#john mactavish x reader

[differenteagletragedy]

Soap struggling with the aftermath of being shot and surviving because he did in fact survive as we all know :)

Even without the shot to the head, Johnny would have left the job. That's what he tells you, anyway.

And when he looks at you, blue eyes burning with intensity born from the desperate need for you to believe him, you know he's telling the truth.

But what you don't know, at least not in so many words, is that he hates himself. Just a little bit and only sometimes, but it's hate all the same, for not leaving sooner. For being pushed out instead of walking, and for being left with this hole that's made him a ghost of the man you fell in love with.

It's a rush, white hot and venomous, that he feels in the low moments. When he had to call you from the corner shop because he couldn't remember how to get home. The mornings when you kneel in front of him, sweet and patient as always, because he couldn't tie his shoes. It was almost enough to choke him, the first time he looked at you and knew what you were to him, knew he could sit down and sketch every single line of your pretty face because he knows them by heart, but he just couldn't think of your name.

"Johnny, it's ok," you tell him, and you mean it. "I love you. I'm happy you're here with me."

"I love you too," he always responds. He means it too.

It's just that when he says it, it tastes like regret.

[mortem-writes]

Don't get me wrong Johnny is definitely a passionate lover but I'm a huge believer that to get him to absolutely fuck you through the mattress is to stroke his ego not his cock

Like Soap seeing his pretty girl writhing on his cock isn't supposed to switch a flip in his brain? Seriously?

Johnny's confident, suave, and has definitely got plenty practice under his belt, he knows he's got both a nice cock and the skills on how to use it to have his hen sobbing face buried in his pillow.

Trust me, he knows he's full of himself— but it's entirely other thing when his sweet girl is proving him right, intentionally or not, moaning deliriously "there, right there... more more please— ah!" when he's sheathed entirely in her warmth and then slurring into his shoulder, drunk on the high he's giving her, "so so good Johnny..."

Music to his fucking ears. He's getting absolutely drunk on the affirmation that he's good in bed.

It's addictive, he's petting over the soft skin of your inner thighs that are spread obscenely wide around his thick waist with gentleness that sharply contrasts with how his hips are hammering into yours desperately with renewed vigour and speed to the point of overstimulation. He's grunting and whining low in the back of his throat as your cunt clamps down on him like a vice, babbling gibberish against the slope of your throat as he loses himself in the feel of you, "so pretty bonnie," biting down a few times just to make sure you know you're his.

Johnny reckons he might be egotistical, or maybe he just has a praise kink. Guess he just needs to experiment with you some more to find out which one— your cunt might be bruised for days after though :/

First smut post? Johnny definitely has a praise kink btw

[waves-against-a-cliff]

Soap putting you in a headlock when fucking you into the mattress, his chest against your back as his hips snap against the fat of your ass. You're clawing against his forearm which only makes him chuckle and comment about how feisty you are while he hits so deep inside you that you damn near scream.

Biting down hard enough to leave indents on his bicep and not letting go until he uses his other hand to wrench your head away by your hair with a snarl. Snapping your jaw at him while he stares down with feral blue eyes, "Ye wannae play rough?"

[ghouljams]

Making soap fuck you while he has a vibrating butt plug in 🧎‍♀️

Panting and whining like he isn't wagging his damn tail. Hips stuttering and his hands pawing at you, cock twitching with each thrust, complaining that it feels too good, he can't hold back. You'd really hoped you'd be able to control him better, but he's so desperate it's mean. Holding you down and fucking you as hard and fast as he can, knocking the air out of your lungs with each heavy slap of his hips until you can barely get a breath in to scream. Maybe it was wishful thinking to believe he meant he couldn't hold back from coming, not that he was abandoning everything but base instinct.

[gazstations]

Affairs of the Heart

ASK REQUEST: find original post here

ᯓᡣ𐭩 SUMMARY

Johnny has liked you for a long time. He doesn’t know how obvious he can get. You never get it. But it turns out you’ve been assuming the wrong thing this whole time.

FANDOM: Call of Duty 

PAIRINGS: John MacTavish x reader

WORD COUNT: 2,103 words

WARNINGS: Good ol’ miscommunication, I’m probably writing Soap’s accent wrong, no extreme warnings

◇ Notes: In everything I write, Johnny always ends up a little bit obsessive and I think that really captures who he is. Am I right? Idk how I feel about this one, but you guys are the judges.

○●○ NAVIGATION MASTERLIST

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

SOMETIMES JOHNNY WANTED TO WRING YOUR NECK.

He had never met anyone so sweetly oblivious to romantic advancements. If he was another person—a far smarter one—he would cut his losses and bar off the part of him that craved you. Yet, he always had a cruel desire to torture himself, he supposed. A masochist for emotional turmoil.

But all of this? He wanted to bang his head against the wall. Maybe that would rewrite his synapses until he forgot you. No, he never wanted to forget you. You were so frustrating. He wanted to cup your face and kiss you silly.

Knowing you, you would probably still find a way to assume he was just being friendly.

Gaz suggested that his object of affection just wasn’t interested and didn’t know how to let him down easy. Normally, maybe Johnny would agree and forget about you. Plenty of fish in the sea. Only the one fish he wanted was currently taking him on a dreadful tour of the deep waters.

Maybe Gaz was right. If he got scared by the black waters, you wouldn’t have to voice your disdain for his constant pursuing.

However, his ma didn’t raise a quitter.

He was at risk of you actually getting annoyed and taking his heart and crumbling it in your fingers. Was he in love with you? Not yet. But he could see it now. You’d be so easy to love, and he would be good at it.

Today, you were having a bad day. He could smell the acid as soon as he walked into the common room. You were there, nestled at a table alone, a few other soldiers scattered about. He paid them no mind, instead zeroing in on your hunched form. Dread filled his stomach.

Who had hurt his bonnie thing?

“Bad day?” He asked as he casually slid into the seat next to you.

He didn’t miss the way you wiped at your eyes discreetly, pulling a frown to his lips. The sight wasn’t right. He wanted to see happiness blooming on the sweetness of your lips. To see that dewey glow on the apples of your cheeks.

“Bad day…” you repeated with a discontented scoff.

“Ye want a hug?” He offered already opening his arms. Eager mutt.

You relented. Not enthusiastically, but you still allowed him to envelop your form. He was broad and smelled like sweat. He had recently been training. The faint cedar deodorant he used was prevalent as he tucked you into his arm.

“Ye wanna go tae the pub?” He asked when he finally released you from his shackles. He was puffed up now, that little interaction doing more than you realized.

“Now?” you responded. “I mean… I have a couple of things…”

“Nae. Later,” Soap corrected. “Dinnae fash. Ye got time.”

You watched him with an unreadable expression as your eyebrows quirked. It was cute, watching you go through your thought process live. You always thought a lot. Always trapped in that prison. He hoped it wasn’t storming in your brain.

“Don’t you go with Ghost to the pub on Fridays?” You finally asked.

“Ach. He willnae mind. Lad is busy,” Soap dismissed.

He watched you purse your lips. He wanted to pick apart your brain like sweet petals on a sunflower. What would each layer hold? He wanted to explore who you were down to the very prime core. The very stakes that held up the foundation. Were they polished neat? Were they full of grime, dirtied down to the ends as they were shoved into the ground?

“Okay. I can go for a couple drinks,” you finally relented, and Soap could feel a grin pulling at his lips. “But I'm not getting drunk.”

Soap beamed. “Ah will take care of ye.”

♡◇♡

True to his word, Soap didn't let intoxication get out of hand. He didn't want to give you the impression he was some untethered wild animal that frothed at the mouth whenever it came time to quench his thirst on something divine. He was coordinated and calculated when he wanted to be.

He finally got you to relent and chance an outing with him. He wasn't going to waste it.

His fascination was cruelty. It shackled him down onto his knees in your land. He hungered for your attention, no matter how little scraps you gave him. He knew you didn't hate him. You just never connected the dots. That the man was irrevocably caught in your web.

“Been comin’ ‘ere fer 5 years,” Soap spoke against the tense silence.

He had never been so beaten down by anxiety before. He could talk up a pretty bird just fine most days. End up in their sheets just as fast. He was no stranger to instant gratification of sex, and he loved those simple pleasures.

You were his friend, though. At least he wanted to assume. He yapped a lot of nonsense in your presence, and you never barked at him and bared your teeth. He found himself craving that instead of the honeyed flesh between your legs. It became more than what Soap was used to.

“Surprised you didn't get banned yet.” You mused.

You took a sip of your drink, and Soap found himself zeroing in on the way your lips parted and your throat bobbed. Enticing. He was completely hopeless, smitten, and maybe even horny in one. But he didn't want to make his relationship about the latter of the three. He was trying really hard to be a good boy.

“Ah got a wee bit of charm, love,” Soap remarked. If he was a wild animal, he would be a peacock, puffing up his iridescent feathers in hopes you took a bite.

“Mhm. I've seen you blacked out, nothing charming about it,” you said back.

“Aye. How am ah sober?” Soap put his elbow on the bartop and leaned closer to you.

His eyes softened when he looked at you. Were you really that bloody oblivious to the signs he was putting off? Or did you know and just didn't want to let him down easy? Knowing his luck, it was the latter.

“Slightly more charming,” you gestured with your index and thumb, pulling them slightly apart to show how much you thought it qualified.

Soap drank it up like the last droplets in a frozen pipe.

“Slightly? How does a lad do better?” He inquired. He glanced down at your lips again and salivated like a damn mutt. There was still a droplet of your drink beading on your bottom lip.

“Dunno. You have to figure that out.”

Soap liked a challenge. He reveled in it. Maybe that’s why he pursued you time and time again, even if there wasn't a happy ending in sight. Not yet, at least. He wouldn't give up until you pushed back against him and hissed. But you were so sweet, you would never do that.

Although, Soap had a knack for unlocking unexpected reactions.

“What do you and Ghost do for fun?” You asked randomly. Soap raised an eyebrow, confusion forming in his one track mind.

“LT and I?” He scratched at the bit of scruff on his face. “Dinnae think LT has fun.”

“No?” You tilted your head and grew thoughtful.

What were you thinking? He was going to wring himself dry trying to figure that out, he was sure of it. You weren't so straightforward as he was used to. Even Ghost had more outward emotions than you most days.

“So you don't take him on dates?” You asked.

Soap nearly choked on his drink when he heard those words. He flushed and looked like a deer in headlights as he processed those words. Was that what his sweet bonnie thought this whole time? You were going to murder him without lifting a finger one day.

“Dates?” He let out a small, incredulous laugh. It sounded pained more than anything. “Oh, love. Did ye think…?”

He found he liked the way you flustered and bit your lip. He was no better. How in the hell did you assume he and Ghost were… bloody hell? Sure he joked about marrying the Lieutenant so they could always be together, but the older man just rolled his eyes at the Scot's antics. There was never anything going on.

Plus, Ghost was smitten with a little civilian bird who made him a little treat every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning. Bloody bastard was worse than him. Maybe they both had a thing for lasses that looked right at the signs and still read them wrong.

“You're not…? But everyone says…” you shamed yourself in your alcohol and Soap internally cooed.

“Tsk. Only rumors, hen.” Soap brushed off.

He didn't mind really. There were worse people to be bunched together with and rumored to be dating. He would gladly be pinned with Ghost. Though, he definitely wanted to pin you down more.

“Is tha’ why ye're evadin' me?” He asked a moment later.

“Huh?” You lifted your gaze and gave him a quizzical look.

“Oh, hen. We got a lot of catchin' up tae do.”

♡◇♡

Soap loved a good drama. He loved starting it even more. He always sparked little fires here and there, just to keep the natural flow of the world spinning. He couldn't sit still half of the time. He was always a very agitated kid.

Now he was an even more ruthless adult that had the extravagant galore of opportunity at his fingertips.

The next morning, thankfully only a bit tipsy after the pub, he paraded your hesitant form down the hallways. You, always suspicious by default, tried to glue your feet to the ancient carpeting. He could tell you would rather frighten like a little doe rather than find out what he had planned.

He could feel you halfway out the door, muscles coiled tight when he stopped you in front of Ghost. He smiled wide, eyes still gleaming with amusement from your revelation last night.

“Right. LT, the wee lass has assumed quite the funny thing…” Soap started, patting you on the back. He ignored the glare you sent him. He was the equivalent to a dog that brought his owner a gift, as he wagged his tail and preened.

“Is that right?” Ghost looked between the both of you.

“Hen thinks ye and ah are rompin’ in the sheets,” Soap says.

He heard your exhale as you spluttered out an explanation. “Dating! I thought dating. Not what he said.”

Soap watched with blissful delight as he saw the faintest hint of amusement fall over Ghost. He knew his little tells after serving for so long beside him. His left eyebrow always rose and the mask moved as the man smiled. He always tilted his head just the tiniest bit as well.

“You listen to rumors then?” Ghost prompted and you shrunk, as if you expected to be physically struck. Soap would never let that happen. No one would ever be allowed to mark up your flesh.

“Well… I… yes… I suppose I do,” you decided lying wasn’t worth it. You were around two mutts that sniffed out bullshit for a living.

Ghost analyzed you for a long moment, even Soap found himself intimidated. He hovered behind you instinctively, even if he knew Ghost wouldn’t harm you. Maybe he wanted to assure you more than anything. The Lieutenant was amused, not insulted.

“You spent all that time fussing over a rumor to realize the mutt was after you this whole time,” Ghost finally said.

“Aye. He’s right,” Soap nodded his head vigorously, staring at you intently as he waited for your response.

Soap rocked on the balls of his feet eagerly. He was full of humor, but he really was just a simple man desiring companionship. He didn’t often get to that point, but this time it came as swift as a punch to the gut. The attraction really did hit him head on like that.

In their line of work, it was hard to indulge in long term pleasures. Life was always revolving and he didn’t even know if he’d be six feet under in a casket the next day. It was all up in the air and he often felt it was selfish to seek out someone who wanted a deeper connection.

He decided to bite the bullet this time. You were too good of a chance to pass up. He’d be happy and secure with you, he could feel it.

You finally opened your mouth to speak. “And here I thought he was being friendly the whole time.”

Steamin’ Jesus, Soap was going to wring your neck one day.

[anjelicawrites]

John's daughter comes as a suprise. After many years of trying, you two accepted the fact that no child will bless your lives. And that's when you fall pregnant. Your daughter grows up headstrong and inquisitive, a dog with a bone and no intention to drop it. John's father expects her to join the military: there's always been a Price serving the Crown. John begs to differ: his family didn't truly leave him with a say in the matter of his career, he's not going to go down the same path. The fallout is apocalyptic but John is stubborn, he cares more about your daughter's happiness than stupid traditions. She becomes an investigative journalist. Most of the times she calls from only God knows where and John's BP skyrockets at the thought of harm befalling her, despite having trained her himself in self defense.

Simon's daughter is a mistake baby. The two of you dated for a while, then he was deployed and couldn't contact you for a long time, which led you to believe he wasn't truly interested in you. When the two lines on the test appeared, you decided to keep the child and to not tell him. Simon didn't mean to disappear the way he did, once he was back he imagined you wouldn't want anything to do with him after so long. Picture his surprise when he stumbles upon you and your baby bump; it doesn't take him too long to do the math in his head and almost have a heart attack. He wants to be a part of the child's life, he's not that kind of bastard, despite his fear to be an abusive piece of shit the way his father had been. Your beloved daughter grows up to be the epitome of femininity, a successful food influencer who, because she is such a girly girl, is rarely taken seriously at first, which is unfortunate, since her dad taught her how to use a knife in the most effective way.

Kyle's daughter is a wanted and adored child. He couldn't imagine that, by accompanying his sister to the only hairdresser free, the day her usual one ghosted her, he would return home with your number in his pocket. Or that you would stick around, despite his hectic job. When you tell him you want to try for a baby he's elated and is truly in seventh heaven when the test comes back positive. You work in television most of the times and your daughter is so pretty that you get many proposals to have her act in commercials or small parts in TV series. Kyle isn't that convinced but you will always be there, know that world enough to keep her safe, plus this could be a way to set aside money for her sixth form and university. Kyle should have known that his perchant for danger would trickle down to her: she works in the TV and movies all right, as a stunt woman. He's going to have a coronary before he turns fifty.

Johnny's daughter is not planned, nor she's a mistake. You and him decided to let Mother Nature do her thing, if you get pregnant you will, if not, you two will be the weird uncle/aunt duo for his team mates daughters: there's nothing more fun than see the scowl on Simon's face when you two spoil his lil' girl rotten (and no, she can't have a pony for her birthday, according to him). Johnny is attentive throughout the pregnancy, his favourite way to spend time is painting on your tenting belly, he laughs every time the baby kicks against his hand. It doesn't come as a surprise that your daughter becomes an artist, she usually works with associations that fight gangs and try to offer young, troubled kids, another chance at life and a way out if they're already initiated. Suffice to say, there are many dangerous people who have it out on her, but you and Johnny shouldn't be anxious "The house and the studio are both rigged". As if that helps Johnny sleep at night. He might ask his captain which brand of BP medication he's on these days.

[sigh-tofm]

reader at a bar being approached by johnny ‘my wife thinks you’re attractive’ mactavish but his wife is 6’4, 250lbs, wears a skull balaclava in public and is staring you down like you killed his mother

[hahaifolded]

Cellophane - Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x POC!GN Reader

Tags/Warnings: MDNI, ANGST (racism), one-sided relationship Author's Note: I genuinely have no clear where this came from. I had to take a lap while writing this because wtf. Read with precaution!

Johnny: Sorry about that. My phone died but on my way.

So many emotions swirl your head as you pick at the loose threads on your couch. You weren’t sure what you were feeling right now. Anger. Disappointment. Confusion. Betrayal. 

All you knew that if Johnny doesn’t have a good reason for this, it’s ov— 

Wait, don’t get ahead of yourself. This is your Johnny for fucks safe. Your boyfriend of two years. Your safety. Your home. Your heart. There has to be a logical reason for this. There just has to be. 

Your front door suddenly opens and interrupts your thoughts. 

“Mo ghradh! I’m home!” announces your lover. Normally, his arrival brightens your day but right now, it just reminded you of the growing tightness in your throat. He rushes past the couch, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead before heading to the bathroom. “Was really worried that I wasn’t going to make it,” he jokes. 

You give him a half-hearted laugh as your heart nearly jumps out your throat. It was now or never. 

“So how was dinner with the boys?” Your mind races with what your question implicates. If he comes clean, crisis adverted. 

Wiping his hands on his pants, Johnny breaks your heart. “Pretty good.” He walks over to you and pulls out a bill from his pants, boasting at how he was able to swindle 50 pounds from Gaz. 

Funny how the world works. Here’s Johnny dragging the same man who gave him away in his lie. If your heart wasn’t actively breaking right now, maybe you could have laughed at the irony. Instead, you’re recalling the fact that after three failed attempts in reaching your boyfriend tonight, you called Kyle in the hopes that he could tell your Johnny to check his phone. 

“You know I would, love, but he already left.” “What do you mean “he already left”? I thought the team was grabbing dinner around 7. It’s barely 7:15.” “Tonight? I thought Soap was grabbing dinner with his pa—“

A hand waves across your face, bringing you back to the present. “Sweetheart, you okay?” Johnny’s voice is laced with worry. “You don’t look so good.” Your Scottish lover takes a seat next to you and presses the back of his hand across your forehead. 

You grasp his hand and hold it down in your lap. You take a deep breath and rip the bandage off. 

“I called Kyle today after I couldn’t get a hold of you.” Silence filled the room. Johnny’s face went blank. “He told me where you were.”

“And?”

And? You let go of Johnny’s hand, shocked by the coldness in his voice. 

“And?” You repeated back incredulously. “Is that really all you have to say?”

Johnny stands up and paces in front of the couch. His neck turns red but you’re not sure if it’s out of nerves or anger. “What do you want me to say?” he shoots back. Anger. 

“Why?” He pauses to look at you. You both stare at one another, shocked by the reality of the situation. 

“I don’t know.”

Your body goes hot. “Johnny, that’s not good enough.” You stand up. “We’ve been dating for two years. For fucks safe, Johnny, you’ve met my parents,” You fight against the tears. “So why, why didn’t you invite me tonight to meet yours?” You must look crazy right now as your chest heaves with anger - probably even more since Johnny stood so composed. 

But in actuality, a storm brewed inside Johnny. The moment that he hoped would never come has arrived. Delusional. He knew it was inevitable. After he met your parents a few months ago, he knew this was going to happen. After he said “I love you,” he knew this was going to happen. After the the first date, he knew this was going to happen. But, he wasn’t - they’re weren’t - ready yet. Just a little longer and then it can happen. He just needs more time. They need more time. 

So like an interrogation, he’ll stay quiet.

“I don’t know.” It’s clear you don’t like his answer as you take a step back away from him. 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Now you begin to pace. “Johnny, I know how fucking important your family is to you. It's important for me too.” Your face contorts as you find the right words. “You even said how you couldn’t marry someone who doesn’t get along with your parents.” 

Johnny can’t help but wince which only startles you. The entire room goes cold. You freeze completely and your body slumps at the insinuation. 

“Oh.” You take a deep breath in and in your plain voice, you conclude, “you don’t plan on marrying me.” 

The Scot’s heart pauses.  No! He rushes towards you and grabs your head, immediately cradling it. You’re clearly in shock. If I don’t say anything, I’ll lose them, he realizes. So in an act of desperation, he tells you the truth.

“You not meeting my parents has nothing to do with you.” He stares deeply in your eyes, hoping you’ll stay after this. “They just want me to marry someone… like us.” He internally cringed at his words. He knows his parents are in the wrong here, but he knows they'll come around to it. They're good people, right?

Emotion, specifically confusion, reappears on your face. Standing face to face to him, you push his hands away and ask, “didn’t your little sister marry a Frenchman?” 

Johnny normally loved how you saw the cracks in people’s facades but right now, he wished that beautiful brain of yours would just stop. “Yes bu—“

“So what’s wrong with me?” As soon as those words left your mouth, your eyes widened as you realized the stark difference between you and Johnny’s brother-in-law, Johnny, and his entire family. You recall the picture Johnny had showed you early on in your relationship of his family - a big family with one similar characteristic. 

You fall back to the couch. Johnny falls to his knees before you and begins to ramble about how his parents aren’t necessarily bad people, just stuck in their old ways, but you really don’t catch his words. You couldn’t believe it. Your boyfriend of two years won’t introduce you to this parents because of something you can’t and didn’t want to change. You couldn’t believe this was happening…

again. You promised yourself that if you ever found yourself in the shadows because of someone’s inability of loving you in the light, you would…

“It’s over,” you gently announce. John immediately goes silent. He probably wasn’t expecting that and you can’t blame him, you really didn’t think this conversation would be the end. 

With red ears, the Scott begs you to reconsider. “It’s not like you can’t meet my parents. I’m just asking you to wait. Give it some time. I know they’ll come around it. There’s no need to rush—“

“Do they know that I exist?”

“…”

“Do they even know that you’re dating someone?”

“…”

You couldn’t believe it. While you were proudly parading and even defending your love for him, he hid you out of shame. 

You shoot up from the couch, desperate to leave this man and, really, this relationship behind. Unfortunately for you, John is right behind you. 

“Mo ghradh, please,” he begs. Mo ghradh - my love… just not in front of your parents, you bitterly think. Your face felt tight as you fought against the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. After giving everything to him, you couldn’t believe that Johnny John played you as a fool. You stopped and turned around, startling your “fearless" SAS sergeant. You just had to ask one question.

“John.” Johnny’s eye widened. You never call him John, not even when you’re mad. “If your parents never change, would you pick me over them?” John gasps and stutters for an answer. That was enough for you. 

You march off again, but before you leave your own apartment, you gave him your heart once more, “Just so you know, I would have chosen you.” And with that, you shut your door behind you, leaving the stuttering soldier behind. 

Word Count: 1350

Thanks for reading! - Fold's Page Guide + Masterlist

Author's Plea: Please, please, please - if you ever find yourself in a situation like this, choose yourself and leave. Everyone deserves to be loved under the Sun.

[op1umeyes]

thinkin about emotionally strong reader falling apart into bf’s arms… :,)

     He knows it’s bad when you can’t bring yourself to say anything: no witty remarks to play it off, no humble shrug to show that it didn’t phase you- not even a weak joke that you’d heard from passerby during the previous week. He would have known anyway but he knows how bad it is when you can’t hide the wobble in your chin when you meet him at the door and melt into his arms.

     The sound of your stifled cries weaken his heart because he just knows how long you’ve been trying to hold it all together. You don’t know that he sheds his own tears at your sorrow. You don’t know that he feels his own pained heart grow just a touch because you trust him enough to be able to comfort you- to run to him when there is something you really can’t make better.

     When you finally stop trying to smother out the sound of your cries, it breaks his own heart into pieces because your grief is his. He doesn’t know what to do in this pile on the floor- your arms wrapped tightly around him in fear of him leaving with one hand resting at the top of your head and the other one of his hands supporting your neck as you weep into his shoulder- so he just holds you.

     And later, when your cries turn hoarse and the tears run dry, you let him pull you to your feet. He carries you to the dark bedroom because he knows you get headaches after crying. When you still don’t say a word he goes to the kitchen and scavenges some Tylenol and a cup of water.

     He knows you don’t like to feel helpless- to feel like you need to rely on someone. But if he’s being honest, he likes being able to care for you. He likes how you curl up with your head on his chest and your hands wrapped around him. He likes how you let him draw shapes on your back because you secretly love the physical touch. He likes how you let out soft sighs throughout the course of the movie because he knows you’re still awake.

     But most of all, he likes the intamacy of being the one you run to when it’s all too much because damn it all to hell if he made you feel like you weren’t free to be vulnerable with him.

[elaineiswithyou-blog]

141 x Reader Soulmate AU

TW: Bad family relationships, Stalking 

I also try to write gender neutral, any feedback would be much appreciated. 

Having four red strings was never easy. No one else could see but when you told your parents you saw four, they made you swear that you would never tell anyone else. No one needed to know their child was a freak. So you hid it, hid it well, but your resentment towards your parents festered and grew until you were old enough to leave, eventually heading to London to study abroad, far away from your parents, ashamed of the truth and your friends, who never even knew the truth.

Your life was fairly uneventful given that you were basically constantly at school. It wasn’t until you were in a cafe, working on an essay that you noticed a small tug on your string. Looking up, you saw a behemoth of a man, wearing a black hoodie and sweatpants despite it being september. His size and striking blonde hair caught you off guard for a moment, you went to pack your things, wanting to go up to him, but when you look back up, he’s gone. You rush out onto the street but it’s like he disappeared. With extreme disappointment, you went back to your laptop, attempting to refocus, assuming it was a caffeinated hallucination, but your mind continued back to him. Little did you know, he saw you really well.

Despite being your soulmate, Simon was always cautious. After seeing you in that cafe that fateful day, he decided he’d scope you out. Going to a few bars you frequented and the cafe where you went when you had important assignments. After getting to know you (everything about you), Simon decided he had done a through enough surveillance to let the others in on you.

John was a little disappointed in Simon holding back some information but given Johnny and Gaz’s reaction of immediately wanting to meet you, he understood why Simon didn’t tell them right away. They watched you through a few cameras in the cafe and street while they were on leave, Simon loving how you looked at any tall blonde man with hope in your eyes. He’ll be there soon, love. 

Once they got back from deployment, they decided that they would wait for you to go out instead of tracking your string, much to Johnny’s disappointment. As soon as they notice you at a bar nearby however, they get dressed up semi nicely (AKA not in a hoodie and sweatpants), heading there immediately. They sat in a semi circular table in the back of the pub, watching you as you had your usual friday drink after a hard week of classes. John bought you another drink and as you looked around confused, the red strings and the striking blonde caught your attention immediately. You almost choked on your drink seeing the bastard in the cafe, not to mention his three other very hot friends and your soulmates at the table. I knew I didn’t imagine you, you thought, standing up and rushing over to the table, Johnny and Gaz beaming, and even a small smile from Simon and John. They knew you were going to be trouble and they loved it.

[skauni]

Can’t stop thinking about Soap calling himself ‘Uncle Johnny’ around your kids but they consider him a dad because that’s how he acts:

When your friend John MacTavish found out that your boyfriend dumped you after you got pregnant, he was right by your side for all of it. Saying “Dunnae worry, Bonny. Uncle Johnny’s gonna help with the wee bairns.”

And he did. He was there the whole pregnancy, even went as far as moving in so you could rest and he could keep an eye on you.

When you went into labor, he was there. He was there for everything. From the birth of your twins, Aster and Cody, to the sleepless nights after, he was there. You even heard him in the middle of the night telling them “Dunnae worry wee ones, Uncle Johnny’s here. Nothin’ t’fear.” And you loved how dedicated he was to helping you.

When the boys got old enough to talk, you were unfortunate enough to witness the fact that they spoke their first words in Scottish accents. Just like John. It wasn’t bad, it just meant you had a hard time understanding them is all.

When you couldn’t watch them, he would. Saying “Let Uncle Johnny watch the wee lads.”

But, as soon as the boys called him ‘Dad’ for the first time, he looked at you eagerly and said “I suppose Uncle Johnny is becoming the Papa of these wee lads, aye Bonny?” He said to you. You blushed at the comment and looked away in flustered embarrassment.

[yourstrulyrani]

thinking about simon riley and how he gets worried when he gets his labs back from medic!reader:

"Bloody hell, Doc. You could include this in my dossier if you wanted."

You let out a chuckle at his words when you saw him skim through his blood work, a whole packet worth of vital information, from the number of red and white blood cells he has, a basic metabolic panel, and so much more. He skims through the information, every row a new test and labeled with a green "normal" on each one.

Until he reached one of the rows: testosterone.

A red "above average" was next to his testosterone count and you could see the panic in the man's eyes but you didn't know what caused it. You decided to let him speak up about it.

"Hey, doc?" You could see the stress manifest into a physical form the way you saw his thumbs clutch the packet of paper tighter, causing the paper to crease upwards in submission at his grip.

"Yeah, Ghost?" You turn around, your body language evident that you are all ears for what he has to say next.

Ghost had to collect himself before bringing this up. He knows this hormone is a normal thing in males, but why is his so abnormally high? He clears his throat before speaking up, "My testosterone," he pans the packet to face you now, "the lab says it's quite high. That's not normal."

"For you, it is."

The man's eyes squinted behind the mask.

"What? It says 'above normal' right..." he points to the row with a gloved finger, "there. What do you mean for me it's normal?"

You walk closer to him, gently taking the packet out of his tight grip. You turn around and sit next to him, and because of the height difference, Ghost noticed the way your shoulder grazed his bicep.

"It's normal for you because of your muscle mass, sir." You point to his muscle mass percentage. "More muscle means more testosterone in the body. Testosterone helps to support your body in maintaining the amount of muscle you have. If you had a man's average amount of testosterone, you wouldn't be built like a tank."

Ghost snickers at the last remark. "I'm a tank now, Doc?"

"Have you seen yourself, sir?" You scoff. You point to his weight on the paper, "Your muscle mass is also why you're technically obese. You're 6'4 and 250 pounds. But nothing to be worried about. You have more muscle than fat, and muscle weighs more. So I can assure you, you're perfectly healthy."

Ghost at the moment thought the way you nerded out on all of these medical technicalities was quite hot. You were smart, he always knew that. But it was something about the way you were talking in person about all this health and medical stuff that got to him. It didn't help either that you looked even more professional with a white lab coat and scrubs on. You adjusted the glasses on your nose while you looked down at his labs and Ghost swore he felt six inches of some of his muscle and fat twitch.

"Perfectly healthy, Doc?" He repeats your words.

"Perfectly." You skim over the paper once more. "If anything, you have the highest muscle mass and testosterone in the task force."

Ghost felt his pride swell at that statement. Not only did you say he was perfectly healthy, but you basically just called him the most ripped out of all the guys?

"I'm trying to be modest abou' this whole thing you know. You're not helping." He replies sarcastically and you giggled, throwing your head back a little. "I'm serious."

"Well you can thank your hard work on missions and the extra hours at the gym." You nudged his arm with your shoulder, causing Ghost to tense at the sudden contact but he surely didn't mind. The cute little medic that works for the task force just touched him, how could he possibly complain about that?

After that encounter, Simon took no time in bragging about his "abnormally high" testosterone and "obese" weight to the group chat that consisted of him, Price, Gaz, and Johnny.

He sent a picture of his labs with the message: "Not only did Ms. Medic tell me I'm built like a tank but told me I'm more of a man than you all can ever be ;)."

Johnny replied with, "You mean "the missus"?"

Gaz replied with, "You better snag her before I do, Simon. I didn't see a ring on her finger last visit."

Price replied with, "It's only because of my age, you know. If I were in my prime I would have more testosterone and muscle mass than all of you combined."

(lol i love these men)

~ yours truly, rani ♥︎

[theoreticalfemdom]

Hear me out.

Bodyguard trope with one of the COD men, but I steady of a bratty 20-something princess, it's a middle-aged, independent career woman with trust issues and strong morals who is struggling to accept she cannot fight through this particular threat alone.

What do we think? (Feel free to use the idea, just tag me so I can read it pls :] ).

[differenteagletragedy]

Idk if you’re looking for any ideas and if you’re not than just disregard this lol, anyway I absolutely love your writing, I was thinking the song “it will come back” by Hozier is so soap coded, idk if you heard it but if you haven’t you should listen to it, makes me think of soap everytime, anyway you could totally do something with him and this song and I’d eat it right the fuck up 🤤

Thank you!! I am always looking for ideas, and I love getting them from songs — I haven’t heard this one, but I hope you like it!

Johnny is the life of the party. When he's on leave, when he's allowed to be relaxed, he does just that. He's never met a stranger ... but he's never had someone who really knows him, either.

The people at work know him as one thing, his family knows him as another. The girls he meets sometimes down at the pub, they know him as something else entirely. Because he can be an attractive, charming man, and he can be a good soldier, a doting son, a jerk of a little brother.

But he can't be all of it at once. And he certainly can't show anyone what lies beneath.

You, with your little claws, you scratch at it. You dig into him, pulling back the skin and muscle, rooting around in your attempts to get at his deepest self laid bare.

"Not such a good idea, hen," he tells you one night when, after he pulls out of you, you pull him in to hold him close.

It's your fifth or sixth time hooking up, a casual thing -- at least, that's what he tells himself. And each time, you take a little more of him when it's over.

"Why's that?" you ask softly, like you don't know exactly what your doing. You press his head against your chest, cradling it there, and stroke his back with delicate touches that he could so easily become addicted to if he wasn't terrified of needing something like this.

"Lots of reasons," he answers. "I snore like a bear, for one."

"And for two?"

He smiles, tilting his head to rest his chin between your breasts, looking up at you, and says, "I steal the covers."

You smile back, considering. Then you sink your teeth in.

"Why don't you ever want to stay the night? Truly."

"No one ever taught you not to feed stray cats?"

It's another deflection, one you don't even respond to -- you just keep moving your hands, soothing his already sated body until he sighs and lays his head back down on you. Your heart beats steady against his ear, and he digs his fingers into your side where he holds you.

"Why would you want me to?" he asks.

"Because I like you," you tell him, not missing a beat. "I like spending time with you. You're funny and cute and you seem a little sad, but like you don't want to show it, and I've kind of started realizing that I don't care for that."

If there's a way to answer that, Johnny has no idea what it is.

He's not even sure himself what he's sad about, or why he can't just talk to you about it all. He always puts these arbitrary little qualifiers on the time you spend together and what you are to each other. "Just having fun, lass." "Let's not get too attached, shall we?"

Maybe it has something to do with being the youngest of four -- maybe it taught him how to need less. Or perhaps it has to do with being a third-generation soldier. Maybe self-reliance has been bred into him.

Or maybe it's all bullshit. Maybe he knows exactly how much he craves this -- not just your body, but these softer moments when you hold him, when you ask him questions and then wait to hear him answer -- and he simply can't stomach it. Can't bear the thought of having it for real, all the time, only for it to be ripped away, one way or another.

Because whether it's a toy snatched away by his sisters' hands, a uniformed stranger sitting him down with a somber "son, we've got some bad news about your father," or some girl who he could see himself falling in love with telling him she just can’t handle the stress of being with someone like him, things always get ripped away from him.

He’d like it, he thinks, if he could talk about all this with you. You’re so smart and insightful, and the way you look at him sometimes makes him think you really see him. He wonders, fleetingly, if you could be one thing that he got to keep.

But he can’t talk about it, not just yet.

Maybe next time.

[luxcuriousao3]

Moar psycho for the art Johnny stalking nude model Reader. Mooooooar.

What if she finds a bug one day? Or he breaks in and things start disappearing and she doesn’t feel safe so she stops going to pose as nude model, and well that’s just the opposite of what he wants and oh no he misses her so!

Part One

warnings: stalking, obsessed!Johnny

Notes: sorry if this sucks, I am tired 🤣 but I like this idea too so I wanted to write more. I didn't write the first part as post MWIII Johnny, but now that I think about it, I feel like that fits best. After getting shot in the head by Makarov, the TBI changed Johnny's personality into something more... sinister. Which leaves us with how he is here.

The missing panties are easy enough to excuse--the dryers in your apartment building are known for eating those kinds of things, only to spit them back out into someone else's load of laundry. So you don't think much of it, even if you do mourn your favorite pair.

Then you find the bug.

A little black... thing made of metal and plastic. You don't even know what it is, so you post a picture of it to Reddit asking for help identifying it. The responses you get chill you to the bone. People are telling you to go to the police, to pack up and leave, to search for hidden cameras and other listening devices--but you have nowhere to go, and you know from experience the police won't do anything.

You do tear apart your apartment, finding three more listening devices, and horrifyingly, one tiny camera. You crush them beneath your boot, feeling sick, and call off of work for a week straight, too terrified to leave your apartment. When the FE college calls asking when you'll be back, you quit on the spot. You've always been confident about your body, and casual about nudity--but not anymore. Not when the control over who can see your body and when has been ripped away from you. Now, just the thought of being perceived makes you want to scream and cry and claw at the walls with panic.

Johnny, of course, knows that you've found some of his extra credit work. He's still got one working listening device and two working cameras in your place, and though he's relieved that you missed them during your frantic sweep, it hurts his heart to watch you tuck yourself away and listen to your sobbing. His poor bonnie lass, all worked up over nothing...

When he finds out you won't be coming back to model for the class anymore, he knows he needs to do something. He can't just let his perfect muse slip through his fingers--not when you're the only bright spot in his life, these days. He thinks of you all the time, sees your naked figure plastered onto the backs of eyelids when he sleeps. He wants to feel it for himself, trace your curves and edges with the tips of his rough, calloused fingers so he can better capture them on paper. He can't let you go. He won't.

You can't hide from him, lamb. He'll always find you.

[gazstations]

Trying my hand at little scenarios involving hybrid/shifter!141. I tried to think of different creatures than I've seen for some of the boys, but some were too perfect to pass up. This is probably lame, but here you go...

TW: Quick mentions of breeding/pregnancy, obsessive behavior.

You're a thief that takes more and more risks every time. A sleazy man in a tavern gives you a contract to steal something worthwhile from the supposed dragon hybrid that lives in the mountains. You agree, maybe half a pint too deep.

You journey out into the woods later that week and find a looming cave. It's easy to enter. If you weren't blinded by your determination, you'd realize how suspicious that was.

The place is warm and full of gold, as expected. There are some other random treasures as well. You had never seen a dragon hoard before. It baffles you where someone even finds all of this stuff.

As you're elbow deep in one section of golden items, you hear a low timbre behind you. You happened to visit Dragon!Price right in the middle of his most intense rut.

And being in a rut means he obsessively hoards.

You don't mind if he adds you to the collection, do you? Maybe he'll pin you amongst his trophies and stuff you full of his clutch. He's been alone for a long time.

Safe to say, the news of your "death" spreads through the town when you fail to return from your excursion.

♡◇♡

You're the princess/prince of a struggling kingdom. The king and queen got dragged into a war they could not handle in order to keep their alliance with another neighboring kingdom going.

After the castle suffers from an invasion, your parents plead for the gods to send you protection. You are their only child and heir to the throne, they cannot lose you. They will hold off on making any marriage alliances in exchange for peace as long as they can.

Gaz appears on the steps of the castle one day. He exudes a regal energy and seems to know everything about you instantly as his heartfelt eyes analyze you closely. He's a cross between a lion and eagle, and his wings alone are majestic.

Your parents are overjoyed. The gods must have sympathized with them to send a Griffin hybrid. They take it as good fortune.

They don't seem to mind as Gaz slowly imprints on you. Giving you soft, newly preened feathers. Tucking you under his wings whenever you're exploring. Marking you with his scent in every way.

Griffins are known to protect treasure. And even once the war is over, Gaz knows he's not letting you go.

♡◇♡

Every time someone has died in your village, you see a large black wolf right before. The thing is emaciated, though doesn't seem deterred in the slightest. He's lithe and quick regardless. The village has taken to calling him Ghost.

You often find him prowling the graveyard whenever you go to visit a family member who has died. The pup watches from a distance, and when you end up crying, the canine howls for you. You swear his eyes glow orange in the gloom of the graveyard. For a feral animal, it sure is interesting.

You always try to find his den. It must be somewhere in the premises of the graveyard if he's always there. Your bleeding heart tells you to help the poor stray.

One time, you manage to catch the bastard and he whines the whole way. He nips at the heavy leash you've subdued him with. You manhandle the beast into your little cottage and drag him to the bathroom.

Your bathroom didn't survive the wolf's stubborness.

He reluctantly jumps up onto the bed with you that night, and when you scratch behind his ear he lets out a bitter chuff as he leans into it and wags his tail.

Just don't scream too loud when you wake up to a grown man wrapped around you. He smells oddly like death.

♡◇♡

There's a seal that won't leave you alone. It chuffs and flops on the floorboards of your simple fishing boat, making it rock slightly as you stare the creature down. You're unsure of whether or not to play submissive or be intimidating.

The seal stares at you with big eyes, nostrils flaring as it analyzes you. It doesn't seem threatened, scared, or really anything. It's just one very big seal that lumbers around.

He dives back into the water after a little bit, and you sigh in relief.

But he shows up every time you're out. Blubbered form hitting the deck and glistening under the sun. You grow wary less and less as the visits continue. You even offer him some fish from the collection you already caught.

You, admittedly, become attached to the creature. Not many people can say they befriended a seal.

And the oddly docile animal takes your affection and runs with it.

One day, you wander down to your docked boat in the cove and find a man lounging against the edge. He fiddles with some ocean worn charm as he hums to himself.

The man beams when he spots you. You don't notice the pelt he leaves on the floor as he walks your way.

You arrived in Johnny's life just in time for mating season. At this point, he doesn't care if you take his pelt. He will purposefully "lose" it and have it magically appear somewhere in your belongings.