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BARRY SLOANE IS THAT YOU?!?!

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1.2k / 18 / soap soulmate au, part 1

...

You're Soap's enemy. One of Graves' Shadows. You just betrayed him, and now he's seeing his name tattooed across your skin. The Las Almas night nearly eclipses the soulmark's inky color. But it's there, clear as day. He can't wrap his adrenaline-addled mind around it.

He ghosts up behind where you're posted--pacing, patrolling, on the lookout for him--and wraps his hand around your mouth. You react in surprise, grabbing his wrist. But before you can twist out of his grasp, he slides the blade of your fallen Shadow's knife against your back.

If you're his soulmate, it changes nothing. He'll still be one man against dozens, chances slim to none that he'll make it out of this alive. But he has to know.

"You," he growls. "What's your name?"

You still. You're trained to keep a cool head under far more extreme circumstances than this.

"Your name," Soap repeats, voice like gravel.

He loosens his grip just enough to let you speak.

You release a slow breath out. "Classified."

He increases the pressure of his knife against your back. "That bastard Graves trusts you, aye? Not many others posted this way. Nobody'll find you for awhile." He presses the tip of the knife back into the fabric of your uniform. He'll keep the pressure there until he gets what he wants. "Your full name."

You say nothing for a long moment. But then, you see no reason to die overlooking these twisting Las Almas alleyways. You tell him your full name.

It confirms what he already knows. It's the name printed on his own skin, the name he's repeated to himself thousands of times over. The knife disappears from your back.

"Look at me," he tells you.

You push his arm away and turn on him, drawing your sidearm and training it at his chest. You step back, looking him up and down. "You're the one we're looking for. Aren't you? Capture or kill--" Your voice falters when you see he pulls his shirtsleeve up, revealing his own soulmate. He doesn't give you one goddamn second to try to deny it or turn your eyes away the way you've been trained. Your name. Tattooed on your target's arm.

Seeing you eye to eye, Soap's breath catches in his throat. His own name on the side of your neck is clear as day to him now.

"You're her," he says, still not quite believing it.

You take another step back. What are you supposed to do? You should shoot him, yes, but could you even make your finger pull the fucking trigger now? You lower your gun, but you don't put it away.

"You should go," you tell him, voice low. "Now."

But he doesn't move. He wants to take this moment in, study your face, memorize every detail. You're the real thing. His blue eyes stay locked onto yours, and a myriad of scenarios play through his mind, just like yours. What happens if he leaves? Will he be able to find you again?

He takes a step toward you.

"Don't do that," you warn him, sliding back a step to keep the same distance between you. "Don't make me hurt you."

"You wouldn't." He moves for you now with the confidence of a man who believes that, too. He wants to touch you again. Just to make sure you're really here. His voice is rough and thick. "I need to look at you."

You bite down on a gasp when your heel knocks against the wall. He's getting too close. You can't let your control on the situation slip. You can't forget why you're here or what will happen if Graves finds out about this.

"Back off," you warn him again. You still have your sidearm in hand, but you're terrified he's right--pointing it at him is an empty threat.

"Can't."

He moves in close to you, his breath hot on your neck. You swear you can feel his body heat through the layers of both your uniforms. Your nerves are on fire. His scent is everywhere. This can't be happening. Not now. It should be a dream, meeting your soulmate, but it's a nightmare.

"Listen to me," you force out. "They'll find you and kill you. Leave. Now."

"Can't." Soap is close enough to whisper it into your ear. His hands close around your arms. "Can't think straight with you in front of me." His gaze darkens as he pushes forward, pressing you into the wall and pinning you there. If he's not going to live to see morning, he's going to kiss you. He has to taste you.

You hear another Shadow under you, boots thudding against the metal stairs, scaling up to your lookout perch.

You try to fight the panic welling up in your throat. You could both be shot for this. Killed for it. Worse.

You can't let them see him. If you give him what he wants, he'll go, right?

You grab his collar and pull him forward, meeting his lips in a searing kiss. His lips feel like stubble and taste like blood. He shudders, feeling your body suddenly pressed against his. He deepens the kiss. He's starving, but it's not enough. Just the taste and feel of you isn't enough. His fingers weave into your hair and he pulls you close, pressing even harder against your body.

You forget yourself for a moment. Your brain chemistry shifts hard, heat and want burning in your veins.

Then you hear voices from below and reality washes over you again. With a strangled groan, you push him away. "God damn you. Hide."

Soap has to force himself to let you go. It takes every ounce of control to keep from reaching for you again. But the look in your eyes when you push him away... he knows you've crossed a line.

He disappears the moment two more Shadows crest the top of the iron staircase.

You avoid rousing suspicion as you lie to your allies' faces, reporting no sightings of either target. By the time you're forced to leave your post and follow the others back to the nearest rendezvous point, you're resigned to never seeing him again. It's better not to wonder.

All you can think about are his fingers weaving into your hair, his lips on yours, the burning grip of his hands around your wrists. You tell yourself not to think about it... but then your mind goes back to it, over and over. No matter how much you tell yourself it's better not to fantasize.

Even when you learn he evaded capture, he's a wanted man. A dead man walking. You're better off pretending you never saw your name tattooed on his skin.

...

There is no other thought on Soap's mind but you long after he slips away into the Las Almas night.  The sight of you leaving with the other Shadows haunts him when he closes his eyes. He wakes up adrenalized, thinking about you in his hands, his heart pounding like it could punch through his rib cage.

His soulmate got away, and the weight of regret is setting in.

...

[part 1] / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

more Soap / masterlist tag

[sadiem777-blog]

Not to add another au to my pile, but...

You have lived by a very simple rule while on your "last summer" vacation: the best travel recommendations come from dudes that are down bad.

Your tinder has one sentence on it and all your best pics, "in town for the week, looking for fun." So far you've barely had to pay for anything, you've had some of the best food you've ever eaten, gone to the coolest clubs you'd never have found on trip advisor, and gotten laid more than you could've dreamed. At least half of them were pretty good too.

You hover over a profile, over the name "Ghost" and some choice shirtless pics. These types of profiles always go one of two ways: fake or fantastic. You swipe right, if it's fake you'll know quickly. Your phone lights up green. It's a match. Your fingers hesitate before typing out a quick message. He gets to you first.

"Down for some fun this weekend?" You laugh at the eggplant emoji and start typing your response before another message rolls in, "we can walk around/grab drinks before."

You smile a little wider, "what a gentleman."

"Always, gentleman in the streets, wild in the sheets"

"That line work for you?"

"You tell me."

You hate to admit it, but he's funny, and funny works for you. There's something about the way confident guys flirt that really gets you going. Not to mention this sort of confidence tells you the profile is real enough for you to send a loose itinerary of your time in London.

"Drinks on Saturday then," he tells you after a minute. You let your heart flutter a normal amount.

"Where are we going?"

"I'll send you the address, you send me your number."

Alright maybe your heart flutters a little more than normal. You like a man who knows what he wants.

Part 2

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obviously, put on headphones for maximum enjoyment ( ͡° ᴥ ͡°) and if u fancy hearing more like this, check out this tag!

[reblog to kiss op <3]

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You guys just have to trust me on this one and click here okay?

[sadiem777-blog]

My fav genre of Simon Riley is the: can't flirt for shit version, where he' gets flustered or just...not comprehending

ie:

"You know....we go could go back to my place."

"We live together. Obviously we're going back home."

"Simon-oh my god just go with it."

"....Sorry, I mean I would love to go back to my home where my bed is and go watch tv on my telly and in my living room-"

"no, no, no it's- no, stop."

---

"Oooo, look at you...my handsome man, my beautiful boy, oh...i love you so much."

...

"Simon?"

....

"baby are you breathing?"

quite literally squeaking, "Thank you."

[sadiem777-blog]

I haven’t posted here in a WHILE so here you go!! Ghoap trash again because I love them <3

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Simon Riley who only gets his hair cut by the nice barber down the road

you let him keep a mask on, keeping the music and lighting lower than normal. you're careful around any knicks, bruises, and scars. he closes his eyes when you tilt his head with gentle hands.

only make him unloop the mask straps on his ears to clean up the curve of his hairline. he appreciates it

he doesn't tell about work, you usually don't ask. he sits quiet while you give him the usual. in secret he loves the way you hold his head. it's much more gentle than even the medics on base.

he didn't want a wash the first time, but you talked him into it after saying he had some grease paint pushed back into his hairline. your blunt nails rub his scalp in soft circles. you rub gently over any scars, and he finds himself actually relaxing in the much too small barber chair. he catches himself letting out a soft sigh when you rub his wet hair with a towel.

"no more paint," you say happily

he nods, quiet like always

you give him one last look over before fluffing out his longer sections of hair w your fingers. he sets up another appointment with you, but you know it can be hit or miss depending on if hes "out of town"

once all is said and done, Simon is a good client and a great tipper. he hopes the more he tips you, the longer you'll scratch his head 💔

[sadiem777-blog]

thinking about how johnny asks moon to be his wife as soon as they meet 😭

i just wanna know so bad how would the guys react if their lil crush actually agreed

like soap asks moon for her hand in marriage and shes just like ok sure

actual marriage or does soap just go straight to dating status instead

You give that man an inch and he'll take a mile.

Soap spots you for the second time in as many weeks across the bar. The only decent pub near campus, and thus the only place he and the 141 scurry off to. Apparently the only place you know to hide out as well. He feels a little guilty abandoning his mates, but they'll understand. (Understand that he's pining and you're smart enough to know better) Again you don't even look up when he takes the seat next to you.

"Tennessee," He greets, tapping the bar for a pint. You glance at him with a sigh.

"Doctor," You correct, and he can't help the smile that takes over his face. You're just so pretty, sweet little accent and round vowels making him want to pinch you.

"Mrs. Mactavish," He offers instead. You roll your eyes and sip your drink. Not beer this time, it's a short glass with neat amber liquid tipping against the side. "Whiskey?"

"Bourbon," You mumble.

"You'd get on with Ghost, couple of good ol' boys," Soap mutters, giving a half hearted sniff at the offending liquid. You smile against the rim of your glass, your teeth catching the edge in a way that Soap can't help but find charming. It's like you're trying to hide that he could have any affect on you.

"Maybe I should be talking to him instead," You set your glass down, glancing around the bar. Something in Soap's chest burns, his ears hot as he settles a hand on your knee and leans close to catch your eye.

"Ah saw ya first," He tips his head, watching the way you lean back to avoid bumping him, pretty thing, pretty pretty thing, "Ah dinnae ken if ah could give ya up."

You hum, pluck his hand off your knee and set it on the bar. Those few seconds of holding your hand leave him wanting, every spare molecule of your touch buzzing when you let him go. "I'm not interested in dating coworkers," You tell him firmly.

"Was thinkin' of somethin' closer to marriage actually."

You laugh, a mirthful sound that makes Soap want to shiver. Oh you stupid pretty thing, you don't believe him do you? "That's funny, you're funny," You signal for the bartender to refill your glass. Soap raises his fingers to double it.

"What's funny about it?" He leans against the bar, crowding you in to your seat, forcing you to keep your attention on him.

"You wantin' to marry me." Your voice raises ever so slightly at the end, question as much as statement. He wonders if you believe your own doubts, or if you're just that used to shooting people down. Soap tips his head, and you mirror the motion, your fingers grip your glass and bring the recently refilled amber to your lips. Soap traces the path of your tongue over your lips, the way you catch each drop of bourbon without so much as a flinch, his eyes trained on the motion with reverence.

"You want me to get on one knee?" He offers. You shake your head with a roll of your eyes, back to sipping your drink and ignoring him. It almost gives him an idea. "How many of those are you havin' tonight?" He nods at your glass as you settle it on the bar.

-

It takes a lot to get you drunk, a fact you're particularly proud of, but that also means once you're there it takes very little to start making terrible decisions.

Your head is pounding when you wake up. You ignore that the sheets feel funny in favor of rubbing your fingers against your eyes. A quick wince when you bump something metal makes you draw your hand away to inspect the ring on your finger. A diamond bracketed by two rubies. Gold. You don't wear gold.

"What the fuck?" You mumble, trying to piece together the gap of memory you have in your night. Johnny pops his head into the bedroom and gives you a smile. You narrow your eyes at him, trying to manage anger around the splitting headache. You sit up, or attempt to, as he saunters into the room, and just as quickly grab the sheets to pull them back up over your bare chest.

"Please tell me we didn't fuck," You grit, closing your eyes against the sunshine he draws into the room.

"Course not," Johnny's fingers find your jaw, tipping your head back, "wouldnae take advantage of ya like tha'." You keep your eyes shut tight even as relief courses through you. God you can't think of anything worse than sleeping with your coworker before the semester has even started. "Did get married though," Johnny fills in, giving you a peck of a kiss before pulling away, "be careful with the ring, yeah? Family heirloom an' all that."

Ok. One thing worse than sleeping with your coworker before the semester has started.

[sadiem777-blog]

The Ghost Distribution System

Bigass Bear Maybe, Maybe Fixing your Heat One Kindness Nearby Lunch His Own Place Strays Oranges Sacred Space Sickness and Health Peaches Peaches (pt 2) Stay Fallen Angel 'Til Death Proud to be Yours

The Other Systems

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Professor Ghost (x oc)

Sit down Get Out Me Obsessed with You? Joint Lecture Stupid Student Discord Bend Over Ghost's Nickname Old Man is an attitude Why Love Joined the Discord Byronic Almost Prof Mactavish Scopes out Love Discord Intermission Ride Home Backpack Love Bug One Hotel Avoiding Responsibility There is No Pavement, My Love

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it's unreasonable but thinking of a bunch of the discord students teaming up to dogpile prof!ghost would be hilarious. someone posts "get him, he can't stab us all!" and they go for it. for professor love, of course

It's like those "How many 5 year olds do you think you could take in a fight" but it's one former special forces agent against a bunch of angry college students.

Everyone keeps glaring at Ghost and he doesn't even know what he did wrong. Ghost does not know there's a discord. He doesn't know what discord is. He has a flip phone, old man that he is.

[sadiem777-blog]

reblog if it's okay for your mutuals to message you and create an actual friendship, not just interactions

[sadiem777-blog]

Simon proposed to you. While drunk.

To be fair, you were a bit merry yourself.

You were in the comfort of your home, enjoying each other's company and the cheap alcohol when you realized Simon was staring at you. Turns out he'd been staring at you for quite a while. He was definitely inebriated, but it was like he was aware just the same. You saw it in his dark eyes. You would have reflected some more if you weren't tipsy.

"...Marry me."

That roused you from your drunken stupor. You think. You guess. Wait a damn minute. You began giggling. Or maybe you always were giggling. Fuck, you didn't know, didn't care to know, but—"Yer drunk, Siiiii." And still, you giggled.

Wasn't gonna deter your soldier, though. He took another swig of his drink, let it settle, eyes never leaving yours, and said, " 'm not drunk. 'm in love, sweetheart," Oh! ...Oh. Oh shit. "Marry me, luv. Make an honest man outta me, yeah?" Simon punctuated his proposal with a loud burp. When did he take his shirt off?

You couldn't be bothered to care. When didn't he have his shirt off around you? And fuck, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the way he kept staring at you, drunk in love, or maybe—"SURE!"

Smooth. Real fucking smooth. But it was enough.

Simon leaned in to kiss you. At least, he tried to. That's all you remembered until the next morning when you woke up and there he was, comfortably resting on top of you, him in your arms and you in his.

You would've thought last night was a dream if you hadn't seen the drunken text Simon sent the boys later:

im a missus

Yes, you are, Simon. Yes, you are.

And truth be told, you two didn't mind it at all.

[sadiem777-blog]

I'm telling everyone who don't know anything about COD that this is John Price

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18+ MDNI

At first, he was hesitant when you brought it up. His body tensed up, and you could see the uneasiness in his eyes the moment you mentioned that you were ready to have sex, “I’m just afraid to hurt you, dove.” he replied when you worriedly asked him what was wrong while holding his hand and it made your heart flutter at how soft and careful he was with you. But you reassured him that he could never hurt you and you trust him, also that you’re not as fragile as he might think. And with further persuasion, he finally agreed. 

So now, here you are, laid bare before him with your legs spread open, glistening pussy begging to be filled up while he takes out his hardened cock, throbbing and angry, desperate to feel your warmth wrapped around him. 

And when he finally slides inside you, as you feel the sweet wide stretch of your sensitive walls, you desperately beg him not to hold back and he agrees after witnessing your insatiable hunger for him, his own desire burning fiercely, as long as you promise to let him know if you were actually hurt. 

He sets a steady pace, eyes locked onto yours to watch your reactions, to watch you as he absolutely ruins you and he removes your hands from your face with a tsk when you shy away and hide from his intense glare. 

He lifts your legs and props them on his shoulders, making you gasp at the newly found angle as he hits all the sweet spots deep inside you, even the ones you were completely unaware of their existence. 

Each brutal thrust makes your eyes roll back as his swollen tip attacks your spongy cervix at a cruel pace. 

His huffed grunts and pants fill your ears as he mercilessly pummels his fat cock into your warm velvety walls as if on a desperate hunt for release. 

Until the moment of sheer euphoria arrives and floods your senses as you both cum together followed by the resonant symphony of your mixed moans. 

And you grab his face and kiss him with all your being, a pleased smile dancing on your lips all throughout as you share this tender moment together after the intense session, relishing how he makes you feel safe in his arms.