#john mactavish x gn!reader

[mockerycrow]

Can I request just some comfort Fluff with soap? Maybe him just being at home with the reader and finally being about to fully relax

— love your writing 🤍

MINE, OH MINE (Soap x GN!Reader)

soap masterlist — 808 words

a/n: I had actually gotten two of this request, so 🐤 anon, this is for you, too!!! i apologize for my slowness lol this is also short </3

[WARNINGS: None, domestic fluff!]

Johnny has always loved the mornings after he arrives home to you. Of course, he loves that first near rib breaking hug you give each other—he loves the slow and thankful unsteady kiss you share at the front door with his duffel bag at your feet. Johnny loves the way you run your fingers through his messy mohawk during the sweet kiss, the way you lean and melt into him so naturally.

He loves the way you tremble; like you can’t believe he’s with you and he isn’t looking at you through a facetime call. Johnny adores the way you basically refuse to leave his side the rest of the night, barely giving him enough space for him to use the restroom by himself. He doesn’t mind though, because he knows he’s the exact same way. You are clingy the first two days whilst he is clingy all the way up until he has to leave again; neither of you mind.

Johnny loves the way you wear his clothes while he’s away, the way he sees more of his own laundry than yours in the laundry basket by the washing machine down the hall in the laundry room. Johnny loves the way it’s clear when he steps into the bedroom to put his bag away, you hog his side of the bed. He appreciates your insistence on helping him take a bath, his pajamas already in your arms. You know how to massage the knots out of his shoulders and back, you know the exact pattern on how to stroke his hair and tickle his neck to make him incredibly still. Johnny loves the way you’re concerned about his eyes when washing your hair, cupping right about his forehead to prevent any possible droplets of soap to drip down into his tear ducts. Johnny loves that you care enough to squeeze his hair at his hairline to keep it from dripping down his face.

Johnny loves the way you allow him to rub your back once he’s out of the bath and properly dressed; you’re sitting on the bed with the Scot sitting behind you, his legs crossed as his big and rough hands press against the tense muscles of your back through your his shirt. He loves the way you sigh with your lips closed from being content, the way you instinctually lean back into his touch, the way his thumbs press into your shoulder muscles and rub them in circles to relieve the tension that has most certainly built up, deep in your bones and tissue. He loves the way you tilt your head when he peppers soft kisses to your shoulder, leading up to your neck.

What Johnny loves the most, though, is waking up next to you after these nights together, after returning from deployment and missions. He loves waking up with his nose buried into your shoulder with an arm wrapped around you, the other under his own head for comfort. Johnny loves waking up with his head buried in your chest, or maybe your head is buried in his. He loves waking up to see you still sleeping, your lips parted ever so slightly in your sleep, your face devoid of stress and anxiety. If you snore, the man very much treasures every noise coming from you; it’s a sign of life, and he would fall asleep to the sound of it every night if he could.

Johnny likes to run his fingers against your brow ridge and then down your temple to your jaw, his fingertips sliding against your pulse for a moment, just feel your heart go ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum. Sometimes on a rare occasion, you’ll wake before him; which is how he found out you watch him sleep. Of course Johnny isn’t upset when his eyes flutter open and the first thing they do is lock onto yours. He finds out you wait for him to wake up like he waits for you, admiring his face, his chin scar, his hair. You look at him like there’s nothing else in the world and that makes his chest so tight and gooey.

He likes it when you mumble “I can’t understand you” in the mornings, the grogginess thickening his accent. Johnny likes your little smile when his voice rumbles in the morning, the sound penetrating deep into your chest and staying there. Johnny likes it when you kiss him in the morning, despite the fact that his morning breath has always been worse than yours. He likes it when you cup the back of his head in these morning kisses—all he can think about is you, you, you. Johnny likes it when you insist on staying in bed for a bit longer, despite your alarm for work having already gone and past.

Yeah, Johnny loves coming home to you, alright.

[homicidal-slvt]

Warnings: Smut, MDNI, Dialogue Prompt 11

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For @glitterypirateduck Soap It Up challenge.

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He's one of the good ones.

It seems to be such a rarity in this wicked world to find someone who knows how to touch gently and love wholly. He can wrap around you like wildfire and yet not a single flame dares singe your skin, heated and bright yet there is no danger in the wildness.

He pulls you tight to himself while the early morning sun peeks in from the window, guiding you to trust him with something so precious. Hand fisting into your hair and face pushed into the pillow, you arch your back to get closer to the feeling, steady thrusts keeping a nice and slow rhythm.

The kind that makes you plead until he's railing you so hard that you're certain the neighbors won't be able to look you in the eyes for weeks.

"Look at ye... Fuckin' made for me, aye? All for me."

Praises fall from his lips while he rocks you back and forth, giving you exactly what you desire and more. He'll always do so. One of the good ones.

"I'll take care of you."

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{@sofasoap @gothgirl6-6-6 @soupbinsoup @sarraa-26 @caramlizedtomatoes-deactivated2 }

[agender-wolfie]

Y/N: *laying on the couch staring at the ceiling* “I wanna be taken out.”

Soap: *Snorts* “What, you mean like on a date or by a sniper?”

Y/N: “Surprise me.”

Price:

[criminalamnesia]

Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

————————————————

authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

The way Soap would use military talk to get a reaction from you. He knows you're into it. So you're standing in the kitchen, maybe cooking something and you can hear his raspy voice from behind the corner "Got visuals on the target" and you're already grinning, wisely putting down anything that could make a mess. You hear slight shuffling and a whispered "Nice and stealthy boys", the next thing you know is him tackling you and immediately catching you in his arms, carefully lowering you to the floor. He crawls over you rasping: "Hostage secured", and presses his lips to yours but you both have to laugh. And it ends up being a messy kiss because you both can't stop giggling and grinning into the kiss. And when he breaks away because you're both smiling so wide it's just impossible to properly kiss, you put your hand on his chest and tell him: "You're a goof MacTavish". His smile softens and he replies: "Aye, your goof, that is."

[mitoad]

everyone always talks about ‘medic reader’ this and ‘teammate reader’ that but what abt weapons engineer/mechanic reader ?

just a silly little fella who helps out the 141 with their weapons when they go out of whack, who works very closely with the team to coordinate certain weapons for specific missions .

they’d probably have a really close bond with soap , both having fun with testing demolitions together . who’s able to add in ideas and carry conversations with you when you ramble on about weapons . johnny pulls you close to him when they get startled from the loud noise of an explosion , laughing a little at how they excuse their sudden vulnerability with ‘not expecting it to be that loud’.

price who seeks them out when he’s having issues with his cm901, having to endure your age-long lectures about not accidentally slamming the barrel to hard. he subconsciously makes sure the brush his hand over yours when he finally retrieves his now-fixed weapon.

yeah nyways weapon mech! reader has my heart

[waves-against-a-cliff]

The thing you did that made the 141 men think 'Im gonna marry them'

Content Warnings - Fluff. Sexual themes but no smut.

Gaz - It's cliche really. But he loves it when his partner can eat. Maybe not all the time, not all types of food. Maybe it's literally one specific thing you can eat pounds of. Whatever it is, he had taken you to a buffet and watched with hearts in his eyes as you devoured it. Not in a feederist kind of way but in a... Breeding sort of way. Doesn't matter if you lack the actual parts, can't get pregnant due to birth control or other outside forces. He thinks to himself, "I'm gonna marry them." Doesn't even realize hes thought it until he hears it in his head.

Price - He saw you rush across a busy street (he nearly had a heart attack) and stop traffic because you saw a pair of turtles trying to cross the street. Carefully you picked them up and placed them to where they were heading to. You even waved and said goodbye to them. Your kindness made him smile and chuckle. He realized then he wanted to marry you.

Soap - You were playing with his nieces and nephews at a family party. Chasing them around and playing their games. Laughing and sneaking some more dessert. He loves seeing you with kids, his eyes are on you all night and he thinks, "I'm gonna marry them."

Ghost - He took you axe throwing. He didn't expect you to be this good at it. The way it seemed so natural to you and how the axe embedded itself into the wall. You smiled up at him, a feral gleam in your eyes. He hands you another axe just to watch the way your arm muscles tense and to see the same look on your face when it hits its target. Spare strands of your hair stick to your slightly sweaty face and you comment about how much you like this. As he watches you wrench the axe from its spot, he can only think of how badly he wants to marry you.

[antiquecowdoy]

♡; obsessed with older man!boyfriend being so mean n making you work for your orgasm :(

♡; you were bratty nd said you didnt need him to cum, it was the heat of the moment, he wasn't meant to take it literally!!

♡; nd now he's being so mean! youre not allowed to touch whats his, so hands off that pretty hole! but he's left you for weeks and you're getting so desperate...

♡; youre like a bitch in season, everything is getting you going and its so unfair, but no matter how much you beg and plead, 'you don't need him to cum'

♡; youve been so good as you stumble into his office, all bleary eyed, your insides throbbing desperate for release.

♡; how can he say no to you? especially looking like that, all worked up and pent up because of him? poor baby... he's been so cruel to you, hm?

♡; but he's here now. he's here to save you now. he's so busy too, providing for you and here he is, letting you be all needy and pathetic for him.

♡; how generous of him, patting his thighs and letting you all but crawl on your hands and knees up to him, begging for his dick to split you in half.

♡; how silly of you... thinking he would waste his time fucking you while he's working? you can't be that stupid, really.

♡; three. two. one.

♡; the realisation dawns on you as you realise what he wants. you need to ride his thigh. like a dog.

♡; you don't even have the time to process how gross that is as he bounces his leg, bumping up between your thighs. he's so mean, making you to start rocking back and forth, forcing you to hump his thigh.

♡; look at you? dribbling and leaking all over him, panting and whining, moaning like a whore into his neck, the shoots of pleasure up your spine wracking your body. and he's ignoring you! he hasn't looked at or touched you once!

♡; the rough fabric of his pants, catching on you with every roll of your hips, nipping on you all engorged and sensitive.

♡; look at you? humping his leg? getting off on rutting against his thigh like a pathetic mutt.

♡; you can't help yourself, shoots of burning pleasure up your spine, your toes curling as your core tightens before you begin to spurt all over yourself and his thighs, seeping into his clothes :(

♡; he doesn't even react! just a deep chuckle at how pathetic and needy you are, his rough hands patting your arse, letting your post orgasm haze cloud that silly little head of yours.

[konigsblog]

How about Soap with a lactation kink?

something soap would definitely have: a lactation kink... 🍼

cw: afab!gn!reader, pregnancy, lactation, perv!soap. mdni 18+ only. 🔞

johnny can't help himself at the sight; your hardened nipples weeping with the white, thin liquid, rolling down your soft breasts as you moan and gasp every now and then...

you feel johnny's lips around your puffy, swollen nipples, beginning to get sore as he bites them, moaning around your aching nubs, his eyelids heavy with lust and delirium. his boner grows and leaks against his muscular abdomen, pearly beads of his warm around smearing across his lower abdomen, his breathing getting heavier as he rolls his tongue over the nub once again.

of course, he can't be too greedy — your baby needs some too, yet johnny is still envious, bitter and almost possessive of your milk, the taste being something unforgettable.

he'll twist and pull at your nipples during sex, his wet and pulsating, veiny boner rubbing against your cervix over and over again whilst you tangle your fingers in his messy mohawk, tears rolling down your pathetic face at the mixture of agony and pleasure rushing through you and pooling at your cunt. :(

[mockerycrow]

SMELL — SOAP (FLUFFTOBER)

soap render is again, by the lovely @ave661 !!

flufftober masterlist — 435 words

JOHNNY SMELLED like different scents, depending on the time of when he returned home temporarily from being on duty. When he first returns home late at night, dropping his duffel bag by his feet to wrap his arms around you, your nose burying against Johnny’s cheek, he smells like a cheap body wash you get for cheap, as well as semi-prominent smells of gunpowder and smoke–almost as if Johnny tried to scrub it from his skin for you. When you find yourself in his arms by the front door, his hand grasping the back of your shirt, you don’t mind the smell. In fact, you started looking forward to the scents he brings home; because it’s him.

When it’s a few days into his leave, you turn over in bed and your nuzzle into the back of his neck, wrapping your arms around him from behind, and you smell his fantastic shampoo that you bought him; this poor man was previously using a 3 in 1 on leave before meeting you, and you bought him new products which he keeps buying for himself, murmuring that you “know him so well”. You smell his new body wash as well that makes his skin so soft and moisturized, causing you to rub your hands on him so often to the point where Johnny grumbles and swats your hands away when he’s doing something important. Johnny smells like the food he cooks for you and himself; he smells like the food he grabs on the way home from a friend’s house, he smells like mild dirt, grime, and sweat after he’s done playing rugby or shinty.

Johnny smells like the tequila that he spit out of his mouth out of shock from simply tasting it, insisting it tastes like pure dog piss. He smells like mint in the mornings from his toothpaste, and he smells like shaving cream from shaving. Every single thing Johnny has ever smelled like, you have learned to love. At first, you hated the smell of gunpowder; now you miss it when you drop Johnny off at the airport when he has his next deployment. You hated the smell of the cheap body wash, but you find yourself shamefully buying it when sniffing the other body products decorating your shared home wasn’t enough.

You thought you were a bit odd about enjoying his smells, enjoying him; but when you begin to notice the way he nudges his nose in your scalp or under your chin, or even your shirt; you can’t help but smile, knowing the feeling is mutual when he murmurs, “missed ‘ya.”

[homicidal-slvt]

Childhood Friends With John 'Soap' Mactavish

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MDNI

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Johnny Mactavish x GN!Reader |Can be seen as platonic or romantic|

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For @glitterypirateduck Soap It Up challenge.

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Dialogue Prompts: 1 & 3 & 33 & 30

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Warnings: Fluff, Angsty at the end

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Johnny is super affectionate- that's just how he is. Never hesitates to put his arms around you or give you a pat on the back.

He's a complete tease to the highest degree and absolutely will mess with you, holding the remote away from you to initiate a play fight, grinning ear to ear with a jokingly cocky "Why don't ye come over here and make me!"

Expect to always be welcome at his parents place and even if you don't exactly have a good relationship with your parents- his will absolutely adopt you and call you their own.

Creating your own form of a language that only you two seem to understand, a single glance and raised eyebrow can say so much... Which obviously leaves Price, Gaz and Ghost very confused.

Jokingly flirting and saying the dumbest puns or pick-up lines, trying to see who cracks first and can't pretend to be serious any longer. "Ye know... I was told to chase my dreams- so here I am." "Oh my fucking god-" "Hah! Ye cracked! I win!"

Don't bother trying to push him away when something is wrong, he sees straight through it, settling down beside you and offering you your favorite candy like when you were kids. "Don't ignore me."

He's incredibly protective over you and it should be known that if anyone dares to hurt you- they'll have him to answer to. Tears streaming down your face with a bruise on your cheek, him mumbling a low "Who did this to you?" While helping comfort you... Next thing you know he shows up at your house with slightly bloodied knuckles. "Aye, I took care of it. Dinnae worry I'm fine... They're technically fine too."

Johnny always had a habit of getting you two into trouble, never anything serious but a little bit of mischief is just too hard to resist. "You're a bad influence..." You mutter while keeping look out for Ghost. "Aye, but you like it."

Wrapped in his arms as you have to let him leave, mumbling over and over for him to please be careful and come back in one piece... Tying a friendship bracelet you wanted to wait till his birthday to give to him around his wrist as a good luck charm, that one small action making his insides turn to goo and his heart clenching at the look on your face. "Promise you're coming back..." "I promise."

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{@sofasoap @gothgirl6-6-6 @soupbinsoup @sarraa-26 @caramlizedtomatoes-deactivated2 }

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{More Content}

[harveywritings92]

During a staff meeting Price is rattling off the up coming events and recent renovations done to the base, Soap looks like he’s taking notes.]

R/n, who dozed off during the meeting tries to read over Soap’s shoulder to see what they missed: *confused* what the hell?

[Turns out Soap hadn’t been taking notes. He’s been playing several rounds of Tic-Tac-Toe by himself with the scoreboard labelled: Soap and Evil! Soap. And it seems Evil! Soap was winning…}

R/n, to Price after the meeting: Are you aware that one of your men has an alternate personality that seems to have a very impressive talent for Tic-Tac-Toe?

Price: Oh, you mean Evil Soap?

[criminalamnesia]

the 141 x reader fic that you did was so yummy!!! pls make them suffer the wrath of reader and make 141 realise how much they need them when they leave,

your work is so amazing btw and your way with words is simply ✨chef’s kiss✨ (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡

thank you!! here’s part 3 :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

angry didn’t even begin to describe how you felt as you slammed the door to price’s office behind you.

you were tense, muscles taut and poised to fight. your fists clenched at your sides, blunt nails digging into your palms hard enough to hurt. your jaw was clenched, teeth grinding together as you resisted the urge to march back in there and unleash your fury.

no. not like this. not when you weren’t a hundred percent. not when they would still look at you like you were a wounded doe, stumbling around on broken legs.

in the back of your mind, you can hear that psychologist saying ‘this anger will eat you alive if you let it. you need to let it out somehow.’

you inhaled, unclenched your fists, and made up your mind. you pulled the iv from your arm, wincing at the pinch of the needle.

you left the iv pole standing there as you made your way to the gym.

the gym was empty when you arrived, which made sense for this time of day. many would be occupied by drills or in the mess hall. others would be sleeping off long nights. you had the place to yourself, and you were grateful for the absence of watchful eyes and sweetened tongues.

you were tired of those who knew nothing acting like they knew something. of those who apologized or asked if you were okay. word spread like wildfire around base, and the subject of your ‘betrayal’ had been front-page news since the start of the witch hunt.

the gym door clicked shut behind you, and you surveyed the room. you knew your doctor would have a fit once you returned to the infirmary, and that she probably wouldn’t let you out alone again, but you didn’t really care.

you needed to let off some steam, and the best way you knew how was with your fists. either you start swinging at a bag or at a certain someone’s face. the bag won’t be condescending, and that makes your choice easy.

you approach one of the bright red punching bags in the corner. it’s scratched and taped from where someone had busted it open. scars that didn’t go away, that wouldn’t— just like yours.

you huffed. it didn’t do any good to start feeling sorry for yourself. you hadn’t done anything wrong. your team had.

you stretch your arms out in front of you, fingers interlocking to pop your knuckles. you catch sight of your severed finger, still healing. they’d recovered what had been chopped off, but hadn’t been able to save it.

just another permanent reminder, something to make sure you didn’t dare forget. you didn’t think you ever would regardless.

you shook out your hands and rolled your shoulders back. fists raised, you angled yourself towards the bag. feet spread, shoulders squared, thumb tucked under your fingers instead of inside. a stance that was second nature after years of sparring and hand-to-hand drills.

the bag was firm when your fist connected with it. you would have been lying if you said it didn’t hurt. you punched with the other hand— same results. the time you’d spent confined to an infirmary bed had done a number on you. muscles had atrophied, bones had weakened. the leg you’d suffered a bone-deep cut to shook under your weight.

you didn’t care. you kept punching, your breathing picking up as your emotions guided you. sweat dripped into your eyes and rolled down your back. you felt weak, physically and mentally. you hated feeling this way, and so you punched harder.

“slow down,” a voice grumbled from behind you.

you ignored him, continuing to punch the bag. you hadn’t heard the door open, nor heard the sound of him approaching, but you would have been surprised if you did.

simon always had a penchant for sneaking up on people, intentionally or not.

“gonna pass out if y’don’t stop,” he said after a minute. you could feel his eyes on you. you ignored him again.

you didn’t need to turn around to know he was standing there with his arms crossed, eyes full of something unreadable.

“stop,” he says firmly, and you sense his movement as he surges forward. his hand lands heavily on your shoulder, pulling you back from the punching bag. you heave in a breath before spinning around and punching him in the nose.

simon stumbles back a step, eyes widened slightly. for someone who prided himself on being so observant, he clearly didn’t see that coming. it made you feel the tiniest bit smug that you’d caught him off guard for once.

you dropped your hands to your knees then, squeezing your eyes shut as a wave of nausea washed over you. damn the bastard, he had been right. you shouldn’t have even been in here in the first place, let alone exerted yourself as much as you had.

your hands were shaking as you tried to pull yourself together. you opened your eyes to see drops of blood on the gym floor, by your feet. you had split your knuckles open.

there were also drops of blood at simon’s feet. you looked up then, slowly straightening your posture. he’d removed his mask, his face bare as he stared at you. blood dripped from his nose.

“gonna have to hit harder than that if y’want to break it,” he says, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“did you follow me in here?”

“no.” he says, and you’re giving a mirthless laugh.

“oh, please. im sure price sent you, yeah? you’ve always been his little lap dog. he says ‘jump’ and you say ‘how high,’ isn’t that right, lieutenant?”

your tone is tense, angry. you throw his title in his face, seeing as he’d been so quick to remind you of yours back in price’s office.

simon watches you, and you want to tackle him. he had always been quiet, always stoic. you’d been with him for years, but you still didn’t think you’d broken down all of his walls.

he was so good at masking his thoughts, his feelings. you weren’t. soap had always called you an open book. whenever you were mad or upset, everyone knew it.

no one knew anything about simon unless he wanted them to. it drove you mad then, and it was sure as hell driving you mad now.

“you need to get back to the infirmary,” he tells you. he wipes the back of his hand under his nose, smearing red across his skin. for a moment, you want to chastise him, reach up and wipe the remnants from his face.

you quickly shake that thought from your head. what is it they say— old habits die hard?

these habits would die if you had to strangle each one with your bare hands. anything you harbored for the four men on your team, for the one you’d called yours, was dead and gone.

“fuck off,” you tell him.

“why are you so damn stubborn?” he says then, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him start to crack since everything had happened. emotions are beginning to leak through his stony exterior, whether he means them to or not.

“you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. none of you do,” you say, and you take a step forward then, eyes blazing as you stare up at him. “not after what you did.”

he doesn’t speak for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. his eyes never leave yours.

“it shouldn’t have happened like that.” he tells you. you scoff.

“like that? you mean the four of you torturing me? tying me up and mutilating me like I was just another fucking target?” your voice was rising as you took another step forward, shoving a finger into his chest.

“if I’d treated you like another target,” he said, tone even. “you would’ve been dead.”

“so you showed me mercy, is that it?” you bared your teeth, a hollow laugh escaping your throat. “oh, thank you simon. I really felt that fucking mercy when you cut off my finger, and when you cut through layers of skin to get to bone.”

you inhaled before continuing. “I should be grateful then, right? is that what you want from me? for me to recognize your fucking ‘mercy’ and take you back? take you all back?”

he just stands there. you can see his jaw clench, but he makes no move to speak. you find it funny that he hasn’t even tried to apologize. john, your ever prideful captain, had swallowed his failure and pleaded for your forgiveness.

johnny and kyle would surely have done the same if they’d had the chance to speak to you, even if they only had a minute.

but simon? simon doesn’t. he doesn’t outwardly admit his wrongs. he doesn’t apologize. doesn’t seem sorry, even. you don’t know what’s going on inside his head, but you find yourself not really caring to know.

the fact that he can’t bring himself to admit, in blunt words, that he had astronomically fucked up and that he felt even the slightest bit of remorse, told you everything you needed to know.

cold, stoic ghost. you hadn’t been afraid of him when you’d first joined the squad, and you weren’t afraid of him now.

but back then, you’d wanted to break down those stone walls of his. you’d wanted to be someone he felt safe around, someone who knew him inside and out.

now, you’re packing your time with him into a box in your mind and dumping it into the trash. simon riley means nothing to you now.

“take your mercy and shove it up your ass,” you tell him. you step back and drop your hand, your eyes still locked on his.

“and by the way,” you say as you start towards the door. he doesn’t turn around, doesn’t move an inch. it’s as if he’s rooted to the spot.

“you should’ve just killed me.”

author’s note:

not really sure how I feel about this one tbh. I have plans for a part four, but I’m not quite sure how long I’ll be making this series.

and as for simon— I want to write an extra part about his thoughts/feelings about everything. let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!

anyways, let me know your thoughts please :) (I honestly may end up deleting this and rewriting it when I’m not tired lol)

taglist: @preeyansha @igotmajordaddyissues @nanatheoaktree @aesthetic0cherryblossom @oceanicexolorer @soph121212 @liv2post @cupid-eclipse @angels-despair18 @k4marina

[satanslittlefucker]

[On a mission where y/n has to seduce a target]

Y/n *lost in thought*: As much as the success of this will do wonders for my self confidence, I'm pretty sure it's not a very healthy way of doing it.

Y/n: ...Oh the voices are back!

Y/n: Nvm, sorry.

Ghost: ...

Soap: ...

Gaz: ...

Price: ...

Ghost: Price get the kid a fucking shrink already.

Y/n: What? Noooo! I've got coping mechanisms! And i like them!

Soap and Gaz: They're unhealthy!!!

Y/n: They're fun!!

Price *utterly exhausted dad sigh*: Why...? Just why...?

[youronlydarlin]

Inside you are two wolves

One is called. Simon 'Ghost' Riley, and the other is named John 'Soap' MacTavish

The first wolf's thrusts are deep, and heavy. In contrast to the second wolf who's way too eager in plunging his cock over, and over inside your tight heat.

The wolf called Simon mouths at your neck. nipping, and biting. Sucking and licking, making sure to mark you good and proper. While the wolf named John busies himself by putting his lips against yours, tongue exploring every crevice of your panting mouth, dragging it over your teeth and mixing his spit with yours.

Their hips move like clockwork. Cocks way too hungry to be let out of your hole for a mere second. Both whispering the filthiest thoughts to your ear. Explaining in vivid detail what they've got planned for your pretty hole

Ears standing at attention. their tails wag as quick as a flash. Rapidly moving back and forth as the skin at the base of their cocks start to swell. the knot slowly forming

Their thrusting into you at a near frantic pace. Both of their fat cocks driving you to a state of mindless bliss. Euphoria shots clean through every nerve of your body just as you three reach your peak. Your raised hips, and their fat knots keep, hot, sticky, cum from oozing out of your gaped hole. Successfully inflating your belly

a/n: I'm doing all of your requests by the way!! I'm not slacking off I promise 😭 some just take more time than the other, I hope you understand. N it's also quite a busy week for me, I have to do a presentation and attend an event 🥺 all n all, to all the lovely anons who sent a request in my inbox just know that I am writing, and on the job!! Ne ways have this for now, my darlings!!

Yours, truly,

–Dolly

[imaginesheaven]

Funny moment with TF 141

*on the way to the mission in the car*

(Y/N): *turns on music*

(Y/N): *sings* Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want

Gaz: *joins you* So tell me what you want, what you really, really want

(Y/N): I wanna really, really, really wanna zigazig ah

Soap, Gaz & (Y/N): If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends

Ghost: *sits between singing Gaz and Soap* …

Soap, Gaz & (Y/N): Make it last forever, friendship never ends

Ghost: … I really want to get out …

Price: *drives* Sorry, buddy, (Y/N) won the bet.

Ghost: …

Soap, Gaz & (Y/N): If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give! Taking is too easy, but that's the way it is!

Ghost: … *tries not to cry*