#I cannae do tha

[wings-dings-and-iggyfings]

Out of curiosity, does anyone have any quotes/song lyrics they associate with Wingfeather characters? and would anyone be interested if I edited them into a banner/header image thing of some kind? I’ve wanted to make some Wingfeather banners for ages but I keep forgetting/not thinking its important enough but if I was doing it for someone else, well, that might hack my brain into doing it.

Anyway, if you are interested, leave your request in the comments.

[dragonji]

guys im going to be vulnerable with you here for a second. I NEED yall to gaf when i post this latest ocxcanon art or I'm gonna commit acts of deep violence and grief. Ive spent 2 full days on what was supposed to be a doodle And I had to redownload my old art program just to use a single brush that was impossible to get in ps. all for just this one silly little drawing o(-<

[criminalamnesia]

Hiii!! I hope you're doing well :))

I just loveee the traitor series. Do you plan on making a part 5 or more?

thank you! here’s part five :)

the other parts can be found in my COD masterlist, which is here

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

I’ll proofread later :))

you stormed out of the gym, eyesight blurry from hot tears. you weren’t crying because you were sad— no. you were furious. furious at how simon was so fucking stubborn. at how he thought he was in the right.

droplets of blood marked your footsteps as you made your way back to the infirmary. you weren’t particularly anxious to be yelled at by the doctor, but getting it over with as soon as possible was ideal.

“bonnie, y’alrigh’?”

soap. you hadn’t even seen him, so lost in your thoughts. you blinked away tears and ignored the scot, continuing to make your way down the hall in silence.

the sound of hurried footsteps was unmistakable behind you. soap wasn’t taking silence for an answer, apparently.

“bonnie, please—” he began, the drawl of his voice catapulting your mind to the past. to better days.

days when soap had patched you up after a fight, his fingers nimble as he stitched up a cut in your thigh.

“s’it hurt?” he spoke, voice gravelly because of his hushed tone.

you shook your head. your head was tilted back, eyes staring up at the ceiling but not truly seeing. you were worried sick— you and soap were the only ones who’d made it to the safe house so far. the others should’ve beaten you there, and now they were over an hour late.

“bonnie, ‘m sure they’re alrigh’,” he told you, poking the needle through skin. you barely felt it, too hyped up on fear and adrenaline.

“they should’ve beaten us here, y’know that—” you began, but he tutted, quickly cutting you off.

“cannae think like tha’, bonnie. they’ll be here any second, aye?”

he stops his stitching, his face tilting up and away from your leg. you faintly register the feeling of his eyes on you.

you felt lost— floating in sea of numbness. your mind is mulling over the millions of possibilities— possibilities in which they never return.

you’d never felt this way before, and the five of you had endured far worse.

the only thing that was different this time was the fact that you and simon were together. you’d never explicitly told the rest of the task force, but they knew.

johnny knew why you were so worked up. he understood.

he reaches a hand up, his dirtied fingers lightly tilting your chin down so you’re face to face.

“y’there?” he asks, his hand dropping from your chin. he moves to squeeze one of your hands, pulling you back down to the ground.

you give a small nod, fingers moving to intertwine with his. he smiles— not his usual playful expression, but a true, grateful, relieved smile.

“im here,” you tell him. he releases your hand, pulling away from your skin, giving your hand a light pat before fully retreating.

“‘m almost finished, yeah? then I’ll go lookin’—”

“no need.”

it’s kyle, breathing heavily as he shuffles into the room. price and ghost are right on his heels, the three men making the room feel much smaller than it did a moment ago.

“you two good?” kyle asks, a small frown on his lips as he takes note of your bloodied leg.

you nod, your eyes flitting from gaz, to price, to simon— who is now moving towards you. he crouches down so he’s eye level with you. you meet his gaze, and although he doesn’t say it, you know what he’s thinking.

he’s relieved, and it’s a deeper relief than usual. it’s heavier, more profound, because he’s started to let you in. you’re more than teammates now, and it doesn’t truly hit ghost until this moment.

“im good,” you tell him quietly. he nods, glances down at where johnny is tying off your stitches.

johnny must notice ghost’s stare, because he breaks his focus and looks up at his lieutenant with a cheeky smirk.

“no worries, LT. made sure to do ma best work,” he grins and shoots the other man a wink, to which ghost grunts, unamused.

the heavy weight of a palm on your shoulder breaks you from the memory. you move without thinking, bloodied fist swinging as you whirl around to attack whoever laid a hand on you.

then you remember— soap.

johnny narrowly dodges your assault, his eyes widened as your fist barely clips him.

“steamin’ jesus!” he speaks, throwing his hands up in surrender and taking a step back from you.

“i was jus’ tryin’ to make sure ya were alrigh’! yer bleedin’, bonnie.”

you blink as you slowly escape your stupor. you’d completely lost yourself in the memory, and you didn’t know why.

probably because your brain was trying to comfort itself the only way it knew how— by seeking comfort from the people closest to you.

old habits, right?

old fucking habits.

“don’t touch me,” you seethe, eyes narrowing as you glare at the scot. he frowns, bites his lip, but doesn’t say anything.

like a kicked puppy. you can’t help but feel sympathetic before you wrestle that feeling back down. he wasn’t sympathetic for you— why should you be for him?

you look at him for a moment longer, taking in his appearance. he looks fine, and that angers you just the slightest bit more.

“look, i— i ken we really messed up, and sorry cannae fix tha’, but please, bonnie. a’least let us try—”

“I don’t owe you anything, mactavish.” you told him, gaze cold as you met his eyes. “and you’re right, sorry can’t fix it. nothing can fix it; so, stop trying.” you step forward, raising a hand as you point a finger into his chest.

“the four of you need to leave me the fuck alone. frankly, I couldn’t care less about how the four of you feel. about how he feels. you did what you did, believed what you believed, and now you have to live with that.”

johnny’s frown deepens as his eyes glance down at the finger you’ve got digging into his sternum.

“you deserve to feel like shit,” you tell him. “and anything you feel— how sorry you are— just know that I suffered a hundred times more in that chair, locked up in that room. so the next time you wanna watch me from outside the infirmary, or you wanna put your fucking hands on me,” your jaw is clenched, fire licking at your veins as you speak to him.

“remember what you did. remember that nothing can fix it. remember that you’re dead to me— all of you are— and that I never would’ve let that happen to any of you.”

“and I hope it hurts like hell, mactavish. I hope it eats you alive, and that you never find peace because you don’t deserve it.”

you drop your hand, your eyes still on his.

“and I hope you tell the rest of them I said that. especially him.”

you turn then, take a steadying breath, and keep walking.

soap watches you go without another word.

“that was stupid,” the doctor chastises you, her lips pressed into a thin line as she examines your knuckles.

“you blatantly went against my one rule for you. I shouldn’t have even let you out of bed, but you’re too damn stubborn! so I thought I’d give you some grace, but there you go— leaving my iv pole in the hall. bloodying your knuckles. I should let one of the newbies patch you up,” she grumbles, her gloved hands cool against your skin.

over the time you’d spent in the infirmary, you and the doctor had formed an odd bond. it was almost as if you were friends, but she always kept things strictly professional.

but you’d catch her giving you sad glances sometimes. you knew she was upset for you, angry for you, but she would never speak on it. that was okay with you.

it was enough to know that someone was on your side.

“sorry, doc. it’s not like it was planned,” you tell her, and her eyes flick up to meet yours. the look on your face told her everything she needed to know.

she didn’t push the topic. instead, she finished patching you up in silence. wrapping your knuckles in bandages, she gave them one last once-over before sending you on your way.

“kicking me out?” you asked her, raising your eyebrows.

she nodded, her eyes scanning the chart in her hands.

“if you’re okay enough to throw a punch, i think you’re okay enough to return to your quarters. unless you want to stay,” she says, and its unspoken, but you know what she’s implying.

unless you want to stay behind that door, guarded from the 141. unless you don’t want to go back to your quarters and see it as you’d left it before they’d tied you up.

unless it would be too painful to leave.

you shook your head. “im good. thank you, doc. really.”

the doctor gave a small smile and nodded. “of course. you’re due back in a week for a check up, alright? I need to check on those bruises and mending bones.”

you nod and give her a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “wouldn’t miss it.”

she bids you goodbye before turning and disappearing behind a white curtain. you inhale deeply before heading for the door.

when you step into the hallway, it’s quiet. you pass through base with relative ease, quickly slipping past anyone you come across in the halls.

you don’t see any of the 141, and you’re grateful. you couldn’t handle another interaction with them today— and you didn’t know how much longer you could remain civil.

once you reached your door, you pushed into the dusty darkness of the room. it’d been a while since you’d been in here, and although you were glad to finally be free of the smell and sounds of the infirmary, you weren’t particularly happy to be back in this room.

this room, which was down the hall from the rest of the 141.

this room, which held memorabilia of your time with your team.

this room, which you swore still smelled like simon.

you grit your teeth, willing yourself to stop thinking about him. he was fucking everywhere, and you were starting to believe you’d never be free of him and the 141.

your memories. your pain. your scars. no matter how much you healed and moved on from what happened, it would always be there in the back of your mind. it would sneak up on you when you least expected it; it would haunt your dreams at night.

it would leave you waking up screaming for mercy.

it would keep you untrusting for the years to come.

you flicked on the light and scanned the room. it had been upended, clothes strewn across the floor and picture frames shattered.

in the midst of it all, a vase of long dead flowers sits atop your desk.

there’s a little note hanging off the vase. against your better judgement, you reach for it. the paper feels scratchy against your fingers, and the scribbled pencil inside seems the tiniest bit faded.

your eyes scan the note.

‘You were right.

Hope you can understand.’

— sr

you pick up the vase and throw it against the wall. glass shatters. dead flowers fall to the floor.

your knees give out and you crumple to the floor, sitting amidst reminders of once was.

you let yourself cry for the first time in a while.

[manticore-fangs]

POV: you (trying to) baby-trap soap.

cw: breeding, dub-con/non-con?? leg-locking, idk what else. you’ve been warned

johnny’s hands on your hips as he fucks into your slick cunt, moaning and groaning above you. fucking the living hell out of you. the squelching noises bouncing off the walls while you moan so sweetly like candy. though you did lie about being on your birth control while fucking johnny, knowing he has a breeding kink. you just want his kid so bad! so why not fuck him when your ovulating and off those pills!!

you throw your head back, your legs thrown over johnnys shoulders. you huff and moan, writhing around. the pleasure being almost unbearable at the fact he’s almost hitting your cervix. sore from the bruising of his grip on the back of your thighs and sore from the tip of his cock hitting that sweet spot so well.

“fuck lassie. need’ya pussy so bad- need to breed ya’ pussy with ma’ loads.” he moans out with a whine. thrusting even harder with the pace he’s at now. you start to leg lock him, wrapping your legs around his waist and locking him in to not waste his cum. while locking him, you claw at his back. desperately trying to grip something and distract him from noticing how your leg locking him so intensely.

“lemme fill ya’ with ma’ babes lassie- please. need tae’ get ye’ barefoot and pregnan’ fer me.” he grunts out, slamming his hips against yours harshly. most likely to leave bruises in his way of fucking the living shit out of you. you nod your head at his words. “yes, yes! please get me pregnant johnny- want your babies so bad. promise you’ll give me your kids, promise me please.” you bet with the man, forcing him to make a promise with you while the pleasure starts to spike.

“i promise. i promise ya’. i’ll fill yer womb with ma’ babes, i promise you tha’. trust me, i’m dumpin’ my loads into ya’ as much as possible. forcing my loads inside your womb so you can give me some babies.” he rambles on. you moan loudly at every single word, grabbing at his shoulders and back. scratching him as you guys both get closer to the edge. a large wave pulling back and-

“fuck, give it tae’ me lassies, give me yer orgasm. c’mon, let johnny fuck his cum into ya’.” and that breaks you too pieces. legs shaking yet staying still as your leg is still locked around his waist. before he realizes he can’t pull out. “cannae’ pull out lassie- gotta-“ “no!” you say, tears rolling down your cheeks. “no, want you to come in me please. please johnny need to feel it.” you start to hump into him while he whimpers. nodding to you as you speak, beginning to thrust up into you to chase his orgasm.

the overstimulation consuming you as you go under, finally feeling the warmth of johnny’s seed inside your cunny. so you do is rest and lay numb in the bed. johnny rolls over, grabbing you and flipping you onto him. your feeling horribly tired from the rough fuck but right as you let sleep take you. you hear the words.

“i kno’ ya’ stopped taking yer birth control. don’t worry lass. i switched ‘em out for sugar pills anyways.”

[writersdrug]

MDNI, Somnophilia, consent discussed off-screen

Waking up with an all-too-familiar wetness between your legs, mind racing to the gutter before you were even fully aware of your surroundings, suddenly remembering that your boyfriend Johnny came home from the mission in the middle of the night.

You lazily toss a leg over his hip, pulling yourself as close as you could, heart fluttering as he instinctively wraps an arm around your lower back and pulls you against him. Soft puffs of his warm breath dancing over the top of your head, fingers twitching against the small of your back... his thigh is thick and firm between the apex of your own, warm and muscular, skin soft and covered with coarse hair... you can't help but roll your hips against it, the pressure nice and hard on your clit through the soaked fabric of your panties. You bite your lip and muffle your whimpers - you don't want to wake your tired soldier, now do you? - sighing prettily as you drag your cunt up and down his leg, your one hand fisting the nape of his shirt.

He must have sensed your arousal in his dreams - he slowly comes to, sliding a thick, calloused hand into your hair and inhaling deeply. He presses his thigh further in between your legs, ears picking up on the way your breath hitches in your throat, soft hiccups falling from your lips as you grind your pussy against him. He groans, sliding his other hand back to grab a handful of your ass and squeezes the flesh, warm and spilling in between his fingers.

"Cannae wait 'til I get a proper sleep, eh?" He taunts, voice heady and thick with sleep, the timbre rumbling thriugh his chest and straight into your core. Bouncing his leg against your puffy folds and smirking down at you. You feel his cock come to life under his briefs as he delivers a harsh slap to your ass cheek, the sound echoing through the bedroom and making you yelp. He grabs your hip and you helps you keep up the rhythm, rolling your pelvis to find that delicious balance between your clit throbbing and your hole clenching.

"Ye woke me up n' grind on me like a bitch in heat? Go on, Bonnie - tha's it, ye hoor, grind tha' pussy on me baby..."

[heavenbarnes]

More weirdo older bf Simon 🙏

this is from the alternate universe!simon where he’s still older bf!simon but a weird old perv 🫶🏼 (implied ghoap at the end)

it’s cold, cold enough that older bf!simon can see his breath.

he can also hear johnny’s teeth rattling, mostly cold but there’s a hint of-

“fuckin’ boring- shite end of the stick”

boredom.

hold up in fuck knows where in the freezing cold with a rifle laid across his thighs listening to johnny whinge his fucking ear off.

“course gaz didnae have t’do this- pretty boy never has t’freeze his bollocks off”

simon gets how shit this is, believe him.

it’s shit that he and johnny have to sit frozen (figuratively and literally) and just wait for the target to appear.

it’s been three days, the fucker isn’t showing.

but what’s worse (because simon argues he has the worse end of that shitty stick) is that he had to up and leave you.

got the call while you were in the shower, he’d barged through the door you could’ve sworn you’d locked and once he got you to stop screaming he’d had to break the news.

“m’off”

“oh, ok- for how long?”

“not sure, a bit”

only hint of a silver lining was the “good luck, be safe” reach around you gave him when he peeled his kit off and joined you in the water.

he really felt like he was beginning to make progress with you.

yes, you still were a little uneasy with his staring problem and yes, he still needed to learn to ask “please” and not just put your hand in his pants.

but you hadn’t left yet.

and to simon? shit, that’s as good as a hand in marriage.

he didn’t even have the pleasure of sitting in silence and missing you- not with that little bastard in his ear.

“can’ye check again, L.t?”

fuck sakes.

reluctantly, simon takes his phone out one of the pockets on his vest because, as much as johnny was doing his nut it-

he just had to know.

he chooses the app that brings up the livestream of cameras around your shared home. does his obligatory check of the outside perimeter, makes sure nobody is taking liberties.

then he begins the hunt.

you’ll be around here somewhere.

room by room, he looks for the shape of you.

“here pretty, pretty”

johnny’s eyes flicker from the horizon to the device in simon’s hands, almost buzzing in excitement.

“come out, come out”

might’ve been the trip down memory lane but it’s more than likely the anticipation, simon was chubbing up in his trousers.

“found you”

johnny all but leapt from his post until he was at simon’s side, eyes drawn to the way you moved around the living room.

as you moved into the view of the other camera, simon’s heart nearly stopped.

you were in his shirt.

“the sight a’that, L.t.”

you were a sight, that’s for sure. perching yourself in the corner of the couch, the two men watched as you scrolled your phone absentmindedly.

one leg outstretched, the other pulled up at the knee.

a rustle of leaves had both men snapping their attention back to their surroundings, keeping a keen ear and eye out before they hurried back to you.

pretty old you.

doing nothing more than reading an article or watching a tiktok or doing- anything.

but you might as well have been stroking yourself right there.

they could’ve claimed it was your bare legs, the way they could imagine you might’ve had no underwear, the curve of your chest under simon’s shirt-

it was no use.

they both knew exactly what it was.

they liked to stare.

liked watching you while you were none the wiser, that at any moment you could start touching yourself and have no idea you had an audience.

the thrill of the chase or whatever they called it.

“cannae believe you’ve got tha’ waiting at home”

“neither can i, mate”

simon watched you sink lower into the couch, silently praying you were reading one of those dirty little stories you liked.

probably weren’t, obedient thing probably saving it all up till he got home to wring it out of you.

he’d have to make do with imagination.

“here, ‘old this”

johnny grumbled but took the phone nonetheless. his eyes stayed fixed on you as he heard the sounds of simon’s belt, rustle of trousers, spitting on hands.

“if i have t’hold this ye’ave to help me oot”

[brewed-pangolin]

MDNI 18+

Imagine being woken up by Captain MacTavish's strong arms around your waist.

The sun had barely crested over the horizon. A soft bluish red glow emanated from behind the curtain, yet all you could feel was his vice like grip and the weight of his muscular leg over the flesh of your thigh.

And a very prominent, however languid jab of his hardened length against the small of your back ad he undulated his hips against your still sleeping form.

"John," you managed finally on a groggy whimper. Sleep loosening its tight hold on your psyche as the feel of him rubbing his cock against your back took hold.

"C'mon, love." His breath, hot and despondent, ran like a gentle stream against the back of your neck.

Familiar. Vulnerable. Cleansing.

And you didn't have to ask. You knew by the subtle quiver in his voice what the Captain was so desperately pining for.

"John. It's not even 6am."

"Aye. I know. Just let me stick it in for a while, yeah?"

His calloused hand traversed the flesh of your pelvis, pressing into the curve of your hip to assist in promiscuous provocation. Lifting your leg just enough as he positioned himself against your backside and leisurely slid himself into your heat.

You breathed deeply the moment you felt him stretch within your silken walls. Expelling a quiet murmur of his name, his hand splaying out over the flesh of your abdomen until he was fully seated within your tightness of your cunt.

"Tha's it, m'lass. Jus' let me sit 'ere a while."

His accent always ran thicker when he was lost in the feel of you wrapped around him.

His well maintained and muscular physique enveloping the entirety of your back. Draping over you like a weighted blanket while he inserted the essence of himself into the depths of your soul.

He inhaled the fine fragrance of your sleep cloaked scent. Night time jasmine with a hint of fresh cotton. Pulling a soft growl from his depths as you felt him pulse against the walls of your soaking core. Clenching around him. A barely audible moan rolling over your lips as he hovered his mouth over the nape of your neck.

"Don't move, lass. Cannae take it when ya clench 'round me like tha'."

You obliged, reluctantly. Easing your mind. Blanking out all thoughts and letting him bask in the warmth and silken hug that only your divine pussy could provide.

"You're gonna have to make up for waking me up, John."

"Aye? An' how would ya like me to do tha?"

You replied with a smooth buck of your hips into him. Your ass pressing into his pelvis, tugging a muffled groan thar reverberates within the confines of his throat.

"Yer a little minx, y'know tha'?"

"You're the one that started this, Captain. Are you going to finish it, or am I going to have to take command?"

His hands pressed firmly into the divots of your hips in response to your taunting quip. Burying himself deeper into your tight femininity, asserting his reprimand while the soothing baritone of his voice echoed against the shell of your ear.

"Keep it up, lass. An' I'll show you just how voracious my command can be."

I'm horny for the Captain, okay?

Captain MacTavish Masterlist

[charliemwrites]

Part 3 for mean!Simon

Content: Consensual dom/sub between Simon and Johnny; dubcon interactions with reader and Johnny. Simon is a dick per usual.

When Johnny comes home, the first thing Simon does is set him back to rights. He's been gone a bit, long enough to need a refresher on how things are done. Just in case he's gotten some silly ideas about who calls the shots.

So once he's through the door, squeezed a little "oof" out of you, and stuck his tongue down your throat, Simon hauls him off for a "reintroduction."

Simon gets him off fully-clothed, whining and panting on his boot, before he's satisfied that Johnny's not forgotten any of his manners. He's rewarded by getting to suck Simon's cock unguided for a little while, drooling and moaning and choking himself to tears. It makes such a pretty sight, Simon is almost tempted to save his discipline for another time.

Almost.

"Up."

Johnny's flushed face twists with dismay, but he drags himself away.

"What have I always told you about your toys, hm?"

Cock-drunk, it takes Johnny a moment to understand the question and develop an answer.

"Tha' I hafta earn 'em," Johnny answers, voice ruined.

Simon hums, carding his fingers through Johnny's sweat-soaked hair.

"And to keep 'em?" Simon prompts.

"Take care of 'em."

Such a smart, well-trained boy... mostly.

He yelps as Simon twists his fingers into his mohawk and wrenches his head back, exposing the vulnerable line of his bobbing throat.

"Then you want to explain what the fuck you've been doing with that pretty pussy I got you?"

Johnny's blinks, sputters. But it's obvious he doesn't understand what Simon means or why he's in trouble. Simon sighs in disappointment, knowing that'll just upset Johnny more.

"'S my fault, I s'pose. Thought you were ready." He shakes his head, eases his grip on Johnny's hair. "Thought you knew how to take care of such a nice toy."

He remembers the unmarked skin of your plush thighs, your round ass. Tsks and shakes his head, watching Johnny paw wordlessly, pleadingly, at his pants.

"M'sorry, sir," Johnny whimpers, puffy bottom lip wobbling. "M'sorry, I'll do better."

"Fuckin' right you will," Simon growls, curling a hand around his vulnerable throat. "Because you're not getting her back 'til I've taught you better. Understand?"

Johnny only just bites back a whine. But he sees the way Simon's eyes narrow and quickly nods, leaning into the hand on his throat, body going lax in submission.

"Yessir," he slurs. "Understood."

Simon strokes his thumb over Johnny's pulse, rumbling with approval. "Atta boy. Your first lesson: if you don't mark something as yours, it's free for the taking."

He hauls Johnny up and throws him face down on the bed.

"Let's begin."

--

By the time he's done with Johnny, the sun has gone down and the house smells like food.

It seems you haven't been idle while they've been preoccupied. Dinner is simmering on the stove and you're just finished turning the dishwasher over.

You turn as Johnny enters the kitchen, expression carefully neutral when you notice the slight limp in his step and the new, dark marks on his neck. He comes right up to you, slinging his arms around your waist and burrowing into your hair.

"Missed you, bonnie," he sighs. "Didnae say so earlier in all the excitement."

From the doorway, Simon watches you blink and carefully circle your arms around him in return. But your body stays rigid, slanted ever so slightly away. Would maybe even be leaning back if not for the counter against your spine.

"It's alright, I um... I got it from the kiss," you assure, patting his shoulder.

He nuzzles in a bit and you seem curious, confused. "Everything okay, Johnny?"

"Aye, jus'... LT says I cannae play with you for a while."

Your eyes dart to Simon, going big and nervous when you realize he's observing.

"Ah. W-well... uh, we can worry about that later, right?" you soothe, gently pulling away to look him in the eyes. He's bit sniffly still, even though Simon made sure he was good after "lesson." You just seem to comfort him like a favored stuffy. "Let's get a proper meal in you for now."

Johnny nods, clutching onto yours hand as you lead him around the kitchen. Collecting serving bowls, spoons, ladling out stew in generous portions - at least for two of the servings - all with one free hand.

Johnny is quiet, drowsy. You keep glancing at him, but he only sways into you whenever you stop moving, rubbing his cheek against yours.

"Havnae been takin' care of you right," he mumbles as you're reaching for tumblers from the cabinet. "LT is gonnae teach me better, though."

You freeze, blood draining from your pretty face. Your eyes flick fearfully to Simon, right where you last saw him. He doesn't so much as twitch, staring you down until you visibly swallow and turn away. There's a little tremble to your hand now as you finish getting the glasses.

"That should be... interesting," you manage. "Ready to eat?"

"Aye, m'hungry. Missed your cooking."

You muster up a shaky smile and gently hand him a bowl of stew.

"That's good to hear, Johnny. C'mon, before it gets cold."

You send him off to the dining table. In his absence, you draw in a deep breath. Then pour Simon a glass of bourbon, taking both it, and his bowl of stew to his customary spot at the head of the dinner table.

He stalks from his place in the kitchen doorway, purposefully crossing you at the corner so that you're forced to flatten yourself against the wall and sidestep. While he seats himself, he hears you getting yourself a water, collecting your own bowl.

When you return, you try to sit next to Johnny as usual, who's sat at Simon's right. This way, he acts as a buffer between you two. But Simon clicks his tongue and you pause, turning to him with a curious blink.

"Over here." He gestures to his left side, putting you across from Johnny.

"Oh... um, okay."

You shuffle around to the other side, still shaky as you set your bowl down and take a seat. Simon watches you for a long moment as you studiously avoid his gaze, eyes on your water glass.

"This is your spot from now on. Understood?" he asks.

You tilt your head enough to make it obvious you're answering him. "Yes, sir."

"Look at me when you answer," he corrects.

You twitch a bit, shift uncomfortably as you force your eyes to look at his chest.

"Yes, sir," you repeat, soft and conciliatory."

"Atta girl," he gruffs. "Now fuckin' eat, the both of you."

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Masterlist

[shotmrmiller]

johnny en las almas

It feels like the man with the skull mask had just left when another person traipses in through the broken front door. He's not as sneaky as the big boy— the shattered glass of your windows crunching under his boots with each step. With each inhale, his breath is ragged and uneven, his teeth clattering together due to the biting cold of the rain pouring outside.

Peeking through the crack of the closet door, you watch the muscle-bound soldier with the mohawk moving cautiously through your home— first going left towards your bedroom, then right towards the bathroom.

"Picked up some tape." Scottish accent. Is he talking to himself?

A brief pause settled in the air, interrupted solely by the faint noise of him rummaging through the cupboard.

"If I have to wrap a gift?" He has a radio, then.

Following that, he falls silent, continuing his search for supplies when the plastic bucket you're sitting on unexpectedly caves in, causing a loud and startling noise. Shit. Shit shit shit—

"Out, palms flat on the floor, or I break yer neck." His voice is like steel— hard and cold, much unlike a few minutes before when he was bantering with whoever it was.

You push the door open with the crown of your head to keep your hands flat on the floor as you fearfully crawl out, craning your neck to look at him.

"Creepin' bloody jesus. Cannae be scarin' me like tha', coulda killed ye."

Perhaps it's the overwhelming stress of everything that has unfolded today— from the unexpected arrival of Americans to the uncertainty of becoming just another statistic that leads you to respond with an unwise touch of sarcasm.

"So sorry, friend. I'll be sure to let you know when I leave for work tomorrow, yeah?"

He surprisingly chuckles, wincing when his shoulders shake. "Aye, sorry, sorry," he extends a hand toward you. "Terrible hidin' spot, though."

With a single motion, he effortlessly raises you to your feet. "If you're friends with a bear-sized man that wears a skull mask, he told me the same thing."

As you glance downwards, brushing off the dust from your knees, you fail to notice the piercing gaze he directs towards you. "He came through here?"

"Mhm," you confirm. "Picked me up like a dog and threw me in this closet behind him. He saved my life, though."

Straightening, you glance up at him, only to finally notice the openly bleeding wound on his right arm. "May I?" you gesture at his injury.

His hesitance is obvious, the corner of his thin lips pulling downward and dark brows furrowing so you confess, "I'm a nurse. Well, was, until I came here. I swear to know what I'm doing. Come with me, I've-" but whatever you were about to say is smothered by his hand, fingers digging into your soft cheeks, and uses his other to place a finger over his mouth.

Silence.

He turns his head to the side; an unsettling stillness descending upon the two of you. Suddenly, he's roughly grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the bedroom, where he presses you firmly against the wall closest to the door.

He whispers harshly into your ear. "Do. not. move."

Trembling with fear, you instinctively curl up, shrinking into yourself as if trying to disappear from sight. Luckily, whoever they were left as fast as they came— merely using your home as a shortcut.

Mohawk man takes no chances, however, so you're effectively pinned under him for a considerable amount of time until he deems it completely safe.

The small grin he gives you after is apologetic. "Sorry."

You irritably soothe the ache on your cheeks. "It's alright. Can't wait to get out of this pisshole, though."

He's acquiescent after, letting you quickly clean and dress his wound. "I have no more bandages so this'll have to do." The sound of fabric being torn echoes in the bathroom. "Get seen for this injury as soon as you're able, otherwise you'll have a nasty infection on your hands."

He huffs out a small laugh. "Dinnae ye mean arm?"

Charming. "Your friend left through the back door. That's all I know."

"Aye. Thank ye." He quickly hops off the counter, jogs to the back door, and with one last glance at you, he disappears.

-

"Gimme a sit-rep." Ghost says over comms.

"Outside...Gated alley."

[peachetteprice]

The Ever-forgetful John "Soap" MacTavish,

Who just happens to turn the kitchen tap on during your shower, at the exact point in which you need the release of hot water on your skin, and - as a requiem of British plumbing - it sucks the warmth from the water until you're left shivering, ballooned by half your weight in suds alone, and crouched like a beggar before the shower-head until it returns to lukewarm; at best. Naturally, you've told him time and time over never to put the tap on; never to fill the kettle to boil, never to flush the toilet or wash his hands whenever you needed to clean yourself - it was common decency.

Now, he asserts this would be possible if you kept your showers short, though, you'd learnt by month three of your relationship that what he meant by short was a thirty-second (nary a minute) hop-in, hop-out with a bottle of three-in-one doused, rubbed and subsequently rinsed from every crevace and hair follicle on one's body, as he had done between training sessions, spat at by a man whose impatience rivalled that of WW2 bomber over London during the bloody Blitz.

Anything north of that - thirty-seconds, that is - is free game. Hence, what should have been a thirty-minute 'everything' shower becomes something of an Irish jig, tip-toeing back and forth like a naked man on hot coals, hissing, hoo-ing and hah-ing as you deliberate the numerous ways you might enact a similar torture on him. Hair-dye in his shampoo? Moisturiser instead of toothpaste? Refusal of any and all bathroom-related sex?

It's the thought that plagues your mind as you exit the shower, dissatisfied as if there still exists an itch on your back that can not be reached, that you've been aimlessly swatting at for the duration of your shower, wrapping a hasty towel across your torso to meet him in the kitchen.

You barely sniffle at the wet footsteps along the hardwood floors, though it's exactly the sort of foolishness you'd slap his shoulder for leaving, after you'd so dutifully mopped them the previous week. It'll sink in the grain, don't you know? The wood fibres will pick it up like a sponge in the rain, and you'll be left with damp-smelling floorboards that creak in the summer and crack in the winter, and there'll be no getting those mould stains out!

...Is the sort of vitriol your brain spills as you enter the kitchen, expecting to see Johnny fiddling with the kettle to perfect just the right amount of water for two cuppas - oh, none for him, only two for you, one right after your shower and another, ten minutes after the first.

But he isn't there. He isn't anywhere, in fact. The kettle isn't warm, and there are no used tea bags on the tea bag-catcher, seeping their remaining liquid onto the work surface so it stains.

But there is, however, one long green hospipe trailing from the kitchen tap, hooked taught on its end, out through a crack in the window, through the rear garden. And, whisked away by curiosity, you follow its trail.

There he is.

Watering the plants?

"Johnny?"

He turns. Almost points the hosepipe in the same direction, too, with that giddy smile of his, but he has just enough tact in himself not to do that - not after you've just showered. "Y'cannae be comin' outside in tha', Bonnie, you'll catch yer death!"

"Is this what you've been doing whilst my shower's been running cold?"

Johnny turns into an imbecile with that daft frown on him. Never has a man with such a large brain looked so terribly confused by something so simple. What were you talking about, what he's been doing? Cannae ye see?

"Not quite." His brow furrows. "Oi... I told ye to get back inside, lass. Never mind yous flashin' the neighbours." Then pauses for a moment as he re-adjusts his grip on the hosepipe. "Aye, ye might wanna watch this, though."

And watch, you do.

As he sheds the seriousness from his face, dons a more appropriately pleased smile, lifting the hose up to the neighbours fence - just so that the curve of the water arches over the panels - he sends a fledged stream over top of the boundary.

You're about to shout. Really. You're about to put on your mummy-voice (that's what he calls it), perhaps the only instinct you have in you to shout 'John MacTavish', in the most disappointed tone you can muster - reminds him of his Mam, it does, when he used to steal biscuits out of the biscuit jar when he wasn't supposed to - until he ceases everything that could possibly have warranted it in the first place.

Though, just as your lips part, you watch something black - maybe a dark brown, actually - dart across the stream, rendering it effectively useless in its spread.

Johnny turns to you, eyes wide, mouth agape. "Tha' was a good'un, did ye see that, love?!"

He knows you're confused. He can see it in your eyes.

So he does it again.

And it happens again.

A black - no, it's definitely brown this time, just soddened by the water enough to resemble tar - thing leaps past the spout of water. You can hear it chomping, jingling, panting, and it soon dawns on you what the shadow is;

It's a dog - it's the neighbour's bloody dog.

Johnny waits for your reaction - he hopes it's similar to his: complete awe. Imagine his shock - he was only watering the hedges! But you can only relinquish a sigh and a slightly (emphasis on slight) amused chuckle as you note;

"That's what you've been doing for half an hour whilst I've been in the shower? Playing with the neighbour's dog?"

"Yeah!" He gave the fence another squirt, and sure as the rain, the pup came rumbling after it, jaw agape for maximum bite. "An' I don't even like dogs, but ye cannae be mad at him, look how happy he is!"

And, as you step back through the kitchen with a tired laugh, feet still dripping with water, goosebumps prickled along your skin (and although there will be words to have later in the afternoon), you know his words hold some semblance of truth;

That you can't be mad at him, look how happy he is!

| Masterlist |

[random-thot-generator]

Reverse Trope Prompt: (see end notes after reading. No peeking!)

Full list here

Ghost x reader

sfw -bit of angst, profanity, a frisky drunk bird but nothing explicit

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

"Looks like LT's pulled 'imself another winner."

Gaz glances over his shoulder, sniffs, then turns back with a cynical curl to his lip. Lifting his pint glass, he slants a knowing look at his fellow sergeant. "He's lost the bloody plot, if ya ask me. Hooks up with every bird he gets his hands on, now." He shakes his head. "'S bloody mental, mate. What the hell is he thinkin'?"

Soap grunts, mouth twisting in disgust as he focuses on his lieutenant and the cackling drunk bird splayed across his lap. "Canna say. Dinnae ken wha's gotten into 'im. Feckin' mad, lettin' a bonnie, good lass go t'chase after sloppy-drunk tarts like tha' one."

"You lads ready for another round?"

Both men flinch at the sound of your voice and glance up at you with guilty expressions. They know you had to have heard what they were saying. Gaz drops his gaze as he nods and pushes his glass across the bar, while Soap tilts his head to study you. You meet his searching blue eyes while you refill Gaz's pint, knowing what's coming. You breathe out a tired sigh.

"What's the matter, Johnny?"

His brows pinch together in a perturbed frown. "Does it no' bother yeh, 'im flauntin' those mingin' slags right in yer face?"

"Jesus, Soap!" Gaz hisses, elbowing him. "Shut ya bloody gob." He then turns his attention back to you, offering an apologetic smile. "Sorry, luv. He's got no filter when he drinks too much."

"Oi! I dinnae need yeh t'make excuses fer meh," Soap fusses, still scowling when he looks back to you. "'M sorry, hen. Dinnae mean t'upset yeh. Jus' think it's no' right, 'im scrapin' yeh off the way 'e did, then comin' in 'ere where yeh work, messin' about with other birds, like 'e does. 'S disrespectful."

Your eyes drift to Ghost, grimacing at the way the woman in his lap is pawing at him, before dropping your eyes to glare at the bar top. "It doesn't matter," you mutter, wiping down the bar with more force than is necessary. "We're over, so he can do what he wants with whoever he wants. I think him breaking things off between us was probably for the best, don't you?"

The two sergeants exchange a look.

Soap huffs and slumps on his bar stool, mumbling into his pint, "Yeh're too good fer 'im, anyway." He knocks the last of his stout back with an angry sneer.

Gaz nods in agreement, his eyes sympathetic when he adds, "Ya can do better, luv. Deserve someone who'll treat ya right."

You try to smile, but it's fake, brittle. "Seriously, it's alright. I'm over it. Really."

You can tell that neither of them believes you.

Your call for last orders goes out a few minutes later, and the few customers left in the pub begin to drift towards the door. Gaz and Soap are settling up their tabs when Ghost steps up behind them, the giggling drunk bird tucked under his arm. His dark eyes slide over you, like you're not even there.

"'M headin' out, lads. I'll see the two'uh ya back at base. Gonna take 'er 'ome," he tells the sergeants, nodding down at the bleary-eyed bird glued to his side.

Gaz give a curt nod, avoiding eye contact. Soap makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. "Aye. Jus' keep rubbin' 'er nose in it," he mutters, then sniffs, shaking his head. "Steamin' Jaysus."

Ghost tenses, eyes narrowing over his face mask. "Ya gotta problem, sergeant?"

Just as Soap's mouth opens to reply, you clear your throat, breaking the tense moment. "How 'bout a bag of crisps to soak up all that alcohol, Johnny? My treat."

His head swivels around to look at you, the scowl slowly melting off his face when he sees your worried expression. He blows out a breath. "Aye. Thanks, bon." He side-eyes Ghost, then looks away. "See ya later, LT," he mumbles.

The drunk bird makes a whining noise, tugging at Ghost's jacket. "C'mon, luv. Leh's gooo. 'M ready t'get home." She then gives him a drunken, lewd grin, pressing up against him. "Ya can help me get these tights off, yeah?" she whispers to him, waggling her eyebrows.

Ghost grunts a laugh, seemingly amused. "Cheeky muppet. Olright. Let's get outta here."

You busy yourself with wiping down the bar as Ghost leads the tottering woman out the door, then toss your towel down once he's gone. Snagging two bags of crisps for the sergeants, you hand one to each of them.

"Here ya go," you murmur. "Need me to call a taxi for ya?"

"No thanks, luv," Gaz replies softly, sliding off his stool. "I already ordered us an Uber. Let's go, Soap."

Soap stands, his crisps clutched in his hand. He's scowling, shaking his head. "'E's a bloody eejit," he mutters.

You finally wave goodbye to the two sergeants, locking up behind them once you usher them out the door. Blowing out a tired breath, you lean back against it and stare down at your trainers.

"God, I'm glad this night is over," you mumble to yourself, then heave another sigh before heading back to the bar, ready to close up for the night and get out of there.

The drive home is short, just a couple blocks away, but it still gives you too much time to think. This is by far the worst break-up you've ever been through. None of your work mates or friends can seem to go a day without mentioning it. Even worse, Simon's mates won't let it go, either.

You appreciate their support, but seriously wish that Soap and Gaz would stop bringing Simon up, altogether. It's hard enough watching the big lug flirting with birds right under your nose. You don't need Soap pointing it out to you, or Gaz giving you those sad, pitying looks all night.

You try to shake off your negative thoughts as you park and walk to your flat. It's sweet that the lads are trying to be there for you, but you hope that they'll just let it go soon. Maybe you should just tell them you're seeing someone else. It might help put their minds at ease, get them to back off a little bit.

Once inside your flat, you toe off your trainers and turn on the lights, then pad into the kitchen. Putting some leftovers in the microwave, you shuffle off to take a quick shower while it's heating, hoping the hot water will soothe away some of your stress.

As you're toweling off, you hear your front door open and then close. Hurrying to get dressed, you open the bathroom door, the smell of yesterday's shepherd's pie hitting your nose. You hear the clatter of plates and utensils coming from the kitchen as you pace down the short hallway and peek around the corner. You stop when you reach the doorway, leaning your shoulder against the jamb and crossing your arms over your chest.

"Took you awhile to get here. Thought you might've decided to stay the night with that bird, after all."

Simon sets the leftover shepherd's pie he just took out of the microwave on the table, smirking. Tossing down the potholders, he comes to you, his big arms wrapping around your body to pull you close before his head dips to give you a kiss.

"Took forever t'get 'er outta the bloody truck an' into 'er flat. 'Ad t'fight 'er off'uh me the whole way there, too, the handsy git." He rumbles out a low chuckle. "She was right pissed when I left without helpin' 'er outta those tights."

You huff, cutting him a snarky look. "Yeah, I bet." You frown, sliding your hands down his chest. "I wish we didn't have to do this, Si. I don't like seeing other women all over my man, and I hate lying to everyone, especially Johnny and Kyle."

He sighs, lifting a hand to cradle your face. "I know, sweet'art, but it won't be f'much longer. Cap says Nik's almost got all of our documents an' passports in order. When it's time, we'll loop Gaz an' Johnny in. My next mission out, Ghost will be reported KIA, an' once he's laid t'rest, it'll finally be over. No more sneakin' around, no more lyin'. We'll 'ave new identities, a new life." He hugs you tighter. "An' I can finally provide my missus wiff a proper 'ome."

"Si..."

His eyes go lazy and warm as he slides his hand down to cover your belly. "Gotta 'ave a proper 'ome, love. 'S why we're doin' this. Wanna be free an' clear a'fore the li'l nipper gets 'ere. Yeah?"

You gaze up into your husband's eyes, a hopeful smile spreading across your face. You plant a kiss on his smirking lips and nod.

"Yeah."

-

End notes - *shrugs* I didn't want to spoil the ending. 😉

reverse trope: Instead of fake dating, everyone is convinced that you aren’t actually dating

[98752-blog]

super scary

TW: anal plug, discomfort/coercion, swearing, costumes, butt pats, no smut. but eating out and fingering, implied betting, implied infatuation, manhandling, public indecency pt.2, voyeurism pt.2

"A deal's a deal, lass." You grimaced at the man in front of you, the tiny pair of shorts nothing more than a flimsy piece of cloth.

"You can't be serious." He grinned at you, two parts smug and one part eager.

"Put it o', er I'm telling Lt. tha you 'ere tae one ta switch ou' his tea."

"That was you!" You snarled, snatching the costume from his open hands, and stomping to the washroom, fuming all the way. He only chortled, laying on your bed, arms crossed behind his head.

"Wouldnae ha' ta do this, ha' ye just won." You growled, stripping off your fatigues and pulling on the little crop top and cut out shorts. Though something was just... off about this.

"Soap..." You called, voice echoing in the quiet. He hummed, voice low and distant.

"Why is there a hole in these shorts."

...

"O, didnae tell ye, hen? Yer goin' as a werewolf. Super scary."

You cracked open the door to stare at him. His gaze was already on you, heated and dark, you felt his stare dragging up and down your form and could barely repress your shiver.

"Okay, that doesn't explain the hole where my asscrack is..?" He groaned while sitting up, neck popping as he stretched. You waited in suspense, an uneasy feeling settling in your gut. He walked (stalked) over to you, his broad shoulder leaned against the doorframe, and his blue gaze looked thunderous.

"I forgot the best part." Your eyes widened and your breath stilled when you saw the tail dangling from his fingers, the anal plug swinging slowly - side to side.

"No fucking way." You said, retreating into the bathroom to change, his hand stopped the door from closing, all you could see was his reflection in the mirror as he openly checked your figure.

"C'mon hen, squads waitin' o' ye. Can' miss th' parteh, jus' caus' yer gettin' shy."

"Soap, that's a buttplug." You hissed, whipping around to face him, he loomed over you, a small smirk pulling at his lips. You could barely meet his eyes, heat crawling over your face.

"I ken, though ye cannae be a werewolf witou' yer tail. Is jusnae righ'."

"I've never -" You faltered, it was hard to deny the attraction you felt for the Sergeant, the underlying lust that followed you everywhere like a shadow; if Soap's dilated eyes were anything to go by, he felt the exact same.

"S'alrigh' hen, I can help ye, nice and easy yeh? Make it fast and comfortable fer mah girl." He growled, hands already reaching for the shorts.

"Soap - I can't, that's so - what if they find out!" You hissed, hands weakly attempting to pry his fingers off. He hushed you, working the shorts around your knees and flipping you around so your hips pressed against the counter.

"Soap!" He wasn't paying you any attention, you saw his eyes - blown out in lust as he witnessed your wetness coating the inside of your thighs.

"Steamin' -" He hadn't even finished before his mouth was on you, thumbs parting your cheeks and tongue laving your entrance. You gasped, a whine escaping you. He groaned at the sound, wet noises filling the room.

"Soap..." You cried, eyes slipping shut as your hips undulated on his face, he 'hummed', you nearly buckled underneath the pleasure, legs shaking from the stimulation. Almost forgot why he was down there in the first place until you felt the pressure against your hole.

"Sucha bonnie thing..." he rumbled, warmth coating his voice. You could still feel his breath against your clit and you whined when you felt the tip of his finger slip in.

"Soap - it hurts." You whimpered, hips pulling away, he shushed you, pressing a heavy kiss between your pussy and asshole.

"Jus'a lil more, I promise it'l feel so good when ah've finished." you whimpered at the intrusion, his finger gently coaxing your walls to stretch, when he made to press a second finger in you cried out, legs spasming - your calf brushed something hard and he made a soft noise of pain.

"Lass yer killin' meh - stay still." You gasped and did your best to turn and glare at his kneeling form, though your eyes were drawn to the prominent bulge in his pants.

"E-easy for you to say, you're the one- sitting down." there was no real heat to your words, not when he was two knuckles deep in your ass.

"I can hav' yeh sit on mah cock - make yeh nice an' pliable, soft... let you relax," he purred, lips slipping past his fingers to lap at your soaked cunt, he hummed at the twitch of your hips - chuckling when your walls spasmed against his tongue.

"Nearly there, jus'a lil' longer. Such'a good girl," he crooned, voice a husky whisper - you keened when you felt the cold steel breech your hole alongside his fingers.

"Too - too much, Johnny!" You cried, squirming to get away, he held you carefully, shushing you absentmindedly. Before you knew what was happening, the pressure was gone, and all you were left with was a weight sitting low low low, in your belly.

"Wha'a bonnie sight," You could feel the fake fur of the tail brushing against your legs, the stickiness of your thighs already coating the material.

"Giv' us a walk, do a lil' spin, make sure yer all secure." He said whilst he pulled your shorts up - none too gently, brows twitching when you gave a pathetic moan before he sat back on his heels, hand palming his erection. You couldn't move, could barely breathe, you shakily released the sink, before taking a stumbling step forwards. His hands caught your waist, and you felt some of your slick on his palms.

"Soap, I can't do this." You whimpered, the plug was pressing against something sensitive along your walls - every shift brushed just enough to send a little tremor through your core.

"Non' o' tha' hen, this is yer punishment, shoul' jus' suck i' up and enjoy the rest o' th' night. C'mon, th' lads are probl'y arsed we're so late."

dedicated to my fav writers: @charliemwritesand @shotmrmiller

I love you both 😭😭😭😭 you inspire me everyday and make me realize I am but a dog

[forestshadow-wolf]

"AH DON'T KNOW! Captain." Soap snapped, adding the honorific a moment later like an afterthought. "Jus'- ah'm ignorin' it an' hopein' it goes away." He huffs.

"'Hope' you're gonna 'hope' it goes away. You know it doesn't work that way, right?" Price scrutinized.

"Yeah, well what other choice do I have?"

"You could tell him."

@thejacketscloset @queermentaldisaster have fun :)

Soap scoffed at the mere suggestion. "What? So he can have a laugh? He doesnae do this, Price. And even if he did, it wouldnae be fer me." He crossed his arms petulantly.

They'd been fighting about it for the last fourty-five minutes now. Price apparently doesn't care about the fraternization, only focused on playing matchmaker. Not that he's not glad price isn't kicking him out, but I'd be a hell of a lot simpler.

"He h- He would. For you. Only you."

It's not exactly a secret. The thing that is definitely not a crush that he has for Ghost. But it's not exactly spoken either. And he's about 86.77% sure that Ghost is either unaware of it, or is politely ignoring it for him.

"Oh, yer really wankin' oot yer arse, noo, Cap. He wouldnae." His accent coming out thick with agitation.

"Well, regardless you have to do something, Soap. We both know it. You won't survive 'til next month if something doesn't change."

"Like what?" Soap stressed, Price tried to cut him off, but soap pressed on. "Capt- Captain. C'mon, really, what am I s'ppos'd t' do? Ah cannae exactly ask him tae fuck me, an tell me t' kill mah-self, and even if ah could it wouldnae do nothin' but make it worse."

"If you'd just listen to what I'm saying.." price griped, it sounded like he grumblesmd something else under his breath as well, but soap was too worked up to bother asking.

"Yeah and have me gutted like a fish. And ah'd let him. Price, I'd let him." He was almost pleading, for what? He didn't know. "Then ye'd be down a damn good soldier. And ah'm pretty sure you're no' allowed to keep Ghost around either after tha', legally dead or not."

"He won't gut you." Price chastised him. "Look if you won't tell him, or do something about it, then I won't risk your life on the field either." The man sighed.

"Wha- You're sidelinein' me?!" He sputtered, "ye cannae do that."

"I can, and I will if something doesn't change some time in the next week. And I will be watching." The tone in the captain's voice left no room for argument. "Dismissed."

Soap did NOT sulk down the hallway, back to his room to change into gym clothes, and out to the running track. John Mactavish does not sulk.

He was probably about three and a half laps away from running himself ragged when he felt Gaz jog up beside him.

"Roach says you're getting benched next week."

"Roach needs to learn when to bugger off." Soap huffed. They lapse into patterned breathing for a moment, but Gaz just can't let him wallow, can he?

"Is it because of the Gh-"

"Yes its because of the Ghost thing, okay?" He cuts the brit off, "and its not for sure, just... yeah okay, maybe it's for sure."

"...Price is right though, you could just tell him."

"Jesu- does bugboy tell you everything, or what?" Soap groans, they'd slowed to more of a slow jog now. "You know what- don't answer that. And you know as well as I do that ah cannae."

"I don't, actually." Gaz ignores his little comments. "You haven't seen the way he looks at you. And Roach says he talks about you." He plows on before Soap can get a word in, "the same way you talk to me about him."

"Gaz, he doesnae look at me in any sort of way." He deadpans. He's properly runned out now, they wonder off the track to stretch before hitting the showers.

"Dude- I'm telling you he does!" Gaz knocks their shoulders together with a playful grin.

"An' ah'm tellin' you he doesnae." Soap reciprocates.

"C'mon, man, the whole base sees it. It's like you've hung the moon and stars themselves, to him."

"Yeah, right." Soap laughs, disbelieving. "I'm more of an annoyance, than anything else to him."

"Yeah well, look, when it turns out I'm right I want a full batch of apology cookies, and I get to tell you I told you so."

"Sure, whatever." Soap agrees easily, confident in his own assessment. They part ways at the showers, both having their routines and dities to fulfill.

"Gary says Price is probably benching you at the end of the week, wanna explain that?" Ghost is nonchalantly leaning against the wall across from his door, seemingly waiting for him.

"That little vent dwelling twerp, just cannae keep his mouth shut can he-" soap sighs, unlocking his door, using the action to hide the thick lump he swallowed. "I'm nae getting benched." Probably..... he just needs to figure his shit out.

He pushes off the wall to follow soap into his room. "Is this about you taking all those solo missions? And how you've been doing your best to avoid me for months now?"

Yes- "No. Price is just being a numpty." He says, tossing his keys on the desk. He sits on his bed to unlace his boots.

"And your sure?" Ghost raises an eyebrow at him, he can tell from the way the mask shifts ever so Slightly. He's sitting in his desk chair now, facing him. "'cus uh.. I think Gary would say otherwise."

"Gary is a snitch, an' he doesnae ken how ta keep his mouth shut." He says pulling one boot off, and starting on the other

"He says there's something that the others are trying to convince you to tell me."

Soap grimaces as he pulls off his other boot, setting them neatly at the end of his bed.

"You can tell me, you know that.. right?"

"You dinnae want me to, L.T."

"Yeah? Try me." He deadpanned.

"You willnae like it." He warned, "and it'll change everything."

"I'm all ears."

"Uh.. k then... yeah ah lied, it is about. Yeh it's about tha'. It's nae-" he clears his throat, "it's not anything that you did, ah just... sometimes ah see you out of the corner of my eye.. and suddenly it's all I can pay attention to. An' I forget what ah'm supposed to be doin'. And ah forget every- everything except... an'- an' I've been takin' all the solos because it's the only time I can think, because every other time it's all just... I cannae seem to get myself to think about what ah need to." Once the words start, he can't seem to get them to stop, they just keep spilling out of his mouth. And Ghost doesn't stop him, just silently listening to him. And he really wishes he'd stop him, but he doesn't, and so he just keeps spewin' utter shite until his mouth runs out of steam.

Ghost doesn't say anything for a long while. Just looking at him, and he can't tell what he's thinking with the mask covering his face.

"You're wrong."

"What?"

"You're. Wrong." He says it slowly, like soap's some kind of idiot, and maybe he is. "This doesn't change anything.. and I do like it. I like it a lot."

Soap's brain short-circuits.

"I- huh?" Is his oh-so intelligent response.

"I'm telling you I feel the same."

"Oh." He says as his brain reboots. "... Roach is a snitch."

"Oh yeah, definitely."

"Ah shite."

"What?" Ghost sit forword in the chair.

"They'll never let this go now. Ah doubt shite- I owe Gaz a batch of cookies too."

Ghost only laughs at that.

[manticore-fangs]

part 2 of this.

cw: none really, just slight angst

“it- it’s me, johnny. i’m- i’m your wife.” you look at him and he looks at you, with a frown. “i’m sorry bonnie, i dunno ya’.” you start to whimper and cry, going down on your knees from your husband johnny not knowing who you were, he looked away as the four boys look at him then you. simon spoke up. “johnny.. you remember us.. but not your wife?” johnny all but shakes his head. “i’m sorry bonnie.. i really am. i just.. can’t remember.”

you look at him and waddle you way up to his bed. “please johnny. i love you a lot, please tell me this is a joke.” he shakes his head while you cry and whimper. you look at simon. he sat down next to you on the bed, you rest your head on his shoulder. crying before falling asleep from how tired you were.

•

the few days passed and you frequently visit johnny. though he may not remember you, you still make an effort to see him. this day, you both were alone as you put his favourite flowers near the window and he watched you intensely, watching how you move. you here sheets moving and wheels squeaking around the ground. you though it was nothing, just looking at the daisies and rubbing their petals.

then you felt a pair of arms around your waist. “i kno’ tha’ i cannae remember ye’. but i do kno’ that i still love ya’. your my wife after all and i married ye’ for a reason.” he spoke. his warmth engulfing your cold body from how freezing the hospital room was. “i know johnny.” you turn around in his hold and face him. you both hug for who knows how long, needing to feel that your johnny was safe and with you.

“i know.. you don’t know me but..” you stop talking and he looks at you, urging you to go on. “i want.. just one kiss. please..” you look down, tears welling up in your eyes. just waiting to get denied, but you feel his rough hands move your jaw up. he nods at you and you both move in for the kiss. it was a passionate kiss. tears falling down your face, leaving streaks of salty warm water across your cheeks.

you try to move away but johnny stops you from moving. he inches you closer and holds you tight, you put a hand to his chest and move back. breathing in fresh air as he looks at you, endearingly. “i think i remember you now.”

-

(short, sorry i have no motivation atm <\3)

[writersdrug]

The Good Friend

Chapter 2. Favoritism

Summary: Johnny discovers his purpose in Ghost's experiment.

Warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, kidnapping, stalking, suffocation, mentions of blood, drugging, psychotic behavior, obsessive behavior. Do not read if you are sensitive to these topics.

It was the lack of control – the lack of having a life in his hands, the lack of having someone beg for their soul. Ghost had gone almost two months without hearing it. That was Johnny’s reasoning for his behavior.

Ghost believed he had saved you – that’s what he said to Johnny. He rescued you from that dingy, roach-infested flat; the sleazebag neighbor would have snatched you up if Ghost didn’t get there first. Your job was draining, the turnover rate so high you were constantly picking up slack. Father dead, mother remarried and living in a different country, and no siblings. Your friends were your coworkers, who didn’t care about you when you were clocked out – and the bartender in the local pub you frequented, but he certainly wouldn’t miss you (he called you an under-tipper, however untrue it was).

So, he did the reasonable thing: he shoved his way into your flat while you were in the shower, sobbing about the stress of your job and your pitiful, little life (you really are a crybaby, aren’t you?). Waited patiently in the front closet as you tried to cheer yourself up, lighting that sickly-sweet candle, pouring a glass of wine, and settling on the couch with a copy of “Animal Farm”. Was nearly going to change his plans and pounce on you then and there, until you finally put the book down and placed your glass in the kitchen, padding back towards your room with a weary face.

You didn’t wake easily. It had taken almost a minute of Simon plugging your nose and mouth with his thick fingers before you started flailing. A knee to your pelvis did a good job at keeping you still, and it wasn’t much longer before you were out like a light again. It was easy to carry you to the truck, still wrapped in your blanket, looking all peaceful and dreamy, besides the tears on your cheeks (that made you look sexy, in Ghost’s opinion). And don’t worry, he made sure to grab some of your things for the long run. He’s willing to keep some knickknacks of your previous life if it helps you settle into your new one.

Johnny listened to each word Ghost said, filtering out your screams as he had stitched you up. Now he was processing it – his lieutenant had kidnapped a civilian.

He’s still kneeling in front of you, head in your lap as he battles with himself. He had to stitch you up – it wasn’t even the wrong thing to do. Either you would have bled out, or Ghost would have killed you himself. You should have been taken to the hospital, but Ghost wasn’t having it. Soap had to shush and beg you to stop crying as he patched your headwound – “stop cryin’, Bonnie, please? It’ll be over soon, you’ll be right as rain, I promise ye. Know it hurts ye, but I cannae have ye bleedin’ all over yerself, aye?” – now that you’re not dripping blood onto your lap, he’s got his head there, trying to catch up with his hammering heart.

“Come n’ wash your hands, Johnny.” Ghost calls from the kitchen.

Soap lifts his head; you’re still crying, much less now that there’s not a needle tugging at the skin of your forehead, but you’re still choking on your tears. You look down at him, your lip trembling as you suck in a breath.

“Please don’t go-��� you sob, looking down at him with earnest. Your voice is hoarse from crying – the fight is nearly drained out of you. “Please… he’s going to kill me-“

“He’ll nae kill you.” Soap says, gently grabbing the sides of your face. “I won’t let ‘im. I’m goin’ to clean up myself, then I’m gettin’ ye a towel and a glass o’ water, how’s tha’ sound?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer, already up and in the kitchen when you protest with a whine. Johnny wants to be the saint here, keeping both you and his friend safe and out of trouble (as much as he’s able). There’s just one problem, something that has him feeling the weight of shame in his gut – you’re so pretty when you’re crying, fat globs of tears spilling down your cheeks as you look at Soap with recognition and familiarity. You think of him as your savior, just waiting for the perfect, opportune moment to snatch you up and carry you to safety. Admittedly, he hasn’t thought of an escape plan yet; he hasn’t had a moment to think about it, but he hasn’t tried, either. He’s not a monster, he’s just… not ready to be the hero.

“She’s warmin’ up to ya.” Ghost says, leaning against the counter as Soap washes his hands of your blood. “Already callin’ out to ya for help.”

Soap takes the moment to try and redeem himself. “She’s in pain.” He states bluntly, not meeting Ghost’s stare.

“I’ve got somethin’ for it. Might help ‘er finally sleep, too. She kept complainin’ ‘bout the basement bein’ too cold n’ dark-“

God, of course he keeps you in the basement.

“I dinnae want any part o’ this. Ghost.” Soap finally snaps, flicking his hands to get rid of the water. “That poor girl should nae be ‘ere. Ye need help, man.”

Ghost smirks. “’Course I need help – n’ you just helped me earlier. How can you say ya don’t want any part of this, when ya just helped stitch ‘er up?”

“Ye said ye’d kill ‘er!”

“You still could’ve left, Johnny.”

Soap huffs angrily. “Feck off. I’m not doin’ this, LT.”

Ghost glares at him for another moment, then scoffs. He grabs his Percocet prescription off of the counter and leaves the kitchen, shoulders tense with ire. Soap sighs, rubbing his hands on his thighs. He opens up the refrigerator and pours a cup of water from the pitcher within.

He needs to think. If he takes you out whenever Ghost isn’t watching – if such a moment ever were to happen, considering the way the lieutenant guards you like a hawk – and if he brought you to the hospital, or even just set you free… Ghost’s life would be over. He’d go to prison. At this point, Johnny might also – he was only trying to save your life when he had stitched you up, but that alone shows participation. He didn’t call the police right away, which would have been the right thing to do. He can’t even call Price, which is who he usually goes to when he needs to complain about him. He wouldn’t risk Simon’s freedom – he wouldn’t risk letting him get too far beyond his reach. He needs him.

He hears you gurgling and gagging in the dining room: he spins around to see Ghost, holding you by a fistful of your hair, two of his thick fingers shoved down your throat.

“Simon!” Johnny barks.

“Swallow.” Ghost commands, looking down at you with a cold glare. You sputter and choke around his fingers, until your lips seal over them and your throat bobs.

Soap rushes over in an instant and pushes Ghost back. He smacks the glass full of water onto the table. Ghost caps the lid to his prescription pills and stuffs it in his sweatshirt pocket.

“Feck is wrong wit ye, feckin’ bampot?!” Soap growls. “How many did ye give ‘er?!”

“Jus’ a few.” Ghost mutters, staring at Johnny. His eyes display authority, as if he’s giving him an order.

Finally, Soap gets it. He understands. Why Simon bothered to get him involved in the first place, what exactly he’s trying to get Johnny involved with – he’s the mediator. You’re the experiment, Ghost is the figurehead, and Johnny’s the one trying to make sure you don’t perish in the process. He’s the comfort shield, the one you’ll deflect to when Ghost is being too rough. Place a source of comfort in the cage, and you’re bound to reach for it when escape isn’t an option.

Soap is seething with anger – he didn’t want this. He was furious that Ghost had roped him into such a fucked up situation – but he hates that he can get himself out, but he won’t. Not at the lieutenant’s expense. Unfortunately for Johnny, Ghost knows that his sergeant’s loyalty is solid and strong, and he’s using it to his advantage.

Soap growls, staring daggers into Ghost’s own, smug expression. He then turns to you, cupping the back of your head. “’S alright, Bonnie- jus’ tilt yer head back, got some water fer ya-“

You sob, though you offer no resistance when he touches you. “What did he give me?!” you cry, fear and resignation written across your face. You’re steadily becoming more and more tired, too exhausted to put up a fight anymore, but you know to ask the important questions.

“Jus’ some pain killers.” Johnny replies quickly, offering a tight-lipped smile. He nudges the glass against your lips, and you instinctively part them to drink in the water. “Gonna make yer head feel better. Cannae have ye sufferin’, aye?” The words are sour coming out of his mouth, but this is what he has to do. He’s the buffer between you and Simon, balancing his lieutenant’s damage and your wrecked emotions.

Ghost hums in approval when you gulp down the water. Your eyes flit to him at the sound reverberating through his chest, but you’re decently not panicking and screaming, with Soap in between the two of you.

“She likes you.” Ghost comments, folding his arms over his chest.

Johnny doesn’t respond – he has nothing to say, and everything to say all at the same time. He’s got to figure out how to keep the peace around here, and it’s clear that Ghost isn’t has no intentions of making it easy for him. But, he did get one thing right – you do seem to be warming up to Johnny, and the sergeant doesn’t know if he’s thrilled or repulsed at that fact.

Next ->

Taglist: @chickennn-soupp @t-virusx @liminal-chickenskin @a-sadmilky

[brewed-pangolin]

Ribbed for Her Pleasure

A/N: I can't recall who I saved this Soap photo from. If anyone knows, please tell me so I can give credit. 💛

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader

18+ MDNI Explicit Smut, P in V, filthy banter, car sex, slight exhibitionism

Thank y'all for being patient. Seems like the writers block has started to lift a bit, and I'm finally back to indulging myself in Soap filth. Enjoy a nice road trip that turns into an exciting sexcapade. @glitterypirateduck I decided to flip the script on this one. I can't say no to Soap being a menacing tease. @waves-against-a-cliff thank you for sending in my first 🛞⭕💢⭕💢🛞, hope you like it.

Love y'all. And happy Super Soap Sunday!

WC ~2k

4Runner Soap loves to tease while driving on extended road trips.

--

It's subtle at first. His warm hand resting on your thigh as you ramble on about nothing and everything under the sun.

He'll steal a few quick glances of your expression to attempt to gauge whether or not he's having the desired effect on you.

If you meet his steely gaze with equal growing intentions, he'll keep his hand resting on your thigh with a loving squeeze as his attention returns to the road ahead.

Yet if you show no reaction to his ministrations, continuing your verbal regurgitation of the weeks events, he'll have no choice but to press onward. His one hand gripped tightly around the steering wheel as the other moved further down ever closer between your thighs.

You feel his hand meandering ever closer to your clothed heat, but pay no mind to him. Only pointing out the next exit as you once more embellish his ears with mindless and unending banter.

Unperturbed by your unwillingness to give in, he sets forth in motion the one move, his last effort against your resolve to force you to finally surrender to him.

You didn't notice the subtle shift in the vehicles trajectory at first. Too focused on your phone and following the tiny icon as it moved along the highlighted route on the GPS.

It was only when you heard the rumbling hum of the tires over the ribbed outer lines of the lanes did you finally pull your eyes and pull your attention to him.

Before you could utter a singular protest, his hand moved the center of your thighs and pressed his index and middle finger into the inner seam of your jeans. Enhancing the continuous feel of the vibrations reverberating under the metal frame as they culminated into the growing throb emanating within your swelling folds.

"Johnny," you whimpered in feigning protest as his fingertips rubbed over the raised center of your trousers.

"What are you doing? Pay attention to the-"

"Shu' it, lass." Soap barked back with a playful bite rolling off his tongue.

"Rest tha' mouth a'yers fer a minute, yeah. Or I'm gonnae 'ave ta put ta better use."

Words failed you as his thick fingers continued to push into the flesh of your clothed cunt. Still riding the jagged lines on the pavement, making you roll your eyes back and bite your lip to quell the muffled moan threatening to escape within the depths of your throat.

"Ya like tha', bonnie? Ribbed fer yer pleasure by th'roadside?" He mocked with a confidence that never failed to make you quiver.

Feeling your arousal pool within in the depths of your soaking heat as his fingers pressed firmly against your swollen folds. Only managing to moan in response, which further fueled his resolve with a guttural growl, pulling his hands away from your growing pleasure and immediately shifting to take the next exit.

"Johnny, this isn't our exit."

"Nah. Emergency stop. Got a full stauner 'ere, and I cannae focus on nothin' else except tha' sweet pussy a'yers."

You turned to face him, eyes glancing down to focus on thr growing tent in his pants. The sounds of 4Runner's engine revving mirroring the sexual tension between the seats as Soap veered the vehicle into traffic, his eyes desperate and focused on finding a secluded passage for some much needed privacy.

-

It took no more than five minutes to find one that met his growing needs. A meandering dirt road that ended against an abandoned fence with a rusted and weather tempered 'No Trespassing' sign.

You barely had a moment to unbuckle your seat belt as he made his way to your side of the SUV. Inhuman speed fed by an unadulterated need to take you, unceremoniously throwing you over his shoulder with a huffing grunt. Only to be reciprocated by a piercing snicker, accepting your fate as he threw you into the flattened back of the cargo space and greedily began tearing your clothes away.

"Aren't you afraid we'll get caught?" Your pathetic attempt to reason with him only seemed to spur him further into a needy and unbridled rage.

"Fuck 'em. My need fer ya outweighs them bloody regulations." Soap spat back through gritted teeth.

Your exposed form laying out for him as he pulled his shirt over his head to reveal the chiseled frame that always seemed to render you speechless and begging for him.

Feeling the warmth of your arousal pool within your folds, spreading your legs to invite him in with a confident stare that mirrored his own hungry gaze.

"Steamin Jesus, look a'tha. Already fuckin soakin fer me, aren't ya, bonnie?"

"Always, Johnny. Nobody makes me wetter than you."

Soap's cerulean eyes swirled with glorious intent, flickering between your desperate expression and the glistening folds of encroaching conquest as he hastily unbuckled the confines of his trousers. Pushing the fabric of his pants and boxers down to release his throbbing length, a subtle whimper escaping his lips to the cool air hitting his hot flesh as a stream of precum ran down the tip of his reddened cock.

"Yer always so fuckin pretty like this, lass. Spread out an' jus' waitin fer me."

His jaw tightened to sight of your cunt clenched around nothingness in reaction to his sultry brogue. Splaying yourself out for him like a sacrificial lamb while the deafening sounds of echoing traffic echoed from deep within the trees and rolled around the walls of your private encampment.

"Gonnae fuck ya good, bonnie," he purred lowly with a rolling timbre. Ever so slowly moving like a predator as he encroached and hovered over your flushed and exposed form.

The maelstrom churning within the depths of his eyes luring you to his turbulent sea of ecstacy, nestling himself within the crevice of your thighs as he aligned his hardened cock to the puckering hole of your swollen cunt.

"Joh-" your muffled attempt to calm his name was silenced as his mouth sealed over your lips. Piercing the fluttering walls of your pussy in one fluid stroke, bottoming out with a resonating growl while his hands found purchase under the soft bend of your knees.

"Put yer knees on me shoulders, bonnie." He coaxed, pulling away from your lips to guide the shaky limbs of your legs over the broad expanse of his shoulders.

The sudden shift in position moving him slightly within your tight walls as the greedy flesh of your cunt clenched around his turgid length. Rolling your eyes back with a hissing breath, hands flying up above your head to find purchase within the haul of the vehicle as he laid his dense and muscular form on top of your folded and contorted frame.

"Tha's it, bonnie. Fuckin' clench around me. Lemme feel how much ya need me."

As the sounds of his rumbling voice reverberated within your ears, he glacially pulled his hips back. Nearly pulling out completely before penetrating once more and filling the silken depths of your heat in one fluid and languid thrust. 

Forcing a gravelly moan from within the cavern of your chest, fingers wrapping around the metal frame protruding from the haul as Soap braced his hands on either side of your head and steadily began to thrust himself deep into your greedy hole.

“Johnny- aren't ya gonna close- the hatch?” you groaned, gritting your teeth while he picked up his pace. Steadily pounding his hips against your ass, his lips curling into a cocky smile while his eyes glinted at his mischievous intent.

“Nah, bonnie. Gonnae give em- a good show-” he crooned in response with a breathy growl. Disregarding your concern for the outside world, continuing to pound his cock into your welcoming heat as the creaking sound of the suspension began to echo across the shell of your ears.

You attempted to lift your head and catch a glimpse of the tree laden environment around you, only to be forced back down as Soap changed trajectory once more. Your mouth falling open with a silently pleasured protest as the thick head of his cock ran over a sensitive bundle of nerves deep within your cunt that only he had managed to find.

“Holy fuck!” Your voice hollered over the sounds of the croaking suspension, finally giving into the unrelenting ecstasy only he could provide. Arching your back against the carpeted floor of the cargo space, desperate to meet his powerful thrusts and aid in his direction while he maintained a steady, vigorous pace.

“Found tha’ spot. Didnae I, bon? Gonnae make a mess on me cock? Scream me name as I fuck ya real good? Clenchin around me like-”

“Goddammit! Shut up!” 

His unending banter had finally pushed your quiet resolve to the wayside. Reaching your hand feverishly towards his neck, wrapping your fingers around the chain of his dangling dog tags to bring his running mouth down to your lips and ultimately rendering him blissfully silent. 

Sinking your teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip as you wrap your free arm around the back of his neck. Keeping his chest flushed against yours, a thin sheen of sweat forming between the sliding flesh and forcing only his hips to move as he pumped himself into the depths of your soaking heat.

The wet sounds of your pussy emanating off the plastic and fabric haul of his 4Runner, accompanied by the combined gasping breaths from your chests that formed into a blissfully erotic symphony. A duet only heightened by the most pornagraphic whimper you had ever heard against your mouth as his hips began to stutter and his eyes pleaded for his upcoming release.

“Steamin Jesus, bonnie. I’m gonnae come. Gonnae fill ya up.” Soap’s muffled words vibrated against the flesh of your mouth as your free hand gripped into the thick locks of his mohawk. 

Pulling his mouth away to bury his face into the crook of your neck. Letting your lips seal over the top of his shoulder and silence the strained bellow from within your chest as your orgasm suddenly erupted and coursed through your veins like a violent blaze.

Soap’s hot breath cascading against your flesh with a guttural growl, his hands gripping to the carpeted fabric as he bottomed out in one final thrust and emptied himself against the spongy walls of your pulsing cervix. Pulling his trembling body up to let your legs fall and extend, the burn of over exertion flowing underneath your skin as an all too familiar ache began to form within the buried tissue around your pelvis.

“Jesus Christ, Soap. Where the fuck did this come from?” Your voice hushed in the grips of blissful afterglow, hands meandering to his temples while his body steadily began to collapse above you.

“Donnae know, lass. Thinkin maybe, it was them bloody reflectors.”

Reluctantly, Soap began to pull himself off your overly exhausted frame, only to be pulled back down by your clawing hands and laid his head against your sweat ladened and heaving bare chest.

“Not yet, babe. Just rest a minute.” Speaking in a hushed tone, you pressed your lips against the drenched crest of his scalp. Tasting the saltiness against your tongue and allowing your hands to gently run down the curve of his spine as you felt him steadily give into body’s exhaustion. 

“If you don’t rest, Johnny, I’m gonna have to drive the rest of the way while you sleep this off.”

“Haud yer weesht, hen.” He retorted, his brogue quiet and muffled against the supple flesh of your breast. Your lips curling into a smooth smile as you reveled in the gentle sounds of nature accompanied by the everpresent hum of distant traffic.

4Runner Wingman Masterlist

@deadbranch @sofasoap @ohgeesoap @d3athtr4psworld @mini-metal @punishmepunisher @homicidal-slvt @glitterypirateduck @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @ghosts-goldendoodle @shotmrmiller @mykneeshurt @astraluminaaa @writeforfandoms @tacticalanxiety @thetrashpossum @queen-ilmaree @sadstone-s @simpingoverquestionablemen @dustycrusty09 @foxface013 @haurasha @havoc973 @kkaaaagt @designateddeadend @luismickydees