#simon ghost x johnny soap

[disgustingtwitches]

We'll Gather Lilacs

Johnny only knows how to give, and Simon only knows how to take. Selfish in ways they’ll never admit, always aching for more. Closer than anyone they've known, divided by a distance neither can cross. A silent voice begs, Love me. Another hesitates, How?

WWII!Ghost/Soap

AO3

MACTAVISH

July 1944

It's dark. Pitch black, actually. Someone's calling my name, sounds far, muffled.

“Soap!”

It's LT. Guess being dead ain't so bad after all.

“Soap!”

Jesus, even in death he's angry. I wonder if Ma got my letter in time for her birthday. Ough, my head's killing.

“Johnny! Open your fucking eyes, Johnny!”

Look at that, there he is. Holding my shoulder. No. He's shaking it. I groan, throat dry,

“A’m here.”

He's holding his hand out. I should take it before he tears me a new one.

“C'mon Johnny.”

Fuck me, it's a pain to get up. My head's pounding. It's official, I'm not dead. That's good, Ma would've killed me if I didn't make it to Moira's wedding.

“Get it together, Sergeant.”

He's in a mood today. Check my gun. Then ammo. Then body. Where am I again?

Fwip. Fwip. Fwip.

Right, in the middle of fucking Dijon. Simon tugs at my jacket. My turn to shoot. We switch positions. Peek from the corner and pull the trigger, hide behind the wall while I get showered in brick dust and pebbles.

“Soap!”

My eyes focus on the voice across the street. Gaz and Cap are taking cover behind a crumbling wall.

“Aye!”

"Let's end this, yeah?"

Cap yells, holding onto Kyle's shoulders, waving a finger around in a circle.

"Yes, sir! Ye hear that LT?"

Turn my head, and there he is. Looking right into my eyes, close enough I could smell his sweat. Christ. He nods, giving me a solid smack to my back, taking my place.

"Clean 'em up real good, Johnny."

"Always do, LT."

Run around buildings, or what used to be buildings. This is what London looks like now. And Manchester. And Belfast. And Glasgow. Ash and rubble. Remnants of families and businesses, life. Burnt to a crisp. Books and tables scattered in the rooms I pass. My run comes to a crouched walk, approaching the back of where the stragglers are held up. Gaz is waiting for me, kneeling,

“There's only two left, should just take them out from right here.”

We held our breaths while he opened the door, just enough to aim, hoping the hinges didn't squeal. And they didn't.

Gaz always seemed to have luck on his side. Guess all of us did in some way. We were all still alive, somehow. Although, LT might not be here because of luck. No, I think he's far from lucky. Actually, he might be the unluckiest man I've ever known. But he is stubborn. Each time Saint Peter sent for him, he turned his back, marching right back to where he belonged: in his scarred body, wearing his uniform, holding a gun, boots and pants caked with mud and blood. Searching for something. I haven't figured out what though. One day I'll find out. Maybe.

Gaz straightens out his arm, steadying his hands and aiming. I follow suit.

“Three. Two. One.”

One shot. Two shots. We sat at the door, waiting to see if either one of those bastards was still breathing. They seemed still enough, but for good measure, three then four shots,

“All clear!”

Kyle shouts, scanning the room for traps before walking in, heavy boots kicking rocks out the way,

“Shouldn't waste ammo like that, Soap.”

Dunno why he's complaining, we've dealt with much worse and had far less,

“Ye'r life costs more than a bullet, Gaz.”

He makes a face while patting down the limp corpses, opening letters, and taking whatever seems useful. I kneel next to him when he hands me a knife; it's heavy, the wooden handle carved with the words Gott vergib mir. Not the standard ones they usually carry. I unsheath it and twirl it around my fingers before tucking it into my pocket.

Gaz’s eyes go wide when he looks up, staring at me like I’ve grown a second head,

"Mate..."

I pat myself down, looking for blood or wounds,

“What, I’m shot?”

“Look at your bloody helmet.”

He laughs in disbelief, hands on his knees.

I slide off my helmet, turn it in my hands,

“Feck me...”

There it is, a bullet hole. Clean through the metal, just a breath away from my skull. Less than a bawhair from being a goner. Forget luck- Ma must be paying Saint Michael himself a fortune to keep me alive.

Me and Kyle sit in silence for a while. Wouldn't be the first time something like this happens and sure as hell won't be the last.

Ghost’s voice breaks the spell, drifting from behind us like it’s all a joke.

“Not like it would’ve done much damage. Probably would’ve missed your brain by a mile,” He says, broken glass crunching under his boots. I could see the smile behind his mask.

Cheeky fucker.

No use in thinking too much about it. Seen worse, haven’t I? This is nothing. No point in dwelling. I stand up, shoulders tight, neck stiff, but alive. Always alive, for now.

“Anythin' good?”

Price walks in through whatever's left of the front door, lighting up a cigar.

“Some ammo. Looks like they’ve nabbed some American gear too.”

Gaz hands a rifle to the Captain, who hums, pleased. He peers down the sights,

“Bloody Yanks always get the good kit. Ought to bump into them more often.”

“Liberate a few guns and shirts from em, yeah?”

Gaz chuckles, standing and brushing off his trousers.

“Maybe some fuckin food while we're at it,”

Ghost says, standing directly behind me now. I flinch and turn to him, his dark eyes locked on the hole in my helmet,

“Fat bastards got better rations than the civvies back home.”

Price snorts, shaking his head,

“Spoiled bunch they are, butter on bacon.”

We set up in the only building that was left standing, dragging the bodies out back. Price groans while settling down against a wall,

“Look at us, sleeping in a room with four walls like we're high society.”

I slump down next to Gaz, rolling my neck. A smile creeps across Kyle's face while he's folding up his overcoat,

“A room with a roof, no less. Proper luxury, that.”

He tucks his makeshift pillow behind his head before looking up at me, smirking. Pretty bastart, wonder how many hearts he's broken with that look. The floorboards groan under his weight while he turns over and he falls asleep. I lean my head against the wall, closing my eyes. I hear Ghost shuffling around downstairs before it's dead quiet.

I don’t dream much these days. Don’t think I want to anyway. It’s all blood, bombs, and screaming. All soot-covered faces, eyes glazed over, full of fear.

Last dream I had was coming home—bag slung over my shoulder, walking past the neighbors, their pitying frowns, their clothes in tatters. Not a building in sight, but I kept walking, like nothing had changed.

There’s a bit of fog hanging in the air, barely noticeable at first, curling at the edges of my vision. It’s not until I reach where my house used to be that I feel it—a sinking feeling. Barely there, like the fog that thickens around my feet, but I ignore it. Still, I keep moving, drop my bag, and take off my boots at a front door that’s not there.

“Maw, A’m hame.”

The fog wraps tighter, rising with soot that’s now up to my knees. I turn corners that aren’t there anymore, like the walls are still standing. Like they haven’t been gone for weeks. Months.

“Maw?”

The sinking feeling grows heavier, like the fog that creeps higher, swallowing the ground beneath me. I reach where the kitchen used to be, but all that’s left is the oven. The soot shifts, turning into water, up to my thighs as I wade through the rest of the house.

“Maw? Moira? James?”

I search through the ghost of a door frame, squinting through the mist, hoping they’ll be there-waiting, big smiles, arms open. But I can’t see them. I can’t see anything. The water is blacker than black now, swallowing my legs, thick as peat. My feet sink deeper with each step.

My heart hammers in my chest, hands clammy. I try to call out again but my throat tightens. The fog thickens until it’s suffocating, swirling around me, so dense I can’t see my hand when I hold it out. The water to sludge now, rises higher, up to my chest, thick as tar. My eyes sting. The sinking feeling turns into a pull, dragging me into that dark abyss. My life flashes before me.

It’s all blood, bombs, and screaming. All soot-covered faces, eyes glazed over, full of fear.

It's dark. Pitch black, actually. Someone's calling my name, sounds far, muffled.

“MacTavish.”

Before I get a chance to open my eyes, LT’s boot shoves my legs. I blink to see him standing- no, looming- over me. Does he always have to look so angry all the time?

“Aye.”

“On your feet, Sergeant.”

“Aye.”

He helps me up and leads me to where he was posted, lifting his mask just enough to light up a smoke. I lean on the doorframe across from him,

“Ye'r not goin' to sleep, LT? We got a long day ahead.”

“That desperate for a wank, Johnny?”

“Without ye, LT? Wouldn’t dream o’ it.”

The corner of his lip twitches as takes a long drag, the red ember lighting up his face. Haven't seen the rest of it, but I got a good idea of what he looks like: scars of various sizes scattered here and there, crooked nose, perpetual eye black, the occasional blonde hair peeking through. For a moment it was quiet, save for the sound of crickets and katydids. He exhales, smoke billowing out his nostrils,

“Did good today, Johnny.”

“Same to you sir.”

He hands me his cigarette, watching my every move. His jaw clenches when our eyes lock. The tension in his shoulders eased just a fraction, and I saw a flicker of warmth in his gaze. Suddenly, every racing thought I had came to a screeching halt when he leaned forward, grabbing the smoke from my mouth,

“Johnny,”

His voice is low, raspy. My face burns, his nose nearly touching mine,

“Si- Lieutenant.”

The wood above us screeches, he pulls away faster than I can blink. We freeze, waiting for another sound, but all we can hear is Price’s god-awful snoring. One of them must've shifted around in their sleep.

He clears his throat while he leans against the doorframe, towering over me. He tucks his thumb under his belt loops while I shove my hands in my pockets, running my fingers over whatever I shoved in there earlier. I speak in a whisper that makes him lean in again,

“Got ye somethin nice.”

“That right?”

He says in a voice I've only heard a handful of times before: breathy, almost a sigh, broad accent coming through. He takes a drag when I pull out the knife, holding his hand out,

“Mhm.”

He hums in acknowledgment when I set it in his wide palm. He slides it out and inspects it, holding it under moonlight to see the handle. He snorts when he reads it,

“Yeah, real nice.”

He tucks the knife in his boot and straightens up, flicking his smoke, roughly patting my face,

"Good boy."

He heads upstairs, sleeping with the rest of the crew. Two hours later I am relieved by Garrick.

Wish he left his hand there longer than he did.

[beloveds-embrace]

Imagine 141 moving into a quaint little town post retirement and you’re the only baker in town. You love making sweets, breads, and desserts and own a cute bakery to show for it, know everyone in your town so these four new men who come early morning to try your breakfast deal immediately excite you because- new perspectives and tastes and opinions! It’s become a habit of yours to share bites of whatever new item you plan on adding to the menu, so the more diverse opinions the merrier in your opinion.

And you are glad you didn’t let their demeanor- big gruff men, especially the one with the black surgical mask- scare you away because they are sooo nice, calling you sweetheart, doll, birdie, and bonnie. So many nicknames, it has you blushing the sweetest pink shade. And they are all too happy to help taste-test for you, giving you lots of praise.

(Though you never quite notice their immense disappointment at seeing the little ring on your finger.)

Still, at the very least one of them comes over to your bakery once a day. Sometimes they come together, sometimes only two of them- but they come anyways and tip you every time despite you insisting otherwise. It’s a lovely friendship you build with them. But they do note you never mention your partner much.

Until Simon drops by one day, intent on buying one of your apple pies and maybe fluster you enough to turn the same shade as an apple, and he sees the bruises that peek out just so from your sleeves and the collar of your outfit. Puffy eyes, more makeup than usual, your smile not quite there…

And he understands. He knows this all-too-well. And the fact that it’s happening to an embodiment of sunshine like you? Unfair. Unbelievable. Unacceptable.

Simon gently takes your hands, squeezing them so lightly. “Everything’ll be well, luvie. Promise.” And that’s all he says.

And maybe it’s cruel of you to be happy when you receive a call a few days later, the sherrif of the town telling you your husband was found mauled to death by one of the bears that roam around the woods occasionally, but you just… don’t care.

A week later, when it seems appropriate enough, you open up the bakery again and your smile is blinding as you greet the 141 men and tell them for today, everything’s for free.

part 2

Other works + help me choose a title for this 😩

[devil-in-hiding]

pregnant!assistant reader who suddenly finds her boss and his team moving into her home, Price immediately upping the security system and locks around the house

Simon starts on the nursery, letting you sit in the nice big rocking chair you picked out, bossing him around on how you want the walls painted

Kyle and Johnny start working on baby proofing until your house is the safest place a baby could be, and you still had 7 months till they were here

Kyle would be the most willing to go out to the shops when late night cravings hit, it also makes him your favorite for the next 24 hours because “he was sweet enough to go get my pickles!”

“pretty you have two other jars-“

“i wanted SPICY pickles John!”

however these men are total messes when it comes to the hormones, the first time you burst into tears, crying about “simon raising his voice at you”, all he had done was scold you for trying to use the stepladder

[writersdrug]

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish is the kind of dad who throws your kids around for fun, tossing them into the air and catching them just to hear their infectious laughter, ignoring the worrisome protests that you call out from the kitchen when they get a little too high.

Captain John Price is the kind of dad who convinces your children to ask you for pizza for dinner, acting all surprised when you tell him to call the local pizza place, eyebrows rising with "What's the occasion?" despite the obvious grin that his plan worked. You aren't fooled.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick is the kind of dad who chases your kids around with a nerf gun, relentlessly pelting them with styrofoam bullets and ganging up on your oldest son with your youngest daughter. Waits behind the front door for your son to get home from school and immediately fires on him.

Simon "Ghost" Riley is the kind of dad who holds your toddlers like footballs, your daughter tucked sideways under his arm and dangling your son by his ankle. "Found these mice sniffin' 'round the cookie tin." He says with a deadpan expression, but you don't miss the way his mouth twitches when they giggle and shriek.

[lumibuns-blog]

Most desperate things the 141 boys have done for sex because I can't stop thinking about it <3

John's begged for it. I mean on his hands and knees begging for a taste. I know this man is an avid pussy pronoun user too. He has been on his knees in front of you as you sit pretty on his couch, trailing kisses up your soft belly to your tits and then back down to your thighs.

"C'mon sweet girl lemme' 'ave a taste of 'er yeah? Know she fuckin' needs me hm? Just look at tha'" as he runs a thumb of the wetness that's seeped through you thin panties, just waiting for you to say the words and let him tear them off.

He knows if anybody else in the 141 or if any of his fellow soldiers could see him now, the Captain Price practically drooling over you and sweet talking your cunt like it could hear him they would have a fit. But he couldn't care less because you looked so fucking good right now so "just let 'er 'ave what she wants alright sweet thing?"

I just know Kyle has spent 70% of his last month's pay check on hotel room because the 5 star pent house suite was the only hotel room in your area left available during the holidays. He played it cool with an arm around your waist assuring you it was fine, acting like this was the room he wanted to get, not the one he was forced to have. But if he was being forced to do anything thank god it was spoiling you.

"Don't worry 'bout it love. Just make 'urself comfortable" He'll say in a sultry sweet tone, planting kisses up the side of your neck before excusing himself to the lavish bathroom to check his bank account. He had to make sure he still had enough to buy you a nice breakfast in the morning.

And you're already layed out so pretty for him on the bed so he's not complaining about anything. Especially not the mirror situated on the ceiling right above the bed. Oh and don't you dare suggest splitting the cost, "just split your legs for me hun, 's all ya need to do"

Johnny is eager, like so so eager. When a passionate make out session on your couch got even more heated than either of you had previously expected and he now had his fingers playing with the waistband of your skirt, letting his cold finger tips splay themselves just below. When he got to the hem of your panties and began to hook a finger into the lace you had to stop him,

"Johnny"

"Yea?" He was breathless, chasing your lips when you pulled away to talk. You almost felt bad for separating but if he was going to touch you, there was one request you needed to make. You had felt his nails drag across your thighs moments earlier, it felt wonderful but they were...a little long.

"Do ya nae want this hen?" He'd ask, looking at you like you were a piece of art. Pleading with his eyes, shining like they'd spill tears if you said yes.

"No, no I want this, I want you so so much. It's just..." you trailed off

"Tell me what's wrong bonnie and I'll fix it, yeah?" his hands kept you grounded to his lap either a soft grip on you ass.

"It's just- you're nails, they're a little long" your request was nothing more than whisper.

'Oh' Johnny knew he probably should have just asked for clippers, but you felt so damn good on his lap. He could feel your warm cunt through the zipper of his jeans and with your tits brushing against his chest he couldn't bring himself to move.

You watched in shock as he just began to just tear his nails off with his teeth. Without a second thought his pointer and middle finger nails were bit off to the skin. He paused and looked at his right hand before ripping off the index finger as well.

"Johnny what's gotten into you-?"

But he's already got his hands back down your skirt. Soft finger tips slipping between your folds. "Feel better now eh?" And when you just nuzzled your nose into his neck and let out a little whimper he chuckled "I'll take tha' as a yes"

Simon swallows his pride for the first time in his life for a chance at hitting it raw. You tell him it's okay to not use protection, that you're on birth control. But you needed to make sure that he didn't have any stds seeing as they're even more of a pain when you're on birth control. Not that you don't trust him you just want to make sure and it's not a problem for him seeing as he has to get tested every other week being in the military.

He doesn't, however, have his records on him at the moment and with a girl already lying in his bed telling him he can cum inside. Plus a raging hard on, he doesn't exactly feel like running back to base to get the paper work. So...next best thing.

"Price-"

"Rare for ya to call on leave Simon, whatchya need?" Price responds, his voice cracking through the face time call, a cigar dangling from his lips.

"Sir I need..." he looks back at you, your eyes expectant and shining. You wanted him and he wasn't going to fuck this up. "Can you send me a picture of my last med check results?" He rushes out the last part, elbow on his knee and hand dragging over his face.

Price quirks one eyebrow but doesn't look like he's going to ask any questions. Unlucky for Simon though, Johnny was also in the room. His voice distantly coming through the phone,

"The feck ya need those for l.t.?" He questioned

Simon just groaned, soap's addition to this call just made it even more frustrating. But he snapped out of his frustration at the sound of price opening his file cabinet. "What part?" Price asked, dismissing Johnny with a wave of his hand.

"The-" Simon began, this was fucking embarrassing but when he looked back to you, now perched on your hands and knees, the plush of you hips resting on your ankles, he'd do anything at this point. "STD results." He responded plainly.

"Aye! No fuckin' way mate!" The sound of a chair scraping the floor could be heard as Johnny began to clammer over to his captain who pulled the sheet from his files.

"Ya didn't tell me he was in the room" Simon growled

"Ya didn't ask" Price droned

Johnny's head popped into frame "show me what she looks like ey l.t?"

"Not happening" Simon deadpanned

"Aw c'monnnn" The sergeant whined "just proud of you for finally getting some action!"

"Enough." Simon could see you biting your lip to stifle a laugh out of the corner of his eyes, a curious look in your eyes at his reddened face.

"Sent a picture to ya Simon" Price huffed, letting Johnny give him one last "good luck!" Before hanging up the phone.

You were a mess of giggles as he just shook his head and shoved the phone results in your face for you to look at. "See. Clean."

"Okay okay" you giggled, finally letting his form eclipse you back onto the pillows

"Went through a hell of a lot of trouble for ya, sweet girl" he whispered, nipping at the shell of your ear.

"I'll make it worth it" you said, kissing the corner of his lip and tangling your fingers in the back of his hair

"Christ woman" he groaned, feeling his cock twitch at your promise, "gunna' be the death a' me"

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

naps to lovers?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[swordsandholly]

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

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

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

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

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

[shotmrmiller]

god going on a date with johnny whom you matched on tinder and he's the type of guy you avoid like the plague; jaw-dropping good looks, cheeky ㅤㅤsmiles, hits the gym more in a week than you've done all year and worst of all, could charm the pants off a snake.

so it's truly no wonder that you end up letting him bury his face between your thighs and lap at your glistening sex until your moans almost turn into screams and you haven't even left the bar's driveway, then left to watch johnny wipe the condensation off the windshield with a spare shirt so he can drive you home all the while his chin drips with your slick.

he fucks you against the front door once inside, legs hooked over his arms, then again over your couch, hand curled around your throat, and again, in front of your full length mirror while he tells you how pretty you look taking all of him, to look at how pretty you look, his crystalline eyes latching onto yours through the reflection, pretty as a peach.

then he leaves you with his spend sticking your thighs together, a languid kiss that tastes of you, and with his personal number on a scrap piece of paper.

and that's the last you hear of him. he'd said that he's quite a busy man, military and whatnot, and all in all, while you'd raked your nails down his back on the first date, it had been a date. you require more than good sex to get into a committed relationship.

a swipe of your thumb brings up tinder again, and you match with another bloke not your type. big, broad man, biceps the size of your thighs with a deadpan stare that sees right through false bravado. but he's doesn't seem to care in the slightest that he makes you nervous, doesn't care that you stutter out responses to his rather abnormal questions.

simon takes you home and sits eerily silent with his hands dwarfing the steering wheel as you chew on your lip before tentatively inviting him in for a nightcap, and you must be the luckiest person on the planet because he's just as devoted to your pleasure as your last partner.

he brings you peak after peak with his tongue, his fingers, swirls your pearl with the tip of his misaligned nose. then he lets you be on top first, concentration knitting your brows togethee as you try to fit all of him in and pride warms your cheeks when you can hear his teeth audibly grind as his fingers bite into the soft of your waist once you take him to the root, thighs flush against his hips.

you come undone more times than you can count, the neighbors more than likely knowing his name by the time he walks out the front door (after checking the locks on your windows) and that's that.

until it isn't because a text from johnny awakens your phone screen, an invite to a restaurant downtown next saturday, one you've only ever fancied of eating at and well-

a date is a date, isn't it?

you tell him to pick you up at seven and he tells you to wear something you wouldn't mind letting him keep underneath, preferably something in red. (must've seen that particular number while you looked for some sleeping shorts before he left that night.)

hopefully you won't feel too bad breaking things off with whoever doesn't ask you to be theirs first.

(simon and johnny fuck each other to the thought of you back at base, simon's fist viciously tight around johnny's cock as he's got him drooling into the flattened pillow, almost like she's fucking you too, eh, johnny?)

[bagofshinyrocks]

Government name vs Military callsign

Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?

Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: none

John Price

Government name.

Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it can’t hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.

“If you want me to ‘shake a leg’, call my name, luvie.”

Now if you holler “Jonathan Price”, he’ll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and he’s peering into the room with an apology on his lips.

“Yes, luv? What’s wrong, poppet?”

“Lift the other end of the couch, would you?”

He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. “Anything else I can do, love o’ my life?” He’s hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.

“No, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.”

When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.

Simon Riley

Military callsign.

When you two are alone, and he’s already given you permission to call him Simon, don’t call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.

“Ghost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.”

“Fuck you callin’ me that for?” 

Once he sees you’re alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.

“We playin’ games now?” You didn’t want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.

“Sorry, baby.” Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.”

Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips. 

A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.

Kyle Garrick

Government name.

He doesn’t mind being called Gaz, and you’ll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesn’t even mind if you use “Kyle” or “honey” in front of his squadmates. Though “Kylie” he does have some displeasure with.

“I’ll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.”

Call him ‘Garrick’, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. He’s too cute for you to stay mad.

If you shout “Kyle Garrick”, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?

“Kyle Ga-”

“Yes, dear!” Shit, he didn’t mean to ‘yes, dear’ you. “Yes, my dear, I’m right here.”

You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once he’s close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. “I need a kiss.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “God damn you.” He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. “Don’t stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.”

“Give me another kiss, or I will be.”

He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room. 

“In my own fucking home,” he muttered.

John MacTavish

Military callsign.

He’s got some thick skin. And he’s had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting “John MacTavish” meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.

Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.

“SOAP!”

Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.

“JOHNNY!”

“I’m here, bonnie,” he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.

“C’mere, c’mere.”

He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. “Wassit?”

You pointed to the leaf in your hand. “A caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.”

He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. “Bonnie, I thought something was wrong.”

“Hm?” You spared him a glance. “What are you talking about, bubba?”

“You called me Soap.”

“Did I? Didn’t mean to spook you, loverboy.” You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Just wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.”

Posted: 2023 Dec 10

[forsworned]

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

"Delete it."

"Why?"

"Cos I fockin' said so."

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

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

[soleilapproves]

You’re eating fruit and your friends can’t stop watching. (Ghost and Soap)

Notes: suggestive, crack fic.

main masterlist

One would think that the two men were on the battlefield with the way they were intently staring at you.

Simon was focused on the way you’d take a bite out of your apple, lips wrapping around the curvature of the fruit as your teeth sunk into its crisp flesh.

So pretty and plump. Like an apple

Johnny was too busy staring at the droplets of juice that were trailing down your chin. He could almost taste the tartness as he imagined himself licking you clean. He had to bite his lip to keep himself from moaning when he saw you lick your lips to clean up the stickiness left behind.

You then disposed of the apple and grabbed a banana. Simon’s hand immediately latched on to his thigh. He began to shift in his seat as he watched you take a bite of the banana.

However, you didn’t chew the entire thing and kept a morsel of it in your left cheek, too distracted to chew because you were on your phone.

Simon’s fingers dug into his thighs at the sight.

He felt like a dog in heat.

Johnny began to imagine his own-

“What are you two fuckin’ idiots doing here? Get back to your work stations!” Price barked as he walked into the base’s lounge area.

But Simon and Johnny were too entranced by you to respond.

Confused, Price looked in the same direction as them to see what was so interesting.

“Oh.” The captain breathed out with a slight blush.

[beloveds-embrace]

(Arranged marriage to duke john price except it means you married four instead of one 👁️👁️)

Your marriage to Duke Price is one out of necessity: you need a husband before high society begins rumoring you to be a barren woman and too old to be married off, and Duke Price needs a wife who is able to take on Duchess duties of his duchies.

You do not expect love, though you suppose it’d be a nice bonus. You are merely glad that Duke Price is a reasonable handsome man, and he informs you on your wedding night that he will not force himself on you, and there is no need to immediately begin attemtping for an heir.

You take admirably to your new duties, have been raised practically for this purpose though the head butler Kyle is wonderful in helping you as well- actually all the servants have been wonderful towards you. You have regular dinners with John, though they are a bit stilted but at least Chef Johnny’s food is good enough you can easily forget the tense atmosphere. You can tell your husband is hiding something- you are sometimes barred from going to his office to him, certain rooms are not allowed for you, and you are not allowed anywhere near the letters addressed to him- but as long as it isn’t hurting you, why should you bother him? So you never ask, and he seems happy enough that you don’t.

Until you accidentally stumble upon him and Duke Riley exchanging tongues. Very heatedly, hands grasping and tugging on each other’s clothes and Duke Riley sat on your husband’s desk.

It’s hot.

What’s not so hot is the way they both look at you when they realize you are there. You stutter, face a red so fierce it’d put a furnace to shame, and bolt out of the room despite hearing John call your name.

And you also skip out on the dinners for now, pretending you are sick with the help of your maids and their makeup skills.

But suddenly, it’s like your eyes have been opened. It’s not just Duke Riley who seems to hold a part of your husband’s heart; the one time you gather enough courage to maybe go speak with John and address the situation, you see Kyle stumbling out all disheveled and flushed, though he has a very satisfied air around him. He freezes when he sees you, and your jaw drops.

“My lady-“

“I- I’ll just- I’m taking a walk! Alone!”

You go to the kitchens instead, hoping that Johnny would have something delicious you can eat. Maybe something cold enough to wash away the blush on your cheeks.

Johnny is weirdly silent, however, even as he whips up chocolate mousse for you. His silence is not normal, it feels… almost guilty…

You sighs, take in a deep breath, and gather your dress. “Johnny… are you too…-?”

“Aye, m’lady. But-“

You can’t take it anymore. You leave the kitchens, and go straight back to your bedroom to bury your face in your bed. It’s not as if you are upset! It’s just- a rather befuddling situation?

Two nights later, it’s John himself who comes to you. You had assumed it was one of your maids returning with a new jar of oil for your nightly hair routine, but it’s your husband. You are glad it’s winter, and you aren’t simply in a thin nightgown.

“Wife.” He says, voice steady yet strained.

“John.”

You can’t call him husband. You’ve spent the last two days thinking and you were… rather sad. You were in the way of whatever they had (you saw Kyle and Johnny kissing, Johnny specifically sending food addressed to Duke Riley), weren’t you?

John sighs, sitting down on the settee while you remain on your vanity. After a moment of awkward silence, he opens his eyes and looks at you. “…what do you want to remain silent about this?”

You blink, raising an eyebrow. “…huh?”

John’s fists clench. “How much do you want in return for your silence?”

Frowning, you set your brush down and fully turn to him even if you feel exposed despite your thicker nightgown. “Is this about your… partners?” You say the word delicately, then shake your head. “I want nothing, John. If you are worried about me starting anything, I won’t. I just… hope this doesn’t mean you will divorce me?”

Being a divorced woman might as well be a death sentence on its own.

He looks at you, shocked into silence, and you quickly explain; his relationships have nothing to do with you and you aren’t a petty woman, who are you to come between what he and they have? You only hope this won’t take away the protection this marriage gave you.

That night, thus, you and John reach an agreement you are sure both of you are satisfied with.

Except, months later, John is no longer satisfied.

With the ice broken between the two of you. The dinners have become so much more… relaxing and comfortable, far less than they had been. No secrecy was needed when you were around anymore, and you only giggle and look away, feigning innocence when they share tender kisses between one another… and the less polite kisses.

John can’t remain satisfied with this arrangement. You are such a sweet thing, now that he’s become to know you far better. He can see the way his men are looking at you now, something between fondness and hunger and want; Kyle helps you far more often now, despite your insistence that you can do it yourself. Even when you do it yourself, he stays by you and ensures you are comfortable.

And he joins your evening walks, arms looped as the two of you speak, laughing and giggling.

It’s similar to your late night chats with Johnny, where he plies your full of sweets and desserts until even your dreams are full of sweeter kisses you are sure will never be for you. Johnny, who cooks your favorites on hard days and who you heard from Kyle is even more serious about only having the best of the best in vegetables and meats and seasonings.

And Duke Riley… for all his stoicism, he is gentle with you. Even when he’d stared at you with doubt and mistrust, no doubt believing you to be lying to John and simply waiting for the shoe to drop and for you to ruin them. Yet it never happens, and now, during the galas you attend all dolled up on John’s arm and ignoring all murmurs about still having no children, you even dance with him and giggle at his terribly dry jokes, even share a few of your own with him.

Steadily, slowly, obliviously, John has watched each of his men fall for you. This, obviously, made you theirs. It made you his, more and more than you already were.

It’s why your current request is making him clench his glass in his hand, with Kyle looking on in displeasure as well, giving him subtle glances.

“-So that’s why I was asking, John,” you remain sweetly oblivious, adorned in a pretty dress Simon had gotten for you recently. “He will not spread any rumors, I’ll personally make sure of that-”

Your cheeks darken then, and you glance away. “I- I am… merely a bit- unsatisfied, if you understand my point. And the stable man is loyal to you, he wouldn’t say anything.”

It’s clear he needs to keep a better watch over you. Where and when did you even interact with his stable boy, Graves? Though he focused on your words.

Unsatisfied.

Well, he can’t have that, can he? You’ve done your wifely duties so admirably, it’s about time he took care of you as well… and maybe dealt with the baseless barren rumors as well. A baby would keep you nice and content and focused on them alone, wouldn’t it?

Oh yes. Yes, it would.

dukedom au masterlist

Part two

[buttdumplin]

yeah simon is the one to scare people away when they get too close you, using his size and movement to intimidate, simultaneously shielding you behind him

yeah soap is the one barking loud, creating a spectacle and calling people out, and warning them away

yeah kyle is the one humiliating people, mocking offenders until either their own actions dawn on them or they finally recognize the venom in his eyes

but price is the one that launches into swinging. there is no warning, no hesitation. taking a step, even a single word against you, warrants immediate action in his mind. it's no laughing fucking matter. you are a top fucking prize, his prize, the best the world has to offer. john is rabid in his protection, bearing tooth and boot and claw and fist. there’s no point in talking to him or trying to negotiate, an offense is an offense and he won’t meet it halfway. someone looks at you the wrong way? they won't be able to see out of swollen eyes after headbutts them, crushing their nose. someone whispers something nasty about you? good luck even eating with that jaw wired shut. god forbid someone touches you, the other three boys can barely hold him back. john will break countless bones in every way he knows and beat his knuckles bloody if your smile starts to drop. 

[cinnammonfairy]

"pretty girl's saying she needs to piss."

with simon's cock snug in your tight hole, johnny's cum painting your pussy a milky white, remnants of his load seeping out due to the force of simon's thrusts. he's fucking up from under you, your pretty clit and hole that's currently being mercilessly filled clearly visible to both price and johnny.

"go on baby piss on simon's cock, let's see it sweetheart."

"make a mess for us bonnie."

you tried to hold it in, you tried begging for simon to go and let you pee, yet his hold on you only grew tighter as he pounded into you harder. johnny's hands pinching and pulling on your sensitive nipples, you reached your peak when john took his hard cock and fervently rubbed it over your swollen clit, stimulating you even more, one hand pressed on your lower stomach, your hole clenching tighter on simon's fat cock still fucking your hole.

"there you go darling."

both men continued their assault on your cunt, simon forcing your stream to come out by continuously thrusting into your hole. price mercilessly rubs the bulbous head of his cock over your twitching clit, as you writhed on simon's chest mewling at the oversensitivity and the simultaneous relief. the spurts of liquid from your pussy messily drips down simon's balls, and coats johnny's cock obscenely.

"such a cute little stream baby, making such a mess on our cocks."

one of johnny's hands now stroking his cock at the filthy sight before him. your eyes now crowding with tears of the sheer embarrassment you felt. one of johnny's hands cupping your cheek, as he kisses you softly as if to placate you. simon's load now fills up your cunt, soon to be filled by price's cock.

"so pretty baby, cute pussy gonna take all of our cum hm?"

[readwritealldayallnight]

“Believe the briefing’s down that way, LT.” Soap says, walking alongside the Lieutenant as they make their way to meet the rest of the task force, when he notices the older man starts turning down the wrong hallway.

“Small detour.” Ghost replies in his deep Manchester accent, continuing on his way, uncaring whether the Sergeant follows him or not.

“Where we goin’?” The Scot turns to quickly follow him, curiosity piqued, knowing Ghost is nearly always religiously early to briefings. He has however noticed him appearing nearer to the start time recently now that he thinks about it, something that wouldn’t mean anything should it have been anyone else, but with Ghost, these minuscule changes never came without reason.

“Jus’ have to scratch an itch.” Ghost utters, barely glancing sideways to see the bewildered expression on Soap’s face.

It’s not long before Soap recognizes that they’re on their way to passing by the med bay, confusion worsening when he notices that the Lieutenant keeps fidgeting with something in his pocket. Something that’s making a - crinkling noise? Just as they reach the doors, he watches him pull something out- almost doing a double take at the sight.

“What the fuck are ye doin’ with a bunch o’ lollies?” The Scot asks, befuddled.

“Jus’ shut up and watch, Johnny.” Ghost quickly murmurs, pushing through the doors and walking in a confidently past the nurses station without a care, as though he does this every day. Maybe he does-

Soap tentatively follows behind him at a slower pace, unsure of what he’s walking towards exactly, but utterly intrigued nonetheless. As he turns around a corner, he sees Ghost has just walked up to you, one of the bonnie medics he’s seen around.

“Morning.” You smile softly at him, warmth apparent in your gaze towards the tall man. “Was wondering if you were coming or not.”

“Pick a colour.” The Lieutenant practically grunts at you, holding up a handful of colourful lollipops towards you in his large gloved hand, ignoring your teasing.

“Think I’ll do red. Matches my nails.” You say, leaning towards him to reach a hand out and pluck said lolly from his grasp. Both men watch as you remove the wrapper, pink tongue peeking out from your mouth to wet your plush lower lip. Soap feels the wires in his brain click as well as his pants suddenly tighten when he sees how you wrap your lips around the sucker, closing your eyes and letting out a small, satisfied hum as you taste the candy and pull it out with a ‘plop’.

“Thank you, Ghost.” You blink up at him sweetly, sticking your tongue out to lick at the lollipop this time before sealing it back in the wetness of your mouth, eyes locked with the man before you the whole time.

The first time you met the Lieutenant was while treating him in this very med bay. Already enamoured with you to begin with, the deal had been sealed when you had pulled out a few lollies from your coats pocket, offering them to him. He had come back to see you the next day, his own stash of candy in hand, saying something about how it was only fair that the doctors got sweets every once in a while as well. ‘Every once in a while’ turned out to be every single morning you worked, truly nothing more than an excuse to see you.

And if you looked up at him so sweetly as you licked at the treat, his blood never not rushing down south in the process, well then that was just an added bonus wasn’t it?

Readjusting his tactical pants and licking his own lips, Johnny had never been so grateful to Ghost before.

[starboye]

imagine having ghost and soap as boyfriends, it's either you get to large but sweet guys who will kill whoever disrespects their lovie or you get to large guys that are trying to rip each others hair out after one eats the others ice cream

soap is always trying to fuck you no matter where you are and you have to get simon to pull him off you just for simon to take his place, cooing how no one will even notice and him and soap can just slip in really quick, you denied for a little but the moment he rubbed his bulge against your ass you were all for it

the was until price caught you three and scolded you but nonetheless you all ended up doing it again, some days after months of being away from you on a mission they come back one of two way; wanting to cuddle you all day and night until death or fuck you until you have their offspring

on this day it was the latter, they wasted no time in taking you to your guys' shared room and plowing you all night long, spurting out all there pent up cum into you until your belly was bulging with cum and putting a butt plug in you

but they couldn't possibly leave you like that so they always either go out and get you some food or try their best to make something at home (which usually ends up in the food being burnt and they go out and get you food) so you spend your night sweaty and barely feeling your legs but at least you have some ice cream and two hot boyfriends by your side