#Jock John Soap MacTavish

[milkydough]

This is all I did so far for a uni au over on twitter, I’m working on something for it right now and I want it for people to see

[stag-nite]

Johnny found ghosts used jock

[ghostsbimbo]

The 141 and what they would be as Animal Crossing villager types.

Captain John Price would be a bear normal villager. There's just something about him to me that speaks he would be a normal villager and I can't exactly put my finger on what it is just yet.

Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley would be a bear cranky villager. I know, he's big, gruff, stoic, and quiet, and we don't get much on his personality. But from what I can gather from his personality, He seems to be a cranky villager to me.

Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick would be a cat jock villager. He just seems like a gym bro (in the nicest way possible.) like, he's not one of those gym bros that scares the other patrons/makes women uncomfortable. In fact, he's the gym bro that protects the ladies or other patrons if a douche bag does come up to them and start bothering them. He's just an all around wholesome dude, but a jock villager nonetheless.

Sergeant Johnny "Soap" MacTavish would be a wolf lazy villager. Now, hear me out. My favorite villager? It's Bob. Bob is a lazy villager. I interact with him on the daily. The things that come out of Bob's mouth? They are things Soap would say and I will not take no for an answer on that subject.

[sstormyskyess]

Night Terrors

author's note: this is shorter than i'd like but i'm still happy about how it turned out 👍 enjoy!

cw: hurt/comfort, nightmares, canon-typical violence

word count: 1500+

John “Soap” MacTavish / GN!Reader "Brass"

The sky was pitch black while you and Soap waded through the wet mud of the marshy surroundings. “How much longer until we get there?” You groan. Your feet were pruned in your boots, the wetness seeping in through the fabric parts. The target building still wasn’t in sight yet.

“Ten minutes. Less if you stop whining and get your arse in gear.” Ghost’s voice crackles through your receiver and you huff, rolling your eyes. Soap chuckles and glances back at you, shrugging his shoulders. “L.T.’s got a point, Brass. You’d be fair puckled too, though, Ghost. We’re a’ Jock Tamson’s bairns.” You groan. “I don’t know what that means, Soap. Neither of us do.” Ghost hums in agreement.

“You’re just uncultured! You should read up on it in your spare time.” Soap shakes his head. “Just keep walking, MacTavish.” Ghost says, deadpanned. You could almost see the look on his face in your head, making you chuckle. “Aye, L.T.—let’s go Brass!” Soap declares, marching on his merry way.

Getting to the target’s location felt like a breeze from there. Almost too easy. Soap shook that strange feeling off, though; he had a job to do. He stared up at the towering building in front of you both. It was around 40 floors if he had to estimate. He turns to you and nods. “You ready to go?” He approached the busted automatic glass doors and pried them open with your help.

It was surprisingly easy to clear each floor. No major threats, only a few lone shooters and a turret or two. Ghost had gone quiet on the other end of the line, though; that was really the only thing he was concerned about. You were also silent beside him. It was rare for him to get anxiety on a standard mission, but for some reason, his heart was racing.

You make it to the top floor—still silent—and still haven't managed to identify the target. But they had to be here, so if the intel was solid, they were on the roof. Soap stands below the ladder up to the roof, the full moon shining down and covering them in a muddled white light. He looks over at you and motions for you to take first position.

He follows as you climb your way up and scans for threats. You take his hand to help him up and immediately start to walk further onto the rooftop. You didn’t make it very far before a gunshot pierced your ears and he was flat on his back, a bullet through his shoulder. “Fuck—!” Your head shoots up to see the assailant and growl. “You son of a bitch!” You hiss, rushing towards them: the target you were on the hunt for.

“Brass, wait!” Soap shouts, scrambling to his feet and following you. He readies his weapon, but you were already grappling with them. Their gun had been tossed to the floor and you were on top of them, a hand at their throat. Everything happened so fast, and he’s stuck, frozen as he watches the both of you fight. It was like he couldn’t get his feet to move or his finger to the trigger, no matter how hard he tried.

All of a sudden, you lost the upper hand and you’re in a chokehold, struggling against their grasp. You grunt and your feet kick out, trying to knock your attacker off balance and ultimately failing. You were getting hauled to the side of the roof before Soap knew it.

The target was saying something, but the blood in his ears was rushing, and he couldn’t hear a word of it. All he could see was your limbs start to stop their squirming and your eyes drooping. Your hands loosen around their arm and eventually fall to your sides.

Somehow, even through his blinding panic, he heard your voice force out a choked whimper of his name, “Soap, h-help…” But he still couldn’t move. He tried to force himself into action and he was still glued to the floor, staring. He watches you get thrown to the ground, halfway to passed out, and the target puts their foot on your side, shoving it into your ribs.

You claw at the floor, trying to drag your way over to Soap, but it was too late. You were getting rolled off, and then you disappeared behind the lip of the edge, out of sight. “Fuckin’ hell—Brass!” Soap couldn’t do anything but watch as you fell over the edge of the skyscraper’s roof railings. A forty level drop.

The sickening crunch of your bones on the forest floor below is clear as day, the sound sending a rolling wave of nausea through his body. He shivers, eyes wide, and the blinding moonlight takes over his vision.

You groan quietly when you feel the bed shifting to your right. You turn over, fully ready to tell him to settle down because you were trying to sleep, but you frowned when you saw Soap in the state he was in. A deep sigh passed your lips while you watched Soap toss and turn. There was a sheen of sweat coating his skin and it sounded like he was muttering something to himself in his sleep. Nightmare.

No one in this line of work could honestly say they’d never had a nightmare about the experiences they’ve faced, and if they did, you wouldn’t believe them for a second. This job put people through the most hellish situations and scenarios that the human mind could possibly conjure; it was only natural for one’s mind to continue processing those events even into the late hours of the night.

You lift yourself up and over Soap’s chest, plopping yourself down on top of him and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You sigh again, listening to the rapid heartbeats under your ear. You knew it was a little dangerous to try and shake him awake, so you settle for this. Maybe being a human compression blanket would help just a bit.

When your weight had no effect, you resign yourself to the fact that you’d have to wake Soap up to stop the painful dream plaguing his mind. You don’t move from your spot on his chest, but you start to jostle him a bit. “Soap, wake up, bud.” You make sure your voice isn’t loud enough to be startling but just enough to breach the barrier between Soap’s unconsciousness and the world of the living. “It’s okay, John. Wake up for me.”

It takes a few tries, but eventually Soap’s eyes snap open and his body instinctively tries to jolt up before being stopped in place by you lying on top of him. “Whuh... huh? What…?” His breathing is heavy when he starts to fully wake up. He lifts himself up on his elbow and stares down at you. Soap feels his eyes start to water when your eyes meet and he quickly wraps his arms around you, holding your head tightly to his chest. 

You hum softly and bring your hand up to pet the back of his head. Your heart breaks a bit when you feel Soap trying to hold back sobs. "I'm right here. You're safe." You mumble into his shirt, running your blunted nails along his scalp and through his mussed up hair. You let him have a moment to get control of his breathing before you pulled away and tried to sit up.

"Just let me hold you for a minute,” Soap pulls you back down to his chest and holds you tight against his body. “Please.” His words devolve into a whimper at the end. You nod against his chest, feeling Soap’s thick fingers stroking the back of your head, trying to calm himself down. You were determined to keep yourself awake until Soap was able to get back to sleep as well, keeping your eyes open even though you body was pulling him back to unconsciousness. Soap caressing you definitely wasn’t helping. But, it felt nice to hold and be held by someone.

Being on duo missions with Soap frequently ended up like this: holding each other at night just to finally get to sleep. There were many times that you would try and play it off with some random excuse. Something like ‘It’s cold out here, and you’re the warmest thing I’ve got around,’ or ‘There’s not enough room in here to sleep on the floor, just get in here,’ had been twisted and morphed to fit whatever situation you found yourselves in. As time went on, though, it was near impossible to try stopping yourself from just admitting you were just touch starved and needed someone to help you out with that.

You stay like that for a while until Soap’s breathing finally evens out enough for him to speak without his voice breaking. "I'm sorry I woke you up.” His words are muffled by the top of your head, where his face is buried. He brings one of his arms up to wipe his eyes before settling it back by his side, letting his other arm handle holding you. You hid your smile in his chest and let out a deep breath. “Don’t worry about it, Suds.”

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭