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Soap x Reader Drabble **

It surprises Johnny just as much as it surprises you when he says he wants to "make love". It's the type of phrase your grandma would use to describe the act. "Make love" just seems so cheesy, doesn't it?

How would you even make love, how do you create love? Is it different when you're making love to when you're having sex? Is it just a softening to the things you two already do?

Maybe that's what he means; doing everything you do but with the heavy breath of love on your neck beside every thrust.

He want to hold your hand when he licks the love that flows from you. And he'd like to kiss your thighs and quietly whisper worship to the soft skin. If making love is to create it he thinks he's gotten damn near close when you've looked up at him with love dripping down your lips and made a stupid joke.

You have to laugh just so you don't think about what making love can be. Shoving at his shoulder with the creeping heat of embarrassment crawling up your neck you nod, "Alright, Johnny boy we can make love."

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writing is so funny because i could write nonstop for 9hrs and then hit a block where im like "how do i transition between this moment and the next?" and then i just dont touch it for 6 months

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Ghoap x Reader one shot idea brewing in my head muehehehe rubbing my hands together mischievously 👹

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Dracopiaa🙀🦇

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Overprotective big man 🥰

One rule your boyfriend has for you posting dress pics to social media

He gets to be in the background of the mirror

The last time your co-workers hit on you because of the first photo, you tried to explain that you have a boyfriend and he will kick anyone's ass if they hit on you. They laughed and said they can take his little ass anytime.

So now, here you are

Dress clad on, flowers in hue that compliments your skin tone and smile

His strong arm secured around your waist, your phone in the other hand taking the picture

It looked like a beast holding a delicate flower in his palm

The mirror pic was all they needed to see that your boyfriend, wasn't some lil boy

But a big ass man with a stone eyed look, and arm muscles bigger than your head

Needless to say, they still had the balls to comment on the post, but not in person anymore

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ALASSS I have published Ch 9 of It Will Come Back my COD zombie apocalypse AU Ghoap x Reader fic!!! Only took me….2 months to update it…

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Ghoap x Reader Knight AU

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

This idea has been floating around in my brain for a while so just hear me out now:

Many years ago you used to be a knight under King Shepard. You were as honorable as any knight could be, you drew your sword under the belief that those who you killed had to die. But when everyone around you was finally dead you realized that your honor had died with them. When Shepard's regime ended and Prices begun you left to begin a "normal" life.

A decade later as your tending to your small farm you hear the gallop of a horse and see the shine of armor. A man with his face well hidden under his helmet and his blue eyed squire arrive with news straight from the King: a war is brewing and he requires your assistance.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

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THE SILLIES!!

unfortunately i have no clue who the original belongs to but i redid it with Steel Drift

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Reader who’s gotten into pottery and Ghost who is more than willing to indulge:

You had seen those beautiful pottery studios before: with bisque in the background and bottles of colorful glaze, maybe a splatter of fresh clay on old tile floors. In the past you had tried air dry clay and the colorful polymer clay that you put in the oven. But suddenly you needed your hands on real clay.

Simon goes with you to a class, and you think it costs more than it’s worth but he couldn’t care less if it cost his right kidney as long as you were happy. And he would put his life savings into the way that you smiled when your hands first sink into that red clay. You’re a natural on the wheel, the lifeless lump of clay taking shape under your fingers. Simon is more focused on you than he is on his own project. He watches your fingers —nails trimmed short for the occasion— dip in and out of the bowl that you’re making, your fingers pushing against the walls of it to stretch it out. Heat rises up his neck and well that’s really all it takes for him to make his decision.

2 weeks later Ghost has cleared out the old shed in the backyard and made it a fully stocked pottery studio for you. You’re beaming as your hands trace over all the glazes freshly stocked on the shelf. And won’t you look that, a nice corner for Simon to sit in and keep you company while you work. He’ll make sure to hand you a towel when your hands are dripping with clay. What a sweetheart 🥰 Maybe he will put his life savings into this after all.

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I have no will to write gang and I’ve gone completely MIA 😭 but trust I will make a comeback…eventually

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Y'all.

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for study... of course

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

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i'm literally the priest's favorite sacrificial lamb because i am so docile and sweet and i hold very still when they put the rope around my neck and i trot along so happily while they lead me to the altar and they do not even have to tie me down because i lie so very still and only bleat once or twice in my lovely lamb voice and when the knife comes down it cuts through me like butter and i offer no resistance and i bleed so prettily all over my new white wool and my guts all unspool like the most beautiful shining yarn and my eyes are animal and dumb and hold no accusation and every time i die i come right back as another little lamb because the priest loves me so so much and he always chooses me for the sacrifice every time and he always places one hand on my small and twitching nose to calm me while he lifts the knife and he doesn't do it for the other lambs only me because i'm his favorite

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Somedays Ghost wakes up with the weight of war still on his shoulders.

He feels it when he turns in bed to get up, heavy, so heavy, it feels like it’s crushing his lungs.

He wonders if one day his skin won’t smell like gunpowder. Wonders if one day he won’t feel like blood is still running down his hands.

On his nightstand there’s a picture; a blue eyed man grins over at Simon, the printed image illuminated by the rising sun.

A hand lands on Ghosts back, and a barely audible whisper escapes you as you ask, “A nightmare?”

He leans into your touch, “…just thinking.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, planting a kiss on the back of his neck, “I’m sure he could use some new flowers, I’d be happy to join you,”

Ghost lets his gaze leave the picture and land on you. He can feel your breath on his skin and the faint smell of your shampoo. Things feel a little lighter. He nods, “We’ll get him roses, he always hated roses. Maybe it’ll give him a laugh in the afterlife.”

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my blog is a safe space for me. the rest of you are in danger i think