#mactavish!reader

[red5cars]

all that remains, pt.2

simon x soapsdaughter!reader | past ghoap

cw: discussions of death, soap is dead, alcohol/drinking mentions, brief instances of homophobia (not from simon nor reader)

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synopsis: after going no contact for nearly two decades, simon riley gets the closure he's always needed with his sergeant. except its through his daughter.

simon can count the funerals he’s been to on one hand.

the first was his gran's, a distant woman whose more memory than material. despite that, he can still make out the many lines on her face, the portrait that they used, and the way his mother squeezed his hand, the other half resting on her protruding belly.

second funeral, which he's unsure if he should count it, comes a year after his gran's. the year 4 class pet, findleton fishgerald, was found belly up upon walking into mrs.barett's room. playtime was instead used as a period for mourning, him and his fellow classmates listening to their teacher give a speech about the poor goldfish.

(now that he thinks about it, fish looked more like a corpse each passing day. it was only matter of time before the little guy kicked the bucket. well, swam out of it)

the third funeral was for multiple people, but they were mourned and packed into an urn on the same day so it counts as one. the contents of said urn include his mother, brother, sister-in-law, and his nephew.

it sticks with simon. his nephew in particular. he died when he was four, his first (and last) encounter with death beating simon's.

the few days after were a blur, but he can still taste the aftermath of his carnage, as well as the whiskey he drank following it.

now, he's attending his fourth funeral. johnny's.

well, 'attend' is an overstatement. stalking is a better describes simon. sitting in the shitty rental he got, parked in the second lot over of the cemetery, away from everyone who claims to love johnny.

bet they didn't love him like he did.

if he wanted too, he could walk over to the gas port, remove the cigarette from his chapped lips and toss it in there. last thing he sees would be this rusty pick-up, his soul barreling towards damnation.

he won't, knowing the muppets that come across his remains will leave him here, too close and yet too far from his johnny.

to others, it may be difficult seeing the gathering, but a trained eye like simon sees everything. he can make out gaz and price from the crowd, as well as johnny's mum.

age has not done her any favors, looking as bitchy as the day he met her. still, she was an important person to johnny.

if only she accepted he was too.

briefly, he thinks about getting out of his car, walking towards what would be a scandalous, bittersweet reunion. sure, price and gaz'll be there to defend him if things get ugly, but blood is thicker than water. even if the string binding johnny and him was red.

(is it severed because he's dead? or does it go deeper? six feet under and unfrayed)

he decides to let them mourn without his interference. the last thing he needs is that hag telling him this is all his fault, with his agendas and whatever the fuck they rant about at churches now.

without sparing a glance, he starts the rental. a small part of him is thankful for parking so far away, the obnoxious rumble of the engine would reveal his location if he were a few feet closer.

he backs out of the spot before heading south, vowing to come back later. only johnny and him.

and the groundskeeper, if his unlucky streak continues.

——————————————————————————

it continues.

shouldn't have. he came back in the middle of the night, the witching hour. while he isn't into the paranormal, a foolish part of him thought johnny's spirit might say some parting words. unless he already left the plane. bastard.

if anything, he was prepared for an intimate moment with the scot, say what he's wanted to say, or at least attempt to. the only feeling he can properly communicate is anger, this aching sadness an unwelcomed yet familiar weight on simon.

that's what he was ready for.

he wasn't ready to find a woman dressed in pajamas and an arm sling kneeling in front of johnny's gravestone.

while he can still see quite far, the night obscures more than it used too, only clocking her when he's a few feet away.

strange, he doesn't recognize her from the funeral crowd. then again, he didn't care for anyone else besides the corpse.

he thinks about retreating, would probably be best to visit when the sun's up, rather than lurk like some ghoul.

simon's begun to turn on his heel when a scream pierces through the air.

he turns back around to find the girl, hunched over the tombstone, clutching it with her free arm. her screams are alarming, like a siren going off in the middle of the night. it might just be a loon, having escaped the bin and is hugging stranger's tombstones because they aren't sane (neither is simon, but he has a semblance of common decency).

it's another sign he needs to go, do a 180 and come back in the morn. though, he pauses upon hearing the girl let out a strangled cry that vaguely resembles "dad.."

no, that can't be right. he knows the crash didn't just involve johnny, his whole family too (unfortunately not his mom).

he knows for certain johnny's wife didn't make it, but the daughter.. the daughter..

he turns back around, zeroing in on her like she's a target. it's hard to see her features, and from what he can see she looks nothing like johnny.

but she is injured. and a girl. and she keeps crying for her mom and dad rather loudly and-

fuck.

there's no denying that before him is johnny's kid. johnny’s daughter.

a mess of a woman, snot and tears running down her face, her skin stretching after she lets out another sob, curved lines surrounding her anguish.

he has to retreat now. simon has, and wants, no business with any of the other mactavish's. if she's anything like the rest of them, he's sure the girl hates him, will damn him to an eternity in hell if he so much as approaches her.

so for the third time that night, simon begins to turn, set on leaving this cemetery and never coming back. what's another twenty years without johnny? he's lived his life in constant pain, won't stop now.

he's taken about three more steps when something rustles underneath him. simon looks down, his foot landing on a pile of leaves. it isn't loud, but it's loud enough to get johnny's daughter (whose cries have quieted down by a few decibels) attention.

"..hello?" it comes out just as tear-filled as her other proclamations have. his back remains turned. if he can't see her, she's not there. this is all some fucked night terror, and he's going to wake up in his johnny's arms in 3, 2, 1-

"i said hello," her voice is a bit more firm, as if she's fully materialized into a person rather than some grief-stricken thing. reluctantly, simon turns , the girl now standing before him. the soft light of the moon illuminates her tear-stained face, the knees of her pants dirtied from kneeling over her parents' grave.

to think, his johnny would have a kid without saying anything. it might be low, but given how simon reacted to their split, he can't blame the man.

the silence continues to stretch on between them. poor kid, probably waiting on simon to break it. he's surprised her first instinct isn't to run or scream for help, but people in mourning tend to forget themselves in their grief.

simon knows firsthand.

a frown stretches across her face when she realizes simon isn't going to say anything. she sighs, wiping her damp face with the back of her hand.

"look, i'm not on anything, and- and i was here earlier for a funeral i just..," she takes in a shuddering breath, her whole body becoming loose as she exhales, "i need more time with my folks," a pause, "alone."

it's a sentiment simon knows all too well, having lost many people. even the damned fish, he wished he was able to spend more time with it.

and simon's ready to oblige, bid her 'goodbye' wordlessly, make her think he was just some hallucination her sorrow conjured up. be nothing more than strangers in an awkward situation.

although, this isn't just a stranger. this is johnny. well, his daughter. and even if she's annoyed at him, its not for the reasons he thought it be.

in another universe, he's already left. hell, he hasn't even shown up in the first place. but in this one, he doesn't do any of that.

instead, simon does the unthinkable;

“pint for your troubles?”

he offers her a drink.

[criminalamnesia]

If it's not too much would you consider a roommates! Gaz and Soap where you need temporary housing and they offer to put you up for a couple of months in return for some housekeeping and cooking? But then it's awkward sharing a space with three people and two bedrooms so you end up a free use maid ✨

so I’ve been thinking about this,,, and I’m actually changing your idea a little bit (I hope that’s okay!)

also I got completely carried away with this and I miiight already be thinking about a part two where things get a little spicier, like you asked! 👀 keep a look out :))

(also I will 100% write for roommate!johnny&gaz eventually but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head!)

you’re soap’s sister, and when you tell him you need a place to stay, he doesn’t hesitate.

it didn’t click in his mind how your moving in may pose a problem until he’s helping you pack your stuff into a van.

one— he lives with gaz, and he may have forgotten to tell his roommate that they’re adding a third to their already small apartment.

two— there’s only two bedrooms.

gaz was currently on a special assignment, so these two things weren’t a huge problem at the moment. johnny shoots his teammate a text, informing him of the predicament and apologizing for just now telling him.

gaz responds, obviously a little peeved, and johnny’s suddenly absorbed in his phone, trying to soothe ruffled feathers and make this work.

you’re huffing as you keep shoving boxes into the van, your muscly brother now too preoccupied to continue helping.

“little help here, johnny?” you call from the trunk, and johnny startles from his spot leaning against the side of the truck.

by the time he clicks his phone off and resumes helping you, him and gaz have settled things.

you’d have johnny’s bedroom. johnny could sleep in gaz’s room until gaz got back home. and the rest would be worked out at a later date.

————————————————

you’ve never met gaz before. sure, johnny has told you all about his teammates and his roommate in particular, but you’ve never actually met the man until now.

he makes you screech in terror, holding the broom you’d been using to sweep the kitchen up like a sword. he chuckles.

“how’d you get in here?” your eyes are wide, taking in the man in front of you, and then it clicks. you remember the pictures johnny had shown you.

this was gaz.

and fuck, he was hot.

“I live here, love.” he says, his tone obviously amused as he looks you up and down. “gonna put that down? or will I be sporting some broom-shaped bruises for the next week?”

“oh, sorry—” you scramble to put the broom down, leaning it against one of the kitchen counters. “I didn’t hear you come in, and johnny didn’t tell me you’d be home today.”

“he didn’t know,” gaz shrugged, walking further into the kitchen now that your weapon of choice had been set aside. “where is he, by the way? we’ve got a lot of talking to do. gotta figure out this room situation.”

you pick at your cuticles anxiously as you shuffle out of the way, allowing gaz to open the fridge. he grabs a bottle of water and twists the lid off, and you’re mesmerized.

wait, what?

you mentally shake yourself from your stupor.

“um, he’s at the gym i think. he should be home soon.”

gaz nods, taking a swig from his water. his eyes settle on you once more as he shuts the fridge door.

“but about the bedrooms,” you start, taking a step towards him. “johnny can have his back. im fine with the couch, and—”

“oh, absolutely not, love. I’d sooner take the couch than make you sleep on it.”

“no no,” you say, shaking your head. “I’ve already caused enough problems by moving in. please let me—”

he cuts you off again with a dazzling smile. “it’s settled, love. you’re not sleeping on the couch. and your moving in isn’t a problem, trust me.”

damn, he’s smooth. you feel your cheeks getting hot, and you have to force yourself to look away from him before you melt.

“okay, well, if you won’t let me take the couch, at least let me do the chores and stuff, yeah? it’s not like I have much else to do,” you tell him with a dry chuckle. the whole reason you’d resorted to moving in with johnny was because you were between jobs right now.

you quite literally had all the time in the world to help around the apartment.

kyle almost looks like he’s going to protest again, but he doesn’t. he must see how much you want to do this, how badly you feel for ‘interrupting’ (you’re absolutely not, and although he’d been miffed about johnny not asking him about you moving in at first, he couldn’t care less now. you were stunning).

at his silence, you give a firm nod. “alright then,” you grin, and he matches your expression. “nice to finally meet you, gaz.”

“kyle,” he says, and your smile widens the tiniest bit.

“kyle.” you say, as if testing the word out on your tongue.

“sis, y’home? I was thinking chinese for dinner!” johnny calls out as the door to the apartment opens. he steps inside, toeing off his shoes before rounding the corner to the kitchen.

“you shite!” johnny laughs out as he spots gaz in the kitchen. they both chuckle, embracing each other in short hug, slapping each other on the back.

“y’broken?” you hear johnny ask, and gaz shakes his head.

“nah, all good.”

johnny nods, patting gaz on the shoulder before his eyes shift to you.

“see y’ve met my sis,” he says, moving towards you and ruffling your hair. you groan, slapping at his hand. gaz laughs. “hope she hasn’ given ya trouble.”

“I just came in,” gaz says, eyes meeting yours for a brief moment.

“so she hasn’ had the chance yet, then,” johnny jokes, and you roll your eyes. “chinese alrigh’ gaz?”

the other man nods, and the two soldiers fall into familiar conversation. you feel as though you’re intruding, and you attempt to slip out of the kitchen unnoticed, but gaz stops you by mentioning your name.

“I was just telling your sister that she’s not sleeping on the couch,” he tells johnny, and then his eyes slide to you. you look sheepish, like a kid caught with their hand in a cookie jar.

“oh, o’course not,” johnny agrees. “I can take the couch, she’s my sister.”

“we could switch, yeah?” kyle looks at johnny. “that couch isn’t that comfortable, mate. I don’t wanna be hearin’ you complain about your back in a few days.”

johnny laughs, but nods. “sounds good. looks like you’re livin’ the life then, aye?” he says to you, and you open your mouth to speak, but kyle beats you to it.

“actually, we were just talking about all that. your lovely sister here was saying she’d like to keep the flat clean.”

“s’that so?” johnny questions, eyebrows raised as he looks at you. “y’don’t have to do that.”

“I want to, johnny. it’s the least I can do after barging in on your lives.”

you can tell by the look on your brother’s face that he’s going to argue, so you swiftly cut him off.

“no arguments! it’ll give me something to do anyways.”

johnny concedes, then excuses himself to shower. you tell him you’ll order the food as he leaves the kitchen.

you and kyle are alone again, and his eyes are trained on you. you clear your throat before fishing your phone out of your pocket.

“what’s your order?” you ask him.

kyle grins. he knows what he’s doing to you.

god, this was going to be an interesting stay.

—————————————————

author’s note:

this is my first time really writing both johnny and Kyle, so I apologize if they seem ooc!

[thatgoblin]

Summary: You're at the end of your rope and things come to a head that end in near tragedy.

Warnings: Emotional abuse, near miscarriage, affairs, I will not apologize for putting Mike Baker from Rainbow 6 Siege into this. I do what I want.

~::~::~::~::~::~::~

“Mum, Dad, what are you doing here?” I asked, keeping my distance from the pair. Moira and Seán MacTavish were in their late 50s, but did their best not to look like it. Mum had her hair dyed a lighter blond as Dad had put black dye in his beard and hair. Johnny looked just like our dad too, dark hair, stormy blue/gray eyes, hell is Johnny had a full head of hair and a beard it would be hard to tell them apart. Mum looked just like Saorsie. Both had the same sandy blond that would glimmer like rays of sun on a warm day with hazel eyes that would swirl into more green some days.

I, however, looked very little like them. My hair didn’t shine like my Mum’s and sister’s or have the same depth of black that Johnny and my dad had and my eyes were dark, with no fleck of blue or green. I had some of my mom’s features, faintly the same nose, but very little in common with my Dad.

“Your brother let us know of your situation,” my Mum, said as she stepped forward to meet me and John with my Dad next to her. “We wanted to see if it was true and see if any help was needed.”

“You want to offer help?” I asked, scoffing at her. “After nearly a decade, after lying about me to the family and friends and anyone who would listen, after blaming me and making sure everyone knew you blamed me for Saorisie’s death, you want to offer help? Fuck off.”

“I knew she would be like this,” Dad said, shaking his head.

“You didn’t know shite,” I snapped. “You washed your hands of me years ago. You don’t get to come back into my life and act like you both are offering some saving grace as I flounder. I’ve been doing fine without you.”

“You got pregnant after getting drunk with a stranger,” Mum hissed. “You don’t have to like it, but we’re here to make sure you don’t ruin your life.”

“Well, I haven’t ruined my life. It’s honestly pretty good. I have friends and I have a partner and I’m having this baby without your help,” I said. “Now, you’ve done what you came here to do, so leave.”

“Do you really think you can raise a baby? That’s a commitment. You can’t go out and party when you want to or take the baby with you. What about when you go to work? Who’s going to watch the baby? Not the baby’s father,” she said.

“We’ll figure it out and it’s none of your business,” I snarled at her. She didn’t flinch though, keeping her stance. “I don’t like you, you don’t like me. Why are you here? What did Johnny say? That I’m drinking or doing drugs or trying to get money from John?”

“He didn’t exactly say that, but he did say that you were pregnant with his captain’s child,” Mum said with a small huff. “Don’t ruin this for him. He’s worked so hard to be where he is. Johnny doesn’t need you to come in and screw it up for him.”

“Oh fuck off,” I spat with a scowl.

“That’s what will happen because that’s what you always do. You ruin things.” I couldn’t answer, swallowing back any retort or else I’d burst into tears. Even after all these years, I was still crippled so easily by her words. “You know that I’m right.”

“Enough of this,” John growled. He had been uncharacteristically quiet the whole time, but when he pulled me by the arm, I noticed my Dad was standing further off to the side. When had he stepped away? “Bugger off, both of you,” he snarled as he walked us inside. His grip was tight, painfully so. I didn’t have time to tell him no or to stop before we were in my place.

“Okay, ow,” I huffed, jerking my arm away. “What was that?” I asked, rubbing my arm where he’d gripped it.

“Sorry, Love,” he said with a soft sigh. “I didn’t think your parents were that bad, but I was quickly proven wrong.”

“You didn’t believe me?” I asked, stepping back. “Are you fucking kidding me? After sticking up for me with Johnny and everyone else, but you didn’t believe me this whole time about my parents?”

“I didn’t say that,” John said, facing me. “I didn’t say that you were lying or that I didn’t believe you.”

“But you did. Just now. You thought I was lying to make my parents sound like monsters!” I cried, shaking my head. “Why would I lie about that!?”

“I don’t know!” John yelled, throwing his hands into the air. “I didn’t think it was as horrible as you made it because sometimes we think the horrible things that happened to us growing up seem much worse than they really were. When you said your parents favored your sister and brother over you, I thought it was because you didn’t have as many activities as them to go to or maybe because you were the youngest, you thought it wasn’t fair that Johnny got to leave so soon after school or your sister got the car instead of you because Johnny wasn’t there.”

“Oh my god,” I said, moving further away from him. My head was feeling hot and fuzzy as my chest began to tighten up. “You were humoring me this whole time and-God! I’m so stupid!”

“No, Love, please-”

“Get out,” I snarled. “Get out of my house! Get out of my life! I’m done! I’m fucking done, John! I have gone above and beyond for you! Letting you into my life because you’re the father of this baby, but you've changed so much of my life and keep trying to change more when I tell you to stop it. I am done being bowled over by people in my life. I was better off alone and I’ll be better off alone. You just bully and push till I give you what you want, saying you care about me, but really it’s just control.”

“Please, let’s just take a moment to calm down-”

“No! I’m not listening to you anymore! You’re not going to bully me into giving you what you want,” I said, pointing at the door.

John stood there, mouth open like he was trying to make words come out, but nothing happened. I stood my ground, keeping my finger pointed at the door. He took a deep breath before nodding. His heavy footsteps followed him out the door, leaving me in silence.

Just when things were seemingly working out, of course it all went to garbage.

‘You ruin everything.’

~::~::~::~

Johnny had kept to himself mostly after the screaming meltdown he’d had with his sister. He had tried to reason away everything their parents did, that maybe they did it to keep them all safe or were just tired of this out of control child. With a busted ankle, he had nothing but time to mull everything over and really process it. When he first ran into his estranged sister and saw she was obviously pregnant, he wanted to turn around and run. The thought of getting caught up in that drama and getting guilted into helping this poor single mum did not sit well with him.

Then it turned out that she and his Captain had had a fling and it was his baby. After years of listening to what their parents went through while trying to help her only to get spat on, Johnny was not going to let his Captain fall victim to her. It probably wasn’t even his.

Price swore it was and that they hadn't slept with anyone else, but he still didn’t know. Even when they nearly came to blows at his place, it took Simon pointing out the flaws in the lies he’d been fed to get through that maybe his parents were showing favoritism and there was something much deeper going on. Usually he could sniff out a bad situation, but it was his family and he trusted them. Simon didn’t have that luxury growing up and knew that people could be cold and cruel, no matter the kind and caring face they put forward for the world to see. It helped him grasp the possibility that his sister was telling the truth.

Johnny wasn’t ready to believe her 100%, but he wanted to talk to their parents first. He called them up a few days after seeing her again and talking about what had happened. From seeing her pregnant in the grocery store to it being his Captain that was the father. They had some problems with that, automatically calling her several choice words and agreeing that it either wasn’t Price’s baby or she had done it on purpose to get money out of him. There was no mention of them coming to visit, though.

He didn’t speak to them again till after he was screamed at. It was the tipping point in him beginning to believe his sister. When he brought up everything, they always had something to explain why they did what they did, but the more he pushed, the more they began to turn on him. They’re choices sounded insane and the reasoning was flimsy and were done not to combat an unruly child, but punishing someone for the sake of punishing them.

A story from school came to mind as he stewed. The story of the Whipping Boy. The Prince wouldn’t be punished, no matter how awful he was, so The Whipping Boy would take the punishment. No matter how terrible or if the Prince misbehaved on purpose, the Whipping Boy was the one to take every whipping or beating. That was his sister, but worse. Their parents didn’t wait for Saoirse or Johnny to mess up to take out their anger and frustration on their youngest child.

It was too late, though. Johnny had driven the final nail in the coffin of their relationship.

He sat on his sofa, picking his phone up, wanting to call or text his sibling, but dropping the phone each time. Johnny felt the need to fix things between them. He didn’t have any other siblings and neither did she, and with how their parents went about things, the two would be the only family they had left.

Until John came through the front door.

The man looked exhausted, his shoulders limp and stance bowed. His eyes were red and wet while his nose was irritated as he kept sniffling. What had happened?

“Cap?” Johnny said, moving to stand and limp over to the older man.

“I’m going to put this as simply as possible,” John said, his face hardening into a pointed snarl as he faced Johnny. “Do not talk to me. Do not ask me anything. Until I can keep myself from trying to strangle you, fuck off.” His voice was terse, deeper and more gravelly than usually.

“What?” Johnny said, hurt and confused about what was being said. Had his sister told Price he did something wrong?

“Your bloody parents showed up is what,” Price snapped. “I was making things work. We were going to be okay, but then your parents showed up and made sure it was fuckin’ flushed down the drain. Your dad, yeah? Your dad offered me money to leave your sister and my daughter to make sure you weren’t affected by our relationship.”

“I didn’t know they were going to come here and see her or you!” Johnny cried. “They didn’t say anything about it and I certainly didn’t call them to complain or tell them to do that! It’s not my fault our parents did that!”

“It is!” Price snarled. “It is your fault! You were told by me and by her that your parents were fuckin’ abusive and horrible, but you ignored it and ran to them the moment you could!”

“I’m sorry, okay! I thought she were lying! I thought she was trying to get you locked into a relationship for money!” Johnny yelled back.

“You were told by multiple people that your parents were lying! You were told! There was no reason to involve them and now I have to go to a lawyer so I can have rights to see my daughter because her mother doesn’t want anything to do with me!” Price yelled.

“How is that my fault!? How is that my parents fault!? Did you take the money!?” Johnny bellowed, knowing full well he was digging himself a hole as he kept arguing with his superior.

“I didn’t take the money,” Price said, suddenly deflating. “I. . . Told her I didn’t realize they were that bad. She took it as that I didn’t believe her and now she’s kicked me out of her life and the baby’s.” The men were quiet as they stood there. Johnny had thought he’d lost his sister for just a bit, not permanently. With the new development, it looked like he may not have a chance to fix things.

“Oh,” Johnny said softly. He didn’t know what else to say. Johnny did feel bad for Price, but he didn’t have guilt. It needed to be there, but he just didn’t have it.

“Just give me some space, you muppet,” John said softly, inhaling sharply through his nose. “It may not be your fault completely, but you had a hand in it. We’ve got time before our next mission and I need to not go into it with a clouded head.” At the end of the day, no matter how much chaos was happening in his personal life, he needed to not let it into his job. If that meant avoiding Johnny for a few days, so be it.

Johnny wasn’t sure what to do to help anyone, but he knew someone who would. Making a quick call and finding they were in town, he was glad to catch them.

~::~::~::~

I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. All that I could do was sit on my couch and sob. I was overwhelmed with so much anger and fear and sadness. Jesse would have been there in a heartbeat, but I needed to do this alone. This new direction meant I would be on my own with a baby and as much as I was used to doing things myself, I had to accept that not even Jesse could be around when I needed someone. He had his own life and his own problems and joys and events that I couldn’t bear to take from him.

Stress pains began to make me nauseous as I rubbed my belly. It was becoming too much and I couldn’t stop crying. John had left an hour ago already, but it was more like he’d died with how I was reacting. Was I grieving? Maybe. My whole life felt like it was spent grieving for something. My acceptance of my parents not loving me, my brother leaving me, my sister dying, the loss of who I could be if my family wasn’t shite. . . I was cursed. It had to be that. That was the only way that these things could be happening.

By the time night fell, I was able to gather myself enough to practice deep breathing as I kept rubbing over my belly while I laid on my couch. There was still pain, not as bad, but it wasn’t coming and going, just staying. It was starting to get concerning, to the point I was about to call for an ambulance as there was a knock on the door. Continuing to focus on my breathing as I worked to stand up, I was overcome with a sharp pain in my stomach that brought me to my knees with a wail.

“No, no, no, no,” I muttered as I held my belly with one hand and the other held me up as best I could.

“Ducky!” A familiar gruff voice called from the front.

“Mike!” I cried. “Mike, I need you!”

The one who had come through when I was alone and in need, it was always Mike to shuffle along and find me. He was my cousin on my Dad’s side and always kept his distance till he was truly needed.

The front door nearly came off its hinges when he came in, ready to fight anyone and anything he had to to get to me. He barrelled into the living room to kneel next to me.

“I’m here. I’ve got you, Ducks,” he said, helping me stand to pick me up. “We’re going to the hospital.”

“My wallet is by the front door,” I said before a sharp pain came over me again. “Shite!” Mike got me into his truck before running back in. He took a minute to come back, but he had grabbed my pack and was coming back out while stuffing it with my purse while holding a pair of shoes for me to slip on. He handed me my things before rushing around to his side. Once he was in the truck, he took off.

“Keep breathing, Ducks. I know it hurts, but keep breathing,” he said. The man had been a part of SAS for as long as I had been alive, to see him flustered even the slightest was unsettling. He was gripping the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as he sped to the hospital. I could only nod and continue to breathe.

Screeching to a halt in front of the emergency entrance, Mike was out and yelling for help as he ran around to my side to pick me up from the truck. He blew past the nurses that were rushing out to meet us with a wheelchair and straight into the emergency center. It took two words of ‘pregnancy’ and ‘pain’ to be taken back to a room. I was put into a gown and had an ultrasound pushed into the room so fast I swore that I saw a dust trail behind it. Through the exams and monitoring, Mike held my hand as I was terrified I had lost the baby. If I had, I knew. . . I just knew I would not survive it.

“Want me to call anyone?” Mike asked softly as the nurse reported to the doctor.

“I don’t know. I’m not-” I choked on the words, trying to calm down, but it was feeling impossible. “I’m not talking to anyone right now.”

“No one?” Miked asked, receiving a nod.

“Mum and Dad came by and as usual, I was treated like shit and the baby’s father was with me. So of course he gets caught up in it and suddenly we’re fighting because he never did believe me about how shite my parents are,” I said, rubbing my belly with my free hand.

“Your Mum and Dad are here? They came all the way here to just give you shit?” He asked, sighing heavily.

“Mostly to reprimand me for possibly fucking up Johnny’s military career. His captain is the father,” I said. “It was a drunk one time thing, we’ve been trying to work it out, but Johnny decided he needed to meddle and now Mum and Dad showed up to make sure I hadn’t ruined something else.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Mike groaned. “This is bullshit. Even after all these years, they still find a way to be fuckin’ knobs. I’m so sorry this happened, Ducky.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said. “It’s no one’s fault, it just happened.”

“I know, but I’m still sorry. I should have come sooner,” he said. “Maybe you wouldn’t feel so awful now.”

“How did you know to come by?” I asked, but the doctor came in before he could answer.

He was quick and to the point, I needed to go on bedrest for the next few weeks. My blood pressure had been so low before and now it was sky high, giving me braxton hicks contractions. The baby was fine and would be okay, but it all boiled down to me needing to get as much water as possible (something they always told me) as well as keeping my stress levels as low as possible.

Well, I would have to figure out work again and I am pretty sure they’ll just let me go or put me on maternity leave early. As for needing to lower my stress level, I had been forced to take on so much so quickly that I wasn't sure if I could do anything about it.

I would be kept overnight at least, meaning I would be given some time to get things arranged. At least Mike was there.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to call someone?” Mike asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, rubbing my face. “I basically broke up with John and kicked him out, so I don’t think he’d even want to be here.”

“John? And he’s a captain? You shacked up with John Price?” Mike asked, chuckling.

“Not helping, Mike,” I sighed. “How do you know John?”

“Ducky, I was his CO for his first year in SAS,” Mike said. “I know him. I’m surprised he’s not here trying to sneak in.”

“That’s a big part of our problems, actually. We were going to talk about him bullying me into what he thinks is best for me rather than asking what I want,” I said. “He just came back from a mission and we found out the gender of the baby when my parents were waiting for us at my place. Which, I don’t know how they found it. I haven’t seen or spoken to them in almost a decade. Johnny probably said something,” I said. “That’s the only explanation.”

“Well, despite him having a bit of a runner for a mouth, he did give me a call to come by and see you,” Mike said. “He told me a bit about the row you two had and how you put him in his place, as well as that you and the father were on the outs. Not too much detail, but enough that I came by as soon as I could. I’m on leave for a bit and, if you need me to, I can make it longer.”

“You don’t have to-”

“My Duck,” he said, gently stopping him. “You have no one, according to you, so please let me help you. It’s the least I could do to help make up for not being here sooner.” I was quiet, nodding as I squeezed his bear claw of a hand.

“Why can’t my parents be like you?” I asked softly, looking up at him with watery eyes.

“I wish I had the answers for you, I truly do,” he said. We fell into a comfortable quiet, letting me drift off to sleep for a bit.

What woke me up was the sound of arguing outside my room. I couldn’t see anyone, but I was able to pick out a few voices. Mike was there with Johnny as John’s voice piped in to cut off a very angry Scottish man’s voice. Oh.

“Enough of this shite,” Mike snarled, coming back into the room. “I’m telling her. I’m done letting you control this narrative. I couldn’t be there when she needed me the most when she was younger, but I’m here now and she needs to know the truth.”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” My mum shrieked as she followed Mike closely with my dad, Johnny, John, and a few nurses trying to break the whole group up.

“Ducky,” Mike said, his voice quieting down as he turned to me. “I am so sorry and I want you to understand that I couldn’t be what you needed me to be when you were younger. That was probably when you needed me the most.”

“Mike Baker, shut your fuckin’ mouth!” My dad bellowed.

“Out!” A nurse yelled, while security filed into the room. “Everyone out!”

“Please, let me explain,” Mike said.

“Mike can stay,” I said as the others were forced out. “He can stay.” Johnny helped drag our dad out as well as our mum. Once everyone was gone and the yelling had stopped, Mike let out a tired groan as he took a seat next to my hospital bed. “So, why are you sorry?” I asked, groggy and confused by the sudden appearance of everyone.

“That I wasn’t a better father,” Mike said, going right to the issue. He never was one to dance around the subject. “Specifically to you.” It took a few moments for me to understand as I was still groggy, but when it did this sense of understanding and acceptance washed over me. It made everything click into place, giving me proper balance for the first time.

“You’re my father?” I said slowly. “So, who’s my mum?”

“Moira. She’s your mum,” Mike said with a sigh as he sat down. “Seán and her were having a rough patch after Saoirse was born. It lasted a few years and got to the point that she left everyone for me for a while. She didn’t know she was pregnant till after a few weeks of deciding she didn’t want me after all.”

“That was the same time that you and your ex-wife, Laurie, split up,” I said, putting the puzzle pieces together. He nodded and sighed. “So Mum and. . . Seán, they knew the whole time?”

“Yeah. From the moment she found out she was pregnant, she knew you were mine,” he said.

“And you weren’t around because of your job?”

“Mostly, but also because I didn’t want to make things rough for you. Neither of your parents were happy that I was your father and made sure that I knew they would never let me forget it. It wasn’t until your sister’s death that I was able to see what was going on. I was always away or busy with my own life, add in your parents threatening me if I told you. . .”

“So, it’s all my parents fault,” I said with a nod. “Not this thing, but in general. I’m gonna blame my parents for it. It always goes back to them. Even if I wasn’t an affair babe, they would have treated me differently still.”

“I still take part of the blame for you having the life you did,” Mike said.

“Don’t. You did what you could and they could have chosen any route to take and they took one of the worst ones,” I said. “Thank you for telling me now though. I’m really tired of people hiding things.”

“You’re welcome, Ducky,” Mike said, giving my hand a squeeze. “Your Jo is outside whenever you’re ready to talk to him.”

“I’m assuming you called him and Johnny and Johnny called our parents,” I said, slowly blinking as I looked at him. Despite the commotion and the news, I was still so tired from being given a small dose of melatonin to calm down and relax. It was one of the few things I could have that would help with my stress other than people leaving me alone.

“I called Johnny, but he told John. The boy called your parents to yell at them and everyone showed up at once,” he said, shaking his head.

“That sounds about right,” I said. “I don’t have the energy to deal with them, but tomorrow I’ll pick one to talk to. Right now it’s resting time.” Mike snickered, nodding. Going back to sleep, I didn’t think about what I was going to say or do till the next morning came with John sitting outside with my favorite breakfast food and flowers and, the thing that told me he was really thinking of me, a set of bracelets made of rose quartz.

Mike looked to me for approval before letting him in.

John looked like a kicked and drowned puppy with how he stood there in the doorway, holding out the food.

“Actions are louder than words and. . . This is very much shouting how sorry you are,” I said. “You can come in and we can talk.”

I could feel the relief as he let out a huge sigh before coming over to hand me the food. After sleeping and having some breakfast, my head was much clearer and not as frazzled or full of rage. “I’m sorry that I screamed at you last night and said we were done,” I said, reaching out for his hand. “I was really hurt by what you had said, but I should not have reacted that way. At most I should have asked for a night off.”

“No, you were in the right,” John said, taking my hand with both of his. “You were stressed and we hadn’t had a chance to talk about us before getting jumped by your parents. I should have kept my mouth shut and let you decompress.”

“Both of us were in a spot and needed to talk about us. It can’t be just one side who’s wrong,” I said. “I think we should go to counseling so we can make this work. The baby needs us to be better than this.”

“Absolutely,” John said, nodding. “Whatever it takes to get us to the good, I’ll do it.”

“Same here,” I said, smiling. Pulling him over to me, I gave him a kiss and a tight hug, before putting his hand to my belly as the baby began to move around. She had started to do that after I ate more and more, which helped with timing as he stared wide eyed in wonder.

“She’s really in there,” he said with a soft chuckle, getting teary eyed. “I know you’re pregnant and never doubted it, but it’s just so different feeling her kick around. It makes it so much more real.”

“I know. I thought it was indigestion at first,” I said, smiling as I stared at his hand on my belly. His calloused and work worn hands were such a stark contrast with my baby blue hospital gown, but it was good. We were two different people coming together when this mish mash of us was created. “Now she’s doing happy dances whenever I eat. She’s a lot like her mummy, happy for food.”

“Well you’re not the only one who likes a good meal,” John chuckled, leaning in to kiss my head. We chit chatted a bit more, getting settled back into our usual rhythm that helped solidify our relationship.

A knock at the door made us go silent. The door opened to show Johnny hanging his head very much in the same way John had. So many mixed feelings shot through me and I wasn’t ready to talk to him.

“I just wanted to stop by and. . .” He trailed off as he looked up at us. “Um, can we talk?”

“Johnny. . . I can’t. Not now,” I said, actively working to keep myself from letting my anger shoot up with my blood pressure. “I don’t know what you want to say, but I can’t. There is too much stress and with you calling our parents? Please just go. If I want to talk in the future, I will come to you.”

It was easy to see his heart break, but he stayed quiet. Johnny nodded, taking a deep breath before leaving.

“You want me to talk to him, don’t you?” I said, looking over at John.

“I don’t want you to do anything unless you want to. This is between you and him,” he said. “If you want to talk to him, I’ll support you. If you never want to see him again, I can do my best as I work with him.”

Shit, that’s right.

“I think some counseling first would be good before I attempt anything,” I said. “You working with him changes things and with what you do, I don’t want our issues spilling over into your work. I need you and the baby needs you. There’s no way that I can risk losing you.”

“I need you, too,” he said, kissing my cheek. “So, I can let him know that things between the two of you will be paused and if anything, encourage him to go to counseling as well. God knows our entire group needs it.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” I said with a nod. “In the mean time, we need to pick your place or mine to live in so we can have a nursery to get ready.”

“Didn’t think that you liked my place,” he said with a snort.

“Eh, it’s not a matter of not liking your place, it’s a matter of comfort. Not having a backup plan makes me nervous,” I said.

“Understood. Let’s get you home first then spin a wheel to decide, hmm?”

“I will spin your wheel, ye daft ninny,” I groaned, rolling my eyes while John snickered. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too, Love.”

Next>>>

<<<Previous

One Night Stand Masterlist

COD Masterlist

Taglist: @birdstoprey @sebbytheraccoon @pricescigar @alwaysshallow @sae1kie @sleepydang @lexi-zsy09 @ghostlywhiskey @ghosts-cyphera @poohkie90 @neothewitch @shadofireshinobi @sadslasher13 @0alk0msan @xaestheticalien

[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.

[shinoko-oshi]

Simon fixes your sleep schedule

Simon hadn’t realized just how fucked your sleep schedule was until he moved in with you. His birdie.

Waking up in the middle of the night or at the ass crack of dawn only to find you curled up on the couch, blanket wrapped around you, phone in hand, eyes barely open. Sometimes, you’d be watching a show, other times scrolling mindlessly, and on rare occasions, half-asleep but refusing to actually get up and go to bed.

And then, without fail, you’d spend the next day complaining about how tired you were. You’d drag yourself around the apartment, yawning every five minutes, rubbing at your eyes like a petulant child. And when he told you—plain and simple—that you needed to go to bed earlier, you had the nerve to roll your eyes at him.

“Okay, dad,” you’d say before walking away, completely ignoring his advice.

No amount of reasoning could convince you. If anything, the more he brought it up, the more stubborn you became.

So, Simon took matters into his own hands.

First, he switched out your usual tea for chamomile, hoping it would knock you out easier. Every night, he handed you your favorite mug, tea bag steeping inside, always a different flavor, something new to throw you off. Just in case you started getting suspicious.

You never noticed. Never questioned it. Just sipped at it, curled up in your blanket, completely oblivious.

Then came the melatonin sleep spray. He practically doused the corner of the couch where you always nested, soaking the blankets and pillows in the scent, ensuring that once you settled in, sleep would come whether you liked it or not.

And slowly, it started working.

You began dozing off earlier. The nights where he found you awake at ungodly hours became less frequent. You stopped yawning every other sentence. Stopped rubbing at your eyes like you were seconds away from passing out on your feet.

The dark circles under your eyes faded. Your complaints about exhaustion became fewer and farther between.

He never said anything about it. Never told you. Just watched in silent satisfaction as his plan worked.

But his favorite part? When you passed out on the couch instead of the bed.

Because that meant he got to pick you up, carry you to bed, and watch you sleep peacefully for a moment before pressing a kiss to your forehead and climbing in beside you.

It was selfish, really.

Because, sure, fixing your sleep schedule was technically for your health. But he couldn’t deny that he loved the way you curled into him when he slipped under the covers. The way you nuzzled into his chest, warm and pliant, letting out a soft sigh in your sleep as he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer.

And, well better sleep also meant more cuddles.

And Simon loved that most of all.

Ik your sleep schedule is fucked. Go to bed.

[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.

[thebookbutterfly]

fanfiction isn’t enough, I need to chew on him

[partiallysame]

Johnny strutting up to older!reader in a bar with the tired “can I buy ye a drink” and you just look him up and down and ask “oh baby. How old are you? Where’s your dad?” In the most condescending yet sweet voice he’s ever heard and the man is lowkey bricked up. He’s stunned just staring at you stuttering out “ ‘m 26” You look over his shoulder to the rest of the 141 sitting at a table. “Either come back in ten years or send your mutton chops daddy over. Ok sweetheart” your hand is shooing him away and he’s walking a little stiff bc you just unlocked a kink in him he did not know he had.

[kkusuka]

this is in the "141 and john price's wife" universe. still gn pronouns. i also don't think price texts that much- old man syndrome.

the 141 absolutely have a group chat dedicated to pictures and information (porn) about their little wife.

it starts, as many silly things do, with johnny and a picture of you asleep on the couch. cuddled into the armrest covered in the tortilla blanket he'd gotten you as a gag gift, and it was just too good not to share. (although he only sent one of the thirty he actually took, he's gotta keep as much of you to himself as he can.)

then it was kyle with you in the yard, laying in the grass after cutting down branches in the sweltering heat (something john would never let you do if he'd know about it, but he appreciates the flush of your cheeks and the angle of the photo makes it seem as if you were under him doing another strenuous activity.)

and it continues like that for months, cute little pictures of you gardening with price, walking with simon, watching tv between kyle and johnny- just sharing the daily life of their pretty bird.

but the real nature of the group chat doesn’t start until simon sends a picture of you bent over, putting something in the oven, in the tiny, red daisy duke shorts that are only just long enough to be considered inappropriate for the public.

sr: fuckin' lucky that shit only takes 10 minutes to cook or we'd be in the kitchen all day.

soap: fuuuuuuuuckin' hell

kyle: don't rub it in simon, we'll be home in two days

sr: don't worry, i'll warm 'em up for you

price: Behave yourselves.

and it all just unravels from there.

john's the next culprit. he has loads and loads of less than decent pictures of you, perks of being the first husband, but he's not reaching into the stash for this one. he has a point to make: if anyone's getting off to pictures of his wife, he's gonna be the one sending them.

it's barely two hours after the other three left that something is sent into the chat. face down, ass up, cunt dripping with cum as price uses his thumb to keep your pussy open to the camera, the rest of his hand palm down on your ass, the ring on his finger glistening in the flash.

sr: fuckin' filthy captain

soap: BRING ME BACK, PUT ME IN CAPTAIN

kyle: tell 'em i said thank you

it's not surprising that the minute he comes back, johnny's on you. methodically placing the camera, making sure it captures all of you and his face buried between your thighs. it wasn't the first video sent into the chat but it's definitely one of the best ones.

your head thrown back, hands in his hair, gripping what you can so you can grind your pussy on his tongue. his phone is just close enough to hear your small pants and groans as he sucks on your swollen clit.

soap: i could spend the rest of my life right there

sr: you let 'em fuck yer face like that?

soap: lt i'd let 'em gag me

soap: then step on my dick

soap: then leave me on the floor to rot

*kyle, price, and sr disliked three messages*

soap: like you fuckers wouldn't

and kyle is not a man to be left out, but he is also not as keen on sharing his private time with you as johnny is. so there aren't videos coming from him, instead he has 4k close ups of your tits after he spent almost an hour sucking hickeys into every part of your chest he could reach.

and kyle is like an artist, he makes sure your hair is splayed out perfectly, and that you're just fucked out enough to give him a bright smile. he also makes sure that the locket they gave you, the one that's has their names engraved on the inside, sits perfectly above the swell of your boobs. and goddamn is he proud of his pictures. (it's not hard for you to look pretty in pictures because you're already pretty but kyle thinks he's the best at actually capturing it).

soap: another two things i would put my face between until i suffocate

*sr, price, and kyle disliked a message*

soap: go fuck urselves

and simon is just mean, fingers peaking under your panties, finding your clit just to sit there, finger pressed on your bud, only moving for a few seconds before falling still again; his other hand hold your hips down so you can't do anything but wait for him to move again. and he does it the entire length of the manchester game until your panties are completely soaked through.

soap: stone cold, lt. stone cold.

but before he can do anything, he has to take his picture so the other fools can remember what a whore you are for him. and because it's between games he'll let you sit on his dick and grind into him during commercial breaks. maybe he'll even film in and send it to the guys, let them see you drip all over his lap whole stretching to fit him in your cunt.

but whether his team loses or wins, he'll flip you over and fuck you into the couch cushions, so at least you get that!

then they're all away on a mission, and you know about their little chat (it's hard not to when suddenly they have a camera out every time you're in their vicinity.) so you take it upon yourself to give them their fix. and why not play around with them well you're ar it?

it starts when you go shopping merely three days after they left. they tear up your bras and underwear so obviously you would need to buy more eventually. but usually when you go shopping one of them is with you to share their opinions, but since they're away, you just have to send pictures instead!

a whole catalog, in facts. you've got angles, dressing room lighting, and a whole lot of time on your hands.

*you sent 22 photos to 'the bird house'*

you: i can't choose :(((

you: help me out?

kyle: give me 6 hours to fly home and i'll help you with anything

price: Looks great. But I can't tell from the pictures, you'll have to try them all on again when I get home.

soap: licking the screen isn't working, captain i think i need to go home.

*sr saved 22 photos to Camera Roll*

kyle: smooth riley, real smooth.

and of course it doesn't end there. you have a chance to torture them a little bit with zero consequences and you're going to take it.

but it takes a while for you to send videos, usually you send  your outfits, or the tiny bathing suit top you wear while tanning, even one of you in the kitchen in nothing but your tiny apron. (it's the only one that john does not appreciate, popping a boner between briefings as a captain is not hie proudest moment.)

but as the months go longer and longer, you get more and more desperate. your toys are reserved for times like this, a small bullet vibrator and a thick 8-inch dildo. it's nowhere near as nice as fucking your men but it'll have to do for the time being.

and you know them being away is not their fault and they'd be home in an instant if they could choose to be; but if you have to deal with your pent-upness, so do they.

so you set up your phone, leaning it on the lamp that sits on your bedside table, so it captures your entire body, covered only by sheer light-blue lingerie and your locket, as you sink down the length of your dildo, vibrator pressed to your clit. you send four different videos, one for each of them, in the order they came into your life (you think it's cute, they're one picture away from firebombing the whole country they're in and flying home).

you: just something to hold you over until you get back!

kyle: so good for us babe.

soap: yer evil bonnie.

soap: my arm can't keep up with this

sr: birdie thinks it's real funny now

you: i do

sr: not gonna be so funny when we get home, yeah? might have to give you a refresher about what happens teasing birds.

price: 6:30am tomorrow, get everything you need in order because you aren't moving for the foreseeable future.

*you loved a message*

[skyrigel]

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

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

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

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

"Wot?" Simon blinked.

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

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

"Exactly, baby car… stroller."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bloody hell, he’s so in love.

Masterlist

[sigh-tofm]

reader at a bar being approached by johnny ‘my wife thinks you’re attractive’ mactavish but his wife is 6’4, 250lbs, wears a skull balaclava in public and is staring you down like you killed his mother

[quarterlifekitty]

One thing that makes me go feral is when in the middle of fucking, one person gets overstimulated and tries to crawl and squirm away from the overstimulation, and the other person drags them back by the hips like "Where do you think you're going?" 😩 which of the guys do you think is most likely to do this?

(Can you tell I'm ovulating... 🫣)

ALL

cw: daddy kink adjacent stuff for Nik, as per usual. Just a hint of aggression, and marking dubcon just in case

Gaz is literally so sweet about it. Like you’re a little kitten about to walk off the edge of a table and he’s just redirecting you. “No, no, love— this way,” he coos as he puts his hand beneath your hips to cup you and pull you back.

Soap is about to lose his mind, it’s so hot to him— “Ah’m just givin’ it tae ye so good, huh, bonnie? Cannae take it anymore? Too bad,” he tuts, his fingers sunken into your soft flesh as he pins your kicking legs and tugs hard.

Ghost reacts with some real aggression. He’s not mad at you— he’s mad at the idea. The concept of you being separated from him. He’s bruising and yanking your body, manhandling you under his weight. “Don’t fuckin’ run from me, birdie— don’ wanna know what’ll happen if’m pulled outta this cunt—“

Price can’t help but smile. Such a sensitive little thing. “If you’re already in this state— doesn’t bode well for the rest of your night, darl’— cause I ain’t near finished with you.” He’s prepared to wait upon you like you’re his ailing, bedridden queen suffering from the consumption tomorrow, cause you’ll have about as much energy left when he’s done.

König is holding you too tight to let you even begin to squirm away— he can just feel the tense and strain of your muscles against his hands. It makes him kiss you as deep as he can manage— he just thinks it’s so cute, like you’re a little moth with wings beating against his cupped palms.

Nikolai laughs. He laughs at you. You’re just so silly— thinking papochka will show you mercy. He’s not a merciful man, malýshka. He’d best remind you of that— not that you’ll ever really learn. He wouldn’t want you to, really. He likes playing this little game with you. It’s like ballroom dancing to him— very romantic and sweet.

[stargirlstabber]

imagine the task force 141 falsely accusing you of being a traitor to the team. knowing your biggest fear, they use it against you. water. water, where your feet can't touch the ground. water you can't see through. at first it started with waterboarding. then slowly but surely they threatened to drop you into the pool. into the dark, deep pool. even john, who was like a father to you before, didn't help you. no. not at all. actually, he was the one who stepped into the water fully clothed, dragging your crying and squirming form with him into the bloodcurling liquid. your tears blended in with it while you we're screaming, practically begging that you were the wrong one. that you'd never do something like that. but they just stood at the edge of the pool, watching their captain almost drowning your terrified self. how would they react, when they get the information that you really weren't the one...?

[thatgoblin]

One Night Stand Masterlist

7 weeks - ~::~ Summary: After a drunken night with a man name John, Reader finds herself in a position they had never thought they would be in. ~::~

16 Weeks - ~::~Summary: After a few weeks of forming a routine, you and John have a small surprise trip to the ER.~::~

18 Weeks - ~::~Summary: John has to leave for a few weeks for his first mission out of country. Which should be fine, but an unexpected visit makes it more apparent that his new partner and him have a lot of work to do on themselves.~::~

20 Week - Summary: You're at the end of your rope and things come to a head that end in near tragedy.

22-26 Weeks - Summary: Despite digging your heels in for months, you finally move in with John.

Headcannons

1,

One Shots

Pretty Pretty Rebellion - You drop your daughter off at Uncle Johnny's while you get groceries. She is the same chaos gremlin as her mother.

Complete COD Masterlist

[forsworned]

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

"Delete it."

"Why?"

"Cos I fockin' said so."

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

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

[hidingwhere]

John Prices wife coming to pick him up at the airport after he returns from a mission, but the car is now full of military men.

One look at the three boys, completely exhausted and pulling their phones out to book a taxi had your heart crying. Without thinking, you offered them all a lift to yours and Johns home for them to stay overnight.

So now there’s three men cramped onto your three backseats, John having the luxury of sitting in the front. Simon is on the end (still in his balaclava but luckily not the skull mask because you’d be a little creeped out seeing that every time in the rear view mirror), Johnny in the middle and then Kyle on the other end. Johnny complains for about 10 minutes that he’s squished in and has no room to move but after that he’s completely zonked out on Simons shoulder.

Your music plays quietly through the speakers and they’re happy to listen to anything that isn’t gun shots or explosions.

Once you arrive home, they all climb out the car, grabbing their bags from the boot and dumping them down in the living room.

“Place looks less lifeless than last time I was here,” comments Johnny.

“Finally got a woman’s touch to it,” adds Kyle.

You smile a little at the non-direct compliment. Price also looks around, noticing the little details that have changed or the things that have been added around his house, keeping a hand on your back. He leans down and kisses you gently, mumbling “I missed you” against your lips.

“I missed you too. But it looks like you’ve lost weight.” You glance down at his body. “I’ll fatten you up again,” you tease with a little giggle as he chuckles.

It’s around 9pm by the time you’ve cooked dinner for four people who have appetites of bears. They all look at you as if you’re an angel sent from heaven when they see the food, sitting down at the dining table silently and scoffing down the meal.

By 10pm, you go into the living room thinking they’re all watching TV but instead they’re all asleep. You grab some spare blankets from beside the sofa and cover them up except for John. You shake him awake and make him move upstairs into bed with you. There’s no way you’re letting him sleep on the sofa and not with you after weeks apart.