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[clementinesjourney]

[clementinesjourney]

Synopsis: A new lieutenant comes to your base—a hot one. Ghost isn’t happy.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Word Count: 1,334

Notes:

I haven’t thought of a title, so I’m replacing it with a picture of Ghost’s expression that perfectly captures the fic’s concept. Let me know if you think of one.

Platonic fluff, duh.

Warning: Lots of swearing ahead of you, British slang as well. Told you, he’s not happy.

UPDATE: there’s a Part 2 now. Things get messy.

Want more?

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The rumour mill went into overdrive as soon as the ‘new guy’ arrived at the military base that morning. A former special ops legend with impressive credentials; what’s not to love?

But it wasn’t just his military skills that had everyone talking; it was also his appearance. Rumours of his Adonis-like looks had spread throughout the base, and everyone was dying to catch a glimpse of him. Even the mess hall was dominated by talk of his stunning looks.

What did you think of him? Well, you prefer to take such things with a grain of salt and not put too much stock in them. After all, beauty is a matter of personal preference, and no single definition applies to everyone. So you wanted to evaluate things for yourself.

Okay, fine. Yes, the rumours were true—the guy is exactly as they described him.

The new lieutenant stands tall and proud in front of the line you’ve all formed, his wavy hair coiffed into a deep side part with a thick fringe swooping over one eye. His chiselled jawline is accentuated by a short, perfectly groomed beard, and he gives everyone a brilliant smile as if he’s auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. His voice is booming and almost comically enthusiastic as if he were trying to engage a class of children. He gives orders by pointing at soldiers with gun fingers and winking, causing some of you to stifle giggles.

“All right, soldiers, pay attention!” he says, clapping his hands like a cheerleader. “Today’s tasks are routine: cleaning, organizing, equipment repair, and inventory taking. And, hey, if we pull this off, I’ll buy everyone a round at the local pub! How does that sound?”

Some of the soldiers exchange skeptical glances, wondering if this guy is for real.

But Ghost? Oh. My. God.

Ghost’s agitation becomes too hard to hide as the new lieutenant speaks. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, moving frantically as if eager to be anywhere but here. His eyes keep rolling back as though they’re searching for some leftover patience in the depths of his skull. You keep staring at his crossed arms. They’re so stiff that his muscles must ache from the effort. It’s as if he’s trying to keep them in place, so he doesn’t unleash them and back-slap the hot lieutenant’s pretty face. That, or he’ll let out a primal scream any second now.

“Y/N,” he turns to face you, and you stand at attention, “you’re on border patrol with me today-”

“Y/N is staying with me at the office today,” Ghost opposes him. “There’s a lot of paperwork that needs to be done.”

“Can’t you get someone else to fill out the paperwork?” the man asks, shooting Ghost a wink and a grin.

“Can’t you get someone else to help you with border patrol?” Ghost winks back at him and turns to face you. “Y/N, on your feet, c’mon,” he says, walking towards the building.

You exchange glances with the new lieutenant and shrug. This is too awkward.

“WHENEVER YOU’RE READY, SOLDIER,” Ghost commands, and you dash towards him, brushing past the new lieutenant, who also happens to smell amazing. Of course, he does.

“What the fuck is wrong with you today, Lt.?” You whisper as you run behind him, “where’s the camaraderie we discussed during yesterday’s briefing?”

Ghost shoots you a glare over his shoulder. “Just trying to keep my paperwork safe,” he mutters.

“What’ll happen to the damn paperw-” you proceed to ask, but then evaluate his words; you’re the paperwork.

At the office…

He’s reticent as he sits on his desk—not like he’s a social butterfly any other day, but today, he seems angry. Almost hostile. His eyebrows are tied together, his restless leg syndrome is back, and he takes too many cigarette breaks compared to what you’re used to. He answers your questions with one-word statements when—and if—he acknowledges your presence. Yesses and nos are all you’ve been getting since you entered the office, with the occasional “tsk” he might utter while he looks at his papers.

“Pass me the stapler.” He commands.

“Magic word, Ghost.”

“Pass me the fucking stapler, please.”

You slide the stapler over to his desk. “You’re rude today, Mr Riley.” You comment, turning your focus back to the laptop’s screen.

He doesn’t reply in the form of words. Instead, his feelings manifest themselves by aggressively stapling the papers together.

“Perhaps you’d like me to ask for the stapler by winking at you?” He finally mutters under his breath.

“Like the guy that came in today?” You scoff.

Oh, you have his full, undivided attention now. He turns his chair towards you and leans his weight on his thighs as if you’re about to tell the most exciting story.

“What do you think of him?” He asks.

You flick your wrist dismissively. “I don’t know him well enough to form an opinion. I prefer to reserve judgment until I get to know someone.” You give him a pointed look, hoping to convey your message without having to spell it out for him.

“He’s a fucking bellend, I’ll tell you that much.” He mumbles in response. Guess the message got lost in transit.

“Come on, man!” You shout and punch your fist on the table, “it’s obvious that he’s got you rattled.”

“He’s not rattling me!” Ghost protests, but his defensive tone betrays him.

“Sure, he’s not,” you reply sarcastically, “that’s why you’ve been chain-smoking and stapling papers like you’re trying to murder them.”

Ghost lets out a deep sigh and rubs his temples.

“Is it his looks?” you ask.

“No, it’s not his looks,” Ghost rolls his eyes, “I’m much better looking than him, that’s for sure.”

“Are you...I don’t know, intimidated, maybe?” You shrug, “because you’re worried he might take your place as the top dog around here?”

He looks at you incredulously. “What are you talking about? I’m not worried about that.”

“Sure, you’re not,” you smirk. “That’s why you’ve been acting like a total jerk all day.”

He looks up and sighs. The poor man looks like he desperately needs an ego boost. Beneath Ghost’s tough facade there’s Simon, after all. And Simon is a human being with the same insecurities and worries as everyone else.

“In any case,” you say, trying to comfort him, “nobody takes such douchebags seriously in the army. And I get it; the guy’s trying to make a good impression and all, but, my God, he needs to chill with all the...” you start winking and pointing gun fingers left and right.

He’s so happy he lets out a sharp chuckle. “He’s a fucking nobhead, isn’t he?” He asks, “trying to take charge and acting like he knows everything.”

“Indeed,” you reassure him, “and that cologne, I almost fainted as I passed him; how could you stand beside him for so long?”

“Don’t ask.” He shakes his head.

You reach over and give his arm a squeeze. “Don’t worry about it, Ghost. You’re the most respected operator here,” you say, giving him a small smile, “just do me a favour and give the guy a chance; he has so much to learn from you.”

He nods. “I wanted to neck slap him so hard,” he mumbles, “knock his pretty white teeth out.”

“Which are fake, by the way.”

“Are they?” He asks, shocked.

“100%.” You reply with conviction as if you are the guy’s dentist.

“I knew it.” He yells, slaps his hand on his thigh, and turns his chair back to his desk.

You look at him from the corner of your eye. He seems much more relaxed now. Hopefully, he takes your advice to heart and proceeds with the same resilience and leadership he does on the battlefield. Or, maybe, you temporarily diffused a potential conflict, and the captain will have to get involved pretty soon. Who knows. At least he feels confident in himself now, and the guy’s teeth will live to see another day.

———————————————————————

Part 2 ->

[clementinesjourney]

König - Projekt Amor

Word count: 4.6k

Pairing: König x Reader

Summary: When the lab you’re clearing with König has a hormonal weapon you didn’t expect, you try your hardest to control yourself from him, but you can tell he’s wanted this for a while.

Warnings: Smut, poorly translated German, some canon typical violence, and drug-induced sex.

Notes: I know many of you follow me for Ghost Band stuff, which I will continue to write!! I’m just gonna leave this here for my CoD enjoyers too <3

“Hello, König!” You smiled, taking a seat across from him on the plane. You looked around for a moment, expecting to see more of the team. Surprisingly, it was just the two of you, plus a pilot. König wore what he always did, and you adorned your gear for more hands-on missions, as you normally opted to stay back and operate some of the computers back at base. Behind you, the door sealed and your pilot began procedures for liftoff.

“Hallo, süßes mädchen.” König said simply. You could tell his eyes creased slightly behind his hood. A small gesture that he was happy to see you. He fidgeted lightly with a sheathed knife, his leg bouncing as he thought. Despite not being able to see his face, he looked handsome. Maybe it was something in his eyes, or the way his shoulders rested on the seats of the small plane. You wouldn’t dare tell him, but you thought he looked gorgeous. As you were about to pipe up and talk to him, a voice rang in through your headpiece.

Keep reading

[clementinesjourney]

My voice kink is so bad . I'd do just about anything to hear a growled good girl in my ears and then cum.

[clementinesjourney]

sleepy sex where i can barely keep my eyes open and his hand is in my pants rubbing my clit and hes caressing my hair. yes please

[clementinesjourney]

Nasty Stepbro... Not again- | Stepbro!Eddie x FEM!Reader

Let's just put it like this...

You were getting fucked out of yourself on the counter of your kitchen, by your stepbrother

He was railing you, rearranging your guts, drilling into you, fucking you so hard you couldn't even think until-

**knock knock**

"Someone's at the door" Eddie said out of breath

"Shit- get out of me!"

You scrambled to get back into shape, but it did no good since your clothes were mostly teared into pieces

You answered the door with a wobbly walk and shaky legs

Not expecting, her

Your best friend was at the door, last time you saw her was when... Well, you were fucked by your brother in front of her

"Hey, what are you doing here? It's been long"

"Yeah yeah I just... I wanted to... See it again"

Eddie immediately knew what she meant, and walked behind you to grope your tits

"Then come in sweetheart, the show is just starting"

Let's say it was a long day...

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long dirty sex talk

 cherry-popping-daddyy.tumblr.com

M 36 London

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Please help me out on my main writing blog!!!

The problem is i started writing a glorious (or like.. i want it to be) 14 part series but its quite like angsty/serious but then i came across a bunch of reels on insta which could be an awesome *jokes-through-the-comms* series type of thing but entirely too funny to just be put out here like little convos and now i’m thorn about which one i should write out. Help

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god i want to be fucking railed. just spread open and pounded until literally all thoughts leave my brain. thank you

[clementinesjourney]

✦MORE INCORRECT C.o.D QUOTES✦

König: Hell, you could pour soup into my lap and I’ll probably apologize to you- --

Soap: What’s your life motto? Y/N: Hmmm, less a motto, more a general idea. But I run through life with four things in mind. Y/N: Fuck shit up, get shit done, get some glory, and hope for good dick in between. Gaz: *spit take* Soap: *WHEEZE* Ghost: …pretty good motto. Y/N: Thank you!

--

Graves: What are you doing? Y/N, losing their shit: *looking at the sky* Maybe, if I stand here long enough, a FUCK will fall from the SKY and then, I can give it to you. But oh, hey, look, THE SKY AIN’T GIVIN’ NOTHIN! Graves: I- Y/N: NO FUCKS, ANYWHERE, TO GIVE

-- Soap after being insulted by Ghost: ‘do sorta like it when he’s rude to me…hopefully that’s more a psychological defect than a weird sexual thing.

-- Some dickhead: And what's your job? 141 Whore? Y/N: Oh I fuckin' wish. Do you know how much easier of a job that'd be? No field drills, no paperwork, just be a dick receptacle. A fuckin' dream, that'd be. Price: *dissapointed sigh* Soap & Gaz: *WHEEZE* Ghost: *he's not laughing but he kinda wants to*

-- Ghost: Pretty cool, huh, Johnny? *looks and sees Graves beside him* Oh- Graves: Uh, I thought it was pretty cool. Ghost: I don't give a fuck 'bout what you think, Philip.(derogatory)

--

(TW; Unalive mention; but it's in a Gen Z joke way) Someone: Okay uh, what if 141 just...disappeared. Like your team just vanished. What would you do? Y/N, instantly: Oh I'd just *gun to temple hand signal* Easy. Quick decision. Price: Soldier, no- Y/N: Don't die and we won't have a problem. Think of it as more reason to stay alive. All of you. *Points at Ghost* You, specifically, sir. 'm watchin' you. Ghost: ...noted.

--

Ghost, suffering from blood loss: Johnny...you have beautiful eyes Soap: Damnit where's that evAC HE'S LOST HIS MIND

--

Soap: How d'ya feel 'bout gay people? Male!Y/N: ...I am gay- Gaz: He's dodging the question. Soap: HOMOPHOBIC! Male!Y/N: DON'T SHOUT THAT WHAT THE FU-

--

(I saw DILF!Reader headcanons and made an OC from it, I really like DILF/MILF Readers, we need more of them) Ghost: Daddy issues? Psh, I don't have those. Dilf!Y/N: *pats him on the back while passing by* Good job out there, Simon. Ghost, ready to cry whilst also having a boner: God damnit-

--

(In the idea of Y/N being a complete badass on field, maybe even a lil sadistic) Gaz: Hey, before getting into the military, what did you wanna do with your life? Y/N, cleaning dishes: Oh, I wanted to be a homemaker! Soap: ...huh? Y/N: Yeah! Little house, keepin' it clean, cookin' all day. An apron. The whole thing. Alas, God doesn't hand out opportunities for dreams, I was dealt a different hand in life's game of poker, and I had to make it work. So! Here I am. Gaz, remembering the time he watched them decapitate a man: ...a homemaker...right.

--

Y/N: I'm just sayin', one hug from Captain would probably be the equivalent of six years in therapy. Gaz: So...ask for a hug then? Y/N: AHA! No, no I won't do that. That's asking for problems. (Insert situation where Y/N gets said hug) Price: ...are you crying? Y/N: This! This is the problems I mentioned! Gaz: No, no I think this is proof you shoulda asked sooner.

--

Ghost: I don't have favorites. Gaz: You made Soap a lunch. Ghost: And? Y/N: You cut the sandwich in the shape of a cat...and the fruit is cut into stars & hearts. Ghost: Soldiers need balanced meals.

--

Y/N: Yeesh...Why did god have to give Cap such a tiny grabbable waist...seems unfair. Gaz: *chokes on water* Soap: *wheeze cackle* Price: ...pardon? Y/N: Oh shit, did I say that out loud? My bad, G.

--

Graves: Are you supposed to be eye fucking your captain all the time? Y/N: Hey! I don't eye fuck my captain all the time. Graves: You- Y/N: I eye fuck all my teammates, equal opportunity eye fucking, I don't have favorites on my team. Soap & Gaz: *stifling laughter* Price: Can- *sigh* Can we please focus on the mission now?

--

Graves: Were you dropped as a child? Y/N: Bold of you to assume I was held. Price: Soldier- Soap: Oh, no that's- Gaz: *wince* Ghost: ...heh. Y/N: *points* Ahaaaa, he gets it!

[clementinesjourney]

this idea is so good! I can't wait to see all the characters! *-*

So I had previously said I had an announcement for And they were Roommates.

So here it is!!

Would you like to be in the story? I need 5 characters for Sparrow's hacker friends!

I've decided that instead of creating them I would let you guys make characters to add!

They will appear in one chapter but if your characters are liked they might appear in more!! (So feel free to add a character of squad 141 you would like your character to be shipped with just in case)

So here's a little How to (i forgot to add that your character NEEDS a codename!!!)

Send it via DM!

[clementinesjourney]

[Marchesa Spring 2016]

[clementinesjourney]

The Best Lies

Summary: After you join the 141, Ghost does everything he can to fight his growing feelings for you. But during a night out with you, he finds it harder and harder to ignore.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 5.9k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only, mdni!)

Warnings: a little angst, Ghost agonizes over having feelings, canon-level violence, blood, alcohol/drinking, kissing, semi-public dry humping, fingering, unprotected p-in-v sex (you know the drill, wrap it y'all), secret relationship

A/N: This truly is 50% Ghost trying to ignore the fact that he's down bad and 50% depraved smut. Writing Ghost losing his mind over having feelings is truly so fun. I hope you all enjoy!

Illicit Indulgences Series Masterlist

Ghost had convinced himself that he had done more than just nip his issue at the bud. He thought he had pulled it out by the roots and set it aflame, never to bother him again. 

And why would he think otherwise? He had done that same thing time and time again, and it had always worked. This time, he thought, would be no different. He had washed his hands of the issue and could continue on like before. 

The problem was that he was dead wrong. This time was different. 

You were different. 

You were the newest member of the 141, a sniper and one of the best hand-to-hand combat specialists he had ever seen. You were a strong woman who fought hard and fast, with an eye for precision. Price had been trying to get you onto the team for months, telling Ghost that he was convinced you were the perfect addition. Price had been right; you were perfect. You fit right in with the guys, kept up with their banter, and were as tough as nails. When you worked, you had a focus that was so zeroed-in that Soap and Gaz had started to liken you to Ghost. 

By all means, you were the best addition to the team that they could have asked for. You weren’t the problem. Ghost was the problem. 

What had started as a small acknowledgment of your attractiveness had slowly grown into something more. It was your quick sarcastic quips that battled with his own, your soothing demeanor and featherlight touch as you patched him up, your ability to make a terrible situation seem better than it was - the list went on. There was something there between the two of you, a connection that he had never experienced before. No, his attraction wasn’t just surface-level, it was something deeper. 

It was something that he wasn’t supposed to feel - on many levels. 

Ghost never got involved, period. He could acknowledge when a woman was attractive, have a night where he gave in to the physical aspect of it, but it never grew to anything. He didn’t let it. He would dispose of those feelings as soon as he registered them. In his line of work and in his experience, feelings were a liability - a luxury that he would always pay the price for. They complicated everything and unusually ended in pain. In short, they were a weakness that needed to be disposed of. 

What was more, you were his subordinate, his teammate. He was a professional, he never let himself feel anything like that for his subordinates. Hell, he barely even had what could be classified as friendships with his subordinates. Soap and Gaz had been the first he had ever shown his face to, and that was after fighting by their side for years. 

The bottom line was that Ghost didn’t let himself get distracted, much less get distracted by a subordinate who was just doing her bloody job. Yet, in a few short months, you had flipped everything Ghost thought about himself on its head. It was disorienting. 

Once he realized what was happening to him, he tried to put a stop to it. He worked with you when he had to, interacted with you when he had to, but besides that, he largely steered clear of you. Whether it was downtime at the base or a night out with the other 141 guys, if you were there, Ghost wasn’t. It was the only solution he had. 

If only it had worked. 

Even staying clear of you couldn’t stop the spread of whatever had taken hold of him. He slipped one day, imagining what your lips would feel like against his while you talked to Price, barely even realizing that he had been staring at your lips the entire time. Not too long after that, you had tried to get his attention while on an assignment, opting to whisper a low, breathless “Ghost!” into the comm. Going straight to the comm in his right ear, the low drawl of his name from your lips was almost like a siren’s call, sending a shiver racing down his spine as he responded back to you. Another day, he caught a glimpse of you training with Soap, watching as you passed his guard and kneeled between his legs as you continued to fight. The sight shouldn’t have sent his blood boiling or sent his thoughts straight into the gutter - you were just training. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw you look up at him as he swiftly left the training room, your piercing gaze following him as you helped Soap up from the floor. 

He didn’t feel anything for you. He didn’t feel anything for you. He repeated it like a mantra, like he could make it come true if only he said it enough, with enough conviction.

So why did he still have a knot in his chest every time he saw you? Every time you spoke through the comms directly into his ear, your voice strong and smooth as honey? Every time your eyes locked with his, an unreadable expression on your face?

He didn’t feel anything for you. He almost made himself believe it.

“Styx, get the fuck out of here!” He bellowed at you. “Leave me! That’s an order!”

It was a stealth job gone south nearly a year and a half after you joined the team, their intel leading them into a pretty nasty situation. Almost everyone had long retreated to safety. 

Ghost was hit, blood streaming from his right thigh. The bullet was still in the wound, making it bad enough to where he could barely put weight on it, considerably slowing down the two of you. He was a liability now, putting you both at risk of being killed or captured. You stayed with him nonetheless, shoulders set with determination. 

“Like hell,” you scoffed as you crouched down to where Ghost sat. Your face was dirty from the fight, your clothes scuffed and torn with a slice cutting through your sleeve from a bullet graze. He tried to push you away, continuing to order you to fall back with the others, but you refused, your burning gaze snapping up to meet his. “Either I get you out of here or we keep bickering right here until they find us and kill us! Your choice.”

Of course you wouldn’t leave him behind. It’s who you were. It’s what made you you, even if it was infuriating to Ghost. Even if he would have done the exact same thing you were if it was you with a bullet wound instead of him. 

His head starting to go fuzzy from the blood loss, his focus wavered.

“Hey,” you called, snapping your fingers in front of him before you started to check his wound. “Eyes on me, Ghost. Stay with me.”

After examining his thigh, you clicked your tongue before finally deciding that the makeshift bandage he had fashioned would be enough to suffice for now. 

Ghost let out a groan, finally letting you pull him up and wrap one of his arms around your shoulders. You took some of his weight, helping him limp a little faster now. He was putting you in more danger, that he knew. If you would’ve just listened to him, your chances of going undetected and making it out of there would’ve been drastically higher. But your grip on the strap of his belt to help ease the weight off of his leg was firm, refusing to let him go.

That same feeling nagged in the back of his mind as you dragged him with you, the blood loss making it harder to ignore the thoughts that he usually shoved down. 

You murmured words of encouragement to him as you walked for what felt like a lifetime.  “Come on, big guy, just a little more. Just a little faster.”

Ghost huffed a small laugh. He was in a haze now, letting words slip past his lips that he would normally have guarded against. “Can’t be sayin’ stuff like that, love. Might give a man the wrong idea.”

Your head snapped to look at him, surprise written in the pinch of your brows. Ghost found enough clarity then to shut up, the reality of what he had just said slowly setting in. Not only had he voiced a sentiment he had barely been willing to admit to himself, he had voiced it to you. 

You examined him for a moment with a confused, analyzing eye. Finally, you huffed out a laugh, your grip tightening on his belt as you readjusted his arm on your shoulder. Your eyes slid over his masked face, a flicker of amusement creeping into your gaze before you turned to look at your surroundings again.

After that, Ghost tried to hold on to every bit of self-control he had left to keep his mouth shut.

You both made it out that day, the two of you banged up and worse for wear, but alive. Ghost had been pretty out of it by the time you got him back to the exfil point. How you had managed to drag the both of you out of there while holding up a man as large as Ghost, he could barely remember, the whole event becoming fuzzier in his mind past the point when he had let those words slip to you.

The shot to his thigh had been a nasty one, leaving him bedridden in the medical area for the next few weeks, per the doctors’ orders. Price made sure Ghost didn’t try to disregard them. 

Ghost told Price what you had done, wanting you to get the credit you deserved for your bravery. Still, it didn’t stop him from thinking that you very well could’ve gotten yourself killed for him. The thought pulled at the familiar knot in his chest.

“What’re you in for?”

Ghost followed the voice to the doorway of his room only to find you leaned against the frame, a small, teasing smile on your lips. You were cleaned up now. Having donned a fresh set of clothes, you now wore a plain black T-shirt tucked into camouflage tac pants. Despite your teasing attitude, your eyelids were heavy, like you had barely slept in the two days you had been back on base. A thick bandage poked out from under your shirtsleeve, covering the area where you had been grazed. Other than that, you seemed like you were in one piece from the entire ordeal. 

Why did that revelation alone release some of the tension in his chest?

“Jus’ a scratch,” he rumbled. He couldn’t help but humor you a little. He gestured to the hospital bed and monitors surrounding him as he huffed, “Bit of an overkill if you ask me.”

You chuckled, pushing yourself off the door frame before coming closer. Voice laced with sarcasm, you said, “Yeah, okay, tough guy.”

It was quiet for a moment, the silence thick and heavy over the two of you. Your eyes slid over him, taking in his condition, your gaze almost too much to handle.

He didn’t feel anything for you. Under the weight of your scrutiny, the thought was more like a pleading prayer.

“You should’ve left me out there,” he asserted, trying to ignore his own thoughts. “You disobeyed a direct order.”

You rolled your eyes, your hands moving defensively to your hips. “I made a call and saved your life. You’d think that would count for something.”

“That wasn’t your call to make.”

“Listen, just because you can’t stand me doesn’t mean that I can’t make a call. You-”

“Is that what you bloody think?” Ghost spat, surprise creeping into his voice.

For the first time, he saw you hesitate. You blinked for a moment. 

“How could I not?” You finally retorted, stepping closer to him, your tired eyes alight with anger. “You avoid me like the damn plague, it seems like you can barely stand me, and you second-guess every call I make. Yet you treat all the guys like your brothers. You trust them when they make a gutsy call. And what? I’m supposed to think you respect me at all?”

Of course that’s what it looked like to you. You had taken his distance to mean that he didn’t want you here, that he didn’t think as highly of you as he did the others.

“I’ll only say this once.” Ghost leaned forward, his eyes locking with yours through the holes in his mask. “You’re wrong. You’ve got my damn respect - have had it for a while, even before this mission. I think you’re one of the toughest people here. But I still gave you an order. You could’ve gotten yourself killed. And that would’ve been on me.”

Whatever you were expecting to hear from him, it wasn’t that. You appraised him, squinting a little as you did. When you finally spoke, your voice was quieter, but still even. Still strong. “I’d do it again.”

Now, it was Ghost who was at a loss for words. He tried to ignore the intensity in your voice, the certainty. As if that wasn’t exactly his issue - that you would be willing to put yourself on the line for him again.

“Y’know,” you mused as you turned and walked back to the door, “usually people just say ‘thank you’ when you save their life.”

With one last glance at him over your shoulder, you were gone. 

~~~

In the months following your confrontation, Ghost stopped avoiding you at all costs, letting himself be closer with you again. The fact that you had taken his distance to mean that he thought less of you gnawed at him in a way that was damn near painful. Ghost’s issues were his own - he wasn’t going to take them out on you anymore by avoiding you. He shoved those thoughts for you down into the recesses of his brain, thinking that this time, the tactic might actually work. 

You seemed happy about his change in demeanor. While you said nothing to point it out, he saw how you gradually relaxed around him over time. You were quick to joke with him now, your sarcastic quips as precise as your aim, as if you knew that your banter made it easier for him. You were lighter with him now, ignoring the weight of that mission. Most of the time, he could, too.

Most of the time.

I’d do it again. The words rang in his ears each time he saw you now. They dug at him, called to him. It was maddening. The weight of those words remained heavy on his chest, their meaning something he was wary to look too closely into.

Tonight, he found you at a small pub a few streets over from the hotel the 141 had been staying at in some small Irish town, your elbows resting on the sleek wooden bar as you swirled a whiskey in its glass. You seemed deep in thought, your eyes only half-watching the amber liquid spin under the pub’s dim, warm yellow lights.

“The guys all leave?” Ghost asked, pulling you from your thoughts. A small smile played at the edge of your lips as you turned towards him, gently placing the glass back on the table.

“Yeah, they all left me,” you sighed dramatically. “Price went to see an old friend here in town. Soap and Gaz wanted to go check out a pub a couple blocks over from here.”

Ghost paused for a minute to order a bourbon from the bartender. “And you didn’t wanna go?”

You shook your head. “The place sounded a little too loud for my liking.”

Ghost made a noise in solidarity, picking up the glass the bartender had placed down for him. Your taste in pubs, he had learned, was close to both his and Price’s: laidback and quiet. Sure enough, this pub was just that. It was an old vintage-style pub, one that didn’t attract a loud, rowdy crowd. The small number of patrons were mostly older people - locals, by the looks of them - laughing softly as most of them paid attention to the football game on the television. It was the kind of pub people went to when they were looking for a warm, peaceful night. It made it easier to relax a little in this strange pub in this strange city. In your line of work, that was a difficult feat to accomplish. 

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you for a while, both of you nursing your drinks.

But something was on Ghost’s mind, something that had been sitting with him for months. He broke the silence to say only, “Thank you.”

You turned to look at Ghost, an eyebrow raised. You hesitated for a moment, seemingly unsure that you had heard him correctly. “Huh? What for?”

“I never said it,” he explained simply, voice even and calm. “For savin’ my life ‘n all.”

You appraised him for a moment, taken aback by his admission. The two of you had barely talked about what happened that day. Finally, you nodded. “Still think I was wrong for disobeying your order?”

“No,” he admitted, quickly adding, “just don’t make a habit of it, yeah?”

You nodded, chuckling a little before you took the final sip of your drink. “Of course.”

It was quiet for another moment before you set your empty glass down with a clink. When the bartender came back around, you handed him enough money to pay for both your drinks and Ghost’s. Then, you turned back to Ghost and said, “You sure are… talkative when you get shot.”

Ghost averted his eyes from you at that, opting instead to watch the other patrons as they celebrated their team’s goal. His only response was, “It was blood loss.”

When he looked back to you, your piercing eyes were trained on his. You seemed like you were trying to piece him together, to figure out the puzzle of him. 

“Blood loss or not, I never took you as the kind of guy to have his head in the gutter like that,” you teased, your tone light. Underneath the teasing tone though, laid something more serious. Something Ghost hoped he was wrong about. 

“I’m not.” It was a lie. He knew it. The worst part was that you knew it, too. 

A smirk played at the edge of your lips at that.

“Sure you’re not, Ghost,” you teased. You stood from your seat then before you leaned in close to Ghost’s ear, your hand gliding along his shoulder. Voice near a whisper, sweet and honeyed, you added, “Can’t be saying things like that, then. Might give a girl the wrong idea.”

With that, you were gone. By the time Ghost turned around, you were halfway to the door, shooting him a sultry, burning look over your shoulder. It was a look he had never seen from you before, a look he was sure was aided by the whiskey you had been drinking. It was an invitation extended to him under the dim yellow lights of the pub.

It was the first blatant sign he had seen that you were interested in him like that - that it hadn’t just been him afflicted by whatever this was. 

In the split second your eyes locked with his, a million thoughts ran through his mind, all saying that he definitely shouldn’t take the invitation, shouldn’t follow you. For one, it would undo all the work he had done to ignore his own thoughts about you. Not to mention the fact that he was your superior and all the hardline rules that very clearly stated that he shouldn’t unless he wanted to risk his entire career. 

But what if he did? What if he gave in to you this one time? What if all he needed was a night with you to finally get you out of his damn head? He could have you once and finally be able to get over the hold you had on him. To let go, maybe all he had to do was give in.

Fuck.

Ghost abandoned his seat in a moment. Weaving his large frame through the tables and patrons, his eyes were trained on you as you slipped through the front door. He caught it right as it swung closed from you, hot on your tail. Pushing out into the cold, crisp night air, he found you barely two steps away from him. You turned when you saw him, a small smile blooming across your face.

Ghost was on you, his hands grabbing your hips as he pulled the both of you into the alley. Shrouded in darkness, he pressed your back to the brick wall of the pub before shoving the lower part of his mask just above his mouth. Before he could even move again, your hand came to wrap around the back of his head, pulling his lips to yours in a rough, messy kiss. 

It was better than he imagined. You were better than he imagined, the feeling of your plush lips on his almost making him forget why he had held himself back from you for so long. 

He caged you in against the wall, one hand grasping against the rough, scratchy surface as he leaned in while the other held your head in place. You pulled at him, fervent and insistent as you drew him ever closer to you. Shifting in your hold, he slotted his knee between your legs, maneuvering so that his large, muscular thigh rested against your clothed center. When you gasped against him, he took the opportunity to slide his tongue along yours, the thick, heady taste of your whiskey mixing with his bourbon. It was the taste of you, though, that was intoxicating. More so than any drink he could have ordered. 

As you ground down against his thigh, your tongue met his with equal fervor. And while you grasped the back of Ghost’s mask in your desperation, he knew you would make no effort to pull it from him. How he knew that was a mystery even to him. All he knew was that the way you tugged at his hair through the mask sent him careening over the edge of a chasm that he couldn’t see the bottom of.

His hand left the wall beside you to firmly grasp your waist, urging you to increase the speed of your hips against him. Flexing his thigh, another gasp fell from your mouth. It was maddening, a sound he knew he had to draw out of you again, only louder and unobstructed. The sound shot through him like adrenaline, fast and exhilarating. 

For the first time in a long time, Ghost felt truly awake. It was like a fire had been lit in his veins and you were the gasoline fueling the raging flames. 

Suddenly, a loud group of people passed by the alley on the adjoining street, voices ringing out in conversation. All at once, Ghost was reminded that you were both out in the open, albeit tucked into a dark alley. You broke from the kiss, your mind seemingly on the same track.

“My room,” you offered breathlessly. “At the hotel.”

“Lead the way, Styx.”

You made the quick walk back to the small hotel with Ghost in tow, winding through the dimly illuminated streets and alleys with an illicit sort of stealth and swiftness, the both of you keeping an eye out for any of the other guys along the way. While you both knew that you wouldn’t see any of them again tonight, neither of you could seem to help it. You both knew you weren’t supposed to be doing this. 

Yet, neither of you put a stop to whatever this was either.

Ghost had you pressed up against the door to your room the moment you locked it, your back to his chest and arms extended to brace yourself against the sleek black wood. His mask once again pushed to just under his nose, he lavished hungrily at your neck just below the ear, earning another sharp gasp from you. His hands dipped to the front of your jeans, racing to blindly undo them. Movements deft, efficient, and precise, his fingers were quickly past the undone line of your jeans and slipping under the band of your underwear.

“You want this?” he rasped, both because he needed the confirmation that you were completely in and because he wanted to hear the way you would sound.

“Yes,” you rushed almost immediately, a newfound desperation lining your voice. You moved your ass back against him, pressing yourself against his covered erection and he had to hold himself back from rutting into you. “Fuck, Ghost…”

Ghost nipped at your ear as he stilled your hips, his right hand drawing lower under your underwear. 

“Easy,” he warned. ”Gotta open you up first.”

With that, his fingers finally met your core, gliding through your soaked folds. He groaned at the feeling of you already dripping for him, your underwear even damp with your arousal. He dragged some of your slick up from your entrance until he found the small bundle of nerves that had you rolling your hips forward in his grasp. Completely encircling you from behind with his body, he held you flush to him while he rubbed hard and fast circles between your thighs. 

Melting into his touch, you started to move your left hand from the door to grasp for him. His free hand stopped you in only a moment, grabbing your wrist and replacing it back in its previous position.

“Hands stay there,” he ordered. For once, you actually listened, opting instead to claw your fingers against the wood as he slipped two fingers past your entrance and into your heat. He moved achingly slow at first, letting you feel the way his fingers dragged along your walls, filling and stretching your tight cunt already. You moaned, your head falling back to rest against his broad chest. 

“Ghost… Ghost, faster,” you pleaded, voice airy. The satisfaction he got from your desperate request was all too strong, more than he had ever experienced before. It shot through him like a drug, fast and disorienting. 

He picked up the pace, steadily building up to a pace that had your knees ready to give out. Wrapping his free arm around your middle, he held you steady while he wrecked you with his fingers. He tried not to think about the fact that it had only been a few months ago that it had been you holding him up, that now he got to return the favor to you in a much more pleasurable way. 

When you cried out for him, Ghost whispered into your ear, parroting your own words from that fateful mission, “Just a little more.” 

With that, he added a third finger, holding his blistering pace. The sounds you made were utterly debauched, utterly sinful. He should have been worried about how loud you were - surely others in the hotel could hear your moans. You would be lucky if there weren’t complaints to the management by morning. It was reckless… but Ghost couldn’t bring himself to care. He was too enraptured by the ringing of your voice as you fell apart beneath his touch. 

It only took another minute for you to come undone around him, your muscles tensing around his fingers, squeezing him as your mouth fell open in a silent scream while he worked you through it. 

After you had begun to relax, a sweet whine leaving your lips, he finally slowed his pace to a stop. He pulled out of you then, drawing his hand up to his mouth to suck them clean. Eyes blown wide with lust, you turned to watch him as he slowly pulled his fingers out of his mouth, the tang of your cum one that he was sure he wouldn’t be able to forget. You watched his display until the tip of his middle finger left his lips. Then, you turned so swiftly he could barely register it and pushed up to kiss him again, your tongue dipping into his mouth to taste yourself as you threw your arms over his shoulders. 

A groan left Ghost, one that surprised even him. It was so much. The taste of you on his tongue, the feel of your body under his hands, and the way you grasped at his back to pull him closer all had his head swimming, his usual cool-headed clarity quickly becoming muddled. His heart was hammering in his chest, his cock so hard it was aching in his jeans.

Alarm bells rang in his head, telling him that he was in too deep. Never had he ever been this… wrecked from sex before he had even gotten his cock out of his underwear. Something was different this time. That feeling was back in his chest - the one he wouldn’t put a name to. 

But he couldn’t turn back now. His sense was far too gone for that. 

Ghost effortlessly lifted you up from the floor before carrying you to the bed. When your back lightly hit the mattress, your mouth open in a surprised oh, he was already on top of you. He helped you peel the clothes from your body, his own clothes soon joining yours on the floor, save for the mask. 

You looked so beautiful like this, spread out under Ghost like a dream. It was like every one of his long-ignored thoughts about you had come to life. Your hungry eyes, the way he could see every dip and plane and curve of your body like this, the way you practically glowed in the moonlight that poured into the darkened room… the sight made him finally let go of all his inhibitions about having you. He would deal with the consequences later. 

Suddenly, he realized that he had just been staring at you. 

You quirked an eyebrow at him, an easy smile on your lips. “Enjoying the view?”

In lieu of a reply, he leaned down, grabbed your chin, and smashed his lips into yours as he ground his hips against you, his cock sliding along your slickened folds.

“Ghost,” you breathed against him. He wished you wouldn’t say his name like that - like he was something good for you. Yet, it still only made his cock ache more. “Just - fuck - just fuck me already.”

“This isn’t gonna be soft, Styx,” he warned, lining his cock up with your entrance. 

You gave him a small smirk, eyes full of mischief as you replied, “Good.”

Fucking hell, you were trying to kill him. 

Ghost pushed inside of you slowly at first, reveling in the way you felt around him as you squeezed him, all molten heat and velvet. He draped himself over you, one hand planted on either side of your head, and watched as your eyes rolled back, your breathing becoming ragged once again. Your nails bit into his shoulder blades as you tried to adjust to him, the sting ever so satisfying against his skin. 

“You’re s-so - ah - so big,” you mumbled, almost to yourself. 

Buried to the hilt in you, he waited until he felt you begin to relax.

Then, Ghost threw himself into the flames. 

He almost drew out of you completely before slamming back into you. And if he thought your sounds before were something to behold, the moans you let out now were nothing short of divine. Again. And again. And again.

He fucked you into the mattress so hard the bed shook and groaned with the force of each thrust, devolving into one never-ending cacophony as his speed increased. Your tits bounced with each impact and he dropped his head to take one nipple into his mouth, lavishing it with his tongue before moving to the other. Using one hand to hold onto his shoulders for dear life, you roughly fisted the sheets with the other, searching for any point of stability you could find as your world rocked. 

When he lifted from your chest, he found your head tilted back on the mattress, neck outstretched and straining. Your eyes were squeezed shut, your face contorted in pure pleasure. 

Yet, something gnawed at Ghost, an urge so deep and so powerful he was useless to hold out against.

“Eyes on me, Styx.”

Your eyes blinked open, fluttering for a moment as you tried to refocus your gaze. Finally, your eyes locked with his, as piercing as ever. That feeling flared in his chest again, his next few thrusts even harder than before. It was like he was drowning, only in the best possible way.

He watched the force of each thrust as it rocked through you, every twitch of your face and desperate grasp of your hand in the sheets. He watched the way you drank him in, eyes hooded and hungry as they held his gaze. 

“Ghost.” 

It was a plea. A demand. One he was all too eager to give in to.

Connected your lips again as one of his hands wound up to the hand you had fisted in the sheets. His fingers wrapping around your wrist, he guided your hand above your head and pinned it to the mattress. He felt you groan into the kiss before you slipped your tongue into his mouth, heated and messy. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It was all too much. He was enjoying this all too much. You were too good, too addicting. 

You were taking him deeper than he had ever been. Your cunt threatened to pull him under, the pleasure of your tight walls too intense. He was only a step away from the edge, having to hold himself back from going over before you. 

Ghost used his free hand to grab one of your legs and hook it over his hip.

Like this, his movement told you. 

Taking the hint through your haze, you brought your other leg up around his hip and locked them together behind him. 

Instantly, you broke from the kiss, a broken moan ringing in his ears and vibrating against his lips. They flowed freely from you now, the beautiful sound filling the room. He couldn’t hold in his own grunts anymore, one for every snap of his hips against yours. 

Ghost felt you tense a moment before it happened, your body going rigid and your moan abruptly cut. Then, you were squeezing him so tight, it ripped a deep, guttural moan from his chest. The force of your orgasm rocked through you, seeming like you were trying to pull him over that same edge with you. Surely enough, with a few more rocks of his hips, he felt that heat as he released, coating your walls with his cum, your release taking every bit of him with you. 

Before he could pull out of you, spent and panting, your hand found his covered cheek, the cloth warm under your touch, and guided his lips back to yours again. Your kiss was slow. Deliberate. Heavy. A hint of something deeper on your lips. 

And as he ducked out of your room that night, the moonlight seeming dimmer in his room than it had been when it was illuminating your face, Ghost tried to push all his thoughts of you away for good. 

He had his fill and now he was done. 

He could move on. 

He didn’t feel anything for you. 

They were all good lies. For the best lies were the lies he told himself. 

[clementinesjourney]

Bird hunting

Ghost x fem!reader x Soap

Chapter 1: The Snare

Series masterlist > Ch. 2

Warnings: kidnapping, drugging, violence

Summary: It is a beautiful autumn afternoon to go for a last run before reporting back to base, until it isn't.

Do not read if you're under 18. This work contains mature and triggering themes.

Word count: 1400~

Task Force 141 member sheet

Name: [REDACTED]

Call sign: Canary

Rank: Corporal

Specialty: Sniper. Infiltration.

Status: On medical leave until November 18th XXXX

November 17th

Socked feet padded across the cold ceramic floors, a soft amber hue bathing the living room in the late afternoon sunlight. Canary readied herself for her run, the last one before her reinstallment in the task force after a two-month medical leave.

There was now only a faint scar where her shoulder injury had been, a reminder of a mission almost gone terribly wrong. She had been lucky, nonetheless, as she was allowed to carry most of her leave at her own apartment. She appreciated the six weeks of almost-civilian life she was granted, being able to buy her weekly groceries at the nearby farmers market, and catching up with old friends. But to say she was anxious to return to her military routine was an understatement.

Besides, she would be able to see her lovers once again after so long. Just as she was hospitalized, both Simon and Johnny had been shipped off who knows where. All communication had been nonexistent ever since, and every day she dealt with the dull weight in her chest of not knowing where or how they were. One of the reasons why she had requested to carry her leave out of base, was actually not being able to sleep at her barrack, knowing that the one next to hers was quiet and empty. Price had assured her that they would be back around or at the same time she returned to her duties, which may or may not have caused her to count the days down until her leave was up.

Canary whistled a tune that resembled a catchy pop song that had been playing non-stop on the radio for the past week as she secured her running shoes with a double knot. She felt light and airy, all her belongings were packed and her fridge had been emptied. The apartment was sparkling clean and ready to become unused again for who knows how long. The only thing left to do was to get herself takeout dinner on her way back and go to sleep early, to be up at 4 AM sharp to report an hour later on base.

She grabbed her running hoodie - which had been Johnny’s until she refused to give it back - and her gloves. She took a moment to admire these with a blossoming smile.

~~~~

Canary had just sat down on her bed when the door knocked. After an awfully eventful day as a newly appointed corporal in the infamous 141 task force, she barely had any energy to take off her boots, but she still swallowed the groan that nearly escaped her and called out for the person to walk in.

An instant later, Ghost - her Lieutenant and the protagonist of her dreams as of late - was inside her barrack. She stood up straight, but he dismissed her before she got to salute him. Was this a surprise inspection? Canary resisted the urge to look around her own room to see if anything was out of place. She felt a wave of panic rise when she realized she couldn’t remember whether or not she had picked up her dirty socks from under the bed.

“How can I help you, Lieutenant?” she asked, almost regretting it when he locked his stare on her eyes and her heart rate spiked.

“...I came to bring you this,” he said after what seemed like hours - but were probably just a few seconds - and extended his arm to her, on his hand was a box roughly wrapped in yellow paper.

Canary gingerly took the box from his hands and inspected it, before looking up at him again with a questioning tilt of her head. She thought she heard him gulp before crossing his arms over his chest.

“...It’s from me,” he explained, “and Soap.”

She blinked and nodded, carefully unwrapping the box and opening it from the side, sliding its contents onto her open hand. They were a pair of tactical gloves with bone designs - a replica of his own, she noticed. She looked up at him again, this time there was a slight warmth on her cheeks. She wouldn’t know until much later, but the same flush sat on his own cheeks, beneath the balaclava and skull mask.

“...Happy birthday, Canary.”

~~~~

Whenever she thought back to that moment, the warmth returned to her chest. And whenever she slid the gloves on and adjusted them to her wrist, she imagined Simon and Johnny holding her hands.

With her gloves adjusted, she secured her ponytail and walked out the door, saving her keys in the pocket of her hoodie. She greeted Marian, her elderly neighbour, and left on her run.

Her route wasn't a complicated one, it was a long road that crossed the University campus and ran through the forest, then turned before the bridge and led back into the city. In total, it was about 10 kilometers long. It was often frequented by other young people, mostly university students, who chose it to exercise. This didn't bother her, she tended to prefer this as it made her running route less solitary.

However, an unusually long weekend and the closeness of final exams made the route more solitary, as students either traveled home or shut themselves into their homes to cram. Canary didn't mind this at all, taking the chance to do more sprints and put herself back into the mindset she would be in during her missions soon enough.

Her rhythm was good, cutting through her route like a sharpened knife. She imagined herself at times doing a sprint race with Johnny, like they would during training. It wasn't the same without his taunting and their bickering, but she knew they would do it in no time, any day now.

Canary crossed a few people during her run, but the crowd dwindled even more when she crossed the forest. The trees blocked most sounds from the city, allowing her to enjoy the chirping of some birds that hadn't migrated, and the brush of a breeze in the forage. It was a calm day, the sound of her breathing and the crunch of the fallen leaves beneath her feet being the only disturbance in the area.

Out of nowhere, the hairs at the back of her neck stood and a chill ran down her spine. She was being watched. Canary stopped and looked around, trying to find whoever was looking at her. She decided to continue this time being more mindful of her surroundings, although her instinct screamed at her that she was walking into a trap.

As she got closer to the road near the bridge, Canary felt a sharp pain on the right side of her back. She swallowed a cry and reached for the object that pierced her skin. It didn't feel like a bullet, but something with a needle. Her blood turned cold when she pulled it out and examined it.

A tranquilizer dart.

Judging from the direction from where it was shot, she realized it had come from the forest. Soon she heard a rustling of leaves, and she now had only seconds to reach the road and hopefully flag down a passing car for help.

Canary abandoned the trail to run in the muddy grass, nearly slipping twice. She was still gripping the dart in her left hand, when she realized that the drug could knock her out at any moment now. Her pursuer was gaining terrain on her, and a quick look over her shoulder didn't help her nerves. She unfastened her glove and secured the dart in it to make sure she wouldn't lose it, when she felt a weight being thrown on her back.

Both her and her assailant tumbled down violently onto the grass and she struggled against him, only to find out her legs weren't moving. In her panic, she tried to move around to try and get a better look at the man, but her face was shoved down in the mud. Soon, her arms felt numb as well, the only feeling was the sensation of being zip-tied, and a fog began clouding her eyes and mind. She tried to scream for help, for Simon, Johnny, anyone, but her voice was hoarse and weakened, her breathing growing shallow and heavy under the weight of her attacker.

She barely caught the sight of a gray van pulling up in a hurry, and male voices shouting to each other, then her world went black and silent.

Do not repost, translate, or transcribe any of my works in this or any other social media. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated though ♥️

[clementinesjourney]

Never Say Goodbye - Part 2

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU]

AN: Real quick, just want to say I’m so happy that so many people seem to like this little story so far! Here’s a longer chapter for ya.~

Word Count: 4,300 Warnings: Mentions of anxiety. Language.

Part 2: Connection

Dean honestly didn’t remember that snowy day when he was seventeen with much clarity. Or that sad, anxious feeling in his chest.

Not until six years later, anyway.

It was only a few months after Sam left for college, and left his older brother behind. Well, he’d left John too, but he was the one who gave Sam the ultimatum in the first place.

If you leave, don’t you dare come back.

So Dean struggled to be okay with that while he and John were on another hunt in South Dakota. There was a short but significant string of murders in Vermillion, about an hour away from Sioux Falls.

“Too bad Bobby couldn’t make it,” Dean said. He and John were researching the case at the closest library—over at the University of South Dakota. This one was huge, with multiple floors and new computers.

I guess this is what nerds like Sammy dream about, Dean thought.

“Yeah, could’ve used the manpower. But he’s got his own hunt over in South Carolina somewhere,” John said. His voice was gruff with tiredness. They’d driven for about a week straight, slowly but surely getting farther from the west coast.

“So this thing eats hearts. That could still be a lot of things,” Dean said. He gestured at the small pile of books between them at their table. John had been jotting something down in the autopsy report they’d stolen. He then turned it Dean’s way and tapped his finger on the puncture wounds.

“Those look canine,” John said.

Dean’s browed crunched. “Werewolf? It’s not a full moon.”

His dad shook his head. “Similar, but different. If I’m right, all we need is a couple silver bullets. After we track this thing down.”

“Okay, I’ll bite.” Dean grinned at his own pun. “What is it?”

John smirked. “It’s a skinwalker.”

That rung some kind of bell, but Dean would be hard-pressed to remember what made a skinwalker different from a werewolf. He hadn’t encountered one before, but after he killed it, he’d be sure to remember.

John explained how skinwalkers were actually a lot like werewolves: they could infect people with a single bite, they liked their burger meat raw (as in, fresh human hearts), and more importantly, silver could kill them.

Though unlike their lunar-dependent cousins, skinwalkers could shapeshift into their animal form whenever they wanted. And that didn’t limit to canines.

“But in this case,” John said, pointing again at the autopsy pictures, “I’d say we got us a dirty dog.”

Dean nodded. “Okay, so how do we find him?”

“What do the vics have in common?”

They started pouring over the police reports of the five victims. John took out a map of the city and made notes on the location where each body was found.

This was the part Sam was hella good at. Dean enjoyed the Magnum P.I. aspect of it, but sitting here in a dusty library for hours was going to be a severe test of his patience.

He tried to focus on the reports, and he actually noticed that one of the victims was a college student—here at South Dakota University. Another one was a bartender, and the bar was only a couple of blocks down the road.

Interesting.

He shuffled through the papers to find the third victim and felt something nagging in the back of his mind—an annoying buzz that made his brows knit together. He was already feeling a bit restless sitting here, his knee bouncing in place and rattling the table a bit.

John looked up at him. “What’s the matter?”

Dean blinked in confusion. “Huh?”

“You’re shaking the table.”

Dean forced his knee to stop. But that was when he felt it—a growing sense of frustration and anxiety blooming in his chest.

What the hell? he thought. He was perfectly fine a few minutes ago. Why did it feel like it was getting hard to breathe?

“Dean.” John looked at his son a bit harder. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered quickly. “Fine…I’m gonna find a bathroom.”

He tried to be normal as he got up and left the table, but at soon as he was out of eye-shot of his dad, he made swifter strides towards the nearest bathroom. He went to the sink and splashed some water across his face to wake himself up. God, why’m I so freakin’ tired?

He took slow, deep breaths to calm down. Even though his mind was racing with what the fuck, what the fuck.

He wiped his face with some paper towel and realized his hands were shaking. Was he sick or something? He knew that Taco Bell breakfast burrito was too good to be true—

That’s it. Wake the hell up. I can’t fail this damn final!

That. That was not his thought.

“What the fuck?” Dean couldn’t help saying it out loud, just to make sure he could still speak normally.

He stared at his own shocked face in the mirror.

Then finally, he knew.   

He knew what these symptoms were, because while he’d ignored that chapter of social studies, Sam had always been an avid student. Truth be told, Dean hadn’t really wanted to learn that subject. It was the reason he didn’t like thinking about their mom. And the reason why their dad barely spoke about her.

But Dean knew what happened when soulmates started getting close to one another for the first time.

Dean was feeling his freaking soulmate, and it was scaring the hell out of him.

Suddenly he could feel the bond. It was like a humming thread in his mind, an itch he wanted to scratch. If he just reached out the slightest bit, he could touch it. He could connect with whoever it was on the other line.

He could…or he could just leave it for a while until he figured out what he was even going to say, let alone do if someone answered him back.

So he did what most twenty-three year old men would do when faced with a potentially life-changing bond of commitment and…feelings.

He shoved it down and ran.

Well, not literally ran, but he was quick to leave the bathroom and return to his dad.

“Finally. What the hell took you so long?” John asked. He was already gathering their stuff together to leave.

Dean felt pinned by his dad’s gaze, but he did his best to play it smooth.

“Uh, sorry. Breakfast burrito hit me sideways. Then there was no toilet paper in the stall and I had to climb under and—”

John grimaced and held up a hand to stop him. “All right. Let’s just go.”

Dean let out a relieved breath. He hefted his backpack onto his shoulder and followed his dad out of the library, back to the Impala. He climbed into the passenger seat and took a swig of an old soda to steady himself.

He still felt her anxiety in his chest (at least, he hoped it was a her). Maybe she was having a rough day…but once he remembered what she’d said in his head, he wanted to slap a hand to his forehead.

You idiot. She’s studying for a test, he thought. She’s probably a student here.

That realization made him smirk. Aw, yeah. College girl, huh?

Though that thought was followed by a dousing shower of reality.

Oh shit. The thing we’re hunting just ate a college freshman.

“Dean, what’s the matter with you? You lost in space over there?” John asked. It punctured the bubble of Dean’s internal world and made him sharpen to attention.

“Nah, I’m fine. Where’re we headed?”

John scrutinized him a bit longer, but at Dean’s stubbornness, he seemed to let it go for now.

“To find this thing,” he said. “I narrowed down its hunting grounds and called the local animal control. They’ve been getting reports of people hearing a stray dog barking, but no one’s seen him.”

Dean nodded and settled back into his seat. Just focus on the hunt, he told himself. Deal with the rest after.

You were having a phenomenally shitty day.

Well, you supposed that was nothing new. You were twenty years old, still not old enough to legally drink but old enough to have adult bills and adult stress to go along with it. So you were also broke.

And you were halfway through a degree in history. A degree that your father repeatedly told you was “impractical” to earn a decent living with. Which wasn’t even true.

…Okay, maybe that was a little bit true. But you liked history, and you could easily fall into Mom’s footsteps and become a teacher.

You could work for a museum. You could become a world-renowned historian, or write an award-winning historical fantasy like Game of Thrones and make millions off the TV deal!

…Okay, most likely it was probably going to the teacher thing, but at least you still had dreams.

Your dad only believed in what he could see right in front of his narrow-minded face.

Your dad was a dream killer.

Maybe you shouldn’t have told him that on the phone just now, but you were fuming, damn it. This wasn’t what you needed on finals week. Especially because you had an insane Calculus final to cram for, and only a few hours to do it. You needed to get back to your part-time job at the coffee shop by three. Unfortunately, you were closing tonight.

First, you needed a pick-me-up before you headed to the library.

Sighing, you rubbed the silver ring on your right hand absently as you waited in line at the university’s café. The ring had been your mom’s, and now it was yours. On most days, it gave you comfort; just that little bit of extra support to get you through.  

Eventually, you got to the front of the line and rattled off your coffee order while still looking up at the menu board: extra-large black coffee with a turbo shot, four sugars. When your gaze slid down and met the guy ringing you up, your brain stuttered to a halt.

“Okay, got it. One ‘Turbo Cram Session’ coming up,” he said. He gave you a charming, friendly grin. With his hazel eyes and tan skin, he was a rare find in a midwestern town like this. His brown hair was long, brushing past his shoulders. He almost reminded you of a character from the cheesy vampire book your teen cousin Lily was obsessed with.

Regardless, he was attractive.

A nervous flutter in your stomach made you smile back. “Thanks.”

You paid the overly expensive bill and watched him make your coffee.

“Finals week, right?” he commiserated.

“Yep.” You sighed and nodded. “Three exams tomorrow, one at eight-in-the-damn-morning.”

He whistled sympathetically. “Yeah, it’s a killer.”

He put the lid on your steaming coffee and handed it to you. His fingers brushed your hand when you took the to-go cup from him, but he hissed a bit and pulled his hand back.

“You okay?” you asked in concern. He glanced at your hand. You toyed with your ring in a nervous habit.

“Yeah, some coffee spilled. No worries,” he said. He flashed you a smile. “If you need to pull an all-nighter, just come back. I can help you mainline the espresso machine.”

He tapped the inside of your wrist and you laughed, playing along. “You’d do that for me?”

“Just for you,” he said with a nod. He pressed a finger to his lips conspiringly. “Keep it quiet, though, or the whole school will be cramming in here like stray cats.”

You laughed again. His nametag read, James.

“Got it. Thanks, James.”

“Call me Jimmy,” he said, giving you a more flirtatious smile.

You left the café with a full-on blush warming your face. When your hands hand brushed, you felt tingles on your skin…but you hadn’t heard his thoughts.

He’s not the one.

Disappointing.

You continued on your path to the library.

You were a bit introverted, mostly keeping to yourself. Your friends were back home in Sioux Falls, so you didn’t really have anyone here, and you didn’t put yourself out there as much as you could. But even when guys did notice you (however few and far between that was), you just couldn’t bring yourself to entertain them. Not if you couldn’t feel them.

Maybe that was a lonely way to go through life. Your friends had certainly told you so. They encouraged you to have fun and explore in college, and part of you wanted to. Another part—the more sensitive part—thought that was just setting yourself up for disappointment.

You wanted something real. Something that would last. Like what your parents had, before…

Whatever. Enough of that. You shook your head to clear your thoughts as you approached the library, but it was hard.

Juggling a full-time college schedule, two part-time jobs, and commuting over an hour every day to school was hard. And your dad wasn’t making it any easier.

All right, stop it. Anxiety was starting to well up in your chest, and you couldn’t afford to battle with it right now.

You went into the library and found your usual spot, practically buried behind the reference books. Finding your favorite work desk, you settled your things there and sipped your coffee. You willed yourself to calm down—to power through that voice in your head that wanted to focus on your problems instead of solutions.

You only had a few hours to plug several complex math equations into your head.

That’s it. Wake the hell up, you thought sternly. I can’t fail this damn final!

With a shaky breath, you cracked open your Calculus book, put on your headphones and some music, and started studying.

A few minutes later, the men’s bathroom door opened with a loud crack and someone quickly walked out of it—right past your table.

You were too deep in your studies and your music to notice. 

Father and son were on the hunt.

John was pretty sure they’d found the skinwalker (in a coffee shop of all places). They just had to wait until the bastard came out.

He and Dean waited in the Impala with Reuben sandwiches to tide them over for the stakeout. John discreetly shot his son a glance.

The boy had been off his game all day, but he couldn’t put his finger on why…

“Hey Dad, where’s Zeppelin IV?” he asked, around a mouthful of Reuben. A smile twitched at John’s lips. He wordlessly retrieved the cassette from the compartment on the driver’s side door and held it up in his hand.

“Hey, why d’you keep it on your side?” Dean asked. “You don’t trust me with your tunes by now? Just like you never let me drive?” 

He was mostly teasing, but maybe there was a thread of truth underneath. John scoffed.

“I don’t let you drive the Impala ‘cause you’re a punk,” he said. He offered Dean the cassette, but just as he was about to grab it, John took it back and popped it into the cassette player himself. He smirked. “Driver picks the music.”

Dean gave him a look, like he wanted to snipe a comeback, but thought better of it. He sat back into his seat.

John took a satisfied bite out of his sandwich.

Oh shit!

You sprung up from your desk in the library, wiping drool from the side of your cheek.

Tell me I didn’t fucking fall asleep!

Sure enough, your Calculus book was cracked open, your half-drunk coffee was cold, and you had all but missed your shift at work. No, no, no!

You dashed around like a mad person trying to collect your books, pens, your phone—everything into your backpack. You had walked here from your dorm, so you were just going to have to run to the coffee shop on foot. You were too broke to take a taxi and the bus would take too damn long.

It was only, what, a mile or two?

Lord help me.

You didn’t have a choice. You just had to run.

“Coffee boy’s clocking out,” Dean observed. He and John climbed out of the Impala. By then it was evening, almost night. The sun dipped behind the clouds and the streetlights were about to come on. Rush hour traffic was heavy here at a four-way intersection.

Dean focused on their target. The guy looked normal—dark hair, tan skin. I guess that’s the idea, Dean thought. Look normal, blend in by slinging watery, overpriced coffee, get your filet o’ human hearts on the side.

When the guy came out of the café, he didn’t walk to a car parked on the street. Instead, he dipped between the café and the university library and went through a back alley.

“Let’s go,” John said, and with their guns loaded up with silver (hidden in their jackets), they hurried across the street and ducked into the alley.

But they didn’t see any trace of the guy. Both retrieved and cocked their guns, moving through the alley slowly.

Dean was usually good at this part. His ex-marine dad had trained him well, and he was focused. Alert.

Until something nagged at the back of his mind. A low hum as that connection flared to life. 

Oh fuck. His lips pursed. A persistent feeling of worry (that wasn’t his own) prickled in his chest, like fire ants across his skin. He tried his best to shut it out.

Not now.

You rushed out the library doors and inwardly bemoaned that it was practically nighttime. You were lucky if you still had a job by the time you got to work.

Damn it! Frustration and worry warred for dominance, but you couldn’t focus on that.

Not now.

You hesitated a moment. A weird feeling fluttered in your chest just then…

Ugh, whatever, you dismissed, shaking your head. I’m insane, it’s fine.

You ran to the street intersection and waited impatiently for the walking light to turn green. 

You looked both ways on the street. It was still red, but there was a window of opportunity in a short lull of cars. You could make it if you hurried.

So you did. You took your chance and ran halfway down the street, making it past the first wave of oncoming traffic. You just didn’t account for the truck that was turning the corner—from the opposite direction.

You had time to utter a scream before you dove for the sidewalk. A woman walking her dog helped you up, asking if you were okay.

You were and you weren’t, really. You were shaking, but you thanked the woman with a trembling smile. At this point, you didn’t care if you were fired. Five bucks an hour wasn’t worth getting splattered on a dusty pavement. 

Damn. Guess I’ll have to apply at Starbucks.

It was intense.

Your fear was like a searing hot knife ripping through Dean’s heart, and it tore a ragged sound from his throat as his knee buckled.

John’s head swiveled to him with wide eyes. “Dean—”

That was the opening their prey was waiting for. Or rather, the creature that was hunting them.

A large dog leapt from the roof of the café—behind and above them. It went for Dean first, biting into his arm through his jacket. Both of them went down as Dean struggled and the animal growled and tried to shred his arm. Dean almost didn’t feel the pain, but he felt panic of his own as he tried to pry the creature off by his canine ears. 

“Dean!”

He looked up at his dad, who stood with his gun aloft. Dean trusted him. He helped give an opening and moved his face away.

Three shots rang out.

The first two killed the skinwalker. The third was just for insurance, and maybe vengeance.

John helped Dean out from under the creature’s body, and they watched it transform back into its natural form. Coffee shop boy.

James, Dean read on his nametag.

“Rest in peace, Cujo,” he quipped, but by now the pain was finally registering. His arm wept with blood through his jacket, and he hissed in pain when his dad put firm pressure on the wound.

“What the fuck happened, Dean?” John demanded. “You got shit between your ears, or a working brain? Because whatever’s got you distracted, that’s how you get killed.”

His father’s anger wasn’t pleasant, but his disappointment was crushing.

Dean swallowed the pain, both physical and…and the rest. He just nodded and apologized.

“Sorry, Dad.”

John shook his head, but he continued leading Dean back to the car.

Back at the motel, John was able to stitch Dean up and wrap his arm. They had planned to leave after the hunt to save money on another motel night…but John agreed to give it one more day to let Dean rest on a real bed.

His son wasn’t just in pain. He was melancholy.

It was unusual for Dean, who normally kept up a decent attitude. And it wasn’t like him to slip up like that on a hunt. John could admit, things were different now without Sam. John was different.

Not that he’d been a picnic before. He knew that much. But maybe Sam leaving was harder than John cared to admit.

After he and Dean were showered up, John brought them back some takeout and beers. He gave Dean one, but before he turned on the TV, he hesitated. A twinge of sorry was at the tip of his tongue.

Instead, he asked, “What’s wrong, Dean?”

His son opened his mouth, a denial ready to fire.

“Don’t lie to me, son,” John said. “Just…tell me what happened today.”

It took a while to pry it out of him. He was resistant, and John expected that.

Dean, for his part, was trying to figure out what to say. How to say it.

Just then, he also remembered something Sam told him when he was only in sixth grade.

“Dean, did you know this? Human souls are really complex, and they’re unique too. We learned about it today in school.”

“Good for you, Super Geek.” 

“They found out that connected souls subconsciously try to find each other. So when you start hearing someone’s thoughts, it’s because the souls are trying to bond together, like molecules.”

Like molecules, huh?

Speaking of, Dean hadn’t heard your thoughts since that terrifying moment when he felt you…

For a moment, he’d thought you’d….

Though deep down, he knew you weren’t gone. He knew the bond was there, like an idle TV. Either you lived really close to this motel, or this HBO connection was getting a wider bandwidth.

“Dean?” John pressed.

Dean looked up, breaking from his thoughts. John didn’t often ask him to open up. But Dean figured if anyone would understand, it would probably be his dad.

He was forced to contemplate the question that had been scaring him all day.

Did he want the same soul bond his parents had, even if it nearly killed John after she died?

“…Dad, how did you and Mom meet?”

The question took John by surprise…but maybe it shouldn’t have. His perceptive gaze washed over Dean.

“It was after I came back from Vietnam,” John said eventually. “We ran into each other by the old movie theater.”

Dean smiled. “Aw, both of you were in line for Jaws?”

A resigned smile quirked at John’s lips. “That was ’75, genius. And no, we…literally ran into each other. Full speed. I went to help her up, but she was already doing it herself. Plus picking up everything that fell outta her bag. All I could do was stare at her like an idiot, ‘cause…I heard her say, God damn it.”

John had been lost in the memory for a moment, but here he looked at Dean.

“But she didn’t say it. She thought it,” he said. “And I knew it was her. She was it for me.”

“And she did too?” Dean asked, somewhat hesitantly.

“No,” John laughed a little. “She took some convincing, if I remember right.”

“What, she couldn’t hear your thoughts?”

“No, she could. But that…connection. It’s different in the beginning,” John said, with a heavy sigh. This was harder to talk about than he thought. For Dean, he would do it. But just this once.

“You don’t have so much control over it. It just kinda…happens.”

“And…how did that work, exactly?” Dean asked.

“Why do you want to know?” John returned. Dean quieted, looking down at his beer.

That was all the confirmation he needed to finally know what was going on. He sighed again.

“Son,” he started, then hesitated. He knew what he was about to say wasn’t completely right, but it was the truth. One day, Dean would understand.

“Son,” he said again. “Unless you’re prepared to hang up your gun, and stop hunting, don’t open that door.”

Dean’s brows knit together, a silent question that he almost didn’t want to ask. John answered it anyway.

“Nobody should be waiting on men like us to come home bloody,” he said.

Dean took those words to heart. He reminded himself that his dad had seen blood and war long before he met Mary. Maybe his dad had more regrets than just not being able to save her.

So the next morning, Dean slid into the Impala’s passenger seat. John drove them away from the college town, out of Vermillion, South Dakota.

Dean felt relieved, and also guilty. Then, the farther they got, he just felt wrong.

Soon enough, the warm tendril of connection in his chest dissipated.

AN: Phew! Okay, one major step closer to you and Dean finally meeting. I definitely drew on some of my own experiences at college here lol.

What do you think so far? Let me know in the comments!

Oh, did you miss Part 1?

Check it out here: Part 1.

[clementinesjourney]

I just… until the next part….

Good Puppy

Pairing: Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x Reader

Warnings: Smut (18+), Enemies to lovers, kinda dom!Soap, rough, lil bit degrading but nothing horrible, use of the nickname "puppy"

Summary: Reader is new to the 141 and despite coming in hand picked by Price, Soap can't seem to get his head round the fact that you're on his team. Soon silly little arguments turn physical and well...there's more than one way to decide who's top dog.

(No use of y/n or mention of gender/race)

A/N: Happy haggis day folks! Hope you enjoy this lovely Soap smut.

-🧼-

When you first joined the unit, you and Soap took to each other like rats to poison. It’s not that you went into the 141 with a bad attitude or were looking to make enemies by any means - but from the first moment you meet John “Soap” Mactavish you can’t help but grit your teeth and hope that you get a chance to wipe that smug smirk from his face. Preferably with a blunt object, but generally by any means necessary. 

It all started when you walked into a meeting room, ready for your first briefing as a part of your new unit and the only other one there was Soap. His legs were crossed and propped up on a desk, hands resting on top of head and smoothing down his mohawk. He was sitting there casually looking as if he was about to start a nap. It made you raise your eyebrows, but you quickly shook off your surprise and said hello, introducing yourself.

“Aw, eh…nice to meet you? Are you lost?” He frowned.

You blinked at him, taking a second to figure out what he meant. Was he teasing you? Was this some kind of weird hazing thing? Though, after a few seconds of silence pervading the stuffy little room, you realised he wasn’t joking. 

“No?” You answer back, just as confused. “This is the room Captain Price booked out, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is. Are you here to bring coffee or somethin’?”

You immediately felt your back tense up and suddenly all the dumb, slack jawed voices of recruits from your past flare up in your head, your body practically vibrating with anger. People look at you and they never assume very much, but when it comes to letting you loose in a fight they’re suddenly very glad to have you on their team. And after a few breaths to calm yourself down, you realised you’d have an opportunity to prove yourself later.

“I’m here because Price asked me to be,” you said sullenly, taking a seat as far away from the soldier as you could manage.

He raised his brows but he didn't question you further. Thankfully, he didn’t get a chance to. Everyone else started filtering in and taking their seats silently and Price stood at the head of the room, eyeing you and your lingering glare with his usual measured look. He knew that Soap probably pissed you off. Hell, you figured Soap probably pissed the Captain off most of the time.

It was when he finally introduced you to the rest of the team as “Sergeant” that Soap finally clocked why you were there for the briefing, and yet the Scotsman didn’t look embarrassed or even apologetic. No. His face erupted into a cocky grin and he would sneak looks at you every so often, measuring you up and looking like he was in complete disbelief. 

When you were finally released from the meeting you could hear him and Ghost when they retreated down the opposite end of the hall. He didn’t even try to quiet his stupidity obnoxious voice, which was allowed unbidden, to bounce down the corridor like a waving red cape to a bull. 

“Fuckin’ mind blowing that that is our new team member,” he laughed, “We’d be better working with Mickey Mouse.”

“Soap,” comes the Lieutenant’s voice, growling a warning. 

“What? Aren’t you even a little bit shocked?”

“I’m sure Price took them on for a reason…Just fuckin’ leave it, alright?”

“…You’re probably right.”

Though, Soap didn’t leave it. He took every opportunity he could to rile you up, and that included fucking with your callsign. 

You’d been out on your first mission together when he’d seen you getting into a tussle. Though just as Johnny had been about to step in and help, you’d managed to get a lucky kick at the guy's ankle and finally took him down when you regained your grip on your knife - Leaving Soap standing staring at you, gun at the ready with nothing to shoot.

“Get you, scrappin’ just like a wee bulldog,” he’d smirked, voice crackling over the comms for all to hear.

“Shut it, Soap,” you growled, already looking to fan out and move away from him. 

“Ooft,” he chuckled. “You’re like one of those bad tempered ones, the little yappy horrible bulldogs. What are they called again?”

“Frenchies,” someone says through the line. 

“That’s it. Wee frenchie, nippin’ at the enemy’s heels.”

You couldn’t tell who it was that provided the answer, but from then on you vowed that if you ever found out you’d pay them back for it tenfold. Soap had proceeded to tease you with it for the rest of the op and then, because everyone found your reaction so entertaining, it stuck. You were Frenchie for the rest of time. 

As if that wasn’t enough, you got into some amounts of back and forth during missions, sometimes to a point that Price would threaten to bash your heads together when you got back. Though, it never deterred you both. It was like a horrible little game that you played, trying to one up the other and not lose control, a test of wills, a battle you waged privately. One that often ended in you going to sleep vowing you’d be the last one to see him through a scope one day. 

On your latest mission you’d been traversing a small town one night, picking off your targets quietly and trying to avoid an all out firefight. You, Ghost and Soap were working your way through buildings like a vicious pack of wolves, picking off the men like mice. Occasionally you’d mutter through the comms link, but tried to stay off it, content to leave Ghost and Soap to their stupid jokes and chatter. 

“What do you do when your doctor gives you a year to live?” Ghost asks, voice raspy as he steps away from a kill. 

You sigh, knowing you’d be subjected to another one of the boys’ awful wisecracks. It was at times like those you thought of better days, days where you worked with people that didn’t clog up the comms with their shite chat. Days that you liked all of your teammates (or at least could go without wanting to seriously maim any of them)

“I dunno,” Soap replied in an almost whisper. 

“You shoot them and a judge gives you fifteen years,” Ghost deadpans. 

Both you and Johnny groan over the line, for once united in something. Ghost liked to tell truly awful jokes, though, had he told genuinely funny ones then it was unlikely you’d be alive to enjoy them much longer. You couldn’t afford to burst out laughing when there were still plenty of men out there in the shadows that would love to discover you and rain bullets like a monsoon. 

“You’re awfully quiet, Frenchie. Still with us?” Ghost rumbles.

“Your jokes are just too funny LT,” you murmur, sighing as you realise the house you’re in is clear. “I’m laughing so hard there’s no sound coming out.”

“Cheeky cunt,” Ghost chuckles, disappearing for a moment until he speaks again. “You got anything better?”

“Maybe.”

“G’on then,” Soap urges you snarkily. “Give us your best.”

“Alright then…where’d Soap go after getting lost on the minefield?” You say, smirk dancing on your lips 

“Where?” Ghost asks.

“Everywhere,” you whisper darkly. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Frenchie,” Ghost snorts, covering the sound of Johnny’s sharp inhale. 

They both knew you were thoroughly enjoying the mental image that swam around your head. It was distracting, but you think you still have your head on straight. You still managed to pace around the little dirt roads like a spectre, moving silently and unseen through the the dark purpling night. That is, you think so, until you’re about to be surprised. 

Just as the guy was about to swing for you, he flew back and onto the ground with a thud, struggling as he let go of his last breath. The weapon he held in his hands is released as his body goes limp and it crumbles down the hill, kicking up a little dust as it goes. A piece of debris heavy enough that it would’ve bludgeoned you to death on first try. 

“What's brown and bad for your teeth?” Johnny grins.

You groan quietly.

“The brick that was about to get smashed across yer smug. Fuckin’. Face. Frenchie.”

-🧼-

In the end you’d all come back from the mission alive. Despite the fact that you had to begrudgingly admit that it was, in part, due to Soap, you didn’t come back too sour. In fact you even joined drinks for once and sat with the team. It was nice to unwind together rather than laying in bed alone, head filled with all that you’d done and could’ve done better.

Though, after a few drinks and plenty of nonsense chat later you’d started to feel tired. The guys had gone from shouting and laughing up a storm to quietly chatting about this and that, going into ‘remember the time…’ stories that you had nothing to contribute to. With that realisation, you’d figured you’d just call it a night and quietly say your goodbyes. 

You hadn’t really realised how sleepy you were until you’d stood up. It was only when you’d sluggishly taken a few steps that you felt a familiar heaviness descending over you, and resolved to get to bed as soon as you could, rushing to get out. Though when you’d shouldered your way out through the heavy wooden doors of the pub, you were greeted with an extremely unpleasant interruption to your plans. His smile and breath curled out into the cold air like a dragon's smoke, and he didn’t look like he was letting you go without a passing comment.

The mental warfare continues, you’d thought bitterly.

“You leavin’ already, French?”

You groaned and rolled your eyes, folding your shivering arms around your middle. 

“Figure I’ve had enough. What about you? I didn’t know you smoked,” you frowned, looking at the half smoked cigarette that was dangling in his hands. 

“Social smoker. Ye want one?”

“Doesn’t look very social to me,” you smirked, gesturing to his lack of companions. 

“Would be if you joined,” he shrugged.

You shook your head instead of replying - thinking better of continuing the conversation. You just wanted to head inside and roll up into your sheets, in no mood to deal with any more for the day. Escape the nicotine clouds that threatened to stick to your body and cloy at your throat, the thought of anything containing his breath sticking to you in any way was enough to have you wincing.

You were just about to walk away when he piped up again. 

“Why is it we don’t seem to get on very well, eh?”

You stopped in your place and felt every fibre in your body shaking. Was he seriously asking that? You had about a million answers to his question, but most of all you just wanted to strangle him and tell him it was because he was incapable of shutting the fuck up and leaving you alone. 

Even after the amount you’d drunk, you managed to summon some self control and stay in place. 

“You’re annoying as fuck,” you said instead. 

You had still had enough liquid courage that your social filter failed, however. 

“What do you mean I’m annoyin’,” he laughed. 

“I mean you’re the most obnoxious fucking dickhead I’ve ever had the displeasure of working with.”

Well apparently the beast was unleashed. 

“Bit harsh,” Soap choked out, laughing out a gust of smoke. 

“It’s true - you’re unbearable.”

He rolled his eyes at that, but his smirk remained.

“Fine, I’m an obnoxious arsehole…what’s that make you then, wideo? 

“What about me?”

“Takes two to tango, doesn’t it? I’d say it makes you as ‘unbearable’ as I am.”

A rush of white hot fury flooded your veins and you marched back up to him, attempting to invade his space as much as you could bear. You met his gaze and glared up at him, shooting daggers and whatever else you could manifest. It’s on motherfucker. 

“I’m not the one that called someone out for being unworthy before they got a chance to prove themselves. I’m not the one that constantly acts unprofessional. I’m not the one that picks on people for no good reason. I’m not the one-“

“You been keepin a list of grievances on me or somethin’,” he teased, cutting you off. 

You growled and before you could even think, you watched yourself bat the cigarette from his hands like a feral cat and watched it fly. It arced through the air and landed with a bouncing finish, scattering red ash into the quiet wind. It took a second of silence till either of you did anything else.

“Childish much,” Soap snorted. “I’d rather be an arsehole than a little brat.”

You’d never whipped your head up so fast. Blood vessels you’d hardly been aware of before were boiling and your heart beat was in your eyes, it raced and pulsed and had you dizzier than drinking a bottle of vodka. All you saw was red. Soap had taken every opportunity to tease and push you and finally you’d decided he’d taken it far enough. In all your drunk wisdom you felt like this was your time to make a stand and show that you wouldn’t put up with it anymore. 

With what you felt was a rallying warcry, you pushed Soap back and sent him stumbling, almost knocking him into the jagged bushes behind him, their leaves stripped bare from the winter weather. He’d huffed out a hiss, hand lanced through by one of the thorny branches. 

“What the fuck!” He roared, coming to his feet again. 

Suddenly it felt like all that anger really had boiled your blood, and it had unfortunately nullified all the alcohol out of it. The full withering cold of the night soaked through your skin and suddenly you were standing there sober, wide eyed and stupid, wondering what you’d do next. What could you do? 

Fight or flight, a sharp edged voice whispered, echoing through your mind. The man had recovered quickly, and he was soon to make the decision for you. So, you went with what you felt was best for you and your kneecaps. 

Flight it is. 

You ran. Not even the road runner could have competed with you that night. It felt like Hermes had imbued you with power, you sprinted so fast that you practically flew back to the base on winged feet. Your lungs burned and your throat felt like you had accepted a smoke from Soap, but even so, with all pain you came to acknowledge once you were safely locked in your room, you remained unharmed. 

And when the cramps in your thighs tangled through your legs and the full craziness of the previous events crashed down on you, you similarly fell to your bed; huffing out a massive Breath. This was one to deal with in the morning, you thought. 

-🧼-

If only you could be so lucky.

You’d recalled thinking you could sleep everything off with a soundless laugh, and shook your head. It wasn’t happening. Instead, you were left staring at the demonic red numbers of your alarm clock with narrowed eyes. Apparently time had a way of slowing down when it came to the sobering mind. It could only happen to you, of course. 

You’d woken up an hour later with a pounding headache and dry tongue, and even after taking painkillers and a decent glug of water you still remained awake and tortured. The scene of MacTavish falling to the bushes and shouting bloody murder at you was replaying in your mind like an old timey movie, static ringing through your ears as your anxiety tore through you. 

You’d accused him of being unprofessional, and there you’d gone and shoved him like a toddler in a tantrum. Right after he’d called you childish as well! 

You felt sick with worry, wondering if he’d tell Price, wondering what his revenge would be. You sighed and took a deep breath, realising you weren’t going to get any sleep. There were only two options once again, either you sat and suffered till you found out or you could face up to him and go apologise before he could dream up some particularly brutal revenge. Besides, you reasoned to yourself, even if you hated him and even despite the things he said - pushing him was a bit out of order. 

Everything in you wanted to go for option A, but your need to get things out the way won over and soon enough you were in your sweats and baggy pyjama top, waddling down the halls. 

The walk to Soap’s room felt like a long one, like a trek through the arctic. Every painful passing minute had you digging your fingers into your thighs and thinking better of your choice. You’d turned around to go back to your room three times before you reached his door. Even then, you took a minute before you knocked softly, fists coming down on the wood like soft paws. 

The silence rang out for a moment, and you’d closed your eyes for a second, praying he was asleep. Though, as your unluckiness would have it, you’d heard someone rustling about not a second later. There were a few grumblings and noises more, before the door flung open and there stood a particularly surly John MacTavish, standing in his boxers and t-shirt with a face like thunder. 

“You!” He groaned, running a hand through his splayed out mohawk. “The fuck do you want?”

“I uh…Came to apologise for earlier,” you mumbled awkwardly, mirroring him and swiping a hand over your head. “Sorry.”

You watched as he craned his neck and attended to a knot below his skin, hand harshly palming it while he thought over your words. Then, in your desperation not to meet his eyes, you found yourself casting your gaze downward and realised far too late you’d made your second mistake of the night. 

His thighs had completely transfixed you, they were impressive laid bare like that, and before you were able to stop yourself you tilted your head and visibly looked from his thick muscles and further to the material of his boxers - coming to land on the half hard bulge that stood out from them. It wasn’t full-on morning wood, but there was something that’d been stirring there and now your eyes were glued on the sizable tent; and you couldn’t find it in yourself to look away. 

Fuck, just how big was he? 

You heard a familiar snort and looked up guiltily, briefly wondering if you’d be running away from Soap for a second time that night. 

“Let’s review the situation here. You wake me up at three AM with your pathetic little knock and get me out of my bed, for what’s probably the worst apology I’ve heard in my entire fuckin’ life, and now you’re staring at my cock like a shaking bitch in heat. Are you for real right now? Do we need to drug test you?” he said incredulously. 

“I am not staring at your cock like a bitch in heat,” you hissed, looking around you like a caught criminal. “And keep your fucking voice down!”

“What? You don’t want anyone finding out that you’re a pervert?” He laughed, leaning against his doorframe. 

“Do you want pushed again?” you growled. 

“Do you want to push me again?” He cackled. “Any excuse to get your hands on me, eh?”

“No! It’s not like that. I wouldn’t- I didn’t-” you fumbled, not allowed to continue. 

“Didn’t what? Didn’t want to just come out and tell me the reason you like fighting so much is because you can’t get me into bed?”

You dropped your mouth open, gawping at his leering tone. You absolutely did not like fighting with him in order to do…that. Whatever that would be like. You’d resolved that he’d be an awful lover, a selfish one, he was so shitty to you he’d probably just take what he wanted and-

And now you were thinking about sex with Soap! Yuck!

Not that the thought didn’t stir something in you. (you’d tried to plead with yourself that it was burning - throbbing - hatred) 

“Your lack of an answer tells me that’s a yes,” he chuckled, going to close the door. 

A phantom force willed your hand forward, and soap soon stopped trying to close it when he realised you were going to stay resolute. Your hand was shaking with effort. You couldn’t let him win this encounter, you’d thought to yourself, you couldn’t let him have the last word. You couldn’t bear to picture him lying in his bed with his stupid semi, grinning to the thought of you sitting and stewing the rest of the night. 

It wasn’t happening. 

“It’s not a yes. And you wouldn’t even fuck me properly even if did allow you within an inch of me,” you said proudly, hoping to turn and be on your victorious way. 

No such luck.

Soap grabbed your arm before you could go and pulled you into his orbit, having you practically feel the heat radiating from his chest. His brows were pulled tight and his eyes were darker than onyx, staring at you like a dragon before it breathed fire. You gasped and blinked up at him, suddenly realising you’d bitten more than you could chew.

“I’m a lot more than an inch,” he growled.

“Doesn’t mean you know how to use it,” you fired back, not knowing why you’d continued to push him.

Perhaps all the blood that was flowing from your brain and down below might’ve had something to do with it. Maybe it was the iron grip that had your arm feeling like it might crack in his unrelenting calloused hand. 

“You’re bein’ a daft cunt.”

“So are you.”

“Do you actually want fucked?” he asked, a sly smirk escaping through his lips. 

“Doesn’t everyone,” you replied, trying to deflect his question. 

He bit his lip and looked away, peering down into the hallway and looking for any stragglers. No one was there, just the shadows, the frigid air and empty silence. 

“If you want me to show you just how well I can use this,” he said, palming his crotch with his free hand, “then tell me right now.”

It felt like all the oxygen in the hallway had filtered out and your brain was floating lifelessly in your head. It had to have been for you to have answered the way you did.

“You can show me, but try not to cry when it doesn’t work,” you sniggered. 

Soap nodded his head, releasing your arm at the same time. He looked the same way that he did whenever you challenged him in training, the same way he looked when he usually found a way to throw your ass on the floor. In short, you knew you were fucked from that gritted jaw alone, but you tried not to let it show. 

“Get on the bed and sit pretty, Frenchie. Be a good dog,” he goaded, opening the door up wide for you to enter.

This was it, no going back. You had the option to turn and run, but your pride wouldn’t let you do it. You’d talked a big game by that point and you couldn’t turn around then. It was the same thing that got you into the 141 that had gotten you into Soap’s room - your stupid pride. (Although maybe it was the way he was looking at you so intensely as well). You gritted your teeth and did what you were told, trying not to let the little voice in your head that said you actually really wanted him to overpower you. 

Not likely. 

No, you’d do what he said, but only so it would speed the process up - you reasoned. Not because when he’d made the order his voice had rumbled deep with authority and the purr had run down your spine like a bolt of lightning. No, that wasn’t it at all, you thought as you’d sank down into his messy sheets and lay your hands back behind you. That wasn’t it at all. 

“Look at that, wee puppy follows commands afterall,” he said condescendingly.

He shut the door with a harsh click and locked it, your last chance of leaving gone. You couldn’t bear the embarrassment of running out at that point. You were following through with it. Only because you’d said you would, not because of the tingles of anticipation running rampant round your body and not because Soap sounded hot as fuck when he was being demanding. 

There was a force pushing you back, something unseen that made you lie back on the bed as Soap took torturously slow steps toward you. It felt like you were under a spell, unthinkingly sinking into the sheets and breathing in more of his scent, catching notes of him that you’d never thought much of before, gunpowder musk filling your senses. 

“You sure you want to do this?” he asked, finally coming to a stop as he hovered over you, tracing his thumb over your cheek. 

“Y-yes,” you said, voice wavering as you felt his warm breath on your neck. 

“Then beg for it,” he smiled, cupping your jaw. “Say please Johnny, please fuck me.”

“Get fucked,” you sneered, shoving his arm away. 

“Thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Not like that! I’m not begging you.”

“Oh yeah? You sure about that?” he asked, restoring his hand to your head and weaving his fingers roughly through your hair. “I think you will be.”

You were about to come out with another quip but it died before you could, suffocated as he planted his lips on yours and stole your breath.

He wasn’t like other guys you’d kissed, he wasn’t sloppy and his tongue didn’t flop around like a dying fish. He was sure of himself, he kissed you roughly, but not forcefully. A notion that maybe he knew what he was talking about before entered your mind, but only fleetingly as you found yourself fading out.

All it took was Johnny’s hands on your body and you were lost to static and floating clouds. One hand roamed your thighs while the other trailed up your neck ever so gently. It had you stretching to give him access and unknowingly you’d given him exactly what he wanted, because now he was refocused on your sensitive flesh, kissing your neck and sending it tingling like hot flames were licking up it. 

“Mmm, poor little puppy. No wonder you’re wound so tight, you’re desperate for it,” he groaned. 

“Mm?” you moaned, lost to bliss and confusion. 

“There’s a wet patch soakin’ through your sweats,” he teased. 

You froze, horrified that he’d come across it and tried to look for yourself, but you were stopped, stuck to the bed as his hard chest prevented you from getting up. Unstoppable force had finally met an immovable object, and now you were realising just how stoppable you actually were in the face of Johnny. Just how pliant you could be under his hands, the right hands. 

“Don’t do anythin’ that I don’t tell you to do,” he ordered, whispering into your ear. “Just do what I say.”

You moaned pathetically, whining like the shivering dog he said you were, before you could fully stop yourself. He caught it - and your wide eyed expression. 

“Except that,” he amended, laughing harshly. “You’ll do a lot of that.”

“And if I don’t listen to what you say?” you asked, voice shaking as you tried to reclaim some kind of authority over yourself (failing pathetically). 

He yanked you up and had you sitting up facing him, manipulating your body the exact way he wanted; before he stared you in the eye and all but growled. His jaw tensed and untensed, and the heat of him burned into you like an explosion. 

“What do you do with a dog that misbehaves?”

“You give it what it wants before it gets bored?” you tried. 

“You grab it by the collar and set it right,” he growled, taking your neck in his big hand and forcing a commanding, but not choking, grip on it. 

You whined, and before you could process it he was manhandling you again, this time throwing you face down on the bed and trapping you under his solid frame. His legs pinned you down and his arms were around your sides, locking you onto your hands and knees. Little whimpers were set loose into the room and soon Johnny had your sweats down to your feet and was yanking your top off of you, leaving you bare and shivering below him. 

“Mm, you’re a pretty thing,” he growled appreciatively. “So soft too.”

He ran a hand down your back, doubling the frisson that lit your body like a bonfire and kissed all over your flesh while he rutted slowly against you. His hardening cock was knocking into your ass with deliberate harshness, and just the sensation of him through the material was enough to make you feel like you were going to implode. What you’d seen was only a fraction of what was rubbing against you then. You were sure of it now. 

“Johnny,” you whimpered, humping the air and searching for more sensation. 

“Yes, puppy?” he asked softly, planting another kiss on your back. “Want somethin’?”

“I- I,” your face burned with humiliation, you couldn’t believe you were giving into him. 

“C’mon, just ask,” he said, growling your name - your actual name - into your ear like the devil himself. “Give into me.”

“Johnny, please fuck me,” you pleaded, shoulders sagging with defeat as you stared into the sheets with embarrassment. “Want you inside me. Please…”

“That all you got?” he asked simply, taking his hands from your body and shaking the bed as he fumbled with something behind you. 

You groaned out and stayed in position for a second, trying to muster up the nerve, or break yourself down enough rather, so that you could find the right words. You licked your lips and finally, with a shaking breath, looked around your shoulder and met Johnny’s eyes, blinking your lashes like you were a professional. 

“Want you to fuck me hard, Johnny. Want you to make me cum,” you said breathily, feeling your heart beating like a war drum. “Fuck me…Please.”

“Mmm, that’s my good puppy,” he purred, opening the bottle of lube in his hands with a click. “Gonna show you exactly what you get when you come to my door telling me I don’t know how to use my cock. Gonna ruin you for everyone else and have you screamin’ my name.”

You practically panted at that, wobbling on your hands and knees for a moment until he pushed your head down into the bed and kept it there, fastening his hand into your hair. The cold sensation of lube hit your flesh, dripping down your ass and sending your heart into overdrive. 

This was it.

“Just lie there and take it…just like that…”

[clementinesjourney]

oh cmon. jesus.

Good Puppy

Pairing: Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x Reader

Warnings: Smut (18+), Enemies to lovers, kinda dom!Soap, rough, lil bit degrading but nothing horrible, use of the nickname "puppy"

Summary: Reader is new to the 141 and despite coming in hand picked by Price, Soap can't seem to get his head round the fact that you're on his team. Soon silly little arguments turn physical and well...there's more than one way to decide who's top dog.

(No use of y/n or mention of gender/race)

A/N: Happy haggis day folks! Hope you enjoy this lovely Soap smut.

-🧼-

When you first joined the unit, you and Soap took to each other like rats to poison. It’s not that you went into the 141 with a bad attitude or were looking to make enemies by any means - but from the first moment you meet John “Soap” Mactavish you can’t help but grit your teeth and hope that you get a chance to wipe that smug smirk from his face. Preferably with a blunt object, but generally by any means necessary. 

It all started when you walked into a meeting room, ready for your first briefing as a part of your new unit and the only other one there was Soap. His legs were crossed and propped up on a desk, hands resting on top of head and smoothing down his mohawk. He was sitting there casually looking as if he was about to start a nap. It made you raise your eyebrows, but you quickly shook off your surprise and said hello, introducing yourself.

“Aw, eh…nice to meet you? Are you lost?” He frowned.

You blinked at him, taking a second to figure out what he meant. Was he teasing you? Was this some kind of weird hazing thing? Though, after a few seconds of silence pervading the stuffy little room, you realised he wasn’t joking. 

“No?” You answer back, just as confused. “This is the room Captain Price booked out, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is. Are you here to bring coffee or somethin’?”

You immediately felt your back tense up and suddenly all the dumb, slack jawed voices of recruits from your past flare up in your head, your body practically vibrating with anger. People look at you and they never assume very much, but when it comes to letting you loose in a fight they’re suddenly very glad to have you on their team. And after a few breaths to calm yourself down, you realised you’d have an opportunity to prove yourself later.

“I’m here because Price asked me to be,” you said sullenly, taking a seat as far away from the soldier as you could manage.

He raised his brows but he didn't question you further. Thankfully, he didn’t get a chance to. Everyone else started filtering in and taking their seats silently and Price stood at the head of the room, eyeing you and your lingering glare with his usual measured look. He knew that Soap probably pissed you off. Hell, you figured Soap probably pissed the Captain off most of the time.

It was when he finally introduced you to the rest of the team as “Sergeant” that Soap finally clocked why you were there for the briefing, and yet the Scotsman didn’t look embarrassed or even apologetic. No. His face erupted into a cocky grin and he would sneak looks at you every so often, measuring you up and looking like he was in complete disbelief. 

When you were finally released from the meeting you could hear him and Ghost when they retreated down the opposite end of the hall. He didn’t even try to quiet his stupidity obnoxious voice, which was allowed unbidden, to bounce down the corridor like a waving red cape to a bull. 

“Fuckin’ mind blowing that that is our new team member,” he laughed, “We’d be better working with Mickey Mouse.”

“Soap,” comes the Lieutenant’s voice, growling a warning. 

“What? Aren’t you even a little bit shocked?”

“I’m sure Price took them on for a reason…Just fuckin’ leave it, alright?”

“…You’re probably right.”

Though, Soap didn’t leave it. He took every opportunity he could to rile you up, and that included fucking with your callsign. 

You’d been out on your first mission together when he’d seen you getting into a tussle. Though just as Johnny had been about to step in and help, you’d managed to get a lucky kick at the guy's ankle and finally took him down when you regained your grip on your knife - Leaving Soap standing staring at you, gun at the ready with nothing to shoot.

“Get you, scrappin’ just like a wee bulldog,” he’d smirked, voice crackling over the comms for all to hear.

“Shut it, Soap,” you growled, already looking to fan out and move away from him. 

“Ooft,” he chuckled. “You’re like one of those bad tempered ones, the little yappy horrible bulldogs. What are they called again?”

“Frenchies,” someone says through the line. 

“That’s it. Wee frenchie, nippin’ at the enemy’s heels.”

You couldn’t tell who it was that provided the answer, but from then on you vowed that if you ever found out you’d pay them back for it tenfold. Soap had proceeded to tease you with it for the rest of the op and then, because everyone found your reaction so entertaining, it stuck. You were Frenchie for the rest of time. 

As if that wasn’t enough, you got into some amounts of back and forth during missions, sometimes to a point that Price would threaten to bash your heads together when you got back. Though, it never deterred you both. It was like a horrible little game that you played, trying to one up the other and not lose control, a test of wills, a battle you waged privately. One that often ended in you going to sleep vowing you’d be the last one to see him through a scope one day. 

On your latest mission you’d been traversing a small town one night, picking off your targets quietly and trying to avoid an all out firefight. You, Ghost and Soap were working your way through buildings like a vicious pack of wolves, picking off the men like mice. Occasionally you’d mutter through the comms link, but tried to stay off it, content to leave Ghost and Soap to their stupid jokes and chatter. 

“What do you do when your doctor gives you a year to live?” Ghost asks, voice raspy as he steps away from a kill. 

You sigh, knowing you’d be subjected to another one of the boys’ awful wisecracks. It was at times like those you thought of better days, days where you worked with people that didn’t clog up the comms with their shite chat. Days that you liked all of your teammates (or at least could go without wanting to seriously maim any of them)

“I dunno,” Soap replied in an almost whisper. 

“You shoot them and a judge gives you fifteen years,” Ghost deadpans. 

Both you and Johnny groan over the line, for once united in something. Ghost liked to tell truly awful jokes, though, had he told genuinely funny ones then it was unlikely you’d be alive to enjoy them much longer. You couldn’t afford to burst out laughing when there were still plenty of men out there in the shadows that would love to discover you and rain bullets like a monsoon. 

“You’re awfully quiet, Frenchie. Still with us?” Ghost rumbles.

“Your jokes are just too funny LT,” you murmur, sighing as you realise the house you’re in is clear. “I’m laughing so hard there’s no sound coming out.”

“Cheeky cunt,” Ghost chuckles, disappearing for a moment until he speaks again. “You got anything better?”

“Maybe.”

“G’on then,” Soap urges you snarkily. “Give us your best.”

“Alright then…where’d Soap go after getting lost on the minefield?” You say, smirk dancing on your lips 

“Where?” Ghost asks.

“Everywhere,” you whisper darkly. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Frenchie,” Ghost snorts, covering the sound of Johnny’s sharp inhale. 

They both knew you were thoroughly enjoying the mental image that swam around your head. It was distracting, but you think you still have your head on straight. You still managed to pace around the little dirt roads like a spectre, moving silently and unseen through the the dark purpling night. That is, you think so, until you’re about to be surprised. 

Just as the guy was about to swing for you, he flew back and onto the ground with a thud, struggling as he let go of his last breath. The weapon he held in his hands is released as his body goes limp and it crumbles down the hill, kicking up a little dust as it goes. A piece of debris heavy enough that it would’ve bludgeoned you to death on first try. 

“What's brown and bad for your teeth?” Johnny grins.

You groan quietly.

“The brick that was about to get smashed across yer smug. Fuckin’. Face. Frenchie.”

-🧼-

In the end you’d all come back from the mission alive. Despite the fact that you had to begrudgingly admit that it was, in part, due to Soap, you didn’t come back too sour. In fact you even joined drinks for once and sat with the team. It was nice to unwind together rather than laying in bed alone, head filled with all that you’d done and could’ve done better.

Though, after a few drinks and plenty of nonsense chat later you’d started to feel tired. The guys had gone from shouting and laughing up a storm to quietly chatting about this and that, going into ‘remember the time…’ stories that you had nothing to contribute to. With that realisation, you’d figured you’d just call it a night and quietly say your goodbyes. 

You hadn’t really realised how sleepy you were until you’d stood up. It was only when you’d sluggishly taken a few steps that you felt a familiar heaviness descending over you, and resolved to get to bed as soon as you could, rushing to get out. Though when you’d shouldered your way out through the heavy wooden doors of the pub, you were greeted with an extremely unpleasant interruption to your plans. His smile and breath curled out into the cold air like a dragon's smoke, and he didn’t look like he was letting you go without a passing comment.

The mental warfare continues, you’d thought bitterly.

“You leavin’ already, French?”

You groaned and rolled your eyes, folding your shivering arms around your middle. 

“Figure I’ve had enough. What about you? I didn’t know you smoked,” you frowned, looking at the half smoked cigarette that was dangling in his hands. 

“Social smoker. Ye want one?”

“Doesn’t look very social to me,” you smirked, gesturing to his lack of companions. 

“Would be if you joined,” he shrugged.

You shook your head instead of replying - thinking better of continuing the conversation. You just wanted to head inside and roll up into your sheets, in no mood to deal with any more for the day. Escape the nicotine clouds that threatened to stick to your body and cloy at your throat, the thought of anything containing his breath sticking to you in any way was enough to have you wincing.

You were just about to walk away when he piped up again. 

“Why is it we don’t seem to get on very well, eh?”

You stopped in your place and felt every fibre in your body shaking. Was he seriously asking that? You had about a million answers to his question, but most of all you just wanted to strangle him and tell him it was because he was incapable of shutting the fuck up and leaving you alone. 

Even after the amount you’d drunk, you managed to summon some self control and stay in place. 

“You’re annoying as fuck,” you said instead. 

You had still had enough liquid courage that your social filter failed, however. 

“What do you mean I’m annoyin’,” he laughed. 

“I mean you’re the most obnoxious fucking dickhead I’ve ever had the displeasure of working with.”

Well apparently the beast was unleashed. 

“Bit harsh,” Soap choked out, laughing out a gust of smoke. 

“It’s true - you’re unbearable.”

He rolled his eyes at that, but his smirk remained.

“Fine, I’m an obnoxious arsehole…what’s that make you then, wideo? 

“What about me?”

“Takes two to tango, doesn’t it? I’d say it makes you as ‘unbearable’ as I am.”

A rush of white hot fury flooded your veins and you marched back up to him, attempting to invade his space as much as you could bear. You met his gaze and glared up at him, shooting daggers and whatever else you could manifest. It’s on motherfucker. 

“I’m not the one that called someone out for being unworthy before they got a chance to prove themselves. I’m not the one that constantly acts unprofessional. I’m not the one that picks on people for no good reason. I’m not the one-“

“You been keepin a list of grievances on me or somethin’,” he teased, cutting you off. 

You growled and before you could even think, you watched yourself bat the cigarette from his hands like a feral cat and watched it fly. It arced through the air and landed with a bouncing finish, scattering red ash into the quiet wind. It took a second of silence till either of you did anything else.

“Childish much,” Soap snorted. “I’d rather be an arsehole than a little brat.”

You’d never whipped your head up so fast. Blood vessels you’d hardly been aware of before were boiling and your heart beat was in your eyes, it raced and pulsed and had you dizzier than drinking a bottle of vodka. All you saw was red. Soap had taken every opportunity to tease and push you and finally you’d decided he’d taken it far enough. In all your drunk wisdom you felt like this was your time to make a stand and show that you wouldn’t put up with it anymore. 

With what you felt was a rallying warcry, you pushed Soap back and sent him stumbling, almost knocking him into the jagged bushes behind him, their leaves stripped bare from the winter weather. He’d huffed out a hiss, hand lanced through by one of the thorny branches. 

“What the fuck!” He roared, coming to his feet again. 

Suddenly it felt like all that anger really had boiled your blood, and it had unfortunately nullified all the alcohol out of it. The full withering cold of the night soaked through your skin and suddenly you were standing there sober, wide eyed and stupid, wondering what you’d do next. What could you do? 

Fight or flight, a sharp edged voice whispered, echoing through your mind. The man had recovered quickly, and he was soon to make the decision for you. So, you went with what you felt was best for you and your kneecaps. 

Flight it is. 

You ran. Not even the road runner could have competed with you that night. It felt like Hermes had imbued you with power, you sprinted so fast that you practically flew back to the base on winged feet. Your lungs burned and your throat felt like you had accepted a smoke from Soap, but even so, with all pain you came to acknowledge once you were safely locked in your room, you remained unharmed. 

And when the cramps in your thighs tangled through your legs and the full craziness of the previous events crashed down on you, you similarly fell to your bed; huffing out a massive Breath. This was one to deal with in the morning, you thought. 

-🧼-

If only you could be so lucky.

You’d recalled thinking you could sleep everything off with a soundless laugh, and shook your head. It wasn’t happening. Instead, you were left staring at the demonic red numbers of your alarm clock with narrowed eyes. Apparently time had a way of slowing down when it came to the sobering mind. It could only happen to you, of course. 

You’d woken up an hour later with a pounding headache and dry tongue, and even after taking painkillers and a decent glug of water you still remained awake and tortured. The scene of MacTavish falling to the bushes and shouting bloody murder at you was replaying in your mind like an old timey movie, static ringing through your ears as your anxiety tore through you. 

You’d accused him of being unprofessional, and there you’d gone and shoved him like a toddler in a tantrum. Right after he’d called you childish as well! 

You felt sick with worry, wondering if he’d tell Price, wondering what his revenge would be. You sighed and took a deep breath, realising you weren’t going to get any sleep. There were only two options once again, either you sat and suffered till you found out or you could face up to him and go apologise before he could dream up some particularly brutal revenge. Besides, you reasoned to yourself, even if you hated him and even despite the things he said - pushing him was a bit out of order. 

Everything in you wanted to go for option A, but your need to get things out the way won over and soon enough you were in your sweats and baggy pyjama top, waddling down the halls. 

The walk to Soap’s room felt like a long one, like a trek through the arctic. Every painful passing minute had you digging your fingers into your thighs and thinking better of your choice. You’d turned around to go back to your room three times before you reached his door. Even then, you took a minute before you knocked softly, fists coming down on the wood like soft paws. 

The silence rang out for a moment, and you’d closed your eyes for a second, praying he was asleep. Though, as your unluckiness would have it, you’d heard someone rustling about not a second later. There were a few grumblings and noises more, before the door flung open and there stood a particularly surly John MacTavish, standing in his boxers and t-shirt with a face like thunder. 

“You!” He groaned, running a hand through his splayed out mohawk. “The fuck do you want?”

“I uh…Came to apologise for earlier,” you mumbled awkwardly, mirroring him and swiping a hand over your head. “Sorry.”

You watched as he craned his neck and attended to a knot below his skin, hand harshly palming it while he thought over your words. Then, in your desperation not to meet his eyes, you found yourself casting your gaze downward and realised far too late you’d made your second mistake of the night. 

His thighs had completely transfixed you, they were impressive laid bare like that, and before you were able to stop yourself you tilted your head and visibly looked from his thick muscles and further to the material of his boxers - coming to land on the half hard bulge that stood out from them. It wasn’t full-on morning wood, but there was something that’d been stirring there and now your eyes were glued on the sizable tent; and you couldn’t find it in yourself to look away. 

Fuck, just how big was he? 

You heard a familiar snort and looked up guiltily, briefly wondering if you’d be running away from Soap for a second time that night. 

“Let’s review the situation here. You wake me up at three AM with your pathetic little knock and get me out of my bed, for what’s probably the worst apology I’ve heard in my entire fuckin’ life, and now you’re staring at my cock like a shaking bitch in heat. Are you for real right now? Do we need to drug test you?” he said incredulously. 

“I am not staring at your cock like a bitch in heat,” you hissed, looking around you like a caught criminal. “And keep your fucking voice down!”

“What? You don’t want anyone finding out that you’re a pervert?” He laughed, leaning against his doorframe. 

“Do you want pushed again?” you growled. 

“Do you want to push me again?” He cackled. “Any excuse to get your hands on me, eh?”

“No! It’s not like that. I wouldn’t- I didn’t-” you fumbled, not allowed to continue. 

“Didn’t what? Didn’t want to just come out and tell me the reason you like fighting so much is because you can’t get me into bed?”

You dropped your mouth open, gawping at his leering tone. You absolutely did not like fighting with him in order to do…that. Whatever that would be like. You’d resolved that he’d be an awful lover, a selfish one, he was so shitty to you he’d probably just take what he wanted and-

And now you were thinking about sex with Soap! Yuck!

Not that the thought didn’t stir something in you. (you’d tried to plead with yourself that it was burning - throbbing - hatred) 

“Your lack of an answer tells me that’s a yes,” he chuckled, going to close the door. 

A phantom force willed your hand forward, and soap soon stopped trying to close it when he realised you were going to stay resolute. Your hand was shaking with effort. You couldn’t let him win this encounter, you’d thought to yourself, you couldn’t let him have the last word. You couldn’t bear to picture him lying in his bed with his stupid semi, grinning to the thought of you sitting and stewing the rest of the night. 

It wasn’t happening. 

“It’s not a yes. And you wouldn’t even fuck me properly even if did allow you within an inch of me,” you said proudly, hoping to turn and be on your victorious way. 

No such luck.

Soap grabbed your arm before you could go and pulled you into his orbit, having you practically feel the heat radiating from his chest. His brows were pulled tight and his eyes were darker than onyx, staring at you like a dragon before it breathed fire. You gasped and blinked up at him, suddenly realising you’d bitten more than you could chew.

“I’m a lot more than an inch,” he growled.

“Doesn’t mean you know how to use it,” you fired back, not knowing why you’d continued to push him.

Perhaps all the blood that was flowing from your brain and down below might’ve had something to do with it. Maybe it was the iron grip that had your arm feeling like it might crack in his unrelenting calloused hand. 

“You’re bein’ a daft cunt.”

“So are you.”

“Do you actually want fucked?” he asked, a sly smirk escaping through his lips. 

“Doesn’t everyone,” you replied, trying to deflect his question. 

He bit his lip and looked away, peering down into the hallway and looking for any stragglers. No one was there, just the shadows, the frigid air and empty silence. 

“If you want me to show you just how well I can use this,” he said, palming his crotch with his free hand, “then tell me right now.”

It felt like all the oxygen in the hallway had filtered out and your brain was floating lifelessly in your head. It had to have been for you to have answered the way you did.

“You can show me, but try not to cry when it doesn’t work,” you sniggered. 

Soap nodded his head, releasing your arm at the same time. He looked the same way that he did whenever you challenged him in training, the same way he looked when he usually found a way to throw your ass on the floor. In short, you knew you were fucked from that gritted jaw alone, but you tried not to let it show. 

“Get on the bed and sit pretty, Frenchie. Be a good dog,” he goaded, opening the door up wide for you to enter.

This was it, no going back. You had the option to turn and run, but your pride wouldn’t let you do it. You’d talked a big game by that point and you couldn’t turn around then. It was the same thing that got you into the 141 that had gotten you into Soap’s room - your stupid pride. (Although maybe it was the way he was looking at you so intensely as well). You gritted your teeth and did what you were told, trying not to let the little voice in your head that said you actually really wanted him to overpower you. 

Not likely. 

No, you’d do what he said, but only so it would speed the process up - you reasoned. Not because when he’d made the order his voice had rumbled deep with authority and the purr had run down your spine like a bolt of lightning. No, that wasn’t it at all, you thought as you’d sank down into his messy sheets and lay your hands back behind you. That wasn’t it at all. 

“Look at that, wee puppy follows commands afterall,” he said condescendingly.

He shut the door with a harsh click and locked it, your last chance of leaving gone. You couldn’t bear the embarrassment of running out at that point. You were following through with it. Only because you’d said you would, not because of the tingles of anticipation running rampant round your body and not because Soap sounded hot as fuck when he was being demanding. 

There was a force pushing you back, something unseen that made you lie back on the bed as Soap took torturously slow steps toward you. It felt like you were under a spell, unthinkingly sinking into the sheets and breathing in more of his scent, catching notes of him that you’d never thought much of before, gunpowder musk filling your senses. 

“You sure you want to do this?” he asked, finally coming to a stop as he hovered over you, tracing his thumb over your cheek. 

“Y-yes,” you said, voice wavering as you felt his warm breath on your neck. 

“Then beg for it,” he smiled, cupping your jaw. “Say please Johnny, please fuck me.”

“Get fucked,” you sneered, shoving his arm away. 

“Thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Not like that! I’m not begging you.”

“Oh yeah? You sure about that?” he asked, restoring his hand to your head and weaving his fingers roughly through your hair. “I think you will be.”

You were about to come out with another quip but it died before you could, suffocated as he planted his lips on yours and stole your breath.

He wasn’t like other guys you’d kissed, he wasn’t sloppy and his tongue didn’t flop around like a dying fish. He was sure of himself, he kissed you roughly, but not forcefully. A notion that maybe he knew what he was talking about before entered your mind, but only fleetingly as you found yourself fading out.

All it took was Johnny’s hands on your body and you were lost to static and floating clouds. One hand roamed your thighs while the other trailed up your neck ever so gently. It had you stretching to give him access and unknowingly you’d given him exactly what he wanted, because now he was refocused on your sensitive flesh, kissing your neck and sending it tingling like hot flames were licking up it. 

“Mmm, poor little puppy. No wonder you’re wound so tight, you’re desperate for it,” he groaned. 

“Mm?” you moaned, lost to bliss and confusion. 

“There’s a wet patch soakin’ through your sweats,” he teased. 

You froze, horrified that he’d come across it and tried to look for yourself, but you were stopped, stuck to the bed as his hard chest prevented you from getting up. Unstoppable force had finally met an immovable object, and now you were realising just how stoppable you actually were in the face of Johnny. Just how pliant you could be under his hands, the right hands. 

“Don’t do anythin’ that I don’t tell you to do,” he ordered, whispering into your ear. “Just do what I say.”

You moaned pathetically, whining like the shivering dog he said you were, before you could fully stop yourself. He caught it - and your wide eyed expression. 

“Except that,” he amended, laughing harshly. “You’ll do a lot of that.”

“And if I don’t listen to what you say?” you asked, voice shaking as you tried to reclaim some kind of authority over yourself (failing pathetically). 

He yanked you up and had you sitting up facing him, manipulating your body the exact way he wanted; before he stared you in the eye and all but growled. His jaw tensed and untensed, and the heat of him burned into you like an explosion. 

“What do you do with a dog that misbehaves?”

“You give it what it wants before it gets bored?” you tried. 

“You grab it by the collar and set it right,” he growled, taking your neck in his big hand and forcing a commanding, but not choking, grip on it. 

You whined, and before you could process it he was manhandling you again, this time throwing you face down on the bed and trapping you under his solid frame. His legs pinned you down and his arms were around your sides, locking you onto your hands and knees. Little whimpers were set loose into the room and soon Johnny had your sweats down to your feet and was yanking your top off of you, leaving you bare and shivering below him. 

“Mm, you’re a pretty thing,” he growled appreciatively. “So soft too.”

He ran a hand down your back, doubling the frisson that lit your body like a bonfire and kissed all over your flesh while he rutted slowly against you. His hardening cock was knocking into your ass with deliberate harshness, and just the sensation of him through the material was enough to make you feel like you were going to implode. What you’d seen was only a fraction of what was rubbing against you then. You were sure of it now. 

“Johnny,” you whimpered, humping the air and searching for more sensation. 

“Yes, puppy?” he asked softly, planting another kiss on your back. “Want somethin’?”

“I- I,” your face burned with humiliation, you couldn’t believe you were giving into him. 

“C’mon, just ask,” he said, growling your name - your actual name - into your ear like the devil himself. “Give into me.”

“Johnny, please fuck me,” you pleaded, shoulders sagging with defeat as you stared into the sheets with embarrassment. “Want you inside me. Please…”

“That all you got?” he asked simply, taking his hands from your body and shaking the bed as he fumbled with something behind you. 

You groaned out and stayed in position for a second, trying to muster up the nerve, or break yourself down enough rather, so that you could find the right words. You licked your lips and finally, with a shaking breath, looked around your shoulder and met Johnny’s eyes, blinking your lashes like you were a professional. 

“Want you to fuck me hard, Johnny. Want you to make me cum,” you said breathily, feeling your heart beating like a war drum. “Fuck me…Please.”

“Mmm, that’s my good puppy,” he purred, opening the bottle of lube in his hands with a click. “Gonna show you exactly what you get when you come to my door telling me I don’t know how to use my cock. Gonna ruin you for everyone else and have you screamin’ my name.”

You practically panted at that, wobbling on your hands and knees for a moment until he pushed your head down into the bed and kept it there, fastening his hand into your hair. The cold sensation of lube hit your flesh, dripping down your ass and sending your heart into overdrive. 

This was it.

“Just lie there and take it…just like that…”