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ghostandsoap · 10 days

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Sitting with a Show

John "Soap" MacTavish x Fem! Reader Tags: NSFW. Smut. Cockwarming. Soap being a jerk lol. A/N: Horrible title. Will change it when I come up with something better. Word Count: 1.0k "Your odds are lookin' good."

"Hey, hey..." Soap warned, his grip on your hips tightening. "Stop it. Watchin' the game here."

"John, this is ridiculous," You hissed. "There will be a million soccer games other than this one."

"Football," He corrected, giving the side of your thigh a smack. "None of that soccer rubbish."

"It's the same thing," You gruffed, whimpering when he shifted his hips underneath you. "Every game is the same."

His tip hit the furthest part inside of you that it could, and your arms and legs were beginning to get fuzzy. Soap's cock had been stuffed inside of you for what felt like hours now - completely hard and prodding at all the right places.

He was perfectly comfortable, sunken into the mattress, propped up just enough so he could properly see the TV that was screaming with bright colors of soccer field turf and fans dressed for their team in the stands. He could see the screen over you, much to your demise.

To be completely honest, this whole ordeal did seem fun at first. It was something different, and something you hadn't tried before. It was arousing to think about Soap being buried inside of you with no promise of friction or relieving stimulation. It was supposed to drive him crazy. It was supposed to make him desperate for you...make him beg for you.

However, it seemed that your devious plan fell apart when he decided to take advantage of it and turn the tables on you.

"I don't know why you're complainin' so much," He chuckled, completely unbothered. "This was your idea, sweet stuff."

So now, you were stuck with him taunting you and torturing you with his cock by doing nothing with it - and he was too invested in his stupid soccer/football game to even think about giving in. His eyes were glued to the TV screen behind you, his gaze barely peeling away for merely a moment.

He was having fun watching you fall apart over his attention being elsewhere in a situation where you were fully naked and at his disposal. The circumstances were great for an even better lovemaking session. But Soap was having too much fun playing the game you originally intended to play.

"I might as well go home at this point," You growled, seriously considering getting up and leaving. "So fucking annoying."

At this point, it was beginning to piss you off more than anything. It was the frustration with his stubbornness and irritation for not getting what you wanted. Frankly, you were beginning to feel bad for previously wishing this upon him.

"Hey...don't be like that," He said in a tone that was demanding, but also sympathetic. "We're havin' fun, princess."

His eyes were set on you now, his irises moving back and forth as he focused on your expression to see if this was beginning to become too much for you. Soap could be a bit intentionally aggressive in the bedroom sometimes, but he never let it get to the point where you weren't enjoying yourself.

He studied carefully, looking for anything that let him know he needed to stop. You were definitely getting antsy, and every minute that passed you were growing more needy.

But you weren't at your breaking point...yet.

"You're having fun," You growled, tears beginning to form in your lower lash line. "I'm not getting-"

To shut you up, Soap gave a quick, firm thrust up into you, making a strained cry leave your throat at the feeling of finally having some kind of movement. Soap let out a low, erotic groan at the sound of your wetness getting pushed around and the sight of it smeared onto his lower stomach made his cock twitch within you. He stayed still for a moment, only moving again when your shoulders relaxed.

He watched your expression as he lifted you off of his cock just enough before sinking you back down, his hips rolling up to thrust into you. You visibly shuddered, a whimpered plea for more sounding from you.

He fucked you slow for a bit, giving you just enough to begin to satisfy you, but not enough to curb your craving for him. He saw your blown pupils and flushed skin, tell-tale signs that you were completely maxed out and ready for more.

Too bad he had a soccer game to watch.

His hip movements stopped, and you were back to square one - completely swallowing his cock between your legs, but no promise or sign of anything more. The look on your face was priceless - an overwhelming expression of disappointment, disbelief, and betrayal. Soap would've felt bad for you...except he didn't.

"You're...you're gonna fuck me, right?" You asked, words breathy and voice barely audible.

He gave a chuckle so mischievous and smug that it almost made you tear up again. He reached for one of your hands, pressing your knuckles to his lips with a smirk.

"Sure, I'll fuck you..." He gave a shit eating grin when he saw your eyes light up. "...if they win."

Against your better judgment, you turned your head to look at the TV, your stomach dropping when you saw that the game was just over halfway through the first half...and the scores were tied. Not only did you have another half to go, but there was a chance that you might make it to the end of the game and receive no end to this torture at all. Maybe if you were lucky, you could convince him during halftime.

Soap laughed again at your agitated look, giving your backside a playful squeeze.

"Cheer up, pretty girl. They've had a good year so far," He said, referring to his preferred team. "Your odds are lookin' good."

Soap wasn't showing any signs of letting up, and you didn't have a choice but to endure the rest of this game and hope for a winning game.

This was going to be the longest game of your life.

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ghostandsoap · 3 months

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The Battle of Coming Home

John Price x Fem! "Peach" Reader Tags: Angst. Anxiety. Anxious John. Worried Peach. Domestic fic if you squint. A/N: Technically a Peach fic, but lowkey could just be a 3rd person reader fic because I only use her name like twice. Word Count: 2.4k "But we both see the same things."

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There's a lot of things that people don't tell you when you sign up to protect the world from all the evil that's in it.

They don't tell you about the silence that engulfs you when the gunfire ceases, or the way your heart pounds in the stillness. They don't tell you about the late nights when you're in an unfamiliar place, your home feeling like a distant memory.

They don't tell you about the friendships that you make, forged in conflict and bonds stronger than steel. Friendships built on mutual respect and relatability. They definitely don't tell you about the pain of losing one of those friends.

They don't tell you about the weight of the uniform, not the physical weight, but the weight of the responsibility, the expectations, the legacy of those who came before you.

No, they don't tell you any of that until you experience it for yourself. As a matter of fact, most of the things that John had learned about his career choice only came when he was knee deep in the middle of it all.

And there was one thing that he wasn't prepared for, and it was the one thing he still struggled with.

Going home.

They certainly didn't tell him about the transition back to civilian life, the struggle to fit back into a world that hadn't seen what he had seen...hadn't felt what he had felt.

They didn't tell him about the battle that begins when the war ends. The battle to find his place and peace.

Frankly, he was pretty sure the only reason no one had told him about this was because no one wanted to admit that they struggled with it too.

Going home after a long time away wasn't as easy as it sounded.

Oddly enough, he had gotten much better as he grew older. When he was younger, he was a shell of himself for days on end. Now at least, he could semi-function.

The first few days home were always the worst. He felt like a stranger in his own house...he felt different and changed from the raging world outside.

John found himself in an unfamiliar battlefield...his own home.

The echoes of war still rang in his ears, the adrenaline still coursed through his veins, but the battleground had changed.

The familiar walls of his home felt alien. The silence of peace deafening after the constant cacophony of gunfire and explosions.

Everything felt foreign to him. The softness of his couch, the warmth of his bed, the aroma of an actual decent meal -- and worst of all, and the one that hurt him the most, was that she felt unfamiliar to him in his home...in their home.

John was always impressed at how easily she was able to settle into domestic life...for however long they had the opportunity to live it. She could adjust so quickly and efficiently that no one would even know that she had just returned from seeing the absolute worst that the world had to offer.

He was nearly crawling out of his skin and she was floating around like she was used to this life of domesticated bliss. He loved seeing her so comfortable and at ease, but he wished he could match her serenity.

Peach noticed from the very first time they returned home together that going home wasn't easy on him. He was stressed, completely and utterly nearing a breakdown over the sudden change of pace.

She watched him poke at his meals, when he usually had the appetite of a horse. She watched him move through the halls like a ghost. She heard him toss and turn through the night, restless and going through turmoil.

She knew he was molded by the harsh realities of war. This domestic tranquility that she embraced was a world he struggled to comprehend.

He was sitting on the sofa, sitting up perfectly straight and rigid. He was clad in sweats and a t-shirt, but to him it felt like wearing a block of lead. The TV was on, but whatever was on might as well have been in some foreign language to him because he didn't have the slightest clue as to what was happening on the screen.

"John, do you want a cup of coffee, honey?" She called to him from the kitchen, breaking him out of his trance that he had been lost in for the last several minutes.

"No, darling. I'm alright," He said, not even comprehending his response. "Come sit."

That was his way of saying he needed her to be near him.

Another telltale sign that John was being challenged with being home was how clingy he became. He didn't want to be left alone for more than a few minutes...he couldn't be left alone or he would absolutely lose his mind or convince himself that he wasn't safe here.

As long as she was close, his hands were on her in some form or another. He was kissing her, holding her, talking to her -- whatever he could to physically know she was there and he wasn't alone.

She made him a cup of coffee anyway because he would end up taking "just one sip" of hers and then drink half of it. He didn't know this, but she usually made him decaf when they were home. He was so jittery and uptight as it was, so caffeine was definitely not a good idea.

She entered the living room with the two mugs of coffee, also clad in at-home loungewear. She set the mugs on the table in front of the couch before taking a seat. He looked worse today than he had the last two days. John always said that day three was the worst.

He didn't try to hide it. He could never get anything past her. He did try the first time she came home with him, but she sniffed him out within a day and he admitted that this was the usual routine.

"Oh, John..." She sighed sympathetically at the man who was sitting rigidly on the couch, every muscle tense and stressed. "Try to relax, babe."

John reached for his cup of coffee, taking a slow first sip. She didn't comment on the slight shake that he had in his hands.

"I'm alright," He said, clearly lying and feeling like he was going to jump out of his skin. "Thanks, Peaches."

He cradled that cup like it would explode if it let go. He didn't care that it was borderline burning his hands.

"You're so anxious," She rested a hand on his shoulder, caressing him gently. "I don't know what else to do to make you comfortable."

She had already done so much -- which he had reminded her of already. She home cooked every meal, did the laundry, fluffed and re-fluffed pillows, ran his showers, showered with him when he didn't want to be alone, changed the sheets, cleaned the house -- just about anything you could name, she had done to make the house feel like home for him.

She understood that it was an internal conflict he was having, but she thought that if the external environment felt good, then maybe it would brighten him up.

He shook his head, staring at the pool of black coffee in that bright red mug until it looked distorted.

"I'll be better tomorrow. Third day's always the worst," He exhaled a long breath, attempting a genuine smile. "Don't get all worked up over me."

"Can't help it," She said. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I quite like you a lot."

"Yeah?" He said, a sarcastic tone in his voice. "I never knew."

They shared a small laugh, the most progress that John had made in days. There was a stretch of silence, other than the background chatter of whatever was playing on the TV.

She watched him like she had been the last few days. She watched him stare at his drink, his tired eyes growing more and more exhausted by the minute.

"It amazes me how fast you adjust," He sighed. "I don't know how you do it."

"I don't have the same responsibilities that you do," She pointed out. "You have a lot more pressure on you."

"But we both see the same things." He held back a shiver from shuddering down his back when he raised his head to look at her.

"I guess...maybe you just feel things differently than I do," She said. "Nothin' wrong with that."

She meant that. He could see that she did.

She wasn't angry with him for being so down during their first few days off together. She wasn't impatient with him and wishing he would just get over the shock of being home already.

She was totally present and there for him for whatever he might've needed.

He loved her for being so caring and taking care of him when he should've been used to it by now...he loved her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked.

Peach had asked that question about a dozen times in the last few days. When things got too quiet and he was wrapped up in his head, she would ask. She knew what it was, she understood what it was -- but it would never hurt him to talk about it again.

"No, my love. I'm good." He reached to set his cup on the table.

"You sure?" She asked again.

"Yeah," He nodded. "I'm alright."

When he was ready or felt like he needed to, he would talk to her. It was the same old things they had talked about before, but he would if the time came. For now, he wanted to change the subject and try to focus on something else.

"What's that new show you've been watching?" He said, waving his hand to get his question across. "The one about the crazy rich American ladies."

"The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills?" She asked, a slight sparkle appearing in her eyes at the mention of her new favorite reality show.

Peach loved all kinds of TV shows. John was more of a nightly news kind of guy, but every once in a while he would take an interest in one of her shows and they would watch it together.

Price rested his hand on her thigh, gently massaging as a way of grounding himself and showing affection to her.

"That's the one," He nodded. "Can you tell me about it?"

"I don't think that'll be all that interesting to you." She laughed, her gentle giggle bringing a flood of warmth to John's chest.

"I want to hear about it," He sighed heavily, trying to take any kind of tension off of his chest that he could. "Please, darling."

She knew he needed something to distract him, and she could talk about her trashy TV shows all day long.

"Alright. Well..." She began. "Kyle and Camille don't get along because Camille accused Kyle of calling her insecure -- Kyle and Kim are having a hard time because Kim is goin' through a divorce."

"And Kyle is Kim's brother?" John asked, earning a brow furrow from her.

"No, honey bun. Kyle is a woman," She explained. "Kyle and Kim are sisters."

John's brows raised in surprise, his lips turning into a small smile as she carried on.

"So then Adrienne and Lisa are the oldest of the wives, and usually Adrienne is the voice of reason," She said. "Taylor is kinda just there, but sometimes she's in on the drama too."

John was following along as best he could, but honestly some of this stuff just went right over his head.

"So what do they do for a living? How do they make their money?" He asked.

"They're housewives, babe. They don't work." She explained, amused at how this was all too baffling for him.

"I thought they were filthy rich?" He asked.

"They are. Their husbands make the money or they come from an already wealthy family," She said. "That's the whole appeal. They're rich women who don't do much of anything except shop, go to lunch, and get into catfights. Total TV drama and petty arguments."

She went on and on spilling all the ins and outs of it all, pretty much running him through the entire first season. The big parties that they host for no reason, the money, the drama -- and of course, the dramatic confrontations.

"Do you...want to watch the next episode with me? I just started season 2. I can catch you up as we go." She asked, holding back a grin so he wouldn't feel obligated to say yes.

But with her, it was always an easy yes.

"Sure, baby."

She sprang into action then, locating the TV remote and draping a blanket over the two of them. She flicked over to the right streaming service (John often made fun of her for having so many subscriptions) and wasted no time getting the show started.

He felt himself relax just a tiny bit when she snuggled up to him, his arm keeping her close to him as he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

Holding her close was all he needed to be able to sit still for a bit. He could get through the next few episodes as long as he had her there for company.

"This okay?" She asked once she was comfortable, craning her head to look up at him.

He pressed a kiss to her nose, something that never failed to earn a small laugh from her.

"Mmhm," He hummed. "I'm good."

As the TV blared the theme song and all the Beverly Hills glitz and glamor was paraded on the screen, John felt her settle in and begin walking him through it.

He was more than happy to listen, and he was doing his best to take advantage of the time he had to spend with her alone.

John knew that soon enough, their job would come calling, and they would be shipped off to the next hell on Earth.

John was a fighter. He would make it through this just as he had every time before. It was a new mission in and of itself every time he came home...and even if he didn't feel like it, each time it became easier and easier.

He knew he had a support system to fall back on...a support system that he also loved so endlessly. She didn't even realize that just being there with him was a tremendous help.

Her just being her was helpful. Her making him cups of coffee, making his meals, and yes -- even rambling on and on about a bunch of rich wives out in California.

Maybe he did struggle to find his place in a world that had moved on without him, but with her -- he always felt at home.

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