#soap

[skyrigel]

Reader who doesn't speak English as their first language and Simon being so in love !!

Over the dinner course, you leaned forward confidently, like you were sharing a secret.

"I think we should buy a baby wheelchair for them."

Price's missus was going to have a baby shower next week.

"Wot?" Simon blinked.

"A baby wheelchair—" You pulled your fist into a punching stance and moved it back and forth, mimicking a tiny car. "Like a baby car… phew phew."

"Oh, that's a stroller." Simon raised a brow, watching your head bobble in a self-absorbed nod.

"Exactly, baby car… stroller."

And it was so cute when you looked up at him whenever you forgot certain words.

"Simon, how do you say in English? The takka-takka-takka—"

"Helicopter," Simon said fondly, earning himself a sweet peck on the lips.

The task force enjoyed it immensely. When Soap said, “Break a leg !” and you raised up a fight at why Simon should break his leg.

Or when Kyle couldn't stop laughing so much with the way you pronounced, “Bitch” to the bird who was hitting up on Simon.

And Simon loved it all, felt love in your eyes through your words, especially when you used his vocabulary—God, it did something to him.

Saying "bugger" when you put too much ketchup, and "bloody freezin’, innit?!" with that corky little smile because you knew how much it wrecked him.

"Bollocks," you would curse, and he’d already be losing his heart and mind, dragging you to the bedroom.

The way you would slip into your native dialect when you were upset, voice rising as you made frustrated noises—Simon would forget the argument entirely, just watching you with that pretty face he’d go to war for.

And something, something about the way you said "I love you" in your native language first, just as softly, and how you called him "my love" in that same way too.

Bloody hell, he’s so in love.

Masterlist

[femalefemur]

18+ minors do not interact!

so you know that stupid tradition of the groom sticking his head under the bride's dress at the reception to pull the garter off? yeah that but every single one of the 141 would kiss your pussy while doing it.

johnny's full on making out with it over your underwear, leaving it sticking to you from a mixture of his spit and your arousal.

simon's got it pulled to the side so he can plant one directly on it and you can hear the deep rumble in his chest when you gasp in surprise.

kyle would place a kiss right over where your clit is under your underwear before running his tongue up the length of it.

and john would stuff his fingers in you while he gives your clit a harsh suck before letting go with an audible pop, comes out from under there with the garter in his teeth and licking his fingers.

[sillyswriting]

: ̗̀➛ dad johnny 'soap' mactavish

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  ₊✩ˎˊ˗ johnny is scared to know the answer

cw : none, inspired by this ask.

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  collection ⋆ timeline

Johnny really shouldn’t be here. He already knew it was a bad idea.

And yet, as he walked up the stairs, clutching the ultrasound printout in his hand, Johnny couldn’t think of anyone else to go to.

The pregnancy hadn’t exactly come as a surprise. It’s not like either of you had been careful. Your youngest was almost two now, and baby fever had hit you hard. Hard enough that you’d been all over him for weeks, insistent, sweet, impossible to resist.

Not that Johnny minded. He never complained. He’d give you as many babies as you wanted.

Truth be told, he’d been feeling it too. That ache. That emptiness creeping in as your boy got older, more independent. Soon, your little boy would be starting school, and Johnny dreaded the thought of a quiet house.

But now, now his mind was at peace.

By the time his boy would be pulling on a tiny backpack and heading out the door, there would be another little lamb in the house, needing Johnny’s arms, his songs, his stories.

And yet… here he was. On someone else’s doorstep. Unsure if this moment was right or wrong.

“Daddy…” a little whine echoed behind him. 

Johnny paused on the stairs, the small voice stopping him in his tracks.

Turning around, he was met with the sweetest sight, his wee boy sitting on the floor, rubbing at his sleepy eyes with tiny fists. He must’ve been exhausted. His nap earlier had been shorter than usual, Johnny had woken him up for their little adventure, as he’d called it.

“Tired, baby?” Johnny cooed, already stepping down toward him.

Angus gave a slow nod, a wide yawn escaping his lips. “Come here.”

In one smooth motion, Johnny scooped him up, settling the little body on his hip. Angus immediately tucked his head into the curve of Johnny’s neck with a sigh of relief. Johnny kissed his son’s forehead, held him a little closer, and started back up the stairs.

Once he reached the right door, Johnny knocked softly, careful not to wake the small boy now fast asleep in his arms.

Angus would be so happy to wake up and see Uncle Simon. He was still too little to recognize places on his own, and Johnny had wanted this visit to be a surprise. But his wee body must’ve been too tired for that.

“Soap.” The door opened to Simon’s unmistakable voice, gruff and clipped as ever.

“L.T.,” Johnny greeted, stepping inside like he owned the place.

He gently laid Angus down on the couch, tucking a throw over him with practiced care. The boy barely stirred, already deep in sleep. Johnny looked back at Simon and nodded toward the balcony, lifting a pack of cigarettes in his hand as a silent offer.

With a smirk, Simon nodded, already following. But not before his eyes lingered for a moment on the small form curled up on his couch, his expression unreadable, softened maybe, but fleeting.

Once the two men were settled on the balcony, Johnny angled himself toward the window, just enough to keep an eye on the wee lamb curled up inside. Simon lit a cigarette, took a drag, then passed it wordlessly to Johnny before lighting another for himself.

“What’s so important you had to come all the way here?” Simon asked, his voice low but edged with curiosity.

Johnny had called that morning, saying he’d be stopping by. Simon didn’t question it, he never would, but the sudden visit had stirred a flicker of worry.

Ever since Johnny had been shot, the task force kept a quiet eye on him. They all knew he was doing better now, far from death’s grip, but some wounds didn’t disappear with time. His memory still slipped sometimes. Small things. Old things. His knee was fucked, and the migraines hit him harder than he'd admit.

So when Johnny said he was coming over without any clear reason, Simon’s first instinct had been concern. But seeing him now, calm, smiling, a sleeping child draped across his couch, Simon felt that worry ease.

“Well,” Johnny began, exhaling smoke as he glanced back at the living room, “ye ken Angus’s about to start school soon, aye?”

Simon nodded, not sure where this was going.

“Dinnae want to be alone…” was all Johnny said, voice low, as he reached into his jacket and handed Simon the ultrasound.

Simon took it without a word, his eyes scanning the grainy image. He wasn’t even surprised.

Annoyed? Yes. Mostly because he’d just lost the bloody bet.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Kyle won. Bastard called it, said you’d have another one under three years. I was banking on four, at least.”

Johnny huffed a laugh, dragging from his cigarette. “Ye lot bet on me sperm?”

“We bet on your lack of restraint,” Simon deadpanned.

That earned him a real laugh. Johnny’s shoulders relaxed, and for a moment, the heaviness he carried seemed to lift.

Simon looked down at the photo again, then up at his friend. “You alright with it? Really?” 

Johnny nodded, eyes still fixed on the living room window, where Angus was curled on the couch. 

“Aye. Just… dinnae want to be alone when the house gets quiet again. Quiet messes with me head.” Johnny murmured the last part, almost to himself.

Simon knew he could never truly understand what Johnny meant, not really. He’d had his fair share of trauma, close calls, brushes with death. But getting shot in the head? That was different. That rewired something deep inside you.

Hearing Johnny admit he hated the silence now… it made Simon’s chest tighten.

Not that Johnny had ever been a fan of quiet to begin with, he’d yapped enough for the whole task force most days, but Simon remembered the moments when he did enjoy stillness.  Especially when he was drawing.

What Simon didn’t know, what none of them knew, was that Johnny couldn’t draw anymore. Not because he’d forgotten how. The knowledge was still there, tucked in his mind like muscle memory waiting to be used. But something in his brain was broken. Damaged.

His hands shook now. Always. Not enough to stop him from holding his bairns or pouring a cup of tea. But enough to keep him from doing the one thing that had once brought him peace. That was the cruel part of it.

It wasn’t just the bullet. It was everything it stole in silence, long after the bleeding stopped.

Glancing back through the window at the small boy sleeping soundly on the couch, Simon caught the look in Johnny’s eyes, pure adoration. Peace. The kind that only came from dreams fulfilled.

This was what Johnny had always wanted. A family of his own. A sweet birdie who loved him fiercely. And a rowdy little army of bairns running through the house, all carrying the Mactavish name and his wild spark.

Simon couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. For a moment, he let the darker thoughts slip away, the image of Johnny bloody and broken on a stretcher, the weeks of silence afterward.

He didn’t want to think about that version of his friend. Not now.

“Congratulations, you fucker,” Simon said, breaking the quiet with a smirk, handing back the ultrasound. “I owe Gaz a hundred quid.”

Johnny let out a deep, genuine laugh, the kind that started in his chest and shook through his shoulders. Of course his mates were making bets about his baby-making, some things never changed. It brought him back to the old days, the long hours in safe houses, the dead air on recon, all broken up by the lads’ banter and stupid wagers. Comfort in chaos.

Flicking the end of his cigaret over the balcony, he rubbed his thumb over the folded ultrasound still tucked in his hand. He hadn’t come here just to laugh or show off. This visit had weight.

With their first child, the decision had been easy, Johnny had too many sisters to count, and you had only one brother. Godmother, godfather, all sorted in seconds. But now, Johnny still had his sisters, and you had no other brother. So it was decided that your childhood best friend would be the godmother. That left Johnny to choose a godfather from among his friends.

It hadn’t been an easy choice. He spent hours thinking it over, his boy asleep on his chest, the house quiet around them. In the end, Johnny knew it had to be Simon.

Simon had been his partner, his anchor through the worst of it. In the military, they'd leaned on each other in ways words couldn’t fully explain. There was something sacred in the bond they shared, something he didn’t quite have with John or Kyle. He loved them too, of course, but it was different with Simon.

That bond didn’t vanish just because war was behind them. It changed. Evolved.

Simon was wary of children. Not cold toward them, never that. He was gentle in that stiff, awkward way, like he didn’t trust his hands not to break something precious. But Johnny had seen the look in his eyes when he held the bairn. A flicker of something raw, buried too deep to name. Longing, maybe. Or loss. Something he never spoke about.

So yeah, Johnny was nervous.

Johnny glanced down at the photo in his hand, then up at Simon. “Listen…”

Simon raised a brow. Johnny scratched at his jaw, suddenly shy, his voice quieter. “I didnae just come to show off the scan, mate. I came to ask…”

Simon waited, eyes steady.

“I want ye to be the godfather.”

That was the perfect moment Angus chose to waddle outside, a happy laugh trailing behind his footsteps as he wrapped his arms around Simon's leg. The moment caught both Johnny and Simon off guard, they hadn’t even heard him coming.

By instinct, Simon’s hand came down to cradle the boy’s head in his large palm, gently rubbing it as the child clung to him with all his strength.

After a few moments, Angus pulled back, his little chubby hands reaching up toward Simon, eyes wide and expectant.

“Up! Up!” his sweet voice demanded.

With the sweet boy now nestled in his lap, Simon looked back at Johnny. The question had taken him by surprise, he'd assumed Johnny would choose the godmother, especially with so many sisters to pick from. But it turned out he’d been wrong.

Godfather. On paper, it didn’t mean much. But to Simon, it was a deep and personal gesture of trust. Johnny had chosen him, Simon Riley. The most broken of the 141. And not because he lived the closest,  Johnny had already mentioned you were planning to move back to Scotland soon anyway.

No, Johnny had asked him because they were brothers. Not by blood, but by something stronger. Something earned and forged through hell and back.

"I ken it’s a lot to ask, and I wouldnae have asked ye if I didnae think ye were perfectly capable of handling a wee one, but… look at ye now," Johnny said softly, gesturing toward his little boy already dozing off in Simon’s lap. "I dinnae think anything will happen to me, nothin’ worse than this anyway." He gave a hollow chuckle, rubbing the heavy scar on the side of his head.

"But if it ever did… if anything happened to me or me bonnie girl, I ken our lamb would be in good hands."

Johnny was rambling now, trying to fill the thick silence that had settled between them. It felt too heavy, and Johnny hated it. He didn’t want to lose Simon over this. He was scared, scared the man would say no and pull away from him altogether. So he kept talking.

"Ye ken ye can say no—really. It’s not that deep, I swear. But it would mean a lot. To me, and to my birdie. Ye ken how much she likes ye, aye? She loves seeing ye with Angus too. She was excited when I told her I'd picked ye. Said it made her feel safe. Said—" he rambled away. 

"I’ll be their godfather," Simon interrupted, his voice quiet but firm.

“Yeah?” Johnny asked, voice soft, trying to keep his nerves in check. A few stray tears welled in his eyes despite his best efforts. He didn’t want to cry over this, not now, but he was close.

“Of course I will, you bloody bastard,” Simon replied, his voice rough with affection as his hand continued to absently rub the little boy’s back.

And that was it. Settled. Just like that.

Even if Johnny hadn’t rambled on, Simon still would have said yes.

Because Johnny was his brother. His children were his family now too. And Simon wasn’t about to lose his family.

Not again. Never again.

He’d protect this one with everything he had. With his whole damned life if he had to.

©sillyswriting 2025

i just fucking love dad johnny, sorry if im spamming with him lately. he is the only living thought in my brain.

[miamaimania]

Encased in resin, 840 bars of soap stand frozen in time 🧖‍♀️꩜

[constantlyunconstant]

i hate it when people over-sexualise characters to the point all they do is write about how they fuck — you, themselves, or each other.

sex sex sex sex.

no, simon wouldn’t fuck you silly and break your spine.

no, gaz wouldn’t fuck you in the middle of a mission.

no, soap wouldn’t fuck you day and night. he has self control.

no, price wouldn’t share you with his teammates.

they would rather shoot themselves than hurt their partners.

sure, write about sex and smut and write your fics, but don’t pretend they’re all some sex freaks who fuck all the time. there’s more to them than their bodies and their reproductive organs.

(ps, not a dig at anyone. just frustrated. i need some fluff or angst for crying out loud)

[e6dop]

Two days, two drawings. What a streak!

A Soap and Ghost version of the previous one:

[a1ty]

Simon likes the waist, damn

A new AU idea where John somehow (I'll draw it out later) ended up on the streets and heard about Simon being somewhat merciful and helping and he went to ask for help... Give me a few days to draw it chat...

[gazstations]

Heaven’s Gift

PART OF SHELTER WORKER SERIES

ᯓᡣ𐭩 SUMMARY

First movie night at Johnny’s after you’ve been dating for a little bit.

PAIRINGS: John MacTavish x female!reader

WORD COUNT: 1,854 words

WARNINGS: Fluff.

◇ Notes: This only exists because @sillyswriting brainwormed with me in the DMs.

I’ll make a masterlist later because apparently this is gonna be a little series sjsjjsjsj

○●○ NAVIGATION MASTERLIST || COD MASTERLIST || MORE SHELTER WORKER

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

THE NIGHT WAS GRACED WITH A CONTENTMENT YOU COULD MELT IN. The world outside was filled with the lovely scent of rain in the frigid air. Yet, inside, it was cozy, relaxing as you buried yourself beneath the thick blanket you were provided. With soft sweatpants, a nice long sleeve, and thick socks, you were good to go.

Really, you could sink into this position more until the ribboned couch cushions swallowed you whole. Your body was so relaxed that it slumped and sagged until your head lolled into your couch buddy. He didn’t seem to mind. He just let you use his shoulder as a perch.

It was your first date with Johnny at a location different from what city destinations he had crossed off already. Despite knowing him deeply now, you were still shackled down by nerves. To you, going to each other’s houses meant this whole thing was intended to get serious. While you wanted nothing more, a lasting relationship was something you had not been used to. And your fears of losing Johnny one day increased tenfold.

Was it normal to be this fucking worried? You considered Johnny your boyfriend, but wondered if that was right to put a label on. It had only been a month since dynamics had changed in your relationship, from coworkers to something more, so you struggled to grasp what was appropriate. Was it selfish to be irrevocably upset at the thought of Johnny moving on from you one day?

Hell, you guys hadn’t even kissed. Every departure from him after a lovely date always made you think this was the moment. Yet, every time Johnny merely fled after seemingly contemplating something for a moment. You weren’t angry with him, didn’t think he was leading you on, but you were just majorly confused.

How was it that you ended up with the world’s most patient man when you had already seen his eyes bulge out and threaten the coffee machine for taking too long?

When you thought about it, it was endearing. Johnny clearly respected you, showing that he valued your company over taking you to bed or something. But you were a person crafted out of instinctual desire, and it just became torture.

You wanted to suffocate you or him, mold your body into his, and make his pretty blues roll.

Yeah, you were undeniably attracted to John MacTavish.

What you guys had was equally as important, though. That’s what you told yourself. It was innocent, calming, and sweet. Something most adults forgot or just didn’t have the patience for anymore. While you had no complaints about a relationship that delved deep into the sexual aspects, you also didn’t mind what journey Johnny took you on.

Maybe he needed it. From what you gathered, he was forced to grow up fast in the military. He missed a lot of milestones someone normally reached because he was off fighting for something far bigger than himself. Maybe you should’ve started looking at it for what you provided him with. If he slowed down around you, then that meant he felt safe with you.

It warmed your heart.

Johnny pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, humming softly as an arm came around your shoulders. “Comfy, doe?” He asked softly.

“Mhm,” you hummed back. There were no plans to sleep over, but you really didn’t desire to leave this bubble in order to brave the drive back home tonight.

“This movie is shite,” Johnny remarked. “Ah’m no actor, but steamin’ jesus, are these bastards dead inside?”

A laugh left your lips at that comment. You lifted your head and spared a glance at your sweet Scottish man. He was already looking at you, eyes hooded in appreciation as he offered a closed-lipped smile your way. Your stomach fluttered. You never had someone appreciate you so openly. Johnny was good at saying a lot with nothing.

“I told you we should’ve watched my pick,” you teased.

“Aye, doe. But ye only want tae watch it because ye like tha’ actor,” Johnny huffed. You started to say the name, but Johnny gently slapped a hand over your mouth. you immediately licked along his palm until he pulled away. “Ack, disgustin’.”

He playfully wiped his palm against your cheek, making you recoil. You swatted his hand away, your chest puffing with a chuckle. “Ew, Johnny!”

“Ye started it.”

And then the brute got a look in his eye that either screamed trouble or something you couldn’t exactly pinpoint. But you got your answer when you were flipped onto your back and staring up at the ceiling before Johnny’s face appeared as he trapped you under him.

“Ye look bonnie from this angle,” he whispered. You tracked his eyes as they flickered down to your lips. You swallowed.

“Bet I have a great double chin,” you remarked nervously.

“Nah, doe. Ye look perfect.”

Silence washed over you. Johnny looked at you. You looked at him. He was so close. You could see he actually had the smallest flecks of brown in his eyes, but they were definitely still vibrant in the blue. He really had gorgeous eyes. But you admired all of him, truthfully.

You reached a hand up, cupping his jaw as your thumb traced his scruff. He was currently deciding if he wanted to keep it short stubble or grow it out more. You secretly hoped he grew it out. It would match the way his hair was currently longer. You had seen old pictures where he sported a mohawk. While you liked that look as well, there was something about the tame but grizzled look.

Johnny leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment as he took a deep breath. You wondered what he was thinking, but you didn’t dare question. It seemed like he was having a private assessment with himself.

When he opened his eyes again, his gaze was pure adoration. “Yer a dream, doe,” he muttered. “A bloody good one.”

Before you could say anything, Johnny leaned down and tilted his head just enough to press his lips against yours without bumping you. You took a moment to register what was happening before your eyes slipped closed and your lips moved against his.

His kiss was soft but insistent. It was slow, but he was obviously trying to stake his claim. His hands, bestowed with a permanent tremble, cradled your face as he pressed you further into the cushions and under his weight.

There was something sloppy about the kiss as well. Not anything revolting, but it was simply like he was a man who needed to relearn skills he had purged in order to focus on something else. He let out a huff at one point when his pace faltered, and you squeezed his neck in assurance.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes were a little glassy, but he looked like a man on top of the world. He was silent for one more beat before he opened his mouth. “Stay the night?”

You nodded, “Of course.”

Johnny pecked your lips once more before pulling himself off you. You mourned it for a moment, liking the weight. Maybe you could convince him to drape himself over you in some way while you slept.

“Got ye an extra toothbrush and everythin’, if ye wannae freshen up,” he said.

“You already got it? Were you banking on me saying yes, MacTavish?” You mused.

“Aye, ah was. Didnae want ye tae travel in the rain,” Johnny said unapologetically.

You shook your head as your belly warmed. Johnny was deliberately trying to take your relationship further. Meant he saw something real with you. It made you giddy as you climbed off of the couch.

“Gonna go brush my teeth then,” you said, and Johnny nodded.

You made your way across his apartment. He had a two bedroom, two bath apartment in the middle of Glasgow. His main bathroom was handicap, something he showed you right away when you first arrived. He explained he got tired sometimes and that having a place to sit or grab in case he fell was a godsend.

It made you slightly saddened to know a once very capable man now had to have accommodations. Johnny always was a good sport about it. Though, you imagined he wasn’t at first.

You freshened up and did your nightly tasks, while Johnny remained out in the living room. You could hear him talking, and curiosity gripped you as you wandered back out of his bedroom and into the main area.

The sight that greeted you warmed your heart further than what it already had tonight.

Johnny was on the floor now, Callie pressed against his chest. Her tail was wagging aggressively along the carpeted floor. Johnny was rubbing her back, shifting to scratch between her ears, and then back down along her spine again.

“Ah get nightmares still, baby,” Johnny was speaking. “Not fun. Ah ken.”

You settled for leaning against the wall, letting Johnny have his moment. You also just wanted to see how this played out. Johnny was animated, and you found this moment cute.

“Used tae pace in mah barracks. Pissed off my buddy,” Johnny continued. “He would throw pillows at me. Got so scunnered, swore he was goin’ to suffocate me. He brought me a book light. Worked wonders, ye ken? Wrote lots whenever ah woke up without disturbin' him.”

Callie licked his hand as it ran along her muzzle, and he smiled. She seemed enraptured by Johnny as her big brown eyes focused only on him. It had been like that ever since Johnny adopted her. They were two peas in a pod, both given a life path that was far shorter than they expected.

Johnny’s softness made you appreciate him more. He was a good man, the kind you wanted to fall in love with. The kind that never disappointed. That went to hell and back for the ones he cared about.

“We look out fer each other now, ye hear me,” Johnny continued. “And we’ll look after our lass together.”

Your stomach fluttered at that last bit. He sounded so fond when he mentioned you, something you had never experienced before. You chose that time to walk closer, grabbing a blanket on the way.

Johnny looked up only when the soft blanket draped over him and Callie. His gaze was soft, happy as he was graced by your presence again. He rolled over so that Callie was against his back and pulled you down onto the floor with him.

You let out a surprised squeak as you were pulled into Johnny’s waiting embrace. He immediately pressed an affectionate kiss to your neck, and you giggled from the way it tickled.

He grinned against your skin and breathed in the scent of you with a big, relieved sigh. “Mhm, hi, doe,” he breathed.

“Hi…” you replied, relishing in the way his arms felt around you. Safe. Protected. Loved. You never had to doubt him. He always found a way to quell your worries.

“Mah, girls,” Johnny pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Luckiest bampot in the world.”

And that was how you drifted off. Belly warmed with happiness as you were enveloped in Johnny’s embrace on his living room floor.

°•○●○•°

TAGLIST

@babybatreads @armycaratlover @malevolentghoul @little-mini-me-world @ash-tarte @maverickricky @box-loves-you @shhitskinkytime @all-by-myself98 @z-wantstowrite @joopg00p @love-cod-lols @avgdestitute

If you would like to be added for future works, please fill out my google form in my pinned post!

[sweetpianoxoxo]

Secret ♡ Poly!Omegaverse!141

Part one

"We'll always be eachothers secret" - Leo . Simon grew up with nobody except himself and a sweet omega he'd sneak out every night to see. After a while, he needs to get out of that house, so he leaves and doesn't look back, nighmares filled with the sounds of the omega.

Warnings: child abuse, dark themes, addiction, mentions of child molestation on both omega and Simons part (nothing more than mentions, no graphics), angst, please let me know of theres more you think i should add.

He met her for the first time, running away from his fathers beatings. He was only nine, and his father was an alcholic alpha whose omega (Simons' mother) left because he'd beat her senseless, and she finally had the will to run away. Simon couldn't blame her. He was an alpha, although having not presented yet, but designations could be smelt out from the womb. Simon could take it, but his poor mother never deserved that.

He wouldn't be able to come home until dark when his father'd be out by the bars, when he could tuck himself in for the night and lock the door until the morning. So he went to the beach.

Beach may have been an overstatement. It was a very small lake with gravel in place of sand, but the water was nice to look at, and the heat always warmed you while laying there.

When he first noticed the small girl sitting on the edge of a large rock where he normally sat, he was a little pissed off. He needed his escape right now, but of course, someone else had to be there. That was until he realized she was sleeping. A small omega child sleeping in one of the worst parts of the neighborhood, for anyone to come up and steal.

He felt the need to protect. Probably because of his designation, but he couldn't care. He sat in front of the girl and slightly off to the side. He didn't want to startle her by thinking he was the danger.

It had to have been an hour until the girl woke up, and when she did, it was with a gasp. "Im not gonna hurt you" were the first words that came rushing out of Simons mouth. "I just couldn't leave you sleeping in public, alone," he said, slightly quieter now that the omega girls eyes were on him.

The omega remained wary of him but apprehensively scooted forward. She looked at him intently as if trying to figure him out. "Whats your name?" She would ask meekly, and Simon would get the first good look at her face. She must've been younger than him by a year or two, and she had a couple scars on her cheeks and neck, nothing big, but still noticeable.

"Simon Riley. I live two streets over that way," he pointed to his right. "Why were you sleeping out here? It's not safe, especially someone like you." He didn't clarify whether he meant as a very obvious omega or a young girl, but either way, it didn't matter.

"Cant go home yet. Daddy has a friend over." Yeah, Simon understood that. He wasnt supposed to be in the house when his dad had 'lady friends' over either. He was about to empathize when the girl spoke up again.

"I dont like his friend. He tries to sleep in my bed with me sometimes, and daddy never stops him." Simon understood that one too and he winced. His father was a fan of that too when nights got too lonely.

The two children kept talking until the sunset, dumping secrets on each other the way kids do. By the end of the day, they knew one another better than they knew themselves. Neither of them knew the time when they parted, but knew they should rush home, with a promise to meet up in two days at the same place.

And life continued like that for about seven years. They met whenever they could, not always on the beach, sometimes at the park or in the nearly abandoned arcade that only cost $0.10 a game.

Simon became more protective of her as they grew on. He was sixteen now. He didn't fully present yet, which usually happened at eighteen. However, his alpha instincts were full force. The omega had to stop him multiple times from going to kill her father, and he kept her safe from other alpha pricks who tried to prey on her.

In turn, the omega became Simons sounding board. She became his solace every time his father got too drunk and laid hands on him. Every time he had to cry himself to sleep as his father climbed out of his bed. Every time he wondered why his mother couldn't have taken him with her, His omega was there, her scent wrapping around him like a blanket.

Around five months after his sixteenth birthday, Simon got an opportunity. It wasn't much, a military boot camp idea, but it could get him out of this crappy town and away from his father. But if he got away from his father, then he got away from his omega.

But that thought didn't occur to the omega. All she could think was Go. Get out of this hellhole and have a good life for us both. She didnt care about being left behind, she just needed him to get out and be happy.

"Come on, Simon. If you dont take this, you'll be stuck here like every other poor, fucked up assholes in this town." She'd tell him, and he would just shake his head, deep in thought.

"Cant leave you, birdie." He'd tell her each time. "Wont leave you alone here." And of course, his reasoning would be the exact same: he wouldn't let her grow up in this hell hole by herself.

"I can get out of here. Ill go to college in a couple years and be fine." The omega would reason, and Simon would simply put an arm over her shoulder and let out a gentle purr. As if telling her 'im done with this conversation'.

It only took two more days of convincing for it to work. That and the worst beating he had ever gotten. When he saw his omega the nect day he could barely look her in the eyes. His face was bruised and bloody, and he had a black eye puffy from crying.

"You're leaving today." Her voice held no room for arguing. Simon didn't want to argue. He stayed silent for a minute.

"Can you come with me?" He asked in such a broken tone, his omega smiled sadly at him.

"No. You'll do okay, Simon. We'll find each other. We are destined." She promised before placing a gentle kiss on his chin. A pledge of her eternal affection for him.

...

Part two will be longer, this is more of a prolouge/backstory. Thanks for reading ♡

[skulldetergent]

i love to imagine this beautiful, carefully planned, and thought out wedding ceremony for ghost and soap, but if i'm honest with myself then they'd probably just secretly elope on a cliff in scotland or something like that

[doodlenoodleboi]

The monthly tumblr sexymen arguments…

But as a person who has dated a military man both of these are possible for the character of course a bit more milder like i love it when they write about Simon absolutely breaking your back with permission of course. In addition to this he has PTSD typical for any army soldier of this age which is 32-42 give or take the standard 35. Simon isn’t nice, he is unintentionally mean and blunt it difficult for him to find a partner.

I don’t agree with the fact that he has slept with a bunch of woman or has no problem finding hook ups. Maybe been to the bar once or twice and had a couple accidents but that’s about it. He keeps to himself isn’t close to anyone, if he were to fall in love it would be some traumatic response to a nurse or motherly figure. Sex isn’t something I could see this man heavily desiring if anything he’d be ok with is right hand for the rest of his life.

He desires a feeling a comfort in war not just outside but within himself with ptsd and with someone who provides that it would lead to sex now if you want a fanfiction on that my ask box Is open. 😉😘

I’m best a writing for Ghost though I can write more characters!

But fr im sorry but I can’t see price sharing anything he as an old lover boy boomer. He’s in his 50’s late 40’s..but if it makes you happy of course who am I to knock it doesn’t affect me, good for the fantasy I guess…I’m sure realistically nobody wants that but it’s nice to read.

Also men that want dominance and control are the first to eat some pussy say so myself soo maybe implement that… just asking…. They thrive off the fact they are pleasuring you and next thing you know they have a big ego. So for your “dom” character I would appreciate a lot more of this fr writers I love yall and happy writing!! 💗

Can’t believe we’re doing this again.

Just a reminder: these characters are FICTIONAL! As in NOT REAL! Therefore write them however the fuck you feel like writing them.

If you want Soap to be a sex freak, PLEASE write him as such.

I. Am. So. Sick. Of. Purity. Culture.

That being said, of course you should tag your fics accordingly—if it’s smut, tag smut! If it’s fluff, tag fluff!

[sillyswriting]

: ̗̀➛ dad johnny 'soap' mactavish

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  ₊✩ˎˊ˗ johnny's son gets a wee bit too curious

cw : angsty, ptsd.

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  collection ⋆ timeline

Fluttering his eyes open, Johnny wondered why he was waking.

The room was still plunged in darkness, meaning it was far too early for anyone in the house to be awake.

Just as he was about to roll over and pull you back into his arms to drift off again, he felt it—small, soft, chubby fingers drifting over the scar on the side of his face.

One of his wee ones was out of bed.

Judging by the size of the hand, Johnny figured it was Collin. The twins were still sleeping peacefully in their cradles, and the three eldest were supposed to be warm and safe in their own beds. But Collin, he was different. He had always been prone to nightmares, ever since he'd gotten his own bedroom.

Sometimes Johnny would find him curled up beside Angus, finding comfort in his older brother’s bed.

Most nights, though, Collin ended up cradled between his parents, tucked into the warmth of their comforting bodies. Tonight must have been one of those nights.

He never cried, his wee lamb. He'd simply got up, grabbed his teddy bear and pacifier, and waddled his way toward his safe haven, his father’s arms. Johnny hadn’t heard him this time.

Not the sound of his door opening, not the quiet patter of little feet on the floor, not even the soft grunt as he pulled himself up onto the bed. Maybe he was losing his old military reflexes.

Maybe he was finally, truly at peace, with his wife, with his bairns. 

He was pulled from his reverie by the soft touch of those same little fingers brushing over the scar again. It didn’t hurt—it was numb—but no one ever touched it. No one but you. And Johnny himself, but only when necessary. 

He gently took his son's hand, pressing a kiss to his tiny fingers before pulling him close into his arms, holding him against his chest.

A surprised squeal burst from the boy’s mouth, breaking the silence, and making Johnny smile.

How could he ever miss the sound of firearms and bombs when he had this? These soft, innocent sounds, this quiet joy. Even if he could go back to his old life, Johnny wouldn’t. Not now.

Not when he had his bairns.

“Why are ye out of yer bed, young lad?” he whispered into his son's hair, inhaling the sweet scent of baby shampoo and sleep.

"Bad dream," Collin murmured, his head already tucked into the curve of his father’s neck. "'Gus don't wakey..." he added, his small voice thick with despair over his brother not waking up.

Johnny tried to recall himself at three years old, how big and terrifying the world must have felt.

And yet, his little boy hadn’t cried. He had simply gone to his brother, and when that didn’t bring comfort, to his father. 

You had been worried sick about his nightmares. You’d taken him to doctor after doctor, searching for answers. But they all said the same thing: nothing was wrong with the wee lamb. The only explanation offered was that he likely had an unusually vivid imagination. It hadn’t eased your worry.

With your other children, you’d gently encouraged them to sleep through the night in their own beds. But with Collin, all that resolve melted away. If he needed to be cradled in your arms or Johnny’s to sleep, then so be it. It wasn’t favouritism, it was instinct. That gnawing, relentless feeling that if he wasn’t in his bed at night, you had somehow failed him.

That you were a bad mother. 

Johnny had tried to reassure you, time and time again, that none of it was your fault, or his. But it never truly helped. Your heart still broke every time you saw your son standing silently at the foot of the bed, his little face barely lit by moonlight, trying to wriggle between his parents without waking them.

And it wasn't like you turned down your other children when then wanted to sleep with you. It was near impossible for the both of you to refuse them anything. Johnny longed for those winter nights where all his family sleep in his bed, in the safety of his arms. 

"Are ye scared, my darling?" Johnny asked, his hands cradling his Collin's soft hair as a gesture of reassurance and love. 

Feeling him shake his head, Johnny couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. So brave, his Collin was.

The little boy wiggled deeper into his father’s embrace, then mumbled through his pacifier and sleep, “Not 'more.”

Johnny let out a soft exhale, eyes fluttering closed again, ready to drift back into sleep until Collin suddenly sat upright, as if hit by a jolt of energy.

With a quiet sigh, Johnny arched a brow in the dim light, already preparing to scold him gently.  But before he could say anything, his son reached for the scar again. That small, barely-there brush of fingers sparked something deep inside him.

And just like that, he was back. He heard the bullet cut through the air, felt the burning impact. Felt his body hit the ground. Heard his team shouting his name, voices cracking through fear. Felt the ghost of a hand pressing against his chest. Death tightening its grip.

He bolted upright, breath ragged, sweat rolling down his back in cold rivulets. The room tilted for a moment. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to shake the memory loose, trying to stay here, in the now, with his son, not lost in a battlefield that no longer existed.

“Daddy?” The voice was small, distant, like it came through water. But it cut through the haze.

Johnny’s eyes darted around the room, wild and unfocused, until they finally landed on his son.

Collin was staring at him, wide-eyed, pacifier hanging from the edge of his mouth. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears—not from fear for himself, but for his father.

He didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand.

His little heart didn’t know the weight of trauma, didn’t know what memories could do to a man who had seen too much. All he knew was that his touch had broken something.

And in his three-year-old mind, that meant he had done something wrong. Johnny’s heart cracked wide open.

He reached forward with both hands, scooping Collin back into his lap, holding him tight. One hand cradled the back of his son’s head, the other wrapped protectively around his small back.

“No, no, sweetheart,” Johnny whispered, voice rough. “Ye didnae do anything wrong. Daddy’s okay. Just got a wee bit lost in his head, that’s all.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of Collin’s curls, his hands shaking a little now, in spite the storm still lingering in his chest.

“It’s not yer fault. Never is. Ye hear me, baby?” Collin didn’t say anything, just buried his face in his father’s neck, clinging tighter. He could feel it, soft, cold tears slipping down his neck, mixing with the sweat still clinging to his skin.

His sweet boy never cried when the nightmares came. Not once had he shed a tear over the monsters that haunted his sleep. But now… Now he was crying.

Not from fear, not from bad dreams, but from something far too heavy for such a small heart. From the belief that he had hurt his daddy. From the guilt of a touch he didn’t understand. Over something he was still too small to understand. 

Johnny’s chest tightened. He closed his eyes and held his son tighter, rocking him gently.

“Oh, Collin…” he whispered, voice cracking around the name like it was made of glass. Small tears of his own making their way to his eyes. 

And in that moment, he wasn’t a soldier. He wasn’t broken. He wasn’t drowning in memories of war. He was just a father—with his boy in his arms. And somehow, that was enough to bring him back.

“Ye didnae do anything wrong, me angel,” Johnny cooed softly, rocking his son with gentle motions, trying to soothe the sorrow he felt pouring from him. He could still feel Collin’s tears trickling down, warm and persistent. “Shh, it’s alright, look at me.”

He gently tried to ease the small body from the crook of his neck, but paused when he felt movement beside him, you shifting slightly in your sleep. Careful not to wake you, Johnny rose quietly, securing Collin snug against his chest. He grabbed the soft blanket folded at the end of the bed and stepped out into the hallway.

Collin’s bed was far too small for a grown man, but Johnny had slept in worse conditions, and right now, comfort wasn’t the point. At least, not for him. 

The soft glow of the night light filled the small room as Johnny stepped inside. He tried to lay his son down, but Collin’s arms tightened, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping him grounded. So Johnny gave in, groaning softly as he settled himself awkwardly onto the tiny mattress, joints protesting, especially when his knee cracked near the floor.

Still cradling Collin, he tugged the blanket over them both.

“Can ye look at me, baby?” he whispered.

Collin shifted slightly, and Johnny’s heart nearly broke all over again. There he was, only three years old, trying so hard to be brave for his dad, trying to stop his tears, biting back sobs like it was his job to protect someone twice his size.

But it wasn’t working. Johnny brushed away the tears with a calloused thumb, his touch tender.

“Ye asked me once about all those things on me body, remember?” he asked, keeping his voice low and calm, letting the moment guide him. When Collin only blinked at him in sleepy confusion, Johnny gently lifted his arm and rolled back the sleeve to reveal a scar along his forearm. “The pretty lines?” he prompted.

That seemed to work. The sadness in Collin’s eyes dulled just enough to make space for curiosity. He nodded and slowly sat himself up on his dad’s stomach, pacifier still in his mouth, and reached out with one chubby hand.

His tiny fingers brushed over the scar, feather-light. Johnny stayed still, watching him with a soft expression. Distraction. Comfort. Connection.

He had always loved to touch his parents. Anytime you were pregnant, Collin would curl up beside your growing belly, talking to the baby inside and gently caressing the skin like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Their sweet boy.

“Well, this one—” Johnny said, taking one of Collin’s small hands in his own and guiding it to the scar along the side of his head, “—this one’s special, aye? It hurt Daddy a lot when it happened. It’s filled with bad dreams, just like yours.”

He turned his head slightly and pressed a kiss to his son’s hand, still cradled in his much larger one, before looking into those bright blue eyes, a mirror of his own.

“When ye touched it, it brung back all those bad dreams,” he said softly, “but it isn’t your fault. These dreams… they come and go as they please, ye see? Nobody can control them. Not even me.”

His voice was gentle, lilting, full of the patience he always saved for his children.

Johnny had never talked down to them. He didn’t believe in hiding things behind grown-up walls or brushing away their curiosity. He explained. He listened. He answered every question—no matter how small—like it was the most important one in the world. He had all the time in the world for them.

“Hurt now?” Collin asked, his tiny thumb gently stroking the scar.

“No, not anymore,” Johnny said, voice still warm. “Just like your dreams aren’t scary anymore when ye’re awake. Yet some times, when you remember them, ye feel a bit scared, aye? ” He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

There was a pause. 

“Aye,” Collin whispered, and a soft smile replaced the tears that had long since dried.

“It’s the same,” Johnny said softly, gently pulling his son back against his chest, feeling the weight of his small body begin to relax.

Collin’s eyes were already starting to flutter shut, exhausted from the tears, from the fear, from being so little in a world so big.

“Sometimes, when I remember… I get scared,” Johnny continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s all. Not yer fault at all.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of his son’s head, his lips lingering there for a moment. Collin’s body went limp with sleep, his breathing evening out as the safety of his father’s arms pulled him under.

“Daddy’s sorry he scared you, baby,” Johnny murmured at last, voice tinged with guilt and love, the kind only a parent could carry.

Then he closed his eyes too, letting the silence of the room and the rise and fall of their shared breath cradle them both into sleep.

©sillyswriting 2025

this fictional man, I WRITE ABOUT, makes me wanna have kids. jesus, what have i become?

[pap3rtigers]

This fic is currently in progress. All updates will be published to my Archive Of Our Own first, and published to Tumblr the following week.

Under NO circumstances do you or ANYONE else have permission to use ANYTHING I publish for AI. Do not copy or repost my works.

Read The Full Fic on Archive Of Our Own

Summary: "We get dirty, and the world stays clean." That was always the mission of Task Force 141. Two alphas, two betas, and the unshakable bond of a pack forged in bullets and blood. No omega needed, not when they had each other. But when a raid pulls you from the wreckage of a human trafficking ring, their entire world changes.

You’re a survivor first—an omega second. Thrust into a world of soldiers and secrets, you don’t trust the hands that pulled you from the dark. They say you’re safe, but instincts are louder than words, and your fractured bond to the world leaves you adrift.

In the shadows of their newfound mission, Task Force 141 struggles to piece together the horrors they've encountered. Lines blur. Tension builds. And maybe, just maybe, you're what they never knew they'd been missing.

Pairing: Eventual Poly141 / Reader Warnings: Omegaverse, Human Trafficking, On-Screen Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, A/B/O typical sexism, Military Inaccuracies, Military Operations, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Medical Experimentation

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Everyone Lives/No One Dies, Explicit Sexual Content, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Older Man/Younger Woman, Author Has Played Call of Duty, Alpha John Price, Alpha Simon Riley, Beta John MacTavish, Beta Kyle Garrick, Omega Reader, Multiple/Alternating POVs, Polyamorous Task Force 141, Canon Divergence

Chapter 1: The Omega  → AO3 | Tumblr

Chapter 2: Emergency Evasive Maneuvers  → AO3 | Tumblr

Chapter 3: The Safehouse  → AO3 | Tumblr

Chapter 4: Discussions  → AO3 | Tumblr

Chapter 5: Exfiltration  → AO3 | Tumblr

Chapter 6: Distress  → AO3 | Tumblr

[rivercloak]

this is literally soap:

[aussiepineapple1st]

Enemy’s Favour (7)

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