#cod johnny soap mactavish

[ilostthewar]

Omega!Reader trying to bond with pack!141 through grooming.

It’s obvious, but Johnny and Gaz fall into this much easier. Soap is a fellow Omega, so he gets the urge you’re having. Gaz is a beta, and while his instincts are a bit different, he’s completely fine with being cared for this way. Soap likes it best when you play with his hair. He might not let you shave him, he insists that it’s an art that is incredibly difficult to master Gaz is rolling his eyes the entire time. But Johnny wants you to oil his hair, play with the strands, deep condition them. Soap is the first to complain about the size of the showers cause how is he supposed to be lovingly scrubbed by your hands if the bathrooms are the size of a tiny closet? Even if he complains, it doesn’t stop him from wanting to bathe with you. Especially early in the morning when you’re both a little drowsy and the water is still hot, he can lock his arms around you and lay his face in your neck, pressing lazy kisses to your gland. It makes your scent fill the steamy room, like a sauna specifically made for him.

Gaz is in a similar boat. Grease his scalp, help detangle his hair. He likes that you keep products specifically for his hair type. He ultimately prefers lying with his head in your lap, or with you straddling his thighs, gently working lotion into his face with the tips of your fingers. He likes doing face masks with you, as long as they aren’t the pulling kind. Enjoys you gently spreading the paste over his cheeks, and you always peck his lips afterwards. However long the masks take, he simply sits with you. He likes that afterwards you’ll use a warm cloth to gently wipe it all away until his skin is clean. Kyle doesn’t really feel the need to steal your time or attention, but he willingly admits that he would bite someone if they tried to interrupt this time with you. Kyle is constantly moving, so it’s more than nice to have his pretty omega fretting over him and ensuring his comfort. When you both are finished, you’ll rub your face against his and purr so sweetly and he would do anything to get to have this all the time.

John takes a bit more convincing. He’s a busy man, and while he gets what you’re trying to do, he has trouble wiggling the time in for extensive spa treatments. At first it’s simply being around while he gets ready. Sitting on the toilet lid while he goes through his routine, or sprawled in his bed while he gets dressed. Eventually, you can start to help once you notice the rhythm, buttoning up his shirts, helping tuck them in. Pulling him around by his belt to steal kisses while you fix his collar. Though John’s absolute favorite is when he sits you on the sink and you help him trim his beard. Your hands are firm and gentle, moving in steady motions, pulling the skin taught before swiping the razor. It’s quiet and almost reverent. And when you’re done, aftershave applied and items cleaned and put away, you’ll just press against his jaw and neck. Maybe he can spare a few minutes.

Simon is probably the hardest one to bond with in this way. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, but some days are harder than others to have so much direct attention layered on him from his pack. It starts small. Simply ensuring his gear is in place, gently pulling his mask to cover his skin, maybe scenting an item of his clothing so he can have you with him all day. Peeling his gloves off to rub lotion into his hands when you both are sitting together, massaging the muscle until it twitches and relaxes. Sliding your hand under his mask to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. They seem like smaller gestures, but it’s in the way Ghost will lean into you and allow you to continue. How he searches you out when he’s had a long day. Eventually he’ll end up splayed across your body, and he swears he’s not asleep, but you’d beg to differ with his air horn snoring.

[pricegotmedickmatized]

and here we have the final boss of my hybrid/shifter au for the 141: collie!soap and housecat!mc

collie!soap who cannot fucking sit still to save his goddamn life. it's not just a preference to be active, to be working, his big ears constantly on swivel, tail held out in a straight line, no it's a full blown five alarm need that goes right through his skull, through his bones down to his soul. he needs to work, needs to be useful, needs to prove that he's worth all the irritation he knows he puts them through weaving in and around them, pushing them together into a tight knot because he's gotta keep the pack together, gotta keep the pack safe

collie!soap who loves his pack dearer than anything. even grumpy simon who only reluctantly scented him at first (now his best friend). gaz who cuddles up with him so they can sleep. price who calls them 'cub' and gives their orders like divination from god. but he's a collie. he's always looking for more pack. he wants a mate, wants a soft thing to curl up around with his knot locked in deep, smothered in his scent, round with his pups. he wants it more than he's ever wanted anything, and the whole team knows it. they'd tease him about it if it didn't make him whine, pathetic and horny and sad when they did

collie!soap who has fucked lots of girls, always with the endgame of marriage and children in mind, but it's never quite worked out. gaz says he's too eager, simon says he's too honest, price says he obviously never wanted any of them that much or he'd never have let them go without getting knotted and bred up proper. he never used to buy into that, until he goes into his local pub and finds a new lass behind the bar, sweet little cat-slitted eyes and a big fluffy white tail and fluffy white ears

collie!soap who herds her in closer and closer to him with compliments and praise and his eagerness to be close to her, only beaming when he gets too handsy and she hisses or swipes at him or catches him with her claws. it's hard to hold it against her when she always goes all meek and wracked with guilt, teary eyed and bubbling apologies as she pats his shoulders, his chest, gently explores his new wounds, and he's not afraid to use her guilt to reel her in closer

collie!soap who's fucking obsessed with her, right from the beginning. with her soft fluffy white fur, her quiet little purr she tries to hide from him when he tells her how bonnie she looks today, kitten, the way her pupils go big when she spots him coming in, the way she 'accidentally' curls her tail around his when she passes by 'accidentally' rubbing up against him. he's only a man, and he can only take so much of her teasing before he just - snaps

collie!soap who pins her in a corner in the dark back of the pub after closing when he offered to be 'helpful' and close up with her and walk her home, and she purrs when he gets his hands on her, rubbing against him like the prissy little housecat she is, pupils blown wide and sounds pouring free as he gets his hands under her skirt and makes her cum by petting her clit and telling her how pretty she is, and once he sinks his cock deep inside her cunt he's lost, marriage proposals and harsh filthy praise spilling free, look at how you take his fucking cock kitten so fucking pretty he bets you could even take his knot, isn't that right? you wanna take his knot kitten? want him to knot you good and fill that sweet little womb with his cum and swell you up all pretty and fat with his litter, you'd fucking love that wouldn't you? then ask for it, kitten, ask for his knot, you're gonna be asking for it every day the rest of your life, better get used to it lass

[chaoscreaturewrites]

Call of duty, shorts, ghost, soap

Part 9 COD shorts

Masterlist

Gets dumped loudly and publicly in the movie theater during the commercials. Ghost and Soap had just walked in as the guy was finishing and storming away from her.

They look at each other, one nod and they have the same plan. They start walking up to her row. They cross paths with the guy and Soap being a bit petty ‘bumps’ shoulders with him basically pushing him into the wall, but the guy doesn't dare say a thing back when he catches sight of ghost and he runs out

They go up to her and take a seat on either side. Ghost, always prepared,hands her a pack of tissues. Once she's done crying Soap gently takes her hand and pours some candy into it.

They said nothing to her, just acted. They didn't even speak to each other, so well tuned they didn't need words, only looks.

That's how she got dumped, watched a movie with 2 hot strangers, was fed food by a guy with a mohawk and her tears and chin wiped by a guy with a skull mask.

[ghcstsoap]

Normalizing objecting your stances into your favourite characters cause of course Soap’s favorite Zelda is Twilight Princess and his favorite Star Wars movie is Return of the Jedi and he would romance Wyll and Shadowheart in BG3 (although I'm not romancing Wyll in my Shadowheart playthrough cause I’m trying for Astarion in that one)

[tf-taskforce-141]

question for soap do you know how to spell decidsions

the word for choices

i'm being made fun of

With a bit of trouble, yea.

[Text says: Yes! It's D-E... uh

D-E-C-I-S...

D-E-C-I-S-I-O-N!

J.M β. End of Text]

[lialucis]

Need me a Simon or Johnny going to McDonalds with one of Johnny's many nieces/nephews. And finding a pretty little 'mom' in the play palace watching her kid play on the play set inside. Much to cold to go to a park, clearly. 18°F abysmal. The noisy tapping and squawking and shouting of children running around. But it's the pretty little 'mom' Simon and Johnny's eyes keep drifting back to. An offhanded comment about her saying the kids full first name in a mock whine for his attention instead of a damning scolding shout. Picking at the chicken nuggets, telling them the food is here when they're ready. Waiting for another, but quickly stopping when there are only two cups. One for her, one for her kiddo. Patient and calm and relaxing, the loud shouting a dulled hum with something pretty to look at. Not a scrap of jewelry on the pretty little mom, no earrings, no necklace, no wedding ring. A short exchange about how well her kid plays with Johnny's, and learning it's her nephew. None for her, yet. Maybe a playdate next week? The wee ones seem to really get along so well, right? It only makes sense the adults should make friends to, right? Right.

[idyllwave]

johnny soap mactavish x fem!reader

cw | reader has long hair

You always wanted a ribbon or some other form of accessory to put in your hair, and yet...

You shook your head, your fingers lightly playing with your hair at the ends as you saton the bar stool next to your boyfriend and his mates.

His arm was along over your shoulder and you were leaning slightly into him. A smile on your face.

You didn't need some silly accessory, right?

And all too soon was Johnny escorting you home. His arm still slung over your shoulder.

"Ye've been so quiet bonnie."

He was poking at your cheek with his free hand as you both came up to the steps of your apartment.

Stopping and turning to him, you gave him a gentle smile, "sorry, johnny."

He huffed, "what's be on ye mind, bonnie. The others bothering ye?"

You shook your head as you moved a strand of hair from your face, "its nothing, promise."

He regarded you for a second before smiling, "alrighty then lass, close your eyes and turn around for me then."

You did so without any fuss. Honestly, you probably put a bit too much trust in your boyfriend.

And before you could question what he was doing when he started pulling at your hair, you felt him tie something into it.

"There! Noticed ye've been starin hard at all those accessories in the shopping window today. Thought i would give ye somethin nice."

You opened your eyes and first took notice how your hair was out of your face. Then, raising your hands to the back of your hair, you felt a metal hairpin tied into your hair. It felt like a flower of some sort.

"Johnny, you-"

"Promise to get ye more later, but for now I thought- woah! Hey there!"

You flung yourself onto him, your lips smashing into his.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

He chuckled at your enthusiasm, but hugged you back nonetheless and even spun you around. He has the strength for it, and his girl deserves to feel like a princess.

[iheartchv]

Hi! I was hoping to ask you for a match-up please.

I’m  a 24-year-old Latina, half Dominican and half Mexican. Born in New York City and raised in Texas. 

I’m 5’5” with brown eyes, tan skin, and long wavy dark brown-black hair that reaches my butt. I have a fluffy tummy, thick thighs, big boobs, and a decent ass. I wear glasses and I have a couple beauty marks near my mouth.

I’m an INFJ and a Capricorn. I’m bisexual.

I’m introverted. I have social anxiety and ADHD. I’m a loner.

I’m a Creative Writing major. I constantly have my headphones on with love songs blasting. I love dancing whenever I get the chance to at a family party or a school dance.

I love to bake. Chocolate chip cookies and vanilla cupcakes are my specialities.

My love languages are physical touch and quality time. I love to give cookies with cuddles and kisses and sweet words.

In public, I can come off standoffish, but when you get to know me, I’m actually just anxious, shy, and very sweet. 

I love your writing! You deserve to have a great day and a lovely life! Thank you!

🤔 I'll match you with...

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish 🧼

I think Soap would be your match

He's the opposite of you

But you both still have some common interests that will instantly create a bond between you

I can see you and him dancing

Perhaps a dance contest could happen, if you're feeling competitive?

Soap thought you were cute and tried to get your attention by complimenting you without being too flirty

"You look great today." with a smile

"...Thanks" you reply with a tiny smile

That wasn't exactly what he was expecting

Maybe he should've said pretty or beautiful

But would you find that weird?

He had so many questions in his head

He knew about your anxiety and didn't want to make you uncomfortable

When that didn't work he tried to talk to you

He really wanted to get to know you

He'd pull/drag you away to a place of privacy

He wanted a one on one with you

"I know you're probably used to being a loner... but..."

His hand would gently squeeze your shoulder

"I just want you to know... that I'm here for you. Don't be afraid of coming to me for anything."

"I don't care what time it is or what you need, I'll be there for you."

"You've got me as a friend, and I've got your back"

Soap wanted to tell you so badly how much he thought of you and cared about you

But he'd wait for you, if that's what it took

🤍

As time went by, you found yourself wanting to be around Soap more

He listened to you rant or vent

He even listened to your brainstorming ideas for essay assignments

And even helped you out with some of your essays

He was fun to talk to

He knew how to make you laugh and smile

Loves your baking

Nothing like staying up real late with school work, cookies, and Soap being there for you/to help you out

You recently have been spacing out/dreaming with thoughts of Soap and you

Your heart now races when he gives you a smirk, a small wink

Even he's flirtatious compliments bring blush to your cheeks

You've fallen for him

When you were comfortable enough and knew that what you were feeling was real, you told him how you felt

He was ecstatic; he felt the same way for you

Has been for a long while

He's glad to have waited and gained your trust

And your heart

❤

This man here... oh he craves physical touch

He wants it too but will give it to you as well

Will use your thighs as a pillow

While staring up into your eyes

Loves it when you stroke his hair

It just feels good

He would also be a great kisser

Gives sweet kisses, to slow and lingering, and passionate/wild

Whatever you're in the mood for

Calls you princess, sweetheart, babygirl, every cute name under the sun

"I love you, baby. I'm never going to let you go"

[rottingpink]

cod men with fussy wives

cw. fluff, innuendo, cunnilingus, lovemaking, reader is a bit insufferable but she means well. SMUT

synopsis. price, simon and johnny with very naggy wives who show them love and care they've never experienced before

masterlist

john price

john is the typical gruff, stern guy who knows when to be serious, calm, or regulated, but around his wife, all he is is soft. he spends all day gritting his teeth during combat, pushing through with wounds the size of golf balls and scolding recruits when they fuck up, and so when he's on leave for a few days to see you, all he wants to do is relax, make love to you, eat your cooking, and maybe go fishing or do some home renovations. you, however, have a different plan. you're on his ass the second he gets home. not that he minds too much. you're too beautiful to be annoyed at.

he's sitting on the couch trying to eat a biscuit, and you gently pry it out of his hands mid bite. "john, did you take your omega-3s today?"

he signs, hand grazing your hip as you stand in front of him. "no, love. not today. but i used that nicotine patch you told me to use to help with the smokin'."

your eyes light up. "you're using them, darling?"

his heart thuds pridefully at your reaction, like it usually does when you call him darling in that dreamy little tone of voice.

"wore 'em everyday for ya, m'love," he murmurs, reaching for your hips so he can tug you gently to stand between his knees. "damn if i don't like a good smoke, but i like my woman's happiness a little more."

you giggle, nuzzling your nose into his hair, relishing in the pleasant, clean scent. "just a little?"

he laughs, bringing you into a sitting position on his knee. "a lot, love. y'said it's no good for m'lungs, and i wanna be around long enough to see our grandbabies. can't have that if 'm coughin' up ash everyday."

your lip wobbles. "oh john," you coo, lacing you arms around his neck tightly. you're so proud of him that you feel your eyes start to well up. you nuzzle your face into his neck to hide the way you're getting so emotional. you're so proud of him. "there there..." he bounces you in his lap a little to soothe you. "you're the sweetest lil' thing, aren't ya? takin' care of me so good. wouldn't know what to do without you."

you sniffle and snuggle into him so tight that you're nearly suffocating.

he tries to act like the fussing annoys him most times, but really, he relishes in it. he rarely smokes unless he's very stressed and isn't a heavy drinker. after all, you told him, "don't drink if you're looking for an escape from your problems, m'kay? 's what i'm here for."

his health's never been better.

what happens if he doesn't wanna be nagged one particular day?

he's been on edge all morning. one of the younger dogs knocked the sheep pen open early this morning and let half a dozen of them loose, and price has been running around like his head's on fire trying to corral them back inside and soothe the other distressed sheep. he just got back in all sweaty and stressed, drinking a large mug of coffee. then a second. third. on the fourth, you stepped in, suggesting that he might wanna slow down, and he snapped. "god's sake woman, d'you ever let up? i don't need a bloody nanny all the time. enough with the naggin' "

you shut up immediately, drawing your hand back with your brows scrunched.

slowly, you stop asking about his vitamins. stop shoveling extra greens on his plate. stop massaging rosemary oil into his hair at night. you stop. it's relieving for about fifteen minutes. then, he's disturbed. the silence brings him no peace whatsoever. he lasts until the evening of the same day, and he corners you while you're making dinner, hugging you from behind. "darlin'," he murmurs into your ear, mouthing at the lobe.

no answer. he huffs, dragging you against him and pressing soft, open mouthed kisses down your ear, along your jaw, to your throat, where he licks a broad stripe back up to your sweet spot. "c'mon darlin', 'm sorry. you know i get heated fast, hm?" his big hands travel along your body, his left now splaying on your breast, and the right squeezing your hip. "just had a terrible morning, nearly lost our sheep, had to run around like an idiot for an hour... 'n i lost my cool with you. 's not okay, i know."

"hate it when you raise your voice at me, john." you say softly, and his heart just about breaks. he didn't mean to, really. he loves when you're bossy with him. it shows you care and it's incredibly sexy. he'd just been very irate this particular morning. he's been with you years and hasn't complained seriously about the nagging ever, and he's not about to start now.

he squeezes your tit in his palm and kisses your cheek. "i know beautiful, i know. i love you s'much, hm? gonna make it up to you..."

he's on his knees behind you soon after, eating your pussy under your dress while you try to cook. his tongue laps at your soaked hole, causing his beard to get soaked with your juices. the thick hair scratches pleasantly against your folds while the spoon you're holding clatters onto the counter, your eyes fluttering shut and hands scrabbling forwards for something to hold - you settle on the heavy stand mixer ahead of you.

he's apologizing with a mouthful of your pussy, hands squeezing your ass and giving your thighs a little pinch any time you try to close 'em.

" 'm sorry. need you fussin', darling, alright? don't ever stop." your breath hilts each time his tongue drags upwards and flattens over your clit. his nose keeps nudging your ass because his big hands keep you spread wide for him.

you sway a little, thighs trembling with the overwhelming amount of pleasure he's inflicting on you, but all he does is grunt and pull you back against his face harder. "this what it takes t'get you talkin' to me again?" he rasps against your cunt. "fine, i'll eat this sweet fuckin’ pussy 'til you forgive me."

you gasp when he sucks on your clit and tips you forward so you're fully presented for him, tongue fucking in and out of your sloppy hole. the food you were tying to make is long forgotten at this point, but he doesn't care at all. all he wants to stuff his face with anyway is your sloppy cunt.

"john, mmh!" you cry out, thighs clamping around his head, but he smacks your ass hard and shoves your thighs wide once more.

"no, no, you'll take it," he grunts. "this is my apology, yeah? let me make it right an' show you how much i love your fussin'. "

you cream onto his face with a loud whine. grinding against his chin and into his mouth, and even then, he continues for a second round, mouthing at your folds and mumbling, "couple more, wife. apology's not done."

johnny "soap" mactavish

johnny's a firecracker and a wildcard. he lives on the edge and likes the unknown that comes with being reckless and unprepared. but when he met, dated, and then married you, he did have to learn to exert some degree of control over himself and his life, because damn you're a very meticulous, bossy little thing. not that he minds. having his woman fuss over him and baby him and give him extra special treatment all day, every day doesn't really feel punishing. your fussing is basically foreplay for him.

you'll tell him, "johnny, you're not going on a run with a level 6 UV outside with no sunscreen on. cmere so i can put it all on you."

"...whatever tha' means."

you frown. "johnny, you're not funny. a level 6 is dangerous. cancerous without protection."

he chuckles. "you just want an excuse to rub y'lil hands all over me, ain' that right?"

"johnny!"

you literally have to tackle him onto the living room floor sometimes to rub sunscreen on his face, because he keeps dodging you and laughing. squirming like a kid while you try to get his ears and nose. "you won't wanna shag me if i've got white goo all over m'cheeks, lass, 'm not havin' it."

"you'll thank me when you don't have skin cancer in twenty years," you huff, massaging the liquid into his cheeks while you straddle him. it's the only way he'll ever sit still anyway. his hands reach up to paw at your hips, and he tilts his head, smiling up at you.

"y'look s'cute on top o' me, don't ya?" he coos, giving your ass a playful slap. you roll you eyes and squeeze his cheek in retaliation, and he laughs and continues. "do y'love me more now that i've been properly slathered?" he teases, raising his brows as you finish rubbing in the last bit of cream.

you kiss his forehead. "only a little."

he smiles. "hm. maybe i should scald myself in the sun so you can love me up more."

"johnny."

"…right, right. responsible. m'havin' a growth arc for m'wife,"

"are you?"

"…no. but m'health has improved dramatically since y'started bullyin' me into slatherin' my skin twice a day."

you lean in so your lips brush his "that's cause i want you around forever, dummy."

johnny smiles softer at your words, tugging you down so your forehead rests on his and his beefy arms wrap around you. "i know," he hums, kissing your lips softly. " 'm not goin' anywhere, bonnie. not if i can help it."

what happens if he doesn't wanna be nagged one particular day?

he'd got home only yesterday from being deployed for several weeks. he hadn't seen his loving wife in ages, and the distance didn't do to well on him mentally. he's really not in the mood for fussing. he just needs to eat, fill you up with his cum a few times tonight, and go to bed.

you, however, had been nagging him the minute he came home. needing a breather, he offered to go grab groceries and run errands, hoping that the little break would help him cool off so he didn't snap at you. he's never raised his voice at you, and he doesn't plan on it today.

but when he got back with a dark bottle of bourbon...

"baby? did you only offer to go so you could buy that nonsense? i told you i hate when you drink-"

he interrupts you. "for fuck's sake, can I breathe without you hoverin'? you're not my mum."

you glare at him. not the sweet glare when you're admiring him, or the shy one, or the deadpan one when he does something dumb and you pretend to be mad at him, the angry wife one. oh, he is not a big fan of this look.

weirdly, though, instead of telling him how rude that was and that he knows you're just trying to look out for him, you turn and walk away in an eerie, icy silence. fuck, this isn't good. "bonnie, c'mon. i didnae mean that. c'mere,"

you swat his hand away lightly, deciding you won't be "mothering" him anymore. and so in the following days, you don't tell him to put on sunscreen. you don't pout when he only sleeps four hours. you barely touch him or look at him.

he tries to charm you at first, knowing how much of a sucker you are for his flirting and pretty words, but it doesn't work this time. you don't bite or get on his case or boss him in the way that makes him hard as hell. no shoving his chest when he gets too close or mewling "johnny please," when he teases you. none of it.

you've been eerily polite, and it's driving him mental. on the second day of this, he tries to nuzzle into your neck while you're folding laundry, whispering, "miss you s'much baby, 'm gonna make it up to you properly tonight."

you pull away and hand him rolled up socks. "drawer." he watches you for a moment, hands slack by his sides, socks limp in his grip.

you're distant. johnny's not good with distance from you. the next day, he's extremely restless, wandering around you like a lost puppy in only a pair of sweats sitting low on his hips, hoping you'll come put that greasy spf you always fuss about all over him. he even lies out on the balcony chair for a full twenty minutes in the sun just to bait you, but you give him nothing. you do spare him a glance periodically through the glass door, but you say nothing. he ends up with a sunburn on his chest and the bridge of his nose.

that night, when you dont wiggle into his chest like normal or ask if he had a vitamin after he ate dinner, he turns to his side to face you, needing to put an end to your stonewalling. "bon."

you hum. he can't tell if it's acknowledgement or just the sound you make when you're falling asleep.

"c'mon," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you and tugging you into his chest. "i wasn't nice to you, i know that. didn' mean to be a dick. just been so stressed 'n on edge 'n i spoke outta turn."

while you're deciding whether or not to believe him, he gets closer, forehead nudging yours. "i'll pour the bourbon down the sink tomorrow," he says quietly. "swear it."

your fingers toy with the hem of his sleep shirt. it's the first time in days you've touched him without pushing him away. "you can drink if you want to." you murmur, twisting the fabric in your hands. " 'm sorry if i'm being overbearing."

"y'not, baby." he kisses your cheek. "just wanna do whatever makes you happy. you're the boss, aren't you?"

you wake up the next morning with his head between your legs, slow and steady, taking his time kissing down your body, from your tummy, to your hip, down to your inner thigh, and then your tender core.

his big palms wrap around the backs of your thighs and pull them over his shoulders, locking you in place while his mouth sucks and works at your pussy. he's so focused that he's making pleased little groans, crotch rutting absentmindedly against the mattress. he's grateful to have you back in his arms and your pussy, dripping and sweet as nectar, accessible to him once more, but he needs to make you cum to really feel forgiven.

he's slow and paced, kissing on you like he's starved. the slow drag of his tongue through your folds and the way his lips close over your clit and suck just softly enough to make your thighs tremble is euphoric, and you find yourself blanking on why you were mad at him to begin with.

his arms are wrapped around your thighs so firm you can barely move. and every time you try to squirm, he groans low and pulls you right back down, nose buried, face flushed and mouth messy. you can feel his beard brushing you, scratchy and warm, and your fingers automatically slide into his hair. "that's it, baby," he mumbles between pussy kisses. "lemme say sorry proper."

you whimper, back arching when he flattens his tongue against your clit and gives it a slow, firm swirl. he just groans again with enjoyment when you close your thighs around his head. he loves being smothered. he doesn't even care if he breathes, as long as you're happy and in love with him. when your pleasure crests and you cum on his face, he licks at your folds firmer, dragging that orgasm out of you. he keeps his mouth on you, gentler now. just soft licks and little kisses, tongue soothing over your puffy folds while his big hands rub slow circles into your thighs.

he doesn't stop until your hand in his hair goes limp. you sigh, letting him kiss back up your body to give you a little break before he goes back for more. he rests on your chest, nuzzling into your flesh gently. "you're forgiven, johnny." you huff, a little tired.

he grins, mouth still wet, eyes gleaming with relief. "thank fuck. boss me all you want, love. swear it gets me hard, anyway."

simon "ghost" riley

simon riley is commanding. he’s the most domineering presence in any room he walks in. makes the greatest of men lower their gaze when he approaches. he's taken down large enemy groups all on his own, has killed men with his bare hands, and… he comes home to you telling him "you can't eat that, baby. it's got monosodium glutamate in it. that makes you sick, remember?" and listens every time.

"…right," he'll say after a pause. "forgot abou' that. what d’you want me to eat then?"

he'd drop the bag of crisps he picked up on his way home with the god forsaken MSG in it the second you mentioned it and would nod. "mm. wouldn' wan' to spoil my dinner anyway, right love?" while gently taking you into his arms and pressing his lips to yours.

you're not controlling, either. the fussing is very particular. typically just a soft, offhand reminder from the only person in the world who really knows and prioritizes him before anything else. you love him so much and this is part of the way you show it. how could he complain?

you know everything about him, which is huge, considering he is a man of few words and is dreadful at being vulnerable. you know what wrecks his stomach, what gives him headaches, how he gets irritable and loopy when he doesn't sleep at least six hours in the night. you know his favorite clothing fabric and how he just wants to hold you when he's upset.

your voice is so warm and quietly certain that he has to listen every time. once you advise him not to do something, everything in him short circuits. his brute force logic disappears. because you say no, or "you shouldn't si, take this instead," and it's a done deal.

you don't even realize what it does to him, how something as simple as your concern twists itself into a soft knot in his stomach, how it makes him ache, not because you're bossing him, but because you're taking car and watching over him in a way no one else does.

he often glares at you and raises a brow ever so slightly at the way you, a tiny thing with big, expressive eyes and pouty lips just told a tank of a man what to do and expected him to listen.

he does though. listens to your bossy ass every time. and for all his stoicism, the man melts under your fussing.

he's in the shower with you brought that annoying cleanser you insist he needs to use every night and wash it off after thirty seconds because he's got sensitive skin.

"love. this shit's greasy."

"it's hydrating, si. good for your skin. protects the barrier."

"don't wan' hydrating."

you rub into his cheekbones anyway while his eyes are locked on you and his breath comes out slow and heavy. you're standing between his legs in the steam, having him lower his head slightly so you can reach your hands into his short hair once you've finished with the cleanser. you're squinting up at him, so serious as you massage something into his scalp like you're not both bare, soaked, and pressed up against each other.

simon has both massive hands holding your waist while he backs you into a corner of the shower, letting you fuss about exfoliants and scalp health with your tits smushed against his body and your eyes fixed on his face and not his cock nudging against your body, aching and swollen from the sight of you. he's trying to focus but he's so distracted by your body, the way you smell, and how soft you are in his hands.

you tilt your head up, rub a little cream into his hair, mumbling, "gotta keep your scalp health up to par, si", and he loses it.

simon grabs your face in both hands and pushes his mouth against yours, catching you off guard. you squeak into his mouth, and he groans and takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, water pouring down both of you, beard scratchy on your chin.

"god," he mutters hoarsely between kisses, "you fuss over me like I’m your bloody housepet."

you let out another noise in his mouth, not knowing if that means he hates it or not, but he nips your lower lip, trails his lips along your jaw and up to your ear. " 's a good thing, love. don't pout."

you moan softly, tilting your head to give him more access to your neck and jaw. the reassurance felt great, and you find yourself melting into his touch.

" 'm gonna fuck you," he mutters, voice cracked with need, hand already sliding down your back to grip your ass. "righ' now. can't take it anymore." you look up through your lashes, lashes wet, lip caught in your teeth.

"but you still have conditioner in," you stare up at him coyly.

"finish after. s'not like 'm goin' anywhere."

what happens if he doesn't wanna be nagged one particular day?

simon didn't mean to snap at you. the harsh tone came out by itself. it's just that he's so tired and sore, joints in his body stiff with exhaustion. all he needs is a breather for five minutes, but you're there by the kitchen counter when he gets home. "hi baby! why don't you start with some of the stir fry i made! dunno if drinking black tea on an empty stomach is the best idea."

normally, he'd melt for your nagging and let you tug the tea bag and mug out of his hands and shove a plate of the lunch you made and a cup of water in his hands instead, and then kiss you stupid for giving a shit, but today, he bristles.

"jesus christ, can i just eat what i want for once?" his voice comes out sharp and cold in a tone he's never used on you before.

you blink, lips parting as you stand frozen in place with the wooden spoon you were using to cook laying limply in your hand. your mouth opens and then closes, and you give him a faint little nod and turn away.

he immediately notices your silence. you're never silent like this, so when you give him a faint little nod and walk off, he knows he screwed up bad. he stews on his stupidity for hours, up until you're laying in bed beside him and not once have you reminded him to put on that charcoal mask you always insist "draws out toxins."

you're just sitting beside him. not even sulking, just indifferent. you know what you're doing, of course. and it's working. he stares at the ceiling for a while, grinding his molars, heart pounding in his chest. he clears his throat in hopes of getting your attention and fails.

"not g'na remind me about the mask tonight?"

you flip a page. "no. thought you didn't want to be nagged."

he winces.

"didn’ mean it like that, sweetheart."

"right." you're still not looking at him or touching him.

he can't survive without your fussing much longer. he doesn't have your eyes on him or your little giggles or your hands all over him and sweet night routines and it's making him crazy.

he sits up and breathes in deeply, before reaching for you quietly. you glance over with confusion just as he peels your book out of your hands. "what are you..?"

he's already tugging you across the bed, laying you down on the bed before peeling off your clothes. "simon! wh-what are you doing?" you glare up at him with confusion, squirming under him as he shimmies your panties down your legs and tossing it to the floor.

"apologizin' to m'wife."

he scoops you up and places you on his face with no warning, your pussy lined up with his mouth. he holds you there, palms spread over your ass, fingers sinking into your soft flesh, before diving in.

he groans like a starved man the second he licks into you. his tongue is slow at first, sliding between your folds, and lapping at your soft, juicy pussy. you're still half mad but you can't stop the way your head tips back as he sucks your clit into his mouth and holds it there. you squeal, bucking your hips to try and get away from the overwhelming amount of pleasure, but he doesn't let up, tilting you hips up a little so he can slip his tongue into your soaked hole.

he tongues your entrance and licks you open messily, making you squirm into his mouth. you pull at his hair and try to lift yourself off, whining. "s-simon... s'too much..!"

he slaps your ass. "you don't get to leave me like that, love. won't let you be mad at me."

[soapysoapysoapysoapy]

taking one (& another & another & another) for the team | soap x reader x ghost | inspired by: @softaestluv johnny's pent up blurb

It started as a joke. "I'm gonna die if I don't get my cock wet soon," Johnny whined, sprawled backward over the couch, legs spread, hand draped over his forehead like he was seconds away from his last breath. *"Swear I can feel it in my fucking molars, mate. I'm gonna explode."

At first, you and the others ignored him. Typical Soap — loud, dramatic, a walking sexual frustration PSA. But it didn't stop. If anything, it got worse: every mission debrief, every meal, every late-night sit around the barracks, Johnny lamented his poor, poor cock like it was a national tragedy.

When he started describing how tragic his wanks were — "My hand's too fuckin' rough, not the same, need something wet, something tight—" — you snapped. Loud enough for everyone in the room to hear: "Christ, Soap, I'll fuckin' take one for the team if it'll shut you up."

Johnny sat up like you'd just offered him oxygen.

Which is how you found yourself bent over the nearest flat surface, jeans yanked halfway down your thighs, Johnny pressed tight to your back, rutting into you like a man possessed.

"Fuck—fuckin' hell, love, yer savin' my life," he groaned, hips slamming into you like he was trying to crawl inside. "Warm 'n tight, fuck, could stay here forever."

You barely bit back a moan, hands braced hard enough to hurt. You weren't supposed to enjoy this, just do your duty to the squad’s sanity.

But then Johnny started whining again — not his usual loudmouth bitching, but these needy, half-choked sounds against the back of your neck.

"Need ya," he rasped, like he couldn't help himself. "Need yer cunt, fuck, not gonna be enough, need it again—'m not done—"

Even after he came — hot, messy, filling you to the brim — he didn't stop. Still rocking against you, still murmuring desperate filth into your skin, already hardening inside you again.

You realized then: You hadn't fixed the problem. You'd made it worse.

He barely pulled out before he was pushing right back in, thick and slick with his own cum, grinding into your overstretched walls like he could merge the two of you if he tried hard enough.

"Fuckin' perfect," Johnny slurred against your neck, teeth scraping along your skin. "Mine now, y'know that? Filled you up good—fuckin' claimed you—"

You tried to push him off, half-hearted at best — muscles trembling, brain fogged from how full you felt — but Johnny just wrapped an arm around your middle and held you there, hips rolling slow and filthy, fucking his own mess deeper inside.

"Nuh-uh, love," he muttered, pressing kisses to your shoulder, messy and possessive. "Said I'd lose my mind if I didn’t get to fuck you. Y’think one load's enough to fix this? After all that sufferin’?"

You whimpered, feeling his cock twitch again, fully hard despite just cumming. He chuckled low against your skin, voice dark and wrecked.

"Told ya I'd go mad. Now yer stuck with me, sweetheart."

He fucked you slow the second time — not like the frantic, desperate slamming from before, but a grinding, possessive rhythm, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you properly. Every time you clenched around him, he gasped, praising you in that ruined, filthy brogue.

"That's it, good girl," he breathed. "Take it all, take it like y'made for it. Fuckin' born to milk my cock, huh? Gonna pump you so full you won't remember what it feels like to be empty."

You felt him bulge even thicker inside you, grinding down into your cervix, every thrust stretching you wider, making you feel owned in a way that had nothing to do with orders or duty.

Johnny growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. You barely registered it before he was moving — hands gripping your hips, manhandling you onto your back like you weighed nothing.

"Wanna see," he panted, almost delirious. "Wanna see how fuckin' ruined you are for me."

Your legs were shoved open before you could think to protest, ankles tossed over his shoulders. Johnny leaned back just enough to look — and groaned, obscene and ragged.

"Fuckin' hell, look at that," he hissed, watching his cum leaking out of you, your cunt red and puffy, still clenching greedily around nothing. His cock throbbed in his hand, still wet, still ready.

"So messy, love. Drippin' for me already. Y'know what that means, don’t ya?"

You shook your head weakly, breath stuttering in your chest. Johnny just grinned, all teeth and danger.

"Means I’ve gotta fill you up again. 'Til you can't take any more."

Without warning, he lined himself up and pushed — forcing his cock back inside your sore, sloppy cunt in one thick, slow thrust. You cried out, back arching, and Johnny moaned like you were his whole damn salvation.

He didn’t give you a chance to breathe. Started fucking you immediately — deep, grinding strokes that had your whole body jolting with each brutal snap of his hips.

"That's it, that's it," he gasped, head tipping back, sweat dripping down his temple. "Take it all, pretty thing. Gonna make sure yer stuck full of me. Walkin' round leakin' my cum for days."

Your brain barely worked anymore. Just open-mouthed whimpers, toes curling, walls spasming around him like you wanted it — wanted everything he was giving you and more.

Johnny's pace turned frantic again, slamming into you harder, the sound of skin against skin filthy and wet between you.

"Belong to me now," he growled, words punching out of him with each thrust. "No one else. Fuckin' mine."

You couldn’t even pretend to fight it. Couldn’t think past the way he filled you so perfectly, the overwhelming heat, the way his cock dragged along every sensitive spot inside you until you felt tears spring to your eyes.

He buried himself to the hilt one final time, grinding down against you, hips jerking as he spilled deep again, thick and endless. You could feel it — the heat, the stretch, the way he pulsed inside you like he was branding you from the inside out.

Johnny didn’t pull out. Just collapsed over you, mouth hot and messy against your jaw, still twitching inside your wrecked cunt.

"Fuck," he whispered hoarsely. "Still not enough. Need you again, love. Gonna fill you 'til you’re round with me, swear it."

Johnny stayed buried in you for a long moment, hips grinding lazy, slow circles, as if trying to force every last drop even deeper. You could feel it leaking out around his cock — hot, sticky, obscene — and you whimpered, overstimulated and wrecked.

Johnny noticed immediately. Growled against your throat, feral.

"Leakin'," he muttered, almost offended. "Can't have that. Gotta keep it all in, love. Need you drippin’ full for me."

He finally, finally pulled out — and the flood of cum that gushed out made you sob, weak and broken. But Johnny didn’t give you a second to recover. He dropped between your legs, shoving two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them deep and obscene, scooping the mess back up.

"No wastin' it," he rasped, fucking his cum right back into your cunt with slow, filthy thrusts. "Take it all, greedy girl. You fuckin' need it."

Your legs kicked weakly at the overstimulation, but Johnny just grinned — wild and unhinged — before spreading you wider, his thumb pressing down hard on your clit while he stuffed you full with his fingers.

"Gonna breed you proper," he whispered hoarsely. "Fill you so deep you’ll be round with me. Belly all heavy, stuffed full of my fuckin' load—"

You sobbed, hips rolling despite yourself, body desperate for more even as your mind shattered into static. You should have known it’d be like this — Johnny didn’t do anything by halves.

He leaned down, mouth dragging messy, possessive kisses along your trembling stomach like he could will it to swell.

"Mine," he murmured. "All fuckin' mine."

And that’s exactly when you heard the door creak open. You barely had the strength to lift your head, vision blurry — but you saw a tall shadow in the doorway.

Ghost.

He stood there, silent, unreadable behind his mask — just watching. Johnny didn't stop. Didn’t even slow down. He curled his fingers inside you again, making you cry out, making more of the mess spill down your thighs.

Ghost's head tilted slightly, almost curious.

"Problem?" Johnny barked over his shoulder, voice wrecked but cocky as hell. Like he wanted Ghost to see — to know.

Ghost said nothing. Just crossed his arms slowly over his broad chest.

Johnny smirked and turned his attention back to you, dragging his fingers out with a wet squelch just to stuff them right back in — slow and possessive.

"That's right," he said lowly, clearly for Ghost’s benefit now. "Had to take care of it myself. Filled her up so good she's fuckin' leaking. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?"

You whimpered in response — too broken, too full, too wrecked to argue.

Ghost watched you for a long, heavy moment — chest rising and falling — before he spoke, voice flat and unreadable: "You better clean up after yourself, Soap."

Then, calmly — without another word — Ghost shut the door behind him with a click.

Johnny barked out a wild, breathless laugh against your stomach. "Come to help, mate?" he panted, fingers still lazily dragging through the wrecked mess of your cunt. "Think she needs it. Poor thing's so fuckin' stuffed already, can't hold it all."

Ghost didn’t answer. Didn't need to.

He stalked closer, heavy boots thudding against the floor, until he was standing right at the edge of the bed — looming over your trembling body. You watched through blurred eyes as he popped the button on his cargo pants, dragging the zipper down slowly, deliberately.

Johnny shifted you slightly, spreading your legs even wider, thumbs digging bruises into your hips to keep you open — presenting you like a ruined offering.

"C'mon, Ghost," Johnny muttered, voice rough and wild. "Don't leave the girl waitin'. Look how pretty she is—drippin' fuckin' ready."

Still silent, Ghost wrapped a hand around the base of his cock — thick, flushed, already leaking — and lined himself up.

He didn’t ease in. Just pressed the fat head against your already-used, dripping hole and pushed.

You screamed, body arching off the bed, overwhelmed instantly by the stretch, the pressure, the unbearable fullness of taking another man inside you without even a second to adjust.

Ghost let out a low, broken sound, not quite a grunt, not quite a moan, and buried himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

"There we fuckin' go," Johnny whispered against your ear, laughing breathlessly. "Take him, love. Take us both."

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Ghost fucked you without mercy — slow, devastating thrusts that forced Johnny’s mess and his own spit to spill down your thighs in filthy, wet streams. He said nothing — just breathing harshly through the fabric of his mask, hands brutal on your hips, using you like a living, breathing fucktoy.

Johnny kept whispering filth into your ear — encouragements, praises, commands — while Ghost destroyed you from the inside out.

"That's it, good girl," Johnny crooned, petting your hair while Ghost slammed into you. "Take it like you were fuckin' made for it."

You felt your mind fracturing — pure overstimulation, pure broken pleasure — as Ghost fucked you harder, grinding deep, his cock stretching you to the point of tears.

And then Johnny shifted again — ducking low between your legs to lick around where you were stuffed full, his tongue dragging over your overstretched rim every time Ghost pulled out just a fraction.

"Fuckin' hell," Johnny gasped, almost reverent. "Look at that, Ghost. Cunt's swallowin' you like she needs it."

Ghost let out another low, broken sound — and picked up the pace. The bed creaked violently under you, your body jolting with every brutal, punishing thrust.

You could feel it building — some dark, overwhelming climax you couldn’t fight — tightening low in your stomach, burning up your spine.

Ghost suddenly reached down and gripped your throat — not tight, just heavy, possessive — and that was it.

You shattered. Clamping down around him so hard Ghost actually groaned, thrusts going sloppy, brutal. And then you felt it — hot, thick, spilling deep inside you, Ghost’s cock pulsing violently, joining Johnny’s mess inside your ruined cunt.

You lay there twitching, barely conscious, as Ghost finally pulled out — slow, heavy — and watched as his cum immediately leaked out after him.

Johnny's hand was already there — catching it, stuffing it back inside you with lazy, satisfied fingers.

Ghost pulled his gloves back on silently, redressing with mechanical efficiency. Said nothing. Before he left, he pressed one gloved hand to your trembling thigh — firm, approving — and then disappeared out the door without a word.

Johnny leaned down over you, brushing your hair back from your sweaty forehead.

"Told ya, sweetheart," he whispered with a wicked grin. "Was gonna fill you proper."

And from the ache in your gut and the obscene mess between your thighs —you knew he wasn’t lying.

Morning hit like a slow, heavy sledgehammer.

You barely even remembered falling asleep — just flashes: Johnny fucking his cum deeper into you with lazy, loving thrusts while you sobbed into the sheets; Ghost’s heavy hand gripping your thigh one last time before disappearing without a word.

Now your entire body ached. Your thighs were sore, trembling even at the slightest twitch. Your pussy was a wreck — raw, swollen, still leaking a slow, lazy drip of milky white that soaked into the crumpled sheets beneath you.

You tried to shift — to roll onto your side — and whimpered immediately. Everything hurt. You could feel the mess drying on your skin, inside your cunt, coating your thighs.

And Johnny, of course, was already awake.

He lay stretched out beside you, arms tucked behind his head, a smug, satisfied smirk spread wide across his face.

"Mornin’, sunshine," he drawled, voice rough from use, eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "Sleep well?"

You glared at him weakly, too exhausted to even muster words. Johnny just grinned wider.

"Y’look wrecked," he said cheerfully, reaching out to brush a lock of hair from your sweaty forehead. "Proper job, that."

You tried to move again — a pathetic, sluggish attempt — and Johnny laughed, full-bodied and warm.

"Aw, poor thing. Can’t even fuckin' walk, huh?"

His hand drifted down — over your collarbone, the bruises he’d left, the fingerprints, the possessive marks — until he palmed your lower belly, pressing down just slightly.

You gasped, muscles clenching reflexively around the lingering mess inside you.

Johnny's grin turned wolfish.

"Still full, are ya?" he murmured. "Good girl. Holdin’ it all for us."

He sat up slowly, bare chest gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat, and pulled back the sheets.

You whimpered as cool air brushed your ruined, sore cunt — thighs automatically trying to close, to hide yourself.

Johnny tsked softly, spreading you open with two rough hands like you were something precious to be displayed.

He hummed low in his throat — a sound of satisfaction.

"Ghost’ll be pleased," he muttered, almost to himself.

You blinked sluggishly at him, confused.

Johnny chuckled and gestured toward the nightstand. There — sitting neatly next to a bottle of water — was a simple piece of paper. No name. No explanation. Just three short words, written in Ghost’s heavy, blocky scrawl: “Hold it in.”

Your heart hammered painfully in your chest.

Johnny laughed again — delighted, wrecked — and leaned down to press a filthy, claiming kiss to the inside of your trembling thigh.

"Guess we’re not done after all, love," he whispered against your skin. "Orders are orders."

And from the wicked glint in his eye, you knew you weren’t getting a break anytime soon.

[ilostthewar]

Thinking about Omega!Soap and Omega!Reader being each other’s biggest defenders. They bond heavily simply because they both fill similar roles within their pack. A lot of the time, this simply translates to the fact that they are always found scenting and cuddling. They share nesting materials and often prefer to just make one big nest for them to occupy together. They’re both able to pick up on small signals of what the other may need. Which sets this really funny situation where they both will hold grudges against other people for no other reason besides omega-solidarity. However, it does have an unintended consequence.

Disagreements within the pack happen. It’s a natural part of having mates and living within a pack dynamic. But whenever big arguments happen, it’s easy to suddenly have two omegas who are clearly pissed off. It’s natural for you and Johnny to feed off of each other’s emotions, especially when the bonds are already frayed from the fight.

A lot of the time, this simply happens in an effort to protect one another, to provide comfort. It’s not an intentional act to other a member of the pack. However, it does help fast-track resolutions. You aren’t going to out-stubborn your omegas.

[pricegotmedickmatized]

Hi! New to your page but very much enjoying your writing!

I seen requests were open and had a thought about a prompt and while my immediate thought was Johnny for this prompt, any and all of the 141 are welcome, but them having a big crush on the girl that works in their favorite sex shop? (Johnny was the first thought because well toys...)

Anyways thanks for reading the idea even if it doesn't spark anything, I appreciate your time ☺️

nonny you are the SWEETEST omg and HELLO??!?! johnny with a SEX SHOP WORKER??? that's so good oh my god i love it lets dive in

johnny is admittedly a horn dog. he likes to fuck! what's wrong with that? it's him and doechii on a soapbox together declaring how much they like sex and he's chill with that reality. part of liking sex is liking sex with himself. just because he's masturbating doesn't mean it can't be fulfilling, or fun, or toe curlingly good. he goes to efforts to make it good, unlike some others he could name who half ass watching porn or who jerk the chicken in the showers like they're on a time limit. no. johnny likes to indulge himself.

and indulgence means toys. lots of them. enter his favorite sex shop. it's a small business sort of place, which he prefers over the massive corporate controlled spaces crowding out the sex industry with their clinical and minimalistic feel. nah, no thanks. he prefers places like this. its his favorite shop not just because of the wide selection, clean space (without being medical or clinical in The Wrong Way), and wide range of operating hours. nah, his favorite shop is his favorite almost entirely because of the staff, or really just the one.

he likes being able to go in and actually have a chat with the girl behind the counter and her perky tits bouncing free behind her shirt, how he can see the tiniest nubs on either side of her nipples that hint at piercings there. how she laughs and playfully smacks him every time he asks her (seriously, fuck, he's so serious about this) if he can have her demonstrate a toy for him. preferably naked. he likes how her eyes linger on him when he's handling the display models, testing how the sexdolls 'realistic' flesh bounces when he smacks it, how the clear fleshlights look taking his fingers, how she squirms and chews on her mouth and blushes a storm when he asks her to tell him her favorites, and then immediately purchases them.

but it's gotten to the point now that his self care time doesn't just include audio porn from his usual favorite creators. it's recommendations from his girl at the shop, and imagining that it's her pussy wrapped tight around his cock as he fucks the fleshlight she suggested with the lube he tasted off her finger has him coming fast and hard every time. but it never quells the ache in his gut, even when he's gone four rounds with himself in a single night and even the thought of touching his dick again makes him want to cry. no. he needs something deeper. something more. needs his girl from the shop to finally take him up on his offers and let him use his collection on her to have her cum harder than she ever has in her life.

maybe after that they could even do something really crazy like date and eventually get married. who knows?

[batsybat91]

Ghost never talks about his home life. He never tells anyone anything. Not even Soap knows what goes on in Ghost's house. He knows that Ghost comes to bars. That he comes to work. But between the work and boys' night, nobody knows anything about him.

That is until Ghost has a little too much to drink one night and can't drive himself home. Soap had been the DD that night, so he asks Ghost for his address. Ghost reluctantly gives it to him after a few minutes of badgering and begging. The drive to Ghost's little townhouse near the base is peaceful.

The first thing Soap notices is that the lights are on. The second thing he notices is the flower bed by the pathway to the door. As Soap helps Ghost out of the passenger seat, he finds himself staring at the flowers. "When did you become a gardener, mate?" Soap asks.

"Huh- wot?" Ghost slurs.

"The flowers, Simon," he clarifies.

"Oh, the old lady planted them," replies Ghost, stumbling over a decorative brick. The brick shatters and crushes the flowers nearby. Soap tucks himself under Ghost's arm, supporting his weight as much as possible.

"The old lady, eh? Like a... neighbor or somethin'?" Soap prods.

He shakes his head. "No, no, my girl."

"What." Soap's jaw drops. He's standing at Ghost's door, hand on the knocker, but he finds himself unable to move. "You have a bird?"

"She ain't a bird," Ghost grumbles, swaying where he stands.

Soap finally manages to get himself to knock on the door, still holding Ghost up like a crutch. Sure enough, a pretty little thing answers the door in a nightgown.

You see Simon with his mask half-on and a stranger with a mohawk supporting him. You assume the mohawk man is one of the mates he goes to the bar with on Fridays. Simon must've had a bit too much tonight because usually he drives himself home when he's sobered up.

"Um, hello," you say tentatively.

"Hi, angel," Simon slurs at you.

"Hush, you're too drunk to call me an angel," you scold. "How much did he have to drink?"

"My name's Johnny, by the way," the man says, surprisingly Scottish. "I'm not sure. Four or five pints? A couple shots? The footie game was tonight and we got a wee bit excited."

"Oh, he's gonna be so hungover and cranky tomorrow," you mutter. "Come inside, Johnny. Help me get him to the couch."

"Not the bed?" Simon whines.

"You're in trouble, mister," you reply curtly.

Johnny spins around in the living room of your house like he's visiting a museum. He clearly didn't expect a house so cottage-y from a man like Simon. Paintings of flowers hang on the walls. A throw blanket and two pillows are on each couch. A TV is mounted to the wall over a short bookcase.

"This is right beautiful, mate," Johnny chuckles.

"She decorated it!" Simon replies proudly. "It's somethin' special, innit?"

"Shut it. Still in trouble for crushing my flowers and coming home pissfaced," you snap. "Johnny, welcome to our home. Simon will still be here in the morning if you want to check on him."

"I didn't know Ghost had a girlfriend," he whispers.

"Girlfriend?! I'm his fiancée! He didn't tell you about me?" you scoff. "Simon, you are in so much trouble!"

"Fiancée," Johnny breathes. "I didn't think it possible."

Part II

Part III

[chaoscreaturewrites]

Call of duty shorts, Price, soap, ghost

Part 14 COD shorts

Masterlist

While having his cigar breaks he's taken up the habit of drawing, just a sketch of something in his view. At first he wasn't very good but he kept at it, making it a natural habit now he has stacks of sketchbooks and a very impressive one hes currently working in.

One day while sent into the Captain's office to fetch a file Soap sees a sketchbook sitting open and is floored. He cant help it, hes already flipping threw the pages.

Beautiful nature scenes that he recognizes from their deployments, a few of just random tables and their contents, a detailed drawing of a coffee machine and a few portraits of the most stunning beauty hes ever seen.

Who is this women? Is she someone who works here, surly not he would have noticed. She must be someone in the Captain's life, but just who is she to him? Please let it be a relative, a single relative.

Completely forgetting the file he brings back the sketchbook instead. He walls right up to Price and places the open sketchbook, displaying the beautiful women laying on a picnic blanket.

Soap- " Who Is This Beauty?"

Soap is met with a hard glare through drawing brows and clenched jaw. Now eveyones huddled around the tabled taking a look at what's caused such a scene.

Price- " That's My Wife"

Captain has a few different tones they have all learned well and this one they all recognized and take an instinctive step backwards. This is his very defensive and protective, step the fuck down tone.

Price closes the sketchbook and walks out, postponing the meeting, hes got something more important to do now, call his beautiful wife.

The guys are left standing frozen until Ghost slaps Soap upside the head, messing his mohawk.

Ghost- " You couldn't have just said hes talented, seriously mate"

...

Price- " Hello darling"

[ghcstsoap]

After he made ghost play majoras mask, soap also made ghost play twilight princess

[softaestluv]

Johnny who makes it everyone else’s problem that he hasn’t got laid in weeks, that he’s so fucking pent up he can feel it in his teeth. Won’t stop his Scottish whining that his hand isn’t enough, needs a warm cunt to fuck or he’ll go insane.

So, you take one for the team, let him fuck all his pent up cum inside of you because you don’t think you can hear another description of how sad his hand feels. Hope to get him to shut the hell up.

But now he just won’t stop whining about needing to fuck your cunt.