out what was wrong. Though the grumbling of your stomach pulls him out of his thoughts, alerting the big red ‘worry’ button in his mind.

“Did ah dae somethin’ wrong?” He quizzes, nuzzling his face into your neck. The feeling of his warm breath fanning against your neck making you twitch a bit, but not enough to water down your fiery anger. “You ate the last pudding cup, John MacTavish.” You answer straightforwardly, looking at him right in the eye. Uh ohh..This wasn't good. If he was afraid of anything it wouldn't be guns and explosions, (Though he still flinches at the sound of fireworks sometimes, don't tell anyone that. It's confidential information.) it’d be his angry missus.

“O-oh..did ah, bonnie?” His voice faltering, the sweat beading at his forehead betraying him as it clearly showed his nervousness at the moment. “Don't act stupid, MacTavish! I saw the plastic cup in the bin!” You shout back in an accusatory tone, your brows furrowing while you point at him. If he was a puppy, his ears would be down right now. You could even visualize it, with the way he was pouting his lips in guilt there was no doubt about it.

“C’mon i’m sorry, bonnie..i didnae mean tae eat it, 'twas in th' fridge fur lik' a week.” He apologizes sincerely, gentle eyes all over you. “Ah thought ye didnae waant it anymair.” His expression and tone was making it hard for you to stand your ground, it was blowing out the burning wick of the candle that existed at the back of your mind.

“Forgive me, please?” The Scot pleads, noticing that you were giving in. It was the perfect time to start using the puppy eyes on you. You couldn't stay mad at him for long, even if you wanted to. “Fine..” And with that, he's all over you. Kissing every region of your face affectionately, he really was like a puppy. You could imagine a fluffy little tail wagging right now.

“Ah promise tae buy ye mair puddin..” He was for sure going to keep that promise.

[miguel-owhora]

you cannot tell soap isn't the type of guy to enjoy being rimmed. he's splayed on the bed, legs wide open, on his stomach, hugging a pillow. and he doesn't even bother trying to be quiet, moaning and gasping without a single care as you're kneeled behind him, happily enjoying eating him out.

digging your nails into those thick globes, pulling them apart and licking him. stretching him open with your tongue alone, fuck, breathing in his musk and enjoying how the thick hair feels on your face.

soap's the type of guy to grind back onto your face, desperate and needy for more. fuck, he'll probably reach behind and shove your face deeper into his ass, and you'd be more than happy to let him do so.

[archive-doll]

- Johnny 'Soap' MACTAVICH!𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓌𝑜𝓁𝒻

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

PREVIOUS MASTERLIST NEXT

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

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

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

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

You had some reservations, about Johnny.

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

There is that smile too. That damn smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Johnny?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How do you like it, Johnny?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Shite, shite, s'good!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[confused-wanderer]

Gaz is driving after a long mission, all out of danger and heading to base. Ghost and Soap had to pull off multiple back to back nightwatches, so much so that Price had forbidden either of them from even touching the wheel. Ghost and Soap both just shrug, sitting in the backseat of the small car while Price calls shotgun.

A few hours pass by, and Gaz starts talking to fill the silence. Ghost hadn’t responded, he was just swaying slightly with the car’s motion. His arms were folded on his chest, leaning against the armrest so he was presumed to be asleep. Which no one minded.

The volume quietened down, but Soap was still bantering, chatting to pass the time while Price and Ghost both rested. Hours pass by, and Soap feels his eyelids grow heavier. Slowly, his response to Gaz dwindle, the bursts of chatter dying down to quiet responses.

Eventually he finds himself leaning against Ghost, mind too tired to find anything wrong with it. His eyes slip close from time to time, and he hums occasionally to let Gaz know he’s still listening. And when he falls asleep, letting out a soft exhale and head coming to rest on the others’ shoulder, he’s far too gone to care.

Ten minutes of chatter pass by, before Gaz calls for Soap. Presumably because he noticed the lack of response he was getting. He’s about to call again, a little louder in case Soap is spacing out when he hears another voice answer:

“Johnny’s asleep, Gaz.”

Gaz almost swerves the car into a ditch. Turns out, Ghost was never asleep after all.

[nrdmssgs]

Masterlist

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

Mistletoe mancandy series: Sgt. John 'Soap' MacTavish

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

Random Soap MacTavish headcanons

sfw and nsfw

pairing: sgt. Soap MacTavish x reader (cod mw)

tags/tw: domestic stuff, afab!reader, handjobs, shower-sex

a/n: just a taste of our cinnamon-role-but-can-kill-you Scottish man before I start publishing my new series with him, tihi

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish MASTERLIST

sfw

-the way to this man's heart is through his stomach and I will die on that hill

-has such a big appetite, two portions minimum and has no shame in eating more, ''m a big lad, bonnie, need the fuel'

-but he's still respectful if you're having dinner outside your closest circles of friends and family, not complain and always lets everyone have their fill before even thinks about serving himself a second one

-this means Soap always has some snacks with him, most times it's a protein bar or something verging on healthy

-such good table manners??? you were surprised when Soap didn't eat like the average man, scarfing down the food in seconds well he still did that sometimes

-you got the explanation when he caught your poorly hidden astonishment, explaining how his ma drilled him with all kinds of etiquette and manners always saying 'just because yer in the army doesn't mean yer need to behave like a Neanderthal'

-give this man an evening with a home-cooked meal and cuddle on the couch to nap away the food coma afterwards and he's whipped

-he never puts on a shirt at home, just really likes walking around with only a pair of joggers

-he unmistakably has golden retriever energy, but compared to popular belief, his seemingly never-ending social battery can run out, and when it does, Soap's behaviour can flip like a switch

-makes him an introverted extrovert, he loves people, loves chatting and social situations, but craves alone time to re-charge

-you're his uncertified pillow, if you sit together he most certainly either has his head in your lap, is sprawled on top of you and face in your neck, head on your stomach with arms wrapped around your waist

nsfw under the cut

-much like, but compared, to Price, Soap doesn't mind your ass but he's a certified boob man

-if your boobs are big enough, he likes using them as cushy pillows, which often end with his face between them

-yes, he's definitely motorboated you out of the blue

-other times he repeatedly nudges them so they wobble or simply squish them together, grinning when you question if he's having fun

-if you don't have fuller busts, he likes to just rest his hand on your chest, always defending himself that even you unconsciously do it sometimes, but the argument falls apart when he rubs your nipple to make it perk against his palm

-Soap. loves.handjobs

-will never forget when he was taking a shower and you decided to join him, boobs pressed nicely against his back as your arms wrapped around his torso, then your hand slipped down his stomach until brushing his already half-hard cock, blood rushing straight to it the second you joined him

-when your fingers wrapped around him, Soap's hands fell to the wet tiles, head hanging between his shoulders, staring at your small hands jerking him off

-sometimes he feels like a teenager concerning how reactive he's to your presence, you don't even need to do something overly sexual and blood rushes south

-sometimes you caught the way he watches you intently, asking an innocent 'what?' squealing out a 'Johnny!' when he pulled away whatever cover or his pants remember the point of him going commando most of the time? showing off his bulge or rock-hard erection rather than verbally answering

[pekoehoneyncream]

Ghoaptober # 31

Prompt: Knife

Words: 1500~

TW: Allusions to Torture (sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

This is the last one folks! All good things must come to an end, I suppose. This has been really fun to do! It's been great to stretch my writing skills, I feel like I improved over the course of the month, at least I hope I did, I definitely had to do less grammar and spelling corrections as we progressed, so there's that.

I wanted to thank everyone who's left such kind comments for me, you're feedback really does mean the world to me, Thank You!

If you want me to write more please do drop me an ask, I'd love to hear from you!

And with all of that said, onto the fic

Enjoy!

A shriek echoed out from the microscopic kitchenette crammed into the back of the disused officer’s rec room that the one-four-one had co-opted, Ghost and Price launched off the sagging sofa towards the noise. They charged into the kitchenette, Ghost wielding a knife and Price his hand-gun, ready to end any threat to their Sergeants.

There was no threat, just Soap trying to hide his awkward blush in his mug of coffee while Gaz stared at him with something close to abject horror. 

“Tav, mate, what the fuck is wrong with your tongue.” Gaz demanded, willfully ignoring that he’d just screamed like an arachnophobe confronting Shelob and the fact that his superiors hadn't hesitated in running to his hypothetical rescue. 

Price huffed and reholstered his gun, Ghost putting away his knife much more slowly. “Just what exactly is going on?” He demanded with an edge to his voice that suggested he was already regretting that he’d asked, “Why are you screaming over Soap’s tongue?”

“Well, Cap,” Soap started with a lewd tilt of his eyebrows and a goading grin,

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Gaz cut over him with a biting tone, “but, I didn’t expect to be confronted by the fact that Soap is an actual fuckin’ demon on a casual Thursday afternoon, Price.”

“Garrick, we talked about this,” Price scolded,

“Yeah,” Ghost agreed, “Johnny can’t be a demon, his rosary'd burn him.”

“Wha!” Soap sputtered in sheer disbelief, “Youse thought Ah’m a demon?!”

“No one’s that lucky, Tav.” Gaz said with flat seriousness, “There’s gotta be some kinda something going on.” 

“Would a deal with a demon make you demonic?” Ghost mused in an exaggeratedly ponderous tone, casting his gaze up to the ceiling tiles so that the flabbergasted expression Soap’s face was stretching into couldn't make him laugh.

Gaz perked up, snapping and pointing at Ghost in a eureka-esque motion, “Yes! That’s totally it!” He exclaimed, practically bouncing on his toes with his triumph. 

“Riley-”

“I cannae make a deal wit’ a demon!” Soap cut over Price, slamming his mug down to free up his hands for incensed gesturing, “Mah Grannie would disown me!” 

“Then how do you explain-” Gaz flailed a hand in the direction of Soap’s mouth, lacking the words to describe just what in fuck was going on in there, “-that!”

A look of cartoonish offence slid onto Soap’s face. Ghost watched him brace his hands on his hips and draw himself up to his full height, hamming it up. Trying to make it into an easily deflected joke. Concern kicked at the back of Ghost’s sternum, if Johnny was deflecting it meant the real answer was nothing good. 

Ghost had learned early on that Johnny was one of the most open, shameless, oversharing freaks that walked this earth. He had watched Johnny laugh his way through retelling stories and anecdotes that would have sent consummate exhibitionists blushing through the floor on multiple occasions. Ghost had also been quick to cotton on to the fact that it was for the best to follow up on the topics that Johnny tried to deflect, as they were generally things that would have a therapist crying and Johnny really was better off getting them off his chest. Ghost usually let it go and tried to circle back around to those deflections when they were alone and Johnny was feeling safe, but with Gaz latched onto this like a starved dog with a butcher bone, that wasn’t an option. 

Sure, Ghost could probably distract Gaz and help Johnny wiggle out of this, but debriding old wounds is always a good team bonding experience. 

Gaz and Soap had stagnated into their usual pattern of bandying insults back and forth. Having a grand time of pretending to be sputtering in high dudgeon whenever the other would quip back with something particularly clever. Ghost cut his eyes to Price, and jerked his chin at Johnny upon catching the Captain’s eye. 

Yes, Ghost wanted Johnny to talk about it, but he didn’t want his boyfriend upset with him either. 

“Right,” Price cut in after giving Ghost a roundly rancorous look, “Soap, why is Garrick accusing you of having a demonic tongue. Without!” He hastily amended when Soap turned overblown fuck-me eyes on him, “any chirpsing if you would.”

“Aye, right. Uh-” Soap hesitated, staring down at his feet and rubbing at his nape as he tried to gather the right words to explain this, “Reckon he mean’ this.” He gave up and just stuck his tongue out. 

Soap could admit that he got a bit of a kick out of watching their uncomprehending looks warp into horrified incredulity when his tongue split down the middle. He wiggled the two sides up and down in opposite directions of each other and briefly twined them into a coil to drive the image home, then retracted it back behind the safety of his teeth with as much casual finesse as he could muster. 

There was a beat of silence, then a cavalcade of questions. Soap’s personal favourite was Ghost’s ‘how did I not notice?’ said in the tone of a man on the edge of a revelatory breakdown. A close second was Price’s muttered ‘that can’t be within regs.”, but topping the charts for sheer volume was Gaz.

“What!” He shrieked, “What the fuck! When’d you get that!?” his voice dripped with a queer mix of awe, horror, and morbid fascination. 

Soap hummed uncertainly, casting his mind back, swallowing against the phantom taste of blood creeping up his throat to pool at the back of his mouth, “Mus’ a been aroun' twenty-sixteen? Some’hing like tha’,”

“Twenty-sixteen.” Price muttered, mentally rifling through Soap’s file, there was something about that year that had the klaxons spinning up in Price’s subconscious, “Not October twenty-sixteen?” 

“Aye,” Soap nodded, keeping his eyes on the ground, “Tha’d be the one.”

“Corporal MacTavish was detained by enemy forces eighth October twenty-sixteen and was successfully recovered twelfth October twenty-sixteen. In enemy custody, Corporal MacTavish was subjected to physical maltreatment, most notably manifesting in substantial damage within the oral cavity. Injury permanent but non-disfiguring. Corporal MacTavish states that no intelligence was provided to the adversary while in custody.” Price quotes -impressively word for word- from the truncated after action report that had been the script for far too many of his nightmares, “That October twenty-sixteen?” 

“Got ‘er in one, Cap.” Soap confirms, idly grinding his tongue between his teeth, “Yanno, they did offer tae fix it. The medics.” He spoke on just to break the heavy silence that had conquered the room, “But they’d have had tae open it up again, cause it’d been cauterized, so Ah said no' tae bother.”

They'd told him that as it was a 'non-invasive procedure' only local numbing would be provided and Soap would not be letting anyone else come at his tongue with a knife unless he was unconscious, dead, or dying. 

“Tav," Gaz pressed out slowly, hesitantly, “That’s fucked, mate.”

“Aye,” Soap nodded, staring down at the kitchenette’s cheap linoleum. Blinking to force the floor back into dingy tiles when his brain tried to twist it into stained concrete. He huffed a small flat laugh, more to force the scent of iron and dank stone from his nose than anything else, “Aye, twasn’t mah idea ae fun neither.”

“Johnny,” Ghost drew his name out into a devastated whine and lunged forward to coil around Soap in a protective embrace. Heart splitting at the shakiness he could feel in Johnny’s shallow breaths as he clutched his boyfriend to his chest. 

“Ah’m alrigh’,” Johnny assured, but the tear-fighting sniff he tried to conceal in Ghost’s pecs said something different. 

“You’re alright,” Price agreed, lay a grounding hand on Soap’s shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Gaz poked at Soap’s sensitive sides to force a wet giggle out of him, “Course you’re alright, Tav. You’ve got us and if those fucks aren’t already dead I’m sure Ghost is drafting up like ten different plans for how to track ‘em down and kill ‘em slow.”

Ghost was glad that Gaz’s joking was making Johnny feel better, and gave an intrigued pensive hum into the fluff of his warhawk to play along. 

It was actually fifteen different plans. 

“Okay. Okay.” Soap barked, shaking them off once he was absolutely positive that he wasn’t about to start bawling like a bairn as soon as they let go, “Mah goddamn coffee’s gonnae be fuckin’ cold now ye muckers.” 

“Do you want me to make you a new cup, so you don't have to microwave it?” Ghost offered, love surging within him for the wide blue eyes that swung his way. 

“Would ye, mo chridhe?” Johnny begged prettily. 

Ghost hooked a thumb under his balaclava, lifting it over his mouth just long enough to press an adoring kiss unto Johnny’s lips, then turning away to make him the promised fresh cuppa, fluidly stealing his mug to dump and refill it.

Both men were content to ignore the way Gaz faked a retch over their sappy mush, as he practically stepped on Price’s heels following after the Captain on his tactical retreat back to the sofa.

Thank You For Reading!

Some nice hurt/comfort to round off the month. It didn't make it into the fic but the reason that his captors split Soap's tongue is because he wouldn't stop talking back, just a fun fact for y'all.

Did anyone want me to make a masterlist for all of these? with ratings and short descriptions or something? there's already links to the full series on my masterlist, but that just has the prompts, so I was wondering if a masterlist would be helpful. Let me know!

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

[decaffeinatedcandycane]

In my eyes, Johnny "Soap" Mactavish is either a Jack Russell or an Australian Shepherd. He has unlimited energy, is mischievous and will absolutely herd you, if he has the chance.

That's it. That's the whole post.

[the-californicationist]

Guile & Guilt (Ch. 08)

Soap/Reader — MDNI 18+

Sorry for the wait as usual. Hope y’all can forgive me!

/:/:/:/:/:/:/

FEBRUARY — FRIDAY: 7 days until the wedding

In the month or so after Christmas, your relationship with Johnny had progressed considerably. He was on a particularly challenging tour, but you only heard about his work in sparse mentions. Most of his conversations were centered around your relationship “after we tell Pidge”.

It was all he wanted to talk about.

“After we tell Pidge, we can look for a place together in Glasgow. What do you say, lass?”

“After we tell Pidge, we can take trips with them. Always wanted to see Iceland.”

“After we tell Pidge…”

And on and on and on. It wasn’t that you weren’t excited to be with him. You adored him, and he seemed to feel the same way about you. But, telling Pidge was scaring you out of your damn mind. In the worst case scenario, you’d be losing your best friend and the man that you…

Careful, that dark voice was back in your head , don’t want to say the word, huh?

The man that you… liked a considerable amount. Not love. Love was a commitment. You were not in love.

The dark voice cackled. You ignored it.

You were going to see him this weekend for the combination stag and hen party, and you could think of little else. But, you had plenty to work on. As the maid of honor, this was your time to shine. You needed to prepare for more than just seeing Johnny. In fact, you were about to have six girls at your tiny apartment for a slumber party tomorrow night. The whole 600 square feet of your place was decorated in gold glitter and streamers. There were big B-R-I-D-E letters above your bed, and a giant inflatable diamond ring was propped up on your futon. You’d already sprayed Marlowe twice with the water bottle for threatening it with her claws.

Tonight, though, you were alone. You had asked Johnny if he would fly in early, but he hadn’t been able to confirm. So, you were sitting on your bed, staring at your phone, dressed only in his shirt, praying for some miracle.

You stayed up as late as you could, but still no call.

SATURDAY — Early morning: 6 days until the wedding

Your phone buzzed where it lay against your chest. You slowly awoke, and it was still dark outside. Bleary and only semi-conscious, you picked it up without looking at the screen,

“Hello?” You croaked.

“Mo mèirleach,” he whispered, “Open the door, hen. It’s fuckin’ frigid.”

“What?” You didn’t understand. Johnny was outside? You looked at the clock. It was 0311.

“I’m downstairs! Buzz me up.”

You did, and then you waited, waking up more and more as you stood in the kitchen, drinking some water to clear your dry throat.

He knocked softly, and you let him in. Immediately, and without so much as dropping his rucksack, he pulled you into his arms. You smelled his sweat, a strong hint of fire or smoke, and something you couldn’t quite place. It was almost like gasoline, but not quite. He’d come straight from the field.

“Hey,” he pressed his forehead to yours and kissed you gently, smelling your skin and nuzzling into your hair.

“Hey,” you smiled up at him, hugging him a little tighter.

Having him back was making you feel like no time had passed at all. He held you just as he did when he told you goodbye in December, and now, all of January felt like some wasted dream.

You looked behind him,

“Where are the others? I thought you said they’d be coming to the party this weekend.”

“Put them up at a wee hotel. The Indigo, just a few blocks away. But, I’ve been sleepin’ on the fuckin’ floor too many nights, now. And I wanna be in my woman’s arms instead.”

His woman. Your heart clenched in your chest. He noticed your emotional response to his words; always the observant one. His smile felt so good, even though he had caught you in his snare,

“Aye. You’re my woman, aren’t you?”

Huge, rough hands warmed your skin as they snaked underneath your shirt, reaching up across your belly, finding your hanging breasts and squeezing them ever so gently.

“Shower with me, lass. I’m right filthy.”

“Alright,” you nodded, and he pulled your shirt off the rest of the way, discovering the nothing you were wearing underneath.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Johnny lamented, holding you at arm’s length to study your skin and curves with a deep admiration, “Look at you, mèirleach. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m dreamin’.”

You led him to the bathroom, which you doubted was big enough for the both of you, and he stripped off all of his dirty clothes. You helped him, peeling him apart, layer by layer, discovering him in pieces.

His broad chest filled your vision in the tiny washroom, and you latched onto his nipple, tasting the salt from his sweat as you did and listening to him moan. He laughed from the sudden sensation of it,

“It’s sensitive, lass. Easy…”

Your eyes found his, showing him that you knew what it felt like, and you did not relent. You enjoyed watching him squirm beneath you, his hands resting on the side of your neck, threatening to pull you away when he became overwhelmed.

You gave him a break, kissing across his tattooed ribs and over his belly. He lifted your face up to his, pressing you against the bathroom counter, growling in whispers at you,

“Careful, thief. Don’t go givin’ me ideas.”

“What kind of ideas, Johnny?” You teased, dragging his boxers down over his plump ass to squeeze his cheeks in your hands.

“Ideas about what I’d like to put in that fuckin’ mouth of yours.”

He grabbed your hand and shoved it onto his hard cock, still covered by his boxer briefs, the fabric askew and taut, ready to come off.

“See what you fuckin’ do to me, thief?”

You smiled, staring down at the evidence of what you had done to him. You took his hand and slowly moved it between your legs, letting him curl and experimental finger up just far enough to dip into your wetness.

“See what you do to me?”

He shuddered, his body falling forward, and he caught himself with his free hand on the countertop, pinning you beneath him. He was playing inside of you with his fingertip, as achingly slowly and gently as could be, barely moving it, basking in your warmth. His face contorted into a twisted grimace, and he grunted,

“Fuckin’ hell, mèirleach. Get in the damn shower, or I’ll have you right here, lass.”

The shower curtain rings hissed across their metal rod as he followed you inside. You washed your hair, and you used your soapy hands to wash his. The soap turned brown with dirt and sand, and you made a face, laughing,

“Johnny! You are filthy.”

“Yeah, we ran into some trouble at the end of our mission. Lost contact with base. Had to camp in the wee mountains for a few nights, tryin’ not to freeze to death.”

“Holy shit…”

You pitied him, using your vanilla scented soap to scrub down his body for him, letting him be treated to your sudsy massage.

“Knowin’ I was comin’ back to you kept me goin’. I dreamt about this wee shower, hen. Even Ghost was surprised that I was able to keep my whingin’ to a minimum. But, I knew you were here and I wasnae gonna let anythin’ stop me from comin’ home to you.”

He bent to kiss you, and you kissed him back, letting the water wash over you both, bathing you in the heat of each other. He pulled away, grinning like he’d won something, and you felt the blush rise into your cheeks.

You made the hand signal for him to turn around and he spun, giving you his wide back, planting both of his hands on the wall like you were going to search him.

You started at his neck, washing away days of dirt and grime, feeling his swollen muscles pull and push against his bones. He had a new tattoo on his spine. It was a little Gaelic word that you couldn’t read.

With your fingertip, you traced over the black ink, softly rubbing over the raised skin, healed but fresh. He stilled, realizing you’d noticed it.

“Gealladh. It means ‘promise’.”

You wiped it clear of soap and lay your lips to it, kissing it softly, making him tremble beneath you. You tried to pronounce it, whispering it against his skin.

The rest of the shower went quickly, and by the time you were clean, he was ready to get dirty again, fondling you and rubbing across his curved length hungrily.

He wrapped you in your towel and watched you braid your hair, kissing your neck and sharing your toothbrush. You tried not to be grossed out by it, but you made a face and he rolled his eyes, spitting out the paste into your sink and trying to kiss you with his messy lips. You giggled, leaving him in the bathroom to finish up.

The cool air in your apartment made you clamber to get under the covers, eager to warm up and anxious for him to join you. He sauntered out of the bathroom looking like some Greek god, wet and tanned, tattooed and scarred, fresh from the bonds of war.

He threw his towel down with yours and climbed into bed next to you, curling you up in his arms, sighing with the most delighted contentment. His big jaw pressed into the side of your neck, looking for purchase, and he began to suck and lick at your skin, traveling down your shoulder to your nape, sending shivers down your arms.

“Did you miss me, mo mèirleach?” His voice was so quiet, you could barely hear him.

“I did, mo chridhe,” you whispered back, turning your body to face him.

He took both of your hands in both of his and kissed your forehead. All of his sexual overtones and lurid advances in the shower had somehow been washed away, and as the orange blush of dawn came through your window, he looked changed. His hair was soft, the mohawk all grown out and curling at the tips, his eyes glassy and full of something that looked suspiciously like hope.

“I know this has been hard on you, lass. I’ve been more than just a wee bit selfish, and I want you to know I’ll make it right. I promise you that. Do you hear me?”

You nodded, pressing your cheek to his chest, inching closer to him. He wrapped you in a tight hug, holding you too close.

Did you believe him? Would everything work out for the best? Or were you continuing down a path that would lead to ruin? How easy it was for him to convince you of the opposite. He could lead you like a lamb to the slaughter, and you’d go willingly, bleating up at him with all your love and affection as he pushed you into the chute.

His arm became heavy, and you heard his breaths lengthen in his chest, and you knew he was asleep. You had an alarm set, so you curled up in his warmth, letting him doze, allowing yourself to sink into the murky blackness of sleep along with him.

SATURDAY — Lunchtime: 6 days until the wedding

Johnny had changed into something clean and left you in bed, kissing your face and promising all sorts of filthy things to you after the bar crawl tonight. He begged you to dance with him when you wound up at the club, washing away your worries about Pidge, claiming she’d be too drunk to notice. You rushed him out, warning him she’d be here for lunch, and washed your sheets.

Sure enough, your phone rang and Pidge was outside your apartment, screaming with six other girls to be buzzed up not an hour after Johnny left, and you breathed a sigh of relief they’d missed each other coming and going.

You had the whole day planned out. Lunch was at a little cafe near the river, perfect for a photo op or two. Then, you’d booked a nail salon for mani-pedis for the whole squad. After that, it was back to the apartment to put on your faces before going “out-out”.

For the most part, the day had been a wild success. Pidge was already a little tipsy from the non-stop mimosas, and even though your bank account had seen better days, it wasn’t that bad. Now, you were in the middle of the evening ferality. Someone had ordered a pizza and there was hairspray in places you didn’t think hairspray could go. Marlowe was hiding in her cubby under your bed, and you were already done getting ready.

You’d told everyone it was black and white themed. Ham and Pidge would be in white, with all of you in black, and the goal at the end of the night was for them to find each other by hopping from bar to bar. The stag would chase the hen through downtown Glasgow, and you’d planned to have them all end up at The Berkeley Suite.

There were girls everywhere. It was like a bomb had gone off in your apartment, and there wasn’t really a space for privacy except for the bathroom (as long as you shooed everyone out of it first).

“I’ll just be a second!” You shouted over the thumping music, closing the door behind them.

You took care of business and spent a brief minute checking your phone. You had two texts from Johnny, and when you opened them, your breath caught in your throat.

Mo Chridhe: open this when youre alone thief

Mo Chridhe: blacksuit.jpg

Johnny had sent you a mirror selfie of his outfit, and he looked stunning. You couldn’t believe it was him. You’d never seen him so dressed up. His hair was shaven on the sides, the mohawk back to its full potential, and his suit was a gorgeous black with velvet lapels and a gold chain between the button holes. He wore no tie, instead letting the first two buttons hang open rakishly, showing off his tanned chest.

You texted him back:

You: you are still so damn hot lol

Mo Chridhe: show me you

You obeyed, taking a racy selfie in the bathroom mirror just like he had done. You showed off your cleavage , and the short, high cut of the dress as it hugged your ass. You tried your best to be pouty, just like all the Instagram models, but you weren’t sure if you succeeded.

Mo Chridhe: i might be the luckiest cunt alive or im dreamin

You: lol ;)

Mo Chridhe: ham might be chasin pidge all night but ill be chasin you

You smiled down at your phone before closing the app and returning to the fray.

Glittered, glammed, and ready for a night of debauchery, you took your phone off its charger and made your way out into the cold evening air. Pidge had brought a jacket, but Cherise had decided to go without, claiming that hot girls didn’t get cold. You were definitely cold, so you wondered what that implied.

The first stop was The Variety Bar. You had texted Johnny and told him to warn you before their first bar choice so that you could pay the tab and bolt before Hamish could put his hands on Pidge. But, it didn’t really work out like that. You had all ended up as one big group, and spent most of the time jokingly keeping them from kissing each other. Price held up a wet coaster between their mouths which sent Pidge coughing and spitting, causing enough of a ruckus that you decided to move to the next spot.

Johnny sat with you at the bar while you paid, trying his best to keep his hands off of you.

“Lookin’ like a right goddess tonight, you are.”

“Stop it,” you smiled, “No flirting allowed while your sister is literally right behind us.”

“Och,” he shook his head, “She’s in her own wee world. Where to next, lass?”

You slid the check back to the bartender and thanked him, turning to Johnny and smirking triumphantly, knowing he still needed to pay before he could follow you,

“Don’t you hunt people for a living? Come and get me.”

You left him at the bar, frozen with a delightful look of surprise on his face. You found Pidge and the other girls outside.

“Alright,” you smiled, “Onward. Let’s head over to Max’s.”

“Oh, God,” Anjali sighed, “You really want her to blackout, huh?”

“Fuck it! Max’s it is, ladies!” Pidge screamed.

Everyone cheered and marched on after her. She cuddled into your arm as you walked,

“Thank you so much for this, babes. You’re the best friend a girl could ask for, you know that?”

“You are, too,” you kissed her on her temple and squeezed her arm a bit tighter.

By the time you’d had two drinks at Max’s, Hamish’s clan found you again. Gaz was the one who spotted you through the window, holding his hands up to the glass and pointing you out.

“Uh oh,” you smiled, “Last call, girls.”

Cherise laughed,

“I don’t know why we’re running. Might as well just party with them.”

“It’s tradition, right?” Bekah rolled her eyes.

“Well,” Pidge shrugged, “You all can wait here then, if you prefer the boys to me.”

“No! Pidge, that’s not it, babe,” Cherise protested.

Pidge drunkenly waved her off,

“It’s fine, no worries. See you at Berkeley’s. How about that?”

Pidge stormed off out the door, and you followed behind trying to get her to calm down. She eventually did, drinking the water you had bought for her. But, that was how the group got split. Half the boys ended up with you and Pidge and Anjali, and the other half waited at Max’s until the happy hour rounds were over.

You’d gotten all settled in at Berkeley, listening to the loud club music, letting the high of your buzz wash over you, trying not to think about how nice it would be to have Johnny here, dancing with you like he promised.

Then, Pidge realized she forgot her jacket, so she sent you back to the other bar. You left her with Gaz and Ghost, and Price wandered out into the street with you.

“‘Bout time Hamish finally caught his hen anyway,” you speculated as you walked with him.

“Aye,” he agreed, “And maybe your stag as well.”

Your eyes darted up to him and then checked over your shoulder, just to make sure Pidge wasn’t behind you.

Price continued,

“Are you sure keepin’ him a secret is the right thing? He’s dyin’ to tell her. Fuck, he was tellin’ people he didn’t even know about you.”

You smiled,

“Yeah, I know. I just want the wedding to be about her. Nothing is ever about her, you know? She deserves to have a day where she doesn’t need to consider other people’s feelings for once.”

“What about your feelings?” Price asked.

You didn’t answer him. You just shrugged and kept walking. Suddenly, you heard screaming behind you,

“Wait! Wait up!”

Pidge and the rest of the crew rushed over to you and Price.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

“We’re gonna surprise Hamish this time,” Pidge smiled, pulling out a big confetti popper from her purse.

“Oh, God,” you grinned, looping your arm through hers and dragging her along.

Nothing was going according to plan that night, but you were so tired that it was hard for you to care. You weren’t even sure if Hamish’s group was still at the other bar, and you hadn’t heard a thing from Bekah or Cherise.

Finally, you made it back to Max’s. Just as you were about to open the door, it burst open and out poured Johnny, tangled in Bekah’s arms. She was giggling and kissing his cheek, leaving streaks of purple lipstick all over his freshly shaven skin. He was holding her close to him, his fingers digging into her side so tightly.

You knew what that felt like.

You gasped, stepping back, stunned. He looked right into your eyes and stopped. The whole world came to a grinding halt. All of the time that you had spent together seemed to lay out in front of you, prostrating itself, and being found unworthy. You felt nothing. Just a creeping numbness that leaked into your core, a fire burning without kindling, unable to be extinguished.

“Och, Jesus and all the fuckin’ saints,” Pidge threw her hands up, “Couldnae even wait until after the party to get your hands into one of my mates, could you? Arsehole. Get outta the way.”

“No, tha’s not it, Pidge!” He frowned, “Bekah doesnae —”

“Bekah, what?” Pidge spat in his face, “Bekah doesnae care that you’ll turn up next month or next year or next week in a box with the wee Scottish flag draped over it? Okay. Now, move yourself from the door, Jonathan.”

Bekah was sort of octopusing herself around him, wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders, sucking on his earlobe, caring very little about the Scottish flag no matter where it was draped.

Johnny was trying to fight her off now, suddenly angry at Pidge,

“What did you just say to me, Brigette?”

“Oh, shut up! You’re just like your da, and you’ll end up dead like him, too. See?” Pidge turned to you suddenly, eyes wild with fury, “This is why I warned you, Johnny MacTavish is a fuckin’ widowmaker. And that’s all he’ll ever be.”

She finally made it around her brother and wrenched the door open, disappearing into the club. Johnny still had Bekah in his arms, and you couldn’t be there anymore. You turned and walked in the direction of your apartment, miles away but hell-bent on getting back there.

“Hey! Wait! Thief, please. This isn’t what it looks like,” his voice was cold and distant. You didn’t turn around to listen. You weren’t sure what it looked like, but you didn’t need to see it to know how it felt.

Johnny could have Bekah. He was allowed to have her. He was not allowed to have you, and you couldn’t have him. That much was clear now. You should’ve listened to your friend. You’d known all along, hadn’t you?

“Wait, mèirleach!”

You spun on him like a snake, striking out sure and true,

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

He could see in your eyes that you were serious, venomous as you were in your delivery. His eyes looked desperate, like a kicked dog, but he didn’t let her go. She smiled and waved at you, looking drunker than you’d ever seen anyone look. You tasted the bile in your mouth from your disgust.

Price jogged to keep up with you, and he grabbed your arm,

“Wait, girl. Just wait a second.”

You jerked your hand away and hailed a cab that was pulled over on your side of the street. You climbed in and shut the door, begging the cabbie to drive quickly, and he did. You stared out the window, watching all of the lights blind you as they seared into your eyes, burning the images you’d seen that night brightly into your memory.

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Chapter 09