#soap down bad for ghost

[lunainlove]

I feel like I have read all the good fanfics on ao3 for ghostsoap 😭😭 in times like this I hate being so picky with what I read and all the other fanfics that catch my attention are not finished and I refuse to read until they are done because I’m not patient at all so I’m left with nothing 😭😭😭 and finding good fics is so difficult on ao3 like I usually get what I read from recommendations, snooping into my fav authors bookmarks and pure luck

Anyway if someone has good fanfics please lmk I’m open to anything but recently I’ve been craving some mission focused fic or something like that with found family (I’m a sucker for gaz price ghost soap laswell ale and rudy together) and a happy ending because the I absolutely adore angst as long as there’s a happy ending 😭😭😭😭

[hai-nae]

uno reverse

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

As per usual, it’s DP crossover with (probably) DC, although you could probably adjust it for other fandoms

ANYWAYS

A little kid and his mother are trick or treating in another city, perhaps at some kind of event rather than knocking on doors, and the kid is dressed as Phantom. It’s very adorable, with his little ghost-shaped bucket and clearly homemade and already stained costume—listen, white only works if you can just fly over street grime or phase it out of your clothes—and his slightly I’ll fitting wig. The kid is SO happy to be out and about dressed as his favorite, and maybe even showed it off to Phantom back in Amity Park before his family left.

The hero, insert whoever you wish here, is probably in civvies and just enjoying the event. The kid, meanwhile, is so glad when people ask who he is so he can explain, and so- the hero gets to hear ALL ABOUT the local town hero who is probably pretty small time despite the kid’s clearly exaggerated stories. The hero certainly never heard of him, but the kid’s mom confirms that Phantom really was the town hero, despite some mixed reviews of the poor guy.

“Did you manage to show him your costume?” the hero asks.

“Yeah! We went down to the cemetery to leave flowers and I got to show him my costume.”

Wait. Cemetery? Maybe it was part of theme, because Phantom had to be named that for a reason, but… it sounded like…

The kid ignores the suddenly VERY still hero and instead turns to his mom. “Momma, do you think we should bring him candy? He doesn’t get to trick or treat like we do, and I can work super hard to get him a bunch!”

The kid’s mom just smiles. “We could, but maybe we should bring him something homemade. I bet he’d like something more filling, teen boys like him have a hollow leg.”

The kid wrinkles his nose. “Like Vernie with the pizza bagels?”

“Like your cousin, yes. We can make some cinnamon rolls and take them to his memorial, maybe bring some of the apples from your grandpa’s garden…”

The hero is pretty much forgotten as the two-part family wanders off, not quite intentionally forgetting the hero is there so much as the hero somewhat accidentally ended the conversation when they just froze and didn’t ask anything further.

Not that the hero didn’t want to. But they’d learn something very serious.

One—there was a small town hero they’d never heard of. Two—that hero was apparently a teen. Third—most pressingly, the teen hero was both beloved enough to have kids dressing up as him and dead enough to have a grave.

This… might require some phone calls.

[lovebeatriceplz]

Soap! Who wasn't really sure what to expect from the medic who was joining the team. However, he was more than happy to introduce himself.

Soap! Who found you quite pleasant to be around. You were sweet, gentle and good at your job. This place needed a little eye candy anyways.

Soap! Who couldn't help but feel even the movements of your fingers. Every graze, every trace of his skin. You were simply doing your job, patching him up but it had his stomach doing flips.

Soap! Who falls into a mini (deep) delusion. Surely he was special, right?. There was no way his teammates received the same treatment, that level of intimacy and softness was for him only. Atleast, that's what he told Simon.

Soap! Who finds himself visiting the medbay for the most irrelevant reasons. He twisted his ankle? Medbay, He got a scratch? Medbay, He's feeling peckish? Medbay. It's really all an excuse to blatantly flirt with you.

Soap! Who only becomes more confident when you put up with it. Making bolder moves, grabbing your wrists when you try to apply an ointment, or leaning way closer than necessary.

Soap! Who thinks about you on missions, the safety of an entire nation is a lot of pressure to carry, so he worries about you're safety instead.

Soap! Who secretly beams when the squad refers to you as "Johnny's little nurse". It was even better when you tried to laugh off your embarrassment, begging him to tell them not to call you that, he wonders what else you'll beg for.

Soap! Who ends up with his hands under your vest and his lips... everywhere after a long mission. The door was probably locked, he's not too sure.

Soap! Who will always come back to you, because you're "Johnny's little nurse". His nurse, his girl.

[yooo-lets-go]

Tell me (the meaning of love)

[milf-murdock]

Simon Riley as a dad VS. John MacTavish as a dad

I can’t stop thinking about it IM SORRY

Simon Riley with his sweet lil babe. So scared of making all the wrong decisions. So hesitant to bring a new life into this world.

Compared to

Johnny “Tries to Knock You Up First Night of your Honeymoon” MacTavish, who can’t fucking wait to raise a whole brood of wee ones with his love. Tossing them over his shoulder, playing rough with them, scooping them up in his big strong arms and blowing raspberries on their bellies.

Can you tell I’m ovulating

@sim0nril3y indulges my delusions ☠️

[reds-skull]

Anatomy is one of the biggest thing I need to work on, so why not do it while drawing these two fuckers.

Tried to focus just on the sketch/lineart, so no shading on this one...

[sky-is-the-limit]

(+18) MDNI

Okay, Captain Price hoes, I found another audio for ya, this is literally John fucking Price meeting you at the bar and well.. The way he talks, the nicknames he uses.. tell me that ain't f Price.

NSFW audio, listen at your own risk:)

[saragapen]

Scorpions from the past

[toshidou]

taskforce 141 - favourite positions . . .

Characters // Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" Mactavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Captain John Price

Tags // 18+ ONLY, afab reader, creampie, biting, squirting, smoking, dominant Price.

AN // don't ask me why the price one was so long, because the only answer you're going to get is "excruciating brainrot"

(if you don't know any of the positions, don't be afraid to get on with some googling. i promise it'll be totally worth the bug-eyed stare you'll be getting from your assigned FBI agent.)

Simon “Ghost” Riley - Doggy style

He knows it’s cliché as fuck, but there’s something about being able to hold your hips as he loses himself in you that just drives him fucking wild. 

Especially when he fucks you so good, your arms give out, your back arched so perfectly before him. You look like the definition of ‘face down, ass up', so much so that the sight alone has his eyes rolling straight to the back of his head. 

He’ll make you hold that position for as long as possible, veins popping in his arms as he holds your hips up for you, cock drilling near torturously against your fluttering walls, clenching each time his balls slap against your throbbing clit.

It's addictive, being able to watch how well you take his cock, blackened eyes locked on the way your pussy takes every thick inch of him, strong fingers prying apart the reddened globes of your ass to get a better look at how prettily your cunt spasms around his shaft, at how your velvet walls desperately attempt to suck him in to the hilt.

And it always takes every ounce of strength within him not to cum on the spot when he glances up and sees your face tilted to the side from where it's pressed against a drool soaked pillow; lidded, molten eyes pinned on him from under your lashes, perfectly pink lips stretched open, leaking endless breathy whines and soft moans of his name that have him turning near fucking feral.

When he's getting close, he'll plaster his chest to your back, hands coming down harshly, planted either side of your head, low grunts and harsh breaths panted against the shell of your ear, "that's it, sweetheart, takin' my cock like you were fuckin' made for it, made just for me."

Anytime he has your skin within reach of his mouth, he never hesitates to bite down, adorning every inch of your skin with teeth indentations that bruise, semi-permanent reminders that you're his (the knowledge that you wear his marks when he's away are sometimes the only thing that get's him through).

He'll lean back up before he climaxes, not afraid to admit he has an addiction to watching the way his cum dribbles in thick rivulets down your thighs, unable to stop himself from dragging his spent cock up your sweat and cum slicked skin, gathering his seed on the reddened tip, only to lazily push it back right back into you.

(Sometimes that alone has the blood rushing right back to his dick, fucking you straight into round two, no breaks required. That's the effect you have on him.)

John “Soap” Mactavish - G-Whiz

No matter how it starts, you will always end up in this position, your legs thrown over Johnny's shoulders, his hands gripping your outer thighs so hard you know he's left bruises, again.

Not that either of you are complaining, not when you know just how wild having you like this drives him, frenzied eyes darting constantly up the length of your body, from your fucked out face, down to the way your tits bounce with every aggressive cant of his hips against your ass, finally landing on the piece de résistance, your perfect little hole, stretched so beautifully around him.

There are many reasons this is favourite way to fuck you senseless, almost too many to name. Whether it be the way he can drag his fingers up your quivering legs, holding your knees from where they hook over thick, built shoulders, using them as a leverage to fuck into your pussy harder, harder, harder, just like you're senselessly begging him for between hiccupped breaths.

Or maybe because he knows that when he's away, the only thing you'll be thinking about as you frantically grind your core against his pillow will be this. The perfect way he rolls his hips, hitting the angle that has you screaming his name every single fucking time without fail. Thick, rough fingers rubbing harsh circles against your abused clit as you squirt around his cock, shaking hands forming an ironclad grip on his wrist that lets him know that you're teetering on the edge of insanity, body unable to work out whether it wants him to stop, or if it needs more.

He knows it's always the latter.

"C'mon hen, I know you can gimme more, show me how pretty you look when I fuckin' ruin ya."

When he's finally done with you, his cockhead buried against your cervix, pumping you full of every drop of cum he has to offer, he'll litter the side of your thighs with feather-light kisses and gentle praises, all uttered against your skin with a giddy smile that won't leave his lips for hours afterwards.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick - Pretzel Dip

Without a doubt, there's nothing that Gaz could say he loves more than eye contact. The intimacy he feels from keeping his gaze locked to yours as you fall apart on his cock has kept him awake on more nights that he cares to admit whenever you're apart.

Plagued by the image of you half leant on your side, head lolling as your energy dips, all consumed by the pleasure that rolls through your nervous system in continuous, agonising waves. Haunted by the memories of one of his thighs sandwiched betwixt both of yours, clenching around him in unison with the walls of your pussy as he drags his cock against it in torturously slow, deep thrusts.

He saves fucking you like this for when he's finally reunited with you, uses it as one of his many motivations to return home safe, because when you're finally cradled in his arms once more, it's only a matter of minutes before he has you just the way he wants you: on your side and shaking. It works for you as well, unable to prevent the wetness that gathers between your thighs when you learn that Kyle is mere hours from returning, knowing what will inevitably come the second he walks through the door.

He doesn't let his eyes leave yours for a second, barely remembers to fucking blink, because he knows how flustered you get when he looks at you like this, like a man starved and the only thing that could ever satiate him is you.

He'll keep the pace languid, if only to watch the way soft gasps turn to keening pleas, adorable little begs falling from your mouth when the contentedness of his return transforms into unbridled desperation, not a single thought residing in your mind other than the all consuming need to cum.

He'll only begins to really fuck you when he feels the coil in his gut start to wind, unable to hold back the animalistic urge to pound you into the mattress, his gaze turning from soft, to predatory in mere seconds. It's the only hint you get before he's splitting you in half, watching you with wild eyes as you grip onto the bedsheets in a last ditch attempt to find purchase, to keep you somewhat anchored as his cock slams into you at near inhuman speed.

Neither of you last much longer after that, frenzied hips stuttering to a standstill as the coil finally snaps, lidded eyes still remain fixed to yours, only closing when he leans down and captures your lips with his, cradling your tired neck with such care, it has you preening into his touch.

"God, I've missed you, gorgeous."

"Missed me, or my pussy?"

"Am I not allowed to say both? I feel like I'm not allowed to say both."

"... I mean I missed your dick. Can't say as much about the rest of you -oof- no! No hickies, I have work tomorrow you fucking heathen—"

John Price - Cowgirl

There aren't many things John can say he loves more than watching you ride his cock. Of course, he loves his cigars, and will never pass up a glass of whiskey after a long night. But this? Nothing comes fucking close.

No, none of those things are a patch on the sight of you fucking yourself on his cock, hands much daintier than his could ever be planted squarely against his chest, wisps of curled hair peaking from between spread fingers as you use his torso as leverage to bounce harder, faster on his twitching length.

He lets you do all the work, lidded, relaxed eyes languidly taking in the way your face twists in frustration, eyebrows pinched together, annoyed little humphs exhaled past downturned lips as your energy rapidly depletes, thigh muscles burning from overexertion battling against the need to please, to wipe the smug, cocky smirk from the Captain's lips and leave him breathless instead.

Sometimes, if he's really looking to rile you up, he'll reach his hands down towards your waist, savouring the way your eyes light up, only to see that optimism snuffed out the second he reaches for his trouser pocket, hanging just below his hips, and pulls out a fresh cigar and his favourite lighter, the one you bought him. A purchase you sincerely regret every time it's used to taunt you.

He'll hang the rolled tobacco between self-satisfied lips, maintaining steady eye contact as he flicks open the cap of the stainless steel lighter, and sparks up. No matter how hard you try to keep your reactions at bay, they always slip through, fingernails biting into his skin, inking red crescents into his chest, rising to the challenge he sets, even if you know you're giving him exactly what he wants.

The taunting will only get worse, every drop in your pace has him smirking, fingers that remain attached to the cigar pull it from his lips, letting smoke billow from his open mouth, watching as it curls in playful tendrils, caressing your face as they pass by. Always followed by words that aim to goad, rasped out in a low, intoxicating tone so condescending that it has your knees shaking.

"Need help already, sweetheart?"

"Look at how much your thighs are shaking. Is that from exhaustion, or my cock?"

"Come on now, thought I taught you how to ride dick better than this, love."

And like clockwork, you snap, fingers plucking the lit cigar from his mouth and stamping it out against his discarded shirt. There are many ways you've fired him up enough to finally fuck you. But for a second you fear that the line may have been well and truly crossed.

"Now now, pet, I think you might live to regret that."

You'd get little other warning before rough hands come to grip the plush of your waist, lifting you enough to allow him to plant his feet against the bed and fuck up into you so hard you have little other choice than to collapse against his chest, fingernails leaving biting red lines across skin as you feel his cock hammer against the convulsing walls of your cunt, somehow deeper than you knew possible, dragging against pleasure points you didn't know existed until Price had come along and effectively ruined you for any other man.

It wouldn't take much to send you careening off the edge, pussy clamping down on his cock hard enough he can't help but follow, rough, deep groans reverberate through his chest, where your head is still firmly planted, exhaustion creeping through every aching muscle as you whimper pathetically into red, welted skin, finding comfort in the soft tickle of his chest hair against your tear splotched cheeks.

"Did so well for me, love, always make me feel so fuckin' good."

Because no matter how much Price loves to provoke you, he'll always be there to soothe you afterwards, with soft caresses and consuming kisses.

A pause— 

"Can't believe you put out my fuckin' cigar, and on my favourite shirt, no less."

"It was the least you deserved, John, and you know it."

[meowmeowriley]

Rabbit shifter Ghost likes to be stuff on Soap's hoodie pocket even if he won't fit. Soap ends up getting one of jumpers with a cat pocket to accommodate this.

Maybe a clear bag some cats travel in to keep Ghost contained when needed.

Ghost, being a Flemish Giant, does not fit in Soap's hoodie pocket, to his own dismay. However, when Soap steals a hoodie from Ghost, one that's oversized even on Ghost himself, and has just a huge front pocket, Ghost can't help himself. He shifts mid sprint, after having spotted his favorite hoodie on his favorite Sergeant across the training field. Goes from running full tilt to hopping at the speed of light. A grey streak, cutting the field in half. A missile, lazer guided and target locked. The target: the pocket of that hoodie.

Soap barely has time to brace himself after spotting the gray blur approaching out of the corner of his eye at mach Jesus.

Ghost's aim is true, he leaps, front paws catching the hem of the pocket and pushing it out of the way enough to stuff himself into. His head pops out the far side, ass, and feet stopping him from shooting straight through because he's a thick boy. His momentum, being a 20 pound (10 kilo) ball hurtling towards Soap like a meteor, yanks Soap off balance and he fails wildly and careens forward whilst trying to catch his balance again, so as to not squash his damn Lieutenant.

The soldiers Soap had been lecturing were stunned silent.

Soap had no way of knowing the hoodie he'd stolen was Ghost's designated digging and tunneling hoodie, that he owned it specifically so that he could stuff himself into the pocket. What he did know, now at least, was that he would be stealing this particular hoodie every chance he got.

Soap did not address what had just happened. He straightened back up, cleared his throat, and went back to instructing. Ignoring the rabbit chinning the hem of the pocket, or his hand when he went to pet him.

The soldiers, to their credit, also remained silent about the bunny butt, feet stuck out backwards and tail flashed high, sticking out the other end.

Soap later found himself on Amazon looking at the hoodies designed to carry cats in, desperately checking reviews to make sure they could handle an extra large cat (or in this case, rabbit). He may have ordered himself several of them.

[natelia-aldelliz]

After the Chicago mission ! (Soap probably asks Ghost to close the curtains after that)

[buckdefencesquad]

I fully hc ghost ugly as FUCK under that mask. It’s not even to do with all the scars, he’s just uglyyyyy. It’s one of the reasons he wears the mask (though he likes to pretend it’s not). He’s not even “ugly hot” he’s just ugly. He’s made (some) peace with it. Hasn’t let it bother him in years and then in comes pretty boy Soap.

Then he has to deal with Soap being friendly AND flirting with him. So he’s mean, tries to put him off by snapping and snarling like the junkyard dog he is. And Soap LOVES it. It just makes him flirt harder. So Ghost gives in and flirts back. They become friends. They become…. more. (Emotionally, nothing has actually happened yet). Then just before the mission El Sin Nombre, Soap is like “fuck it, I’m shooting my shot” gets Ghost alone, presses him against the wall and kisses him through the mask, hard and desperate (with tongue. Don’t judge Soap, he’s wanted it for a while and it might be his last chance).

Ghost is stunned, bamboozled, flabbergasted! Soaps hands didn’t even TRY and move his mask, they just made a home for themselves on his hips. Soap pulls away, winks and saunters off like the cocky prick (affectionate) he is. Ghost finds himself pressing his tongue against the fabric of his mask, trying to see if he can taste Johnny (he can’t). They don’t get to address anything because (they don’t get the chance) and then obviously Alone happens. Ghost is spiralling a little as he waits for Johnny. Hates himself for thinking “at least he never got the chance to change his mind when he saw my face” when he thinks Johnny is dead. But then obviously Johnny lives.

Ghost can’t stop thinking about how it’ll all change when Johnny sees him, he needs the team to trust him. Two birds, one stone. Johnny doesn’t react, doesn’t say anything at the table. Ghost knows what that means. He’s used to rejection but it’s never felt quite like this.

He takes five minutes alone in the bathroom to mourn what could have been, what he could have had if he just never. took. off. the. mask. He’s kicking himself, he’s angry, upset, miserable, heartbroken!

Then he pulls himself together, shoves his feelings downs deep and rips the door open, ready to fight. Killing graves will make him feel better.

Johnny's waiting on the other side of the door. Ghost goes to quietly move out of his way. He doesn’t get the chance, Johnny shoves him back into the bathroom, slams and locks the door.

Ghosts first thought is about how he can take Johnny down without permanently damaging him. He knows what he’s there for, to kick the shit out of him for leading him on. Letting him think Ghost was attractive. He gets ready to fight.

Soap yanks the mask off, exposing Ghosts face to the harsh bathroom lighting. He’s kind of pissed, no one ever looks good in fucking fluorescent lighting (Johnny does, of course). It just makes him feel worse.

Soap shoves him up against the sink and kisses him. If Ghost thought Johnny was desperate during their first kiss, he’s downright ravenous in this one. He can feel him hard against his thigh. Ghost is even more shocked than the first time. They hear the “time to go” and Soap pulls away, winks and saunters off. Ghosts only thought is “what the fuck just happened”

[ebodebo]

her and ghost are on a stakeout, it's been hours without any trace of the enemy or whatever and she’s like super bored obvi. ghost, like the good little soldier boy he is, has his eye up to the scope perched on his gun and won't look away from the target area. she decides to test how good his training is. he’s leaning against the edge of a building and she slips under it to suck his dick. he barely has any physical reaction, he makes virtually no noise. the only way she knows he's actually enjoying it is by the feeling how hard his dick is throbbing on her tongue and how much pre-come is leaking into her mouth. 

-from you know who ;)

Good Soldier Boy

NSFW CONTENT

—ghost x f!reader

—561

wanna be on my taglist ? fill out this form !

Ghost and her were currently perched on a building, staking out a warehouse full of illegal ballistic missiles smuggled in by Al-Qatala with the help of Las Almas Cartel. 

The mission: kill Al-Qatala's leader and seize the missiles, seemed simple on paper. Well, their version of "simple." But, God, did it require a long wait time.

"We've been here for hours." She said, stretching her legs out from their crisscrossed position, leaning her back against the wall covering them. Ghost ignored her. 

He was staring through his gun's scope, waiting patiently for Khaled Al-Asad to come into view. The rest of the crew was on the ground waiting patiently for this so they could swarm the operation. 

"Are you listening to me?" She swiftly turned her head to face him. 

"No." He said blatantly. "We are supposed to be focused on our target. Not talking."

She rolled her eyes. "Do you always follow the orders you're given exactly?"

"I quite like my job, so yes." 

"You should wipe the spit off of Price's balls since you suck them so often." 

He ignores her snarky comment. Something he has become a master at in the last couple of hours. 

His lack of response sparks an idea in her head. "Let's see how good your training is, shall we?" She hurries off the wall and slips her body under his. His body does not react to her sudden change in position. She brings her hands up to undo his belt and unzips his dark-wash cargo pants.

She slowly slips his pants down his thighs, leaving them to drop around his ankles. She then moves to remove his boxers, showcasing his erect cock. 

She slowly takes her finger to graze the base, reaching the head. He had no vocal reaction to touching him. The only indication he was enjoying himself was the feeling of his throbbing cock on her tongue and the feeling of pre-cum coating her mouth. 

Her tongue was swirling around his head, making sure to be slow and deliberate with her movements while she brought her hand up to grip the base. Her hands move up and down slowly. As her hand moved, she opened her mouth wider to accommodate his size and pushed him in further. 

Her head began to bob up and down, her mouth taking more of him every time she went down. Tears began to stain her cheeks as he further slipped down her throat. But that didn't stop her. 

Her hands and mouth were working in unison—both at a fast, pleasurable pace. The silence was filled with wet noises and the occasion gag. Ghost remained focused on the task at hand, not making a single noise, even though his throbbing cock was twitching in the confounds of her throat, on the cusp of release. 

She could feel his climax looming and began stroking faster and sucking harder. He released in her mouth, his cum once again coating her throat and flooding into the corners of her mouth. She swallowed what was in her mouth and stuck her tongue out to lick each corner of her mouth.

She pulled his boxers and pants back on, securing them with his belt. Her body maneuvered back to her old position, crisscrossed, leaning against the wall.

"Well, I hate to say it, Lt., but you have been trained quite well." 

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[thirstykateyes]

Will I hate these messy scribbles in the morning? Definitely. Am I too tired to care? Also definitely. 😴

(Idk how I wanna draw Ghosts hair, so bare with me, it'll probably change lol)

Different masks just hit different.

[dingledangly]

@loveindefinitely I decided to finish rendering the drawing because this fic has run rampant in my mind for days now💀 I need to draw the guitar scene next, omg it literally gave me butterflies tbh