#Soap Call of Duty

[gloomwitchwrites]

I'm feeling mushy and desperate for some domestic fluff, can I pleeeease request the boys feeling baby kicks for the first time? 👉🏼👈🏼

hehe, omg, anon. I love fluffy, domestic 141. I love dad!141 even more. (or rather soon to be dads.) These are just quick drabbles that border on headcanons. Enjoy!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (mdni): swearing, pregnancy, domestic fluff, established relationship

Word Count: 400

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

“Hello, love,” murmurs John as he walks up behind you.

Placing his chin on your shoulder, he wraps his arms around you, resting his hands on your pregnant belly. He kisses your neck and then your cheek.

“Hello, you,” you reply, turning your head so you can grab one more kiss from him.

John snuggles a bit closer, his palms flat against your round belly, rubbing softly. He looks down into the pot full of cooking chili.

“Chili tonight?” The baby kicks, making the both of you jump. “Was that the baby?” he asks.

“It was.”

John’s surprise becomes joy.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Grabbing Johnny’s hand, you bring it to your belly. The middle of his brow furrows.

“Wait for it,” you whisper.

You feel the small shift inside you as the developing fetus moves. It’s happened enough times today that you know exactly what it is.

The kick comes, and you beam at Johnny.

“What the fuck.”

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth as Johnny places both hands on your belly, waiting for the next one. It comes, and his smile matches your own.

“That her moving around in there?”

“Yes,” you answer.

Johnny’s smile widens as he kisses your belly.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon cradles your pregnant belly, a look of genuine concern on his face. “This is good?” he asks, removing his hands. “The baby should kick that hard?”

“Why are you making it a question?” you laugh, grasping Simon’s wrists and bringing his hands back to your belly. “It’s a good thing,” you reassure, smiling at your husband. “It’s perfectly fine.”

The worried expression melts a bit as Simon gazes at your round stomach. The corner of his mouth quirks into a hint of a smile. “I put that inside you,” he murmurs.

You hold back a laugh. “You sure did.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Rays from the morning sun peek through the slots in the blinds. You are on your side, snuggling your pregnancy body pillow. Beside you, the bed shifts. Kyle’s hand finds your hip. He slides that hand in front of you to cradle your belly. You sigh with contentment as Kyle cuddles up next you, making you the little spoon.

The growing child inside of you shifts.

“Little one is awake,” you murmur.

“Go back to bed,” he whispers.

You giggle, and then it kicks.

Kyle sits up. “Was that?”

“Yes.”

Kyle’s face gets close to your stomach. “Do that again.”

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @suhmie @z-wantstowrite @kylies-love-letter @keiva1000

@iloveslasher @ravenpoe67 @sadlonelybagel @nishim @arrozyfrijoles23

@voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @sageyxbabey @xllizs @miaraei

@weasleytwins-41 @eternallyvenus @chaostwinsofdestruction @cherryofdeath @ninman82

@fern-reads @waves-against-a-cliff @beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx

@jianyi22 @sethell @atpeacee @konigssweatyhood @dreamingoftomorrow

@katerinaval @morguethemagpie @galactict3a @sarah-the-bird-nerd @mikachu-bitez

@unclearblur @kurochan3 @sans-chara @all-by-myself98 @hisuccubus

@km-ffluv @thriving-n-jiving @carbonnite-copy @sobbangchan @codeseven

@youre-a-wallflower-charlie @tiredmetalenthusiast @sporadicpizzainternet @tessakate @mistresssolana

[ghouljams]

THE ICECREAM BIT, THE WAY HE WOKE READER UP OH MY GODDDD THEY’RE SO CUTEEEE 😭

Give it up for John Mactavish, the superior john, everyone!

you're a lucky wife and John is a doting husband. It's actually funny, his unreasonable affections for you have become the norm in your household. Your children will never know a home that isn't full of love, and you are never more appreciative of that than when you meet John Price.

You have never met a man you hated immediately. Until you met your husband's Captain. You first meet him when Johnny invites him to one of your family cook outs. His wife --lovely girl, completely misguided in a way that makes your heart sick to see- is far too young for him and his face is far too sour. He barely speaks to you, ignores you so completely that you feel Johnny sour beside you. You're sure that John is used to women who don't stand up to his posturing, well, you're not that woman.

You're not polite when you lay into him. Quiet hissed voice, making sure the kids don't hear you swear at this man up and down that if he can't behave in your house then he can leave and never come back. Or better yet, you can put him over your knee the way you're sure he's dying to do to your children --the way he keeps looking at your littles, their shrieking joy and messy hands, like they're animals running amok in need of correction-- and see how he likes it.

You don't see his wife again, but John is better behaved the next time you see him. You're loath to invite him back to your home, and you don't but you accompany Johnny to his next wedding with glee. At least this wife is a slightly more appropriate age, and you tell her that at the wedding, already eager to get her out. You give her your card and invite her to your family's cook-out.

You know John won't come.

And you spend the afternoon offering your home to a woman you don't know, purely out of spite for a man you do.

You're overjoyed to drive to the hospital with her when she divorces him, and happier still to let your wee ones crowd close to look at her new little. Johnny scribbles his name on the birth certificate with a resolved grumble, and you rest easy in the knowledge that you sabotaged a man's marriage so handily.

You've always wanted a sister, who knew you'd get one from another man's marriage.

[daordinarylinchen]

commission for @forsaire 🍃🏚️🌧️

[ghostybaby000]

Is it true? | Part 3

Part 1

Word count: 890

Warnings: 18+, Yelling, destructive behavior, suggestive behavior, swearing, symptoms of panic, fluff

Part one above!

Tag List: @yyiikes @talooolaaloolla @strawberrygato @cumsluut @sofiacoppolaslut @blackbeautyiloveyouso @casalucard @identity2212 @daydreamerwoah @lily-bug3 @sage-burrow @squeak1981 @shinebright2000 @theclassicvinyldragon @little-mini-me-world @julys-mistake-the-second @carolchaotic @valkyrie-01 @thychuvaluswife

It felt as if time was moving in slow-motion. You noticed the details of what she was wearing, how her hair seemed to fit her face just right, the way she was looking at him-it all made you sick. His voice bashed into your thoughts, dragging you out of staring,

‘There has got to be something wrong, with you.’ He barks at her, his voice one you didn’t really recognize. He pushes open the office door, pointing at her as she backed into the room.

He spat the words at her as her face turned, she seemed puzzled and all the more uninterested.

‘Do you think even for a second’ He pulls your phone from his pocket, opening the messages and showing her them. She crosses her arms and squints at the phone, her eyes giving no indication of regret or fear.

‘Even for a fucking moment- that I would ever do something like that to her?’ He points to you, the fury in his eyes scary, to you even. The woman doesn’t say anything, now leant up on the side of her desk, she looks over to you still stood in the hall, and smirks. 

‘You think that any of this is funny?’ He moves his body to be positioned between the two of you, your heart hammering in your chest as he continues.

‘Where did you get such a stupid fucking idea?’

She lets her arms fall from being crossed, and pushes a stray hair from her face, letting out a huff as if she were entirely unbothered, her voice breaks the air,

‘Oh c’mon. It was a harmless joke, a prank even. You don’t need to get all hot and bothered, It doesn’t mean anythi-‘

 There was a crash that sounded throughout the room that made the both of you yelp. You didn’t even see him move, it was too quick. You open your eyes to see what used to be a mug filled with coffee was now smashed on the wall a few feet from where the woman stood. Pieces of the mug crumbled to the floor as the dark coffee stained down the wall, slowly reaching to touch the carpet. 

He had never been violent around you, never thrown things like this before, you were caught just as off guard as she was. She turned in panic, her hands coming off of her ears from the sound, her casual ruse diminished.

‘What-Wha why would you do that?’ Her voice became more fragile as her eyes flashed over to you and back to him. You notice now a presence around you in the hall, looking down both ways you see people standing in their doorways, some coming to look at what had happened. 

Seeing the onlookers who had made their way into the room, the woman tried to hastily speed out the confined space, the embarrassment too much to handle. Just before she gets to you in the doorway, his voice is back in the air,

‘Ohhh no you don’t. We are not done here yet.’ The woman stays frozen, her eyes determined to stay away from anyone else’s who was watching. 

He walked up behind her, his own rage still forcing his back straight and his motions to be aggressive. He comes around the side of her, she looked to him, now in a way that you felt more comfortable. She couldn’t hold his stare for long looking from him to the floor.

Almost spitting his syllables he continues, his words like a red-hot blade to the thick atmosphere of the room.

‘You, are going to apologize.’ He points to you, still stood there as sweat worked its way down your own face and neck. Her confidence faded as her lips tightened across her face. You could hear now that her breath was shaking,

‘I-I’m I’m sorry.’ Her eyes still facing the floor as she rubbed her hands on her pants to rid of sweat.

‘Try again.’ There was no lightheartedness in his tone, his stare pinning her where she stood. Her cheeks were flush with a bold red now, the people in the hall snickering as she turned to you. 

‘I’m sorry, for sending you those t-things..’ He broke from looking at her to you, her punishment resting on your shoulders. 

You quickly nod with a small ‘yeah.’ Under your breath. Without another word the woman bolted from the office. You see the people in the hall, their stares dying away now that the entertainment of the room had fled down the hallway, slowly making their way back to their own rooms. He uncrossed his arms that were locked across his chest to walk over to you.

You watch the space in the room where she once stood, entirely bewildered at the whole situation. Thinking of nothing better to say, you look up to him and lean into his chest. His arms wrap around the small of your back as you look at him, the rage faded that had been burning so passionately only moments ago.

Your voice was gentle in the room of chaos,

‘So, it isn’t true then?’ A grin pulls across both of your faces as you let a giggle escape, you feel his own chest move as he too laughed. 

He pulls your chin to be facing him once you had relaxed,

‘Never.’  

[vxv3n0m]

So silly

missed these sillies :^(

[kanescrochet]

Quiet in the storm

Johnny soap mctavish X Shy!reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Johnny MacTavish first noticed her over a spilled cup of instant coffee.

It was a dim, gray morning, indistinguishable from the one before or the one after. She was bent over a stack of paperwork at the breakroom counter, a half-empty mug in hand, her fatigues rumpled, her posture drawn inward like someone trying to fold themselves into nothing.

He didn’t see her at first — not really. Just another face in the periphery. And then he bumped her elbow. The mug tipped, a thin trail of coffee streaked across the floor and darkened her sleeve.

“Shite—sorry, I didn’t mean—” He cut himself off as she only looked down, blinking once, twice, as if it barely registered.

“Sorry,” she muttered, voice quiet and hoarse.

He tilted his head. “You alright?”

She nodded. She didn’t meet his eyes.

There wasn’t an ounce of anger in her — only a weary sort of resignation, like she expected everything in her day to break, spill, or go sideways. Johnny stood there, hand half-raised, watching her blot the stain with a napkin like it was a ritual she’d repeated too many times.

“You ever smile?” he asked after a beat, not cruelly — just curious.

Her eyes flicked up to him, startled. Not annoyed. Not offended. Just… surprised.

That was the moment.

She hadn’t done anything special. No dazzling smile. No clever line. But there was something in her — something quiet and raw and profoundly human — that hooked into him and refused to let go.

He offered to buy her a new coffee. She didn’t say yes. But she didn’t say no either.

He counted that as progress.

After that, he started showing up more often — drifting into places she worked, loitering at the edge of her space with a grin and a stupid joke. At first she barely responded. Her answers were clipped, her eyes rarely lifted. She carried the air of someone used to being overlooked, or worse — someone who’d come to believe that maybe being invisible was safer.

But he kept coming back.

Not because he was trying to fix her, or tease something out of her. He just… liked being around her. There was a steadiness to her presence, a kind of honesty in her silence that he found grounding.

She didn’t perform. She didn’t flirt. She didn’t try to impress him.

She just was.

And that was enough.

The others noticed eventually.

Price asked one day, “You and the quartermaster?”

Soap smirked. “She’s not just the quartermaster.”

Ghost looked skeptical. “Not your usual type.”

Johnny shrugged. “Guess I’m not looking for a type.”

He couldn’t explain it in a way that made sense to anyone else. He liked the way she saw things no one else saw. The way she rearranged the supply chain so the team got downtime without realizing it. The way she listened, really listened, when most people were just waiting for their turn to speak.

He liked her quiet. Liked that she didn’t need noise to exist. Liked that when she was with him, he didn’t feel like he had to be on all the time — didn’t have to be loud or sharp or anything but himself.

She saw things in him, too — things he didn’t show often. The gentleness beneath the bravado. The way he carried other people’s grief when they couldn’t. The fact that his humor was sometimes a shield, sometimes a bridge, but never a lie.

She saw him when the jokes faded.

And she stayed.

It took her longer to believe he meant it.

She asked him once, in a rare vulnerable moment, “Why me?”

He was quiet for a second. Then he said, “You ever sit near a fireplace that’s just embers? No flames, no drama. Just heat. Real heat. Steady. That’s you.”

She blinked at him. “You’re comparing me to coals.”

“Aye,” he said, grinning. “The good part of the fire.”

She laughed — small, involuntary. Then she frowned, like the laugh had betrayed her.

“I’m not pretty,” she said. “I’m not interesting. I don’t know how to be with someone like you.”

He softened. “You don’t have to know. You just have to want to.”

“I’m awkward. I’m... tired.”

He reached out, took her hand. “I like tired. I like awkward. I like you.”

She looked at him like she didn’t understand how any of that could be true. But she didn’t pull her hand away.

It wasn’t dramatic. No whirlwind kiss in the rain. No sweeping declarations. Just small things, day after day. A warm drink left on her desk. A quiet touch on the shoulder. A joke that only made sense to the two of them.

She began to stand straighter.

He began to speak softer when she was near.

People whispered, confused. Him? With her?

They didn’t get it. They didn’t see what he saw — how she was sharp in quiet ways, how her eyes cataloged every detail, how she kept people safe without anyone noticing. They didn’t see how he made her laugh like she hadn’t in years, how he coaxed her into the world and never once made her feel lesser for her size, her silence, her shyness.

They worked, somehow.

They fit.

If anyone asked, Johnny would say it happened slow — not like falling, but like warming. A slow-burn kind of love. The kind that didn’t scream or shatter. The kind that stayed.

And if she ever wondered what he saw in her, he’d only smile and say, “Everything.”

[that-sudsy]

No need to Try

Pairing: soap MacTavish x you

Summary: He found your journal and found out something about you. That same night you're drunk and he takes care of you and comforts you.

You and Soap were roommates in the temporary place you and the rest of the team took residence in. Soap wasn't a bad roommate; in fact, he was clean and organized in his own way. He didn't like it when things got misplaced.

There were times when you both discovered things about each other that you never thought you would know. For instance, Soap liked to sleep with his face on the pillow, shirtless, with the window open to let in the cold air, curling under the blankets. Meanwhile, you enjoyed long, hot showers and preferred not to be interrupted when talking or reading your favorite book.

You both eventually learned each other's bad habits, like

"Johnny, put the seat down, please!" you yelled, or "Tell me when we're out of milk, aye! I could have gone to the store this morning!"

Johnny would remind.

You two looked out for each other, acting like you had lived together forever; the adjustment was easy.

But one thing for sure, you both knew that you kept journals, writing everything you wanted to remember—doodles and thoughts.

One day, while you were busy dealing with paperwork for Price, Soap took the opportunity to sneak a peek at your journal. He knew he shouldn't, but curiosity got the better of him. After a night conversation where you said, "You don't know me that much, Johnny," he became eager to learn more about you. He made sure the room was locked as he searched your side of the room for where you hid your journal. You were clever; you wouldn't leave it just anywhere. It had to be hidden well.

"Not yet see where ye hid that journal of yours," he muttered with eagerness and thrill in his tone, hoping to get you back later.

He checked under your bed, then under the foam, he checked the shelves and even the ceiling. He didn't find it until he lay down on your bed and noticed a small crack in the wall—a notch. He slipped his hand in and, as expected, found your notebook. The journal was gray and blue, like denim, with a pen as a lock. "Not that hard to find after all, eh?" he smirked. The cover was worn, probably from years of use. He removed the pen and peeked at the door, checking if you weren't around before fully opening it.

The first page was empty, but as he turned the pages, he saw your name in neat cursive, with every page dated on the left, followed by your thoughts for that day. He chuckled to himself, finding that you wrote about your first day at the base, why you kept a journal, and even a mission where you dodged a knife fight. Then there was another entry about missing home, and another about your teammates. Johnny thought it was an excellent page-turner; he enjoyed your thoughts, which made him like you even more. Despite the messy storytelling, it made him feel like he got to know you deeper and how you think.

Then one page hit him hard. It was an entry where you described a man at the base that you saw every day. At first, Johnny was intrigued, wondering who this man was that you described in such a vague way. You expressed how fond you were of him.

At first, as silly as it sounded, Johnny thought it was him. Funny, serious, very neat, and muscular—the way he looked at you, his beautiful eyes seemed to stare down into your soul, making time stop when he was around. Simon Riley.

Then he read the name of the man: Simon Riley. This made his heart speed up and then drop in shock. You weren't always around Riley, but you found yourself attracted to him. Was it because he was mysterious?

Soap couldn't help but feel mixed emotions as he read through your journal entries. Excitement, thrill, but he couldn't deny the pang of jealousy and concern as he read about your feelings for someone else. It stung. But at the same time, he placed the journal on his chest and sighed, trying to figure out how you ended up with that conclusion. He wouldn't be surprised if it was Gaz.

Johnny lay there with his mind and thoughts all tangled up when you suddenly spoke up, "What are you doing?"

You found him on your bed, and Soap was caught off guard, quickly closing the journal and looking up at you, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

"I, uh... I was just... reading," he said, trying to come up with a believable excuse.

"Johnny, that's private stuff," you said, approaching him as you placed your duffle bag on the table. Soap chuckled nervously, trying to play it off as nothing serious.

"It's not what ye think," he said, avoiding your gaze. "I just... I was curious, that's all." He shrugged his shoulders.

"You don’t even let me read yours... how far were you reading?" you asked, a slight panic in your voice. Soap's heart skipped a beat as you mentioned his journal. He knew he was caught red-handed, and there was no use denying it now.

"Uh... just a few pages," he said sheepishly. "Just... enough to know that ye have a crush on someone." He smirked, despite the lingering feeling in his chest.

You looked at him wide-eyed, realizing you were caught crushing on the Lieutenant. This made Johnny smirk. "I... I don't," you stammered.

Soap couldn't help but notice your wide-eyed expression, and his smirk grew wider. He found it adorable how flustered you were getting. "Ye have a crush on Simon, huh?" he teased.

"I... it's not like that, Johnny! It's just a playful fondness."

Soap chuckled and walked over to you, still holding your journal in his hand. "Ye're blushing," he said, amusement lacing his voice. "And the way ye described him, like his eyes are staring down into yer soul," he quoted.

You furrowed your brows and said, "That's it! Johnny! Give it back!" You tried to reach for the journal, but Soap held it above his head, out of your reach. He enjoyed seeing your frustration.

"Oh no, I don’t think so," he said with a smirk. "I think I'll keep this for now."

"Johnny!"

Soap chuckled again, enjoying the way you said his name. He took a step closer to you, still holding the journal high above your head. "What? Can't handle a little teasing?" he asked, his voice low and playful. You stopped and looked at him, realizing he might dash out and tell Simon.

"Please don’t tell Simon."

Soap's smirk softened a bit at your plea. He was tempted to tell Simon just to see your reaction, but he knew better than to betray your trust. "I won’t," he said, his tone more serious. "Yer secret is safe with me."

This was reassuring when he said it in such a soft tone. He looked into your eyes for a long moment before realizing how close you two were. You both backed up, and before you broke the silence with a question, "How far did ye read?"

Soap pretended to think for a moment, feigning innocence. "Just... a few pages," he repeated, his smirk returning. "Nothin' too personal, don’t worry."

"That's hard to believe," you said with a smirk.

Soap chuckled again. "Alright, fine," he said, handing the journal back to you. "I read a few entries about yer thoughts and about the Lieutenant. Nothin' too juicy, I promise," he said, his voice low, hiding the hurt in his heart.

Soap hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not to tell you the truth about his feelings regarding Simon and to discourage you, but he didn't want to ruin your friendship just because he was acting overprotective. Simon was his friend; why was he so scared for you?

"I'm sorry I read yer journal..." he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Are ye sure about Simon? I know he's a great guy, but... he's older than ye. He's someone ye shouldn't mess with, doll. I mean, I'm not against Simon. He's my friend too. I just don’t want ye to get hurt, ye know?" He looked at you with furrowed brows.

This hit you hard as you looked at him, his blue eyes a little darker. It was usually like that when he was sad or worried; his thick brows furrowed, avoiding your gaze.

"I'm sure about Simon. He wouldn't hurt me; he's a sweet guy. He even invited me for drinks," you said, bubbly.

"Aye, I know he wouldn’t... but just in case... things may fall to the thing ye don’t want," he said out of concern, wanting you to be careful because he didn't want you to break your heart over a man you had a crush on.

You both looked at each other, but you were stubborn as you remembered, "By the way, Johnny, I gotta go... there's a drink out tonight and..."

Soap's expression immediately darkened at the mention of a drink. He knew you were shrugging off his warning.

"Yer going, I know," he said, trying to hide his disappointment, looking away as he picked up his jacket and folded it properly. "Gaz told me ye're going earlier with Simon..." he said with concern. "Is that really the only reason?"

You were taken aback by what he said. You nodded at his question.

"Johnny, it's just Simon, okay? Don’t be too protective. Ye saw me workin' with him before; what's the difference now?"

Soap's heart sank even further. He didn't like the idea of you going to the pub just to spend time with Simon. He knew he had no right to feel jealous, but he couldn't help it.

"I see," he said, his voice tinged with bitterness. You tried to explain, but he had his back to you as he tidied up the room. Soap had a habit of cleaning when he was sad or angry; it was his way of relieving stress. So you took your bag and left.

Soap didn't watch you go; he continued cleaning. After that, he decided to go too; maybe he could drown his sadness in Scotch instead.

At the pub...

The team had their drinks, but Johnny wasn't much in the mood. He only nursed a glass of Scotch, sitting in the corner with his head down, fiddling with his dog tags. You were busy laughing and talking with Simon, but Johnny knew that Simon didn't feel the same; he was only playing along with you out of respect and company. Simon liked your company, but not in the way you wanted.

Soap watched from a distance as you tried to get Simon's attention, your jokes falling flat. He could see the disappointment in your eyes when Simon faded or didn't engage with you.

He wanted to go over there and pull you away, tell you that you were being too obvious, but he knew he had no right to interfere. Instead, he just sipped his drink, feeling more and more frustrated with every passing moment.

He shouldn't feel this way since Simon was his friend, just like you were. Soap continued to watch from afar, his eyes flickering between you and Simon. As the night went on, you ended up tipsy, left on the counter.

Simon had already left hours ago, excusing himself to finish something at the armory, but Soap stayed, reasoning that he needed air. But in reality, he only stayed to look after you, he couldn't bring himself to abandon you in your inebriated state. You were clearly not in your right mind.

Soap slowly made his way over to you, taking your drink away before you could take another sip. "Hey, ye've had enough," he said, his voice firm but gentle.

"Nooo, I want more!" you whined.

Soap raised an eyebrow at your stubbornness. "Ye're wasted," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Ye're not havin' any more."

"But, Soapyy..." you whined again, giving him puppy eyes.

His heart skipped a beat at the sound of you calling him by his nickname. "No buts," he said, trying to sound stern but failing miserably. "Ye're gonna make yerself sick if ye have any more."

You tried to get off the stool, but you were too weak, so Soap quickly moved to your side as you struggled. He put a hand on your shoulder and one around your waist to steady you.

"Woah, easy there," he said, his voice softer now.

"I can walk," you said, wobbling.

Soap shook his head, unconvinced. "Naw, ye can’t," he said, gently pushing you back onto the stool. "Ye're too drunk to walk straight, let alone stand up."

You looked at him drunkenly, poking his nose. "Ye're too protective, ye big lug."

Soap couldn't help but chuckle at your drunken expression. You were adorable, even inebriated. "Ye look like a drunken clown," he teased, trying to lighten the mood.

You didn't laugh; instead, you pouted, thinking about the night's events.

Soap's smile faded as he saw the sadness in your eyes. He could tell you were still thinking about Simon and his lack of interest in you.

"Hey, don’t worry about him," he said, his voice serious but gentle. "He's just busy."

"He's not interested in me, Soap. I know," you muttered. "Why do you stay Johnny?"

He looked at you, "Because I can’t help it," he admitted softly. "I can’t stop caring about ye"

You looked at him with guilt, that you didn't see that he cared for you genuinely and you still went out to people who don't.... it made you cry.

Soap's heart broke even more as he saw the tears welling up in your eyes. He reached out and gently wiped away a tear with his thumb. "Hey, don’t cry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please don’t cry."

He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a gentle hug.

You inhaled his scent—the strong aroma of his cologne and peppermint—as you hugged him.

He held you tightly, his arms encircling your frame. He could feel your breathing, and it made his heart flutter. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling your scent. It was intoxicating, and he found himself craving more of your touch.

"Let’s get ye home, bonnie," he said, using the nickname he always used for you.

PART 2

John Soap MacTavish Masterlist | SUPPORT MY WORK HERE

[phantasm-ae]

cw: fluff, drabble

HEADCANON: Soap accidentally joins a cult, much to Ghost’s headache

PAIRING: Ghoap

they were supposed to be doing recon.

In. Out.

Quiet.

Minimal contact. No eyes. No chatter. No interference. Nothing out of the ordinary.

A sleepy village somewhere up in the Carpathians. Lovely land it was. Foggy in the mornings. Cold. A bit damp but green as hell in the afternoon. Quiet too. Silent and peaceful in the kind of way that made you wonder if sound should have ever existed there to begin with.

But like Laswell briefed. Some bloody shady bloke took advantage of the isolated land and marsh. Housing and smuggling in some illegal arms and explosives disguised as relief shipments.

So of course. Ghost and Soap got sent in to scope it out.

It was a simple recon.

Ghost didn't mind it. Not really.

To be fair. He thought this was the most peace and quiet he was going to get all quarter.

No gunfire. No close-quarter scraps in stairwells. No dodging fucking shrapnel or sprinting through burning compounds. Just trees. Wet and mossy soil. The occasional crow. Marshy terrain and birdsong. Simple stuff.

Ghost likes simple stuff.

Ghost liked watching. Recording. Mapping routes while he let Johnny mutter observations into the comms. Having tolerated it to the point that he didn't even scold him anymore for it. Christ, even his chatter was low today -- something about the fog making him "mysterious" or some shite. No matter though. They'd done the hard part already anyway. Mapped the village, tagged the supply route, confirmed that the relief trucks weren't carrying food indeed but enough military-grade plastique to level a city block. All they had left to do now was confirm the time of the next drop, pass it up the chain, and exfil.

Simple stuff.

Ghost liked simple stuff.

Except.

Soap had vanished.

And not even a full vanish. Not at fucking first, no.

He'd waved Ghost off with a "Just takin' a look doon tha' alley. Be two ticks". That was 47 minutes. Ghost wasn't counting, he lied

Which, in fairness, wasn’t new. The Scot had a habit of getting chatty with strangers like it was a pub crawl and not a classified mission. One smile and he’d have half the village offering him tea and stories of their dead uncle who once fought a bear.

Ghost let it slide the first time. Maybe even the second.

But when Soap didn’t check in at the designated mark time, and Ghost circled back to their last known, only to find bloody flower petals on the ground and Johnny’s comm unit hanging from a goat’s horn like a charm --

Yeah.

That’s when Ghost knew things had gone tits-up.

He radioed in twice. No response. Trying not to panic as he commed in the others that were on overwatch. Nothing. No chatter. No static. Just that eerie bloody silence he once found peaceful now absolutely making his skin crawl.

Christ alive, he muttered to himself, checking the signal booster on his belt. Still working. Which meant someone -- or something -- was jamming them.

Brilliant.

Ghost moved low through the underbrush, keeping to the tree line just east of the village. He could see the flickers of firelight now, smell the smoke and roasted meat wafting from the square. Bells and flutes. And singing. There was...singing?. High-pitched and melodic, like an old folk lullaby if it had been raised from the dead and set to a waltz.

Then came the faint sound of drumming. Bells. Laughter. Maybe a chant.

He followed it. Past a moss-eaten gate, under a canopy of gnarled trees and tangled ivy, until he stumbled onto the edge of the village square --

And froze.

Because there, at the center of a crowd of villagers dressed in wool and lace and something straight out of a pagan fever dream, was Soap.

Soap. Soap. Johnny.

Barefoot. Shirtless. And absolutely bedecked in garlands of lavender and whatever passed for sacred herbs around here. A sheer golf sash draped around his torso. Mohawked hair full of twigs and shiny bits of ribbon like a demented maypole. Someone had smeared.... pollen? across his cheeks in thick, ceremonial swipes.

He looked like a Druidic Eurovision contestant.

Ghost blinked. Slowly. Like maybe, maybe this was one of those near-death hallucinations soldiers got before bleeding out.

Nope. Still blinking. Still alive. Still watching his sergeant sway side-to-side while a pair of old women -- possibly priestesses, possibly just nosy -- danced around him chanting in Old Romanian. Or maybe Welsh. Ghost couldn’t tell. One of them was holding what looked like a chicken.

And the worst part? Johnny His Johnny was grinning.

Somewhere in the pit of his stomach, something warm unfurled. Dangerous. Worshipful. Like awe, if awe had teeth. Ancient. Sacred. Divine.

Beautiful.

“Oi, Ghost!” Soap beamed. Spotting the massive and tanking hulk within the treeline. Arms outstretched like a man greeting an old friend to his wedding. “They made me a god!”

At that Ghost blinked. Fever dream fading like some bloody smoke in the wind.

"They what?"

“Not a real god, obviously. Just the reincarnation o' one. Sorta. It’s a bit vague. They said I ‘carry the blood of thunder’ and somethin' about ‘the sacred thighs o' the mountain ram,’ but I might’ve misheard that bit—”

"Johnny. What did you do."

“I helped an auld woman carry some firewood and smiled a wee bit too much I ken?. Apparently, that was enough.”

Ghost’s gaze shifted to the villagers. All wide-eyed. Adoring. Bowing. One of them was cradling a goat dressed in ceremonial beads. Another was preparing a bowl of paint or possibly blood.

A high priestess approached, eyes glowing with zeal. “The Horned One’s bridegroom is with us! The prophecy is fulfilled!”

“…Bridegroom?” Ghost echoed, horrified.

Soap whispered out of the side of his mouth, “Right, aye, slight hiccup — turns out they think I’m meant tae marry their goat god. But here, look at this necklace they gave me!” He held up a hideous pendant shaped like a horned moon and something that might’ve been -- was that teeth?

“Johnny,” Ghost growled. “We are leaving.”

Soap looked genuinely torn. “I mean. I could rule this village for a bit. The wine's naw bad. And they're dead fond o' my arms”

“They’re trying to marry you off to livestock.”

“Tae be fair, the goat's just symbolic -- "

“Now, Johnny.”

Deep down. Deep deep down though. Simon wanted to keep him here. To watch him. Because -- God, it wasn’t just the adrenaline. It was the comfort of seeing Johnny so... happy. So untroubled.

So.... alive, that at that moment, Simon didn't care if it meant he'd join him in the middle of a bloody cult. Changing his mind. Just for a second, maybe two -- because honestly, who wouldn’t want to sit back and watch his Johnny at the center of it all? Grinning like a bloody sunbeam, spinning under those ridiculous garlands and chanting women, eyes sparkling like he'd found some secret purpose among the madness.

That thought immediately evaporated the moment Ghost overheard "ritual. blood letting. and sacrifice". Yeah fuck that. No longer was Johnny the blessed warrior -- they were ready to make him the bloody sacrifice.

And one look around the perimeter. Eyes narrowed. Brows furrowed and a palm reaching for his pistol. The villagers’ excitement turned from adoration to something darker, more sinister. The chants shifted. The smell of incense became cloying and oppressive.

Yeah fuck that. Let's fucking go.

So they fled. Cult hot on their trail. Waving candles. Aiming spears and throwing holy relics -- "holy hell was that me underwear" "shut the fuck up and run straight" -- half-carrying an inebriated Soap, who had gotten wine drunk on their ritual nectar. Slurring "Yer just jealous 'cause they liked me better than ye"

Ghost didn't respond.

Didn't stop running either. Having to haul Johnny in to a forced piggyback. His arms burned, but he didn’t care -- nothing was going to slow him down, not while that bloody cult was chasing them with torches and chants.

Johnny, still drunk out of his mind, draped himself over Ghost’s back like a dead weight, slurring out random bits of nonsense between giggles and hiccups.

Ghost didn’t say a word. Not even his usual irritated and annoyed muttering. No retort. No counter. No comeback. Just pure silence until they were finally back at the safehouse. Simon bolting the door behind them. Soap collapsed on the floor, still wrapped in ceremonial fabric and wearing a crown of herbs.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Soap, grinning to himself, murmured, “Wee bit romantic, is it no? Bein’ dragged aff the altar by a masked-up loon.”

Ghost finally turned to him, gaze burning through the skull of his balaclava.

“Next time,” he said flatly, “I let them marry you to the goat.”

Soap winked. “Thought ye already had me spoken for.”

Ghost only narrowed his eyes.

"Aye. might as well be. I’ve been stuck with you long enough to be your bloody husband.”

Soap choked.

masterlist

[shycloudkitty]

OMGGG THIS IS SO CUTE😭😭😭

This is what the phrase is supposed to mean "boys being boys"

The little drawings in the mission plan will forever be my favorite. Just doodling in a time of crisis.

[gloomwitchwrites]

can we get a quick drabble of the tf141 going on a super long deployment and finding out their kid snuck their favorite plushie or toy car etc into one of the duffle bags as a good luck charm

Ah! Anon! I love this idea! It's so cute. Dad!141 is a fav. I adore picturing them as fathers so this had me in a chokehold. I hope you enjoy these little double drabbles I put together!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Content & Warnings: fluff, dad!141, minor language

Word Count: 800

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

Sweaty and jetlagged, John walks off the military plane with a weary step. Simon, Johnny, and Kyle follow behind, the three men talking softly to each other as John walks ahead of them. It’s a quick stop for a meal before he finally finds his cot in their private tent.

Dropping his duffle on the cot beside him, he unzips the bag, and freezes. On top, resting on his uniform, is his daughter’s teddy bear. It’s light brown in color, missing an arm and an eye, the red bow around its neck is frayed from years of love.

John smiles, a great warmth blooming in his heart. He brings the stuffed bear to his face, inhaling. It smells of home—of you, and of his daughter. The kid must have snuck it in when he wasn’t looking. She’d never part with it otherwise. The bear always stays by her side—a source of comfort.

Now it’s a good luck charm. And a reminder of a promise. The inclusion of the bear in his duffle is a silent command from his daughter.

Come home. Return it to me.

With great care and gentleness, John rests the teddy bear against his pillow.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“What’s this?” murmurs Johnny, opening his duffle bag wider.

With a curious curve to his brow, he removes the top item where he glimpsed a bright burst of color. Tumbling out of the folds of a black shirt is a bright red toy racing car. It’s small, the kind you put on a track or push around with your hand. A black stripe across the top cuts the red in half.

It’s his son’s favorite. It’s always in a pocket or clutched in his hand. You’re always finding it in the laundry or wedged between the sofa cushions. He’d never willingly part with it, but then Johnny remembers tucking him into bed one last time before leaving.

“Take my car, Da. It’ll keep you safe.”

Johnny smiles, holding the little red car in the palm of his hand. With a chuckle, he places it on the nearby table, fingers resting on the top. He moves it back and forth, making shroom sounds like he’s in a race.

“What are you doing, Johnny?” sighs Simon, appearing like a ghost from the dark.

“Driving,” he answers, lifting it off the table, moving it through the air in front of Simon’s unamused expression.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

It’s late, and all Simon wants to do is sleep. He’s been traveling the last couple days for the mission Task Force 141 was just assigned. Price says it’ll be a long one, that they might be gone for a few months. It’s not what he wanted to hear, especially since it takes him away from his family.

Simon drops his duffle bag on the ground next to him. He sits on the edge of the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose as a headache starts to form. From tomorrow on, it’ll be bedrolls and the hard ground. He should enjoy it while it’s still possible.

Simon opens the duffle bag for a fresh shirt he can sleep in. Finding one, he retrieves it, but something comes with it. A white blanket with pastel ducks on it. Small. For a child. Simon knows it. It’s his son’s baby blanket. He still sleeps with it even though it doesn’t cover his feet.

“Must of snuck it in,” he murmurs, smiling down at it.

Gently folding it, Simon places it on the bed beside him, resting his hand atop it knowing he needs to make every effort to bring it home.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Johnny peers over Kyle’s shoulder. “Have any of those sweets?”

He’s acting coy, pretending that he’s not eager for the caramels you always make whenever Kyle leaves for a mission. Johnny has a notorious sweet tooth, so you make a few extra just for him.

With a wicked, knowing grin, Kyle unzips the duffle bag.

“Let’s see here,” says Kyle, feigning ignorance about whether the caramels will be in there.

They are. He’s already eaten three.

Reaching in, Kyle withdraws the contraband. Johnny groans, snatching the bag from him. Kyle watches with amusement as Johnny pops one into his mouth.

“Piss off, MacTavish,” laughs Kyle as the Scots heads for the door.

With a smile that’s starting to hurt, Kyle reaches back into his duffle bag, and brushes against something made of a smooth material with angled, indented lines. Hand shifting, he finds that it’s round.

“What the—”

Pushing clothes aside reveals a football. It’s a classic white and black, scuffed to shit from being kicked around. This is his daughter’s. He can tell by the one pink hexagon. Turning it, he finds a little message written on the white in black ink.

For good luck. And a game.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @suhmie @z-wantstowrite @kylies-love-letter @keiva1000

@iloveslasher @ravenpoe67 @sadlonelybagel @nishim @arrozyfrijoles23

@voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @sageyxbabey @xllizs @miaraei

@weasleytwins-41 @eternallyvenus @chaostwinsofdestruction @cherryofdeath @ninman82

@fern-reads @waves-against-a-cliff @beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx

@jianyi22 @sethell @atpeacee @konigssweatyhood @dreamingoftomorrow

@katerinaval @morguethemagpie @galactict3a @sarah-the-bird-nerd @mikachu-bitez

@unclearblur @kurochan3 @sans-chara @all-by-myself98 @hisuccubus

@km-ffluv @thriving-n-jiving @carbonnite-copy @sobbangchan @codeseven

@youre-a-wallflower-charlie @tiredmetalenthusiast @sporadicpizzainternet @tessakate @mistresssolana

[cresslog]

mmmm silly tiktok trend

[doesntgombe]

Jailed for bomb threat

He trapped :(

[ghouljams]

WHAT DO SOAP AND MRS MACTAVISH DO ON WEEKENDS THE PEOPLE NEED TO KNOW 🥺

Well Saturdays are particularly busy, with the kids having all sorts of clubs and sports to get to. Johnny usually wakes you up with a kiss and a coffee, lets you know that he's already gotten the older lads out the door and off to footie practice, but the wee girls are dragging their feet over swimming lessons and tumbling. So you get up and help see the girls off, still in your pyjamas as you drop the youngest at her gymnastics practice, you always give a wave to the more put together mums. After 5 kids you don't put real pants on for just anything, they'll figure that hack out sooner or later.

You have a shag with your husband and discuss your eldest's desire to play rugby while Johnny stares at you lovingly.

You go to pick up your boys from footie while Johnny goes to get the girls. Your youngest boy tells you about his unassisted goal from halfway down the field so you take all three out for ice cream. You tell them not to tell their Da and end up meeting Johnny at the ice cream shop as he's telling your girls the same thing. You have a good laugh about it while the kids scarf down far too much frozen dairy.

You call your girl friends about having a night out some time while Johnny takes your oldest boy to go meet up with a girl he's "dating." You don't see how a middle grader could be dating anyone, but it's cute. You get pictures of the two of them for the next hour or so while your husband supervises their play-date. You help your girls make a tiktok while the boys play outside. When Johnny gets home he tells you some kids are down the street playing and all of your little ones rush out to play with their friend.

You have a quickie with your husband, and enjoy the way his wedding ring sparkles with your slick.

You rush out when you remember you need to get groceries today and Johnny promises to mind the house. You stop one of your kids from bringing a stray cat into the house on your way out and send them to get their siblings for lunch.

Johnny has the littlest down for a nap when you get home and the rest watching a movie. You prep dinners for the week while Johnny does laundry, stopping each other in the hallway for a kiss. Johnny gropes you once and you giggle so loudly that one of your boys comes to investigate. Before immediately making barf sounds and calling you and your husband "gross" and "lovey dovey." You pat yourself on the back for that one and Johnny gets another grab at your ass while you shoo your child back to his movie.

Dinner is loud and eventful, with lots of stories from the day's play. Your children eat almost as much as your husband and you remind them there's no dessert on saturdays since their Granny will give them more than enough tomorrow.

Sunday morning mass. Then lunch at a sandwich shop. Johnny changes sheets while you help with homework. Then you pack the kids in the car to head to Johnny's mum's house for dinner. You get there with plenty of time for the wee ones to play with their cousins and for you to chat with Johnny's sisters.

Despite the sugar Johnny's mum provides the kids always crash as soon as they get home. So you take the time to relax with your husband, watching late television in the living room before retiring to bed.

You grab a slow, quiet shag and fall asleep on top of each other.

[ghcstsoap]

my beloved golden retrievers

[homosexualgirlandbags]

Also may I mention that Simon 'Ghost' Riley probably has a ghost onesie?

Yea, Johnny was the one who brought it for him. Yes, they went as a matching theme on Halloween. No, Simon would not be showing you how he looks like in the pyjamas.

[machveil]

alternate universe where Soap is not a rabid mutt (evil universe, no amulet)