#johnny and thicket

[kfrances]

Are you still doing asks for Kiwi? I'd like to ask how she met her hubby and what made her fall in love with him ❤️

i'm ALWAYS open to asks about my ocs are you KIDDING

they met at the university of washington in seattle in 1923- both new to mainland usa. toshi's brother liked to host parties and kiwi was a friend of his. they stumbled into each other, both a bit tipsy, and practically fell head over heels. at the same time.

satoshi wasn't the most confident person when they met, but kiwi thought the little jokes he cracked under his breath were hysterical. the more she laughed, the more it got to his head. now he's loud. he is so loud. and he is her favorite person in the entire damn world

well.

he was

[johnnyandthicket]

P1-6 / Zero (Prologue)

NEXT

[frankforested]

noir

[peachesofteal]

Ghoap x reader zombie apocalypse AU? 👀 just gonna leave that here...

Ooh anon you got me with this. Thought about it all night. A full fic of this dynamic in an apocalypse setting would be so good. Sadly, I don't have it in me to write an entire fic for this but I scratched it out as a dead disco au down below on my phone (I took bits and pieces of zombie media and smashed them together as I like):

18+ MDNI / angst, death

It was an accident.

All you had wanted to do was try to find some mushrooms. You knew this part of the woods usually had a fair amount to forage, and you were pretty good at distinguishing the good ones from the not so good ones. You hadn't meant to get distracted.

You knelt down to the forest floor, picking at a piece of bark on a downed log when you heard the rustling, the suspect sound of something moving through the brush near you.

You expected one of the slow ones. The ones that usually found themselves this far from the city, wandering aimlessly, looking for the next meal. Decaying and rotting flesh hanging from their limbs, a sign they had been long infected, the decomposition marking them as something easily escapable.

You did not expect a runner.

You screamed- a huge no no, as Simon had been drilling into your head- when you saw it, far too late, tripping over yourself to try to get away, your hunting knife pressed into the palm of your hand.

You stood little chance against a runner. They were fresh, muscles still intact, lactic acid burning through their bodies, movements fast and sharp, able to take down an entire human in one fell swoop. They even looked like you, still holding their pallor, their posture, their fine motor skills.

Only their minds were gone. Addled by the infection, brains turned to hot mush inside their skulls.

They had one objective.

Eat.

You managed to clear the log, sprinting as fast as you possibly could, trying to take long, deep breaths through your nose just as Johnny taught you.

"More oxygen that way, love. It'll help your endurance, keep you runnin' longer."

They were always doing that now, equipping you for survival. Trying to train you like a solider, teaching you the finer points they thought you should know.

"We're gonna make it, together." Simon had said, the morning they showed up in the middle being away for work, clad in full tactical gear, guns in hand. "As a family."

"Ye have to listen to everything we say, alright darling? Everything's goin' to be okay." Johnny promised at the same time as you tried to pack some essentials into your backpack with trembling fingers.

They were obsessed with trying to instill as much of their knowledge into as possible, trying to prepare you, help you, listing off rules they thought were key, ensuring you knew to follow them.

One being: don't get distracted.

You curse yourself, feet flying underneath your body and heart thrumming in your chest with panic. You're too slow, and you can hear it behind you, sprinting just as fast as you are, preparing to launch and take down it's next meal.

You don't see the snare of brambles until you're in them, nearly slamming to a stop, thorns scratching against your skin as you fight against the thicket. It's too dense, slowing your ability to get away... and the runner is still hot on your heels, working its way through the mess, snapping its jaw like a shark.

Simon comes out of nowhere. One second you're hacking away at the branches and the next, there's a massive, solid warmth at your back, standing between you and the snarling monster. He's facing away from you, brandishing a knife, engaged in a full fight with the runner, taking it to the ground in an attempt to get the blade into its temple. You watch mouth wide, frozen, holding your breath until the job is done, and Simon is hauling himself upwards, pulling you into his arms before stepping back to look you over.

You burst into tears. You've always told them, you're not for this kind of world. You're too gentle, too sensitive. You're a painter, for fucks sake. Not a killer. You're too soft to survive.

They say it doesn't matter. That you can be as soft as you want, because you have them, and they'll be the killers. They'll be the hard ones.

"Did it get you? Let me see, c'mon-" He checks your arms, your neck, the tear on your shirt but finds nothing. "Alright, you're alright." He's telling you, and himself, relief exhaling from his body with each syllable. "You're alright, darling. I've got ya. Come here." He holds you tight, rubbing your back, kissing your cheek, your forehead until you're calm, breathing deeply and wiping your face.

You believe the worst has passed, until you blink up at him, and see the blood on his neck.

The bite.

"We need to make a plan."

"We're nae makin' a bloody plan." Johnny hisses, and Simon closes his eyes like he's tired. "We keep goin'. We'll make it to the rendezvous with Price and they'll have a solution. We dinnae even know how fast it spreads."

Simon lets loose a sigh, heavy with exhaustion. With the toll that this life has become. With the weight, of everything. He tucks you into his body, wrapping his other arm around Johnny, and holds the two of you close. Tightly. Tighter than he ever has before.

"Alright."

The next morning, everything is different.

You woke up last, fire still barely smoldering, little energy bar on the ground next to you. The guys sleeping bags were already rolled up, stacked neatly with Simon's pack, and the long gun that Johnny carries.

But they were nowhere to be found.

Confused, you slid free, stretching with a silent groan, scanning your surroundings until you spot them on the edge of the woods, locked together on their feet, Johnny's face mashed against Simon's neck, strong arms holding him close.

"What's going on?" The question comes out confused when you get close, and Johnny pulls away with wet eyes, hands shaking. What's happening? Why are they both crying? Fear screams through your body, red alert systems firing up as your brain struggles to put all the pieces together.

"Simon-" Johnny begins, but stops abruptly, eyes slamming shut, lips pressed together in agony.

"'m not feelin' too well." Simon explains gently. "You and Johnny are gon’ start on ahead, and 'm gonna stay here for a while." Something, something logical, something smart, is shouting at you from the back of your mind but you shove it away, opting for delusion instead.

"Okay, you're going to catch up though, right? You said. We'll find-" You frowned, looking from him to Johnny as a sick feeling grew in your stomach. "Johnny?"

“Look at me.” Simon combs through your hair with trembling fingers, unsteady for the first time in your entire existence. “I love you, darling. I love you so, so much.”

“S-stop, we're supposed to stay together, you- you said-“

“You have to go with Johnny now, okay? He’s gonna take care of you.” He jerks you forward, closed mouth pressing against your forehead. "I love you."

“No, Si.” You sob, fingers curled in his vest. “You have to come with us. You have to, we’ll fi-find a cure, they’ll be help, somewhere.”

“Johnny.” He chokes, and a strong arm wraps around your waist, Johnny’s heavy, tearful breathing echoing just above your ear. Someone works your fingers free, pulling your hand away but not letting go, holding onto you like a lifeline.

You look up between him, to his face, to Simon’s and realize. They’ve already said goodbye.

Simon strokes the back of his fingers down Johnny’s cheek, tears dripping down his own.

“I love you both, more than anything. More than life.” He squeezes your hand, rubbing a thumb over the back of your knuckles, and then steps away, pulling the handgun from the holster on his thigh. "Take care of each other."

"NO!" you scream, but Johnny is dragging you backwards like a rag doll, away from where Simon stands in clearing, gaze never breaking from the two of you, face wet with tears. "Johnny!"

"Darling-" he chokes out amidst a sob. "Shhh, please. Please." He begs you to be quiet, to hush, but you can't, you can't stop screaming, or fighting him, trying to get back to Simon, to reunite your family, to stay together. You scream and scream until Johnny’s hand claps over your mouth, his own words clogged by his cries, pleading and begging until he's cutting off your oxygen with a desperate apology and lifting you over his shoulder like dead weight.

The last thing you hear before you lose consciousness is the sound of a gunshot.

[diejager]

Little Red's Wolf

Pairing : Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x fem!reader

Cw: NSFW, exophilia, knotting, breeding, size kink, stomach bulge, biting, marking, blood, oral sex, werewolf, tell me if I missed any.

Wc: 3.5k

Little Red Riding Hood, was a kind and beautiful, young maiden from the village. Little Red Riding Hood was known by all, cared and loved by the small town as if you were their little girl. A pretty, little bachelorette in their small village. The people loved you, the smiling ray of sunlight that beamed across the street with loving words and gentle gestures.

Little Red Riding Hood was also the only one who dared venture outside the town, through the thicket around town, to turn left of the paved road and into the unknown. You were the only one who didn't fear straying from the path, having grown up near it, walking between the trees and exploring the darkest creeks within the woods. You knew it like the back of your hand.

Today would be a scheduled visit to your grandmother, to bring baked goods and wine to your lovely grandmother who lived alone in the forest.

"Come, my dear," your mother called you over, and a soft smile pulled her lips upwards. "Here is a piece of cake and a bottle of wine, take them to your grandmother. She is ill and weak, and they will do her good. Set out before it gets hot, and when you are going, walk nicely and quietly and do not run off the path, or you may fall and break the bottle, and then your grandmother will get nothing; and when you go into her room, don't forget to say, 'Good morning', and don't peep into every corner before you do it."

Donned in your usual red hood, the bright colored cloth ending at your knees with a white chemise and a black skirt, you took the basket in hand with great care, checking over the content you would bring to your grandmother. Once done, you left your house, turning to wave at your mother before you closed the door behind you: "I will take great care."

You walked through the long road through the village, smiling and waving at your neighbors and the neighbors of your neighbors, everyone knew everyone in a small town like yours. Friends of your friends became your friends too, knowing everyone had its perks and made everything easier, more familiar.

"Here! Bring this to your grandmother, Little Red Riding Hood," the Baker, a kind old man who lived upstairs of his bakery, called you over. In his hand was a freshly baked breath, warm and smelling heavenly. Into the basket, it went, wrapped neatly in an ivory cloth, woven with care by the baker's wife.

Farther down the street, the herbalist that lived in her hut, covered with scented grasses and pretty flowers called to you, "I heard of your grandmother's sickness, Little Red Riding Hood," she gave you her most caring and worried look she had, honestly dripping from her eyes and tongue. "Please, mix this with hot water before giving it to her, one quarter of this with a cup should do." The small bottle was carefully placed next to the wine bottle your mother had given you, safely secured with twine and string.

People waved and smiled at you as you walked closer to the forest's mouth, wishing you 'good luck' and bidding you a farewell, until the evening, when you'd emerge from the darkness.

The path was cloaked in the shadows of trees, the leaves brushing against one another in the blowing air, soft and calming. It pushed the gentle smell of nature into your nose and dances beautifully before you.

The road was paved in stone, soft, silver brick that stuck out, the dirt hugged its rounded edges and held it together. The trees hugged the path closely, hiding the turns in the road with greenery, beautiful and lively green. You skipped by habit, eyes wandering around the branches to see bird nests and shy squirrels jumping from tree to tree as you followed the path.

While the paved way led farther out, towards the edge of the forest, the dirt path at the fork led deeper, the way to your grandmother's quaint house. You turned and strayed from the popular road, heeled shoes stepping on the hard dirt. You hummed a tune, absentmindedly following the wavy line deeper into the wildness.

Shadows danced outside your line of sight, appearing at the corner of your eyes until you turned to see whatever or whoever it was. You were scared, although naive and oblivious, you grew up in these woods and knew that it wouldn't hurt those who knew it well.

When you called out, the shadow stood tall and rigid, a dark mass hidden under the shades of the trees. It rumbled out a noise, one closely sounding to a wolf's growl. You stopped to stare at it, watching it amble forward, into the lighted path. A wolf, as intended, covered in warm, brown fur with piercing, blue eyes that stared at you inquisitively.

"G'day, Little Red," he spoke with a slur in his voice, a deep rumble in it. His voice sent pleasurable shivers down your spine, you shuddered physically. He saw that, you knew he did, wolves were perceptive.

"Thank you kindly, Great Wolf," you bowed your head, smiling sweetly at him. You ignored the way his eyes glazed over, going down the length of your cloak and your naked knees to your shoes, then back up to your face. He drank you in like you were a treat to his eyes.

"Where yer goin' so early, Little Red?"

"To my grandmother's, Great Wolf."

Perhaps you shouldn't have told him that, for his eyes shone with a menacing glint, dark and ravenous within the ocean of blue. However, it would have been impolite to ignore such an inquiry, especially to a polite and handsome wolf.

He bobbed his head, his mane fluidly moving along his movement, soft and silky, yet disarrayed. He pointed his muzzle at your basket, nose wiggling as he sniffed the air.

"What 'ave ye in your apron?"

"Cake and wine and bread, yesterday was baking-day; and herbs for my poor, sick grandmother. All to make her stronger, Great Wolf."

"Where dae ye nana live, Little Red?"

Again, you pushed away the chill that ran down your back, his heated gaze weighed heavily on your small figure.

"A good quarter into the wood, her house stands under three large oak-trees and nut-trees just below it. Surely, you've seen it."

He thought to himself, thinking back to the house he saw many times while passing through. An old lady that lived alone so deeply in his home had always been an interest, especially the sweet scent of freshly-baked pie. He knew the old woman, Nana, he called her after being caught by the old woman years ago.

So he nodded, head cocked your way with a knowing glint in his eyes. He hadn't seen you at Nana's, though your scent - fresh and earthly smell of wildflowers that grew in the forest - was familiar. You must've only visited her when he was away, lounging under the shade, running through the trees, or stalking and hunting his prey - like you were, at the moment.

A sugary, little treat that he walked into after a run with Gaz. He considered himself lucky, extremely so for having found you before you reached your nana's house.

"Ye best be on your way, then," he mocked a curtsey, his tail waving lazily behind him. "Guid luck, Little Red."

His bright irises followed you, watching the back of your red cloak ride up the inside of your knees, shoulders bobbing along the rugged ground. He was addicted, obsessed with your scent and your appearance. You were soft and naive, too trusting of him, a wolf. An adorable little treasure he would love to eat whole.

He stayed until your red figure became a dot in the flora, swallowed up by the woods he lived and hunted in. He would wait, lurk behind you from afar and pounce the moment he saw you stagger and hesitate.

You did as your mother told you, you greeted your sickly grandmother with a "Good morning" before peering at every corner of her house, searching for any change since the last time you passed by. Setting the basket down, you picked the piece of cake and a cup for the wine, and put aside the bread and concoction for later use. Placed in a tray, you brought it to your grandmother, supported by pillows against the headboard.

As you watched your grandmother eat, you recalled the brief discussion you had with the Great Wolf, dangerously handsome and mischievous. You fed her the herbalist's recommended dosage, a quarter of a cup. She hisses and complained but still drank, swallowing the green mix with small gulps. Once she finished and rested comfortably under the drapes, you spoke, "Grandmother, I met a Great Wolf today, on my way to bring your cake and wine. Do you know of him?"

She muttered, a shallow and weak "yes" at your inquiry: "Kind wolf, that one," she blinked slowly, glazed over with tiredness. "Hungry too! A ravenous creature, but gentle, Little Red Riding Hood. Do not fear the wolf, he is caring."

Without much left to do for her (you placed the cake leftover and the bread on her stove, wine, and cup on her nightstand, and the rest of the concoction on her kitchen table), you bid your farewell and crossed the room to her door, sending her a kiss before you closed and locked her door behind you. The sun had crawled higher, nearly noon as it blared its heated gaze over your crimson figure, bright and energetic as the color of your cloak.

Rustling followed your steps, taunting and teasing every time you stopped to look around you, only seeing green leaves and brown barks with a few specks of vibrant color. the farther you went, the more eager they became, closer to you and stopping later than you did.

You heard panting and low rumbling from the being, it gave away your stalker's identity. Instead of walking the path, you stayed between the trees, diving into the shades created by tall branches and wide leaves. Within them, anything could happen without passersby seeing it knowing - unless there was noise to hear. You were baring yourself to the creature, oblivious of its intentions.

As if hearing your thoughts, the beast appeared before you, a broad and hardened frame looming over you like the mountains near your town did. His cerulean orbs shone under the shadows as he stared at you with such intensity that it made you shiver, a pleasurable chill.

"Oh! Great Wolf!" you called, sounding surprised with your gaping mouth and wide eyes. "What big ears you have."

"All the betta tae hear yer with, Little Red," he spoke, pointed ears flickering and twitching under your gaze.

"What big eyes you have, Great Wolf."

"All the betta tae see yer with, Little Red," he rasped, eyes taking in your voluptuous figure, dark with arousal.

"What large hands you have, Great Wolf."

"All the betta tae hold yer with, Little Red," he growled, arms flexing, threatening to close around you and cage you against his chest.

Your body thrummed, warmth flooding your body and heating your groin. His strong body stalked so slowly toward you, teasing you both. You ate him up, trailing from his snout and down his naked pectorals, from his sculpted abdomen to the bulge in his pants, and down his beautiful thighs.

"What a terrible big mouth you have, Great Wolf," you gulped, legs shaky.

"All the bettea tae eat yer with!"

He pounced, paws falling to your shoulder to pin you down. You fell with a yelp, followed by a gasp as he clawed at your chemise, ripping it in two. His warm nose nudged your breasts, tongue reaching out to lave between them. It was hot and wet. You moaned and gripped his head, reveling his tongue running over your mounds and swirling around your nipple. He closed his mouth around your left, perky nub, sucking harshly with the other being occupied by his big palm, kneading it sensually.

You cried his moniker, squirming under his skillful tongue. Your legs wrapped themselves around his small waist, grinding against his hardness.

"Soap, Little Red," he groaned, licking down your chest and your navel as he pulled down your pants. "Mae name's Soap, Little Red."

His fingers slid between your thighs, claw drawing a line down your inner thigh to your ankle. He panted against your heat, jaw flashing his sharp teeth, just inches from sinking into your supple flesh to watch blood roll down your slit and ass. Fuck, the thought made him hornier.

He latched onto your clit, rolling the tip of his tongue over it. Your legs were pulled over his shoulders, both hands gripping your hips from bucking into his jaw. They dwarfed your body, almost able to meet at the front. Your body wracked with waves of arousal from his motion and the pure implication of being speared by a being Soap's size, twice - dare say, thrice - your size.

He growled when you gripped his mane, pulling his hair and squirming too much, the vibration tingled, traveling from your core to the tip of your curling toes. He growled a second time, smirking at your thrown-back head and drooling mouth before replacing his tongue with his callused thumb. He wandered lower, dipping between your labia to probe at your entrance.

He loved the sound of your moans and mewls, crying out every time his muscle dragged the warm walls inside of you, thrusting and curling, exploring your drooling cunt with a deep hunger. Your walls spasmed and your limbs twitched, your orgasms teetered on the edge.

"Let go, Little Red," he groaned, the apes of your thigh slotting perfectly between his maw, teeth shy of digging into your muscle. "Come for mae."

You came with a silent scream, euphoria washing over you as Soap lapped your slick, hungrily drinking the essence of your pleasure. He rode it out, thumb gently rubbing your clit until you calmed down, shaking and gasping for air, but all you could smell was sex and the pungent odor of Soap's musk, a masculine and predatory thing.

With one last long lick from your ass to your clit, he pulled away, back hunched as he ground his crotch on your wet cunt, kneeling with his legs splayed open.

"Ye ready for mae, bonnie?"

You shakily nodded, the extremities of your limbs still tingling with pleasure. He smirked a cute and smug grin that fit his stature and personality so well. He dropped his slacks, pumping his cock, spreading his pre around his thick girth. You stared at it with amazement, mouth agape with hunger. What you'd give to have a taste of him, throat gagging around his girthy rod.

The red, angry tip tapped your clit a few times, you jumped and moaned, eyes pleading for him to hurry, to claim you and eat you as he promised. Hearing your pleading mewls, he tested the resistance, tip slowly easing in. He watched you take him inch by inch, lips opening and stretching to take him whole and raw. Spread to your fullest, you threw your head back, eyes rolling as you felt him push in. He perfectly filled you, bottoming out as his bulbous tip hit your cervix and bulged slightly under your navel.

"Fuck- tight lil' thang too, aye?" Soap groaned, his tongue lolling out as he panted, drinking up all the soft warmth that clenched around him. "This snatch's perfect for mae, eh?"

"Yours," you mewled, locking your ankles by his maned nape, pulling him closer to you, your red, swollen nipples pressed against his hard chest. "For you, Soap."

"Aye, fer mae."

He pulled out until only the tip lingered in, heading the loud squelch, and slammed in, head meeting your cervix and bulging. He started a fast and rough pace, pounding like a beast in rut, grunting and growling every time his balls slapped your ass. Your cum stained his brown fur, painting the growing knot with a white, creamy ring and his balls lewdly wet.

The innocent and naive appearance you had before was ruined by your current one, debauched and drunk with the pleasure that his pounding cock gave you. You tightened around him, wet walls clinging to his shaft as he pushed in. He rolled his hips, watching the protrusion swirl along his hips and the way you leaned at him for more, harder, faster.

"Ruin me, Soap!"

A primal urge overtook him, and he snapped his hips, plunging deeper, faster, harder into you. His thoughts numbed and his glands pumped dopamine into his brain, filling his thoughts with needs. He wanted to breed you and pump you full of cum as his knot kept you plugged. He wanted to watch you grow big and round with his pups, your breasts grow sensitive and heavy with milk.

His dreams urged him farther, draping himself closer to you, teeth lingering over your shoulder. He teetered on the edge of wanting to bite down and watch your crimson ichor ooze from beneath his teeth, roll down your shoulder, and stain your pretty vibrant cloak with a darker shade of red.

He could feel his fast-approaching orgasm, the beat in his chest, and the heat that pooled into his crotch. While his tongue dragged over the patch he was gazing at, jaw flexing to bite down, his knot grew, swelling around the stretched skin of your entrance.

"It's fine," he heard you say between your keens and the wet slapping. "You can bite."

A shiver wracked his back, muscle clenching and knot flaring. He gave a few thrusts before his knot locked, slowly pushing the swollen base of his cock fully into you. He bit down as he came, tasting your sweet (a delicate sweetness that he'd never tasted before, rivaling your slick) blood on his muscle.

You cried, screaming and mewling, your walls closing around him in a vice, milking his cock of potent cum. Ropes fired from the tapered tip, his slit oozing and filling you with burning warmth. He pulled back, mouth unlatching from your bleeding shoulder with a dazed look.

He licked your wound when you whined, cleaning it and kissing your pain with red-stained lips. He held you close, watching you move your hands to your bulging stomach happily. He followed your hands, how you rubbed your growing stomach, being filled and plugged by him.

"Sorry, Little Red, " he kissed you, painting your lips a pretty shade of crimson. "We're stuck together fer a while."

"It's fine, Soap, " your voice was slurred, expression content.

He really got lucky, stumbling on such a sweetheart like you. If he ended up knocking you up, he wouldn't mind staying with you, you've already made a place in his heart and mind. Your smell, your taste, your voice, and your soft hands were imprinted in his mind.

He didn't mind watching run after his - your - pups, caring and motherly, doting on his children. He couldn't wait to care for you. He's marked you, you were his and his scent covered you. He was yours too, he smelled sweet and flowery, he had your taste on his tongue and you drew lines on his back and arms, marking him.

A few minutes before

Like yesterday and the day before, the hunter made his usual way through the woods. He watched over the few creatures that lived in these woods. He scratched his beard, rifle slung over his shoulder as he recalled what Gaz told him.

He whipped his head towards a scream, body stopping on the path he took. He gripped his rifle and dashed through the trees, weaving between the trunks and bushes until the screams became clearer. The high-pitched sound turned to moans and cries, deeper, wolfish grunts joined the cries. He frowned, confusion laced his blue eyes until he got closer to the source.

"-Soap!"

He froze, jumping at the name he heard. He knew Soap, the wolf that lived in these woods along with Gaz and Ghost. He peered through the thick cloud of leaves and gaped. He caught a red cloth and a small - smaller than him and Soap - figure beneath the hulking mass of a wolf, crying and mewling at the ravenous predator. He recognized the vibrant cloth, it was Little Red Riding Hood's recognizable cloak and her voice.

He knew the girl for coming over so often, invited by Nikolai, his husband of decades now. He gulped and backed away, turning away with tensed muscles and a shocked - traumatized, even - expression. He wished he could forget the sight, wipe the memory from his mind.

He wasn't sure if he'd be able to look at Little Red Riding Hood's face without feeling the awkwardness crawl his way up his nape, clinging onto him like a sinful reminder.

[ohbo-ohno]

in reference to the last Serial Killer!Ghost Captive!Soap ask: first off, HOLY FUCKING CHRIST. Second: I’m already thinking about how a reader may factor in.

Maybe she’s there with her friends, partying it up in the woods by a bonfire, and everyone is too drunk to notice she wanders off after hearing some whimpering from the thicket. She stumbles on Soap, muzzled tight and filthy and frantic and cradling his twisted ankle, and knows something is seriously wrong.

Immediately she drops everything and starts trying to help. She asks him if he’s okay, what happened to him, don’t worry, she’ll get him out of that muzzle. She picks at it with her fingers and nearly gets it off before she hears and FEELS a gunshot whizz right past her head.

Ghost found them. And seeing this precious little thing trying to help his good boy, immediately putting herself in front of him to keep him safe if need be, makes him start to wonder if Johnny could use a friend. And he hoists his rifle again, misses on purpose to make her yelp, and watches her back into a tree while he checks on Johnny. His ankle is fine, just a bit sprained, he’ll be back on his feet in no time. But he’s whining and shaking his head, trying to plead with Ghost through the muzzle not to kill this kind stranger who almost cut him free. He doesn’t want to see her die!! And Ghost turns back to the Reader, trembling against the tree and trying to hide behind her arms, and he comes closer like the menacing brick shithouse he is and she nearly sobs and begs that she’ll do anything, god, just please don’t shoot her!!!!

Maybe Ghost goes and kills all her friends first, comes back to find her still curled up against that tree with Johnny next to her, and she screams when she sees him fucking drenched in blood. Or maybe he takes her home first, puts her and Johnny in a crate together and locks it to make sure they stay out of trouble, and then goes out for blood; maybe he comes back to them dragging the bodies of Reader’s friends and it’s all she can do to keep from passing out. Maybe she gets included in their little chase game later on…

~🦋

someday i'll write my actual serial killer au but it is NOT TODAY so let's indulge in some variances <3 (ask is referencing this post)

i don't usually puppify my reader inserts to the extent that i do soap but holy SHIT if this ask doesn't beg for a puppy reader

ghost hunting his hound down, finds his poor boy injured and what seems to be an equally feral girl standing above him, totally protective :/ even when soap tries to shover her away, she stays crouched in front of him, hardly even flinching at the gun in ghost's arms

and isn't that interesting? this little thing so eager to protect what's his? oh, ghost is hooked immediately. (what's better than one guard dog? two guard dogs!)

manages to finally scare her away from soap with a few well placed bullets, poor thing tries hard as she can not to go skittering away but instinct gets the best of her eventually. she's not quite brave enough to tackle ghost when he gets closer, but he sees her eying his gun. ghost is quick enough checking soap that she doesn't have a chance to try anything

he'd come with a leash for soap (always makes the man crawl back to the car after their little hunts, just to keep him in that puppy headspace so he doesn't start struggling) but doesn't have an extra. good news is, soap is so desperate to keep ghost from killing his new friend, he's perfectly willing to follow without the leash when ghost hooks his collar and leash on the new girl

she doesn't have a muzzle (ghost doesn't have an extra, and none of them would fit her anyway), so he ends up tugging this wriggling and shouting thing along while his pup stays right at his side, providing such a good example for their new pet. ghost is already planning his rewards

he tucks them both into johnny's crate after wrapping the pup's ankle. gives his new girl a bone to chew on (plugs her nose and stuffs the gag between her teeth, tightens it until she growls at him and then ruffles her hair, locks her hands into some paw gloves so she starts to understand what's happening) and covers the crate in a blanket. smiles when johnny looks up at him nervously and his girl tries to cover her fear with anger

takes about an hour to kill & get rid of all her little friends.

and oh how she howls when he comes back home without hosing himself down. she squirms and writhes, kicks johnny's ankle and goes still when he whimpers. ghost can't help but laugh when she taps her forehead to his, an apology. his pups already get along so well, he can't wait to see how she'll fare after a little training

it's about time he got soap a friend, anyways. pups are social creatures, and he knows johnny needs someone to play with when ghost's busy. the new pup showed up at just the right time <3

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

(Un)bearable Part 2

Pairing: Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x Reader

Warnings: Smut (18+), Enemies to lovers, kinda dom!Soap, rough, little bit of thigh slapping, use of the nickname “puppy”, neck grabbing

Summary: Reader is new to the 141 and despite coming in hand picked by Price, Soap can’t seem to get his head round the fact that you’re on his team. Soon silly little arguments turn physical and well…there’s more than one way to decide who’s top dog.

(No use of y/n or mention of gender/race)

A/N: I'm genuinely surprised at how highly requested part 2 was, but more than happy to indulge everyone's Soap thirst 💕 Hope you all enjoy and sorry about the long wait!

“Soap, where the fuck are you?”

You gritted your teeth as you searched around for the familiar mohawk to reveal itself through the thickets, but you’d have been left with gnarled stubs if you kept it up much longer. Your fellow Sergeant was supposed to meet you about ten minutes before, but he was nowhere to be seen or heard. That was rare for the most obnoxious member of the 141 - it almost had you worried. 

You huffed out a breath and gripped the bridge of your nose, taking one last look around before you trampled off to go find him. Idiot. The loose branches and pebbles rolled under your careful feet, and the quiet air revealed nothing else as you moved through the forest like a stalking deer. The trees were filling your senses, dirt and rotting leaves settling in the undertones, you dully thought that if you weren’t going to see or hear from him, you definitely weren’t going to sniff him out - he’d taken to using a stupid deodorant after you’d expressly told him it stank like engine grease.

Wham.

You were slammed to the ground before you even saw a shadow in your periphery. All the air knocked loose from your lungs and you let out a pathetic gasp as you tried to roll your attacker off of you. Panic swelled in your heart and your head rushed as you went to fight back, hands meeting thick muscle as you tried to get a grip on your assailant's arms while he pinned you underneath him like a struggling butterfly. Fighting back only served as a catalyst for the smarmy grin that split your attacker's face - you were going nowhere.

“Miss me?” He asked in a familiar low drawl. 

The moment you realised who it was you breathed in a relieved sigh and relaxed instantly, letting your head drop like a ripe apple onto the soft earth. Apparently you still had plenty more quips to put up with. Not to mention more weight, whether the source of it was more of a burden mentally or physically you couldn't say. Soap was perched on top of you like a pile of bricks and you were dealing with a million different revenge scenarios flashing in your mind at once, both things were driving you to reach for your gun. 

“What the fuck are you doing giving me radio silence and ramming into me like that!” you hissed.

Finally recovered and thinking better of killing him, you pushed Soap off of you and sat up so you could dust the dirt and leaves from your sides. All the while, he continued to grin like a nasty puppet, sticking close to the ground and watching the distance. You weren’t going to be given any explanation, and it only served to piss you off more. 

Though before you could scream at him about that as well, he put his fingers to his lips a moment later and pulled his gun from the ground. The light scrape of metal across dirt was your only warning before a shot fired a few inches from your head. The cacophony cracking through the forest like lightning. It scattered what little fauna there was to the skies and through the leaves. 

Luckily (for Soap) you’d had enough wherewithal to cover your ears, but that didn’t stop them ringing. You shook your head, attempting to clear your blaring tinnitus and looked around, soon widening your eyes as you saw a man had dropped just a few feet from you both. His gun glinted dangerously by his side. Soap’s expression had gravely changed as he surveyed the body, his eyes had narrowed and lips were smoothed into an unimpressed line. 

“What’d I tell you about watching your back for once?”

You sheepishly looked from him and back at the crumpled man again and frowned. He couldn’t have been following you for long. The soldier must’ve caught you traipsing around for Soap or vice versa and tried to stalk you both till he could get a good shot. Unluckily for him, you had an unwitting protector in Sergeant Sulky Face. 

“I’d be able to watch my back if I wasn’t preoccupied on looking out for yours! Why didn’t you answer me when I was calling for you on Comms?”

“I had to be quiet. We don’t all have the luxury of stompin’ around and having other people look out for us,” he growled.

“Oh, yeah that’s me, frolicking around like an arsehole knowing you’ll look out for me.”

“Fuckin’ right you are Frenchie! For once!”

The cogs in your mind were squealing with the restraint it took to avoid following that up. Instead you gave him a withering look and peeled your eyes away so that you could look out for anyone else that might be playing hide and seek. Luckily however, no one else was sneaking around in the undergrowth like their unfortunate comrade who now lay like a crucified man in a ditch. 

Meanwhile, Soap didn’t seem to have the same sense of anxiety as you in that present moment. He wasn’t done getting bitchy, oh no. Though that’s how it’d been ever since you’d both hooked up. 

On the bright side, no one would be able to tell you’d been consistently finding your way into each other's rooms every other night because you both fought like cats and dogs on every mission, training session and meeting. Though, that said, it did mean working conditions were…strained. It had become a recurring theme in your weeks to get into hellish arguments and match the same unforgiving energy through the night time, rolling all around each other's rooms like a couple of angry deer interlocked with each other. 

“Do you realise you could’ve been shot?” Soap continued. “This is why I keep comin’ at you hard when we’re training, you don’t think about anything else once you’ve got an idea in your head!”

You whirled round again and followed the tense line of his square jaw, it was like a cord about to snap. Oh, he really wasn’t leaving it. He was one to talk about not thinking when he was the one that had noisily tackled you to the ground and probably drawn all that attention in the first place for all you both knew. 

Hot white seared the edges of your vision and you could feel a wad of coal sizzling away in your cheeks. Your body was fighting punching Soap right between his stupid bushy caterpillar brows, but you weren’t sure how long you could hold yourself off. His tone was practically begging to be corrected all on its own.

“Oh come off it Soap. You don’t get to play the big man because you possibly caught one man stalking me. I looked after myself just fine when you weren’t around. We don’t even know if he was following me either, he could’ve been alerted by you for all we know! ”

“Oh really? You can look after yourself? Well it’s a miracle how you manage it, that’s the second time I’ve stopped someone from killing you in the last month you stubborn cunt. He was following you because he came from your direction, there’s no way he’d have seen me from the way I came because I was careful. You could do with learnin’ a thing or two about that, think about looking after yourself for once and stop worrying about me. Stop bein’ a stupid little fuck with no impulse control and get a grip o’ yourself.”

He might as well have spoken another language after he called you a stubborn cunt. The last part of his sentence neglected to reach your ears and instead travelled into the shaking leaves. He knew how much you hated it when he called you that and still he insisted on doing it, driving you to the brink. It didn’t help with him getting in your face either, all the way in so that his hot breath practically slapped your cheek. That was just the icing on the cake, him getting dangerously close to you and shouting like a rabid dog - you had half a mind to put him down. 

“Stubborn Cunt?” you repeated, staring at him like you’d carved your glare into a dagger. 

“Aye. Stubborn Cunt.”

“You’ve some fucking nerve, Soap,” you breathed. “You don’t get to call me out for not being careful when you’re the one running round and taking me to the ground. I’m not the fucking problem here.”

He raised his brow at you, but didn’t back down in his challenge. His eyes were like an underwater chasm, dark and depthless as they stared back at you. A fight was out of the question, but you wondered if you could get a lucky shot in before you rendezvoused back to the transport with Price. 

You could tell him it was one of the enemies. There was a fifty fifty chance he’d believe you with the way you’d both been carrying on. It was quite frankly a blessing that he hadn’t spotted the bruises or bites that littered both of your torsos after your heavy sessions in each other’s rooms, those weren’t marks that would be mistaken for what you both got out on the gym mats at all, not even Price was that oblivious. 

“Fuck sake. Let’s just get out of here,” he grunted, rising slowly to his feet. “Not like you’ll ever take my advice anyway.”

“Your advice isn’t needed. I got by just fine myself before you came into my life sir,” you retort, sending him a challenging chin tilt. 

He paused for a moment, his shoulders tensing when he heard you call him that, when he heard you call him by that familiar title that was only usually cried out into a darkened room. For those times when he liked to imagine that you were beneath him in rank while he drove the point home by pinned you under his unyielding arms. You indulged him only to get held that little bit tighter and fucked a bit deeper, a fair exchange most of the time - and right then, it only served to bolster you as Soap came undone. 

His composure was knocked clean from his body.

“We don’t do that here,” Soap gritted out.

You smiled, your lips widening like the cheshire cat before a tea party feast. The upper hand finally sat with you, its loose grip precariously holding you above him just for that moment. It felt good to win against Soap, sometimes you liked to imagine it felt better than the sex. Though secretly you knew that was a lie. 

“Well, I figured I’ll give you that for now, because I’m not letting you lay a single fucking finger on me when we get back,” you smirked, turning on your heel before you could see his reaction. “You can come begging if you want me again, MacTavish.”

-🧼-

When you’d gotten back to the base you’d both remained in an icy battle of wills, locked in tense silence with each other for days. The only time you deigned to communicate was for the benefit of the team, but other than that your doors remained closed and any evidence of your previous exploits had healed over. All that remained were strained looks exchanged in hallways and gritted teeth whenever you were told to work together, though through it all you stayed professionals and did as you were told. 

There was no denying that other people could feel it though. Ghost had joked that he’d start bringing a riot shield to training, lowly chuckling as he and Gaz stood watching you both on the mats one day. Gaz had said it was like watching a Bear and a Tiger that’d been shoved in a cage together, he was waiting for you both to snap. 

You both overheard them. You could tell by the way Soap’s eyes glinted, he gave away so much on the surface of those shining blue irises. He wasn’t deterred by them both watching.  He threw a couple punches, expecting you to dodge them the way that you had, ducking and dancing backward to a point where you were forced to turn so that you weren’t shoved off the squeaky black rubber below. Soap took his chance and grabbed your arm, holding you against him with the meat of his bicep, dragging your head toward his. 

“Are you ever gonna get over the other day?” he whispered lowly. 

You tensed, your head practically spinning with the force of the implication behind his words. So he thought it was up to you to just forget about him insulting you and pretending that you were the issue on that mission? 

You gritted your teeth and threw your weight back, freeing your body just enough for you to land a kick on his shins so that you could manoeuvre away. 

“As far as I recall,” you huffed out, “you were the one trampling around and not taking care, Soap. You don’t get to hold your little superiority complex over me because you think you’ve saved me twice.”

“I have saved you twice!”

You snorted at that and took your chance to come at him, lashing out and putting all the force that Price would acceptably allow behind your hits. Every vein in your body burned, it felt like your heart was pumping pure molten lava, and your limbs were bubbling more and more with each passing second. The air was heavy and your chest burned as you lunged and struck out at one another, only growing more frustrated as you both failed to do much. 

“What’s so bad about me wanting you to look out for yourself anyway?” Soap grunted.  

“Its the fact that you think I’m insignificant,” you seethed.

“Funny, I don’t remember telling you that.”

“You act like it! You still look at me the same way you did when I first joined - like I’m nothing! Even after everything you still treat me like utter shit sometimes, you know that?”

You didn’t hold back this time, shoving Soap so that he was sent spiralling backwards. His body careened like a struggling seagull, but he stopped himself just before he fell on his ass and looked up at you with a withering glare. His pupils were wide and blown out, his chest was rising and falling heavily with his laboured breaths.

Something in the way that he stared sparked a light somewhere in your mind, an old neuron firing as you were suddenly reminded of your rougher sessions together. You would pretend to fend him off until you couldn’t and then he’d take you up against the wall, furniture, the floor anywhere. Somewhere deep below the depths you could remember him whispering to you, you don’t really want to fight me, you love this. Say ‘I love this, Johnny’. 

You swallowed a hard breath and wondered if Soap was thinking about the same thing. Oftentimes, no matter how much you hated him and called him stupid and figured that he was filled with the same venom that you were, there were moments where the facade would crack. You knew that you were both more invested in the other than either of you would ever admit. Perhaps he was onto something when he called you stubborn…

“You two getting tired or something?” Ghost shouted over.

You both whipped your heads round and faced down Ghost and Gaz, then looked back at each other. There was so much in Soap’s face that you could hardly read him. His soft lips were slanted and the crease at the bridge of his nose was set into a firm line, his brows drawn down hard across his dark eyes. He looked like he wanted to say more, but instead he got up and looked away from you again. 

“Think its time for me to hit the shower, I’ve been at this a while,” Soap said, “Fill in for me Gaz.”

Gaz nodded and you stood there sighing, watching as Soap left. The man was a mystery, one minute he was in your face shouting about you not looking out enough and the next he’d be confronting you and asking why you were in such a mood with him. It would start up like a cycle, he’d insult you and forget about it in a heartbeat, then he’d ultimately come looking for all the attention he craved from you and once he got what he wanted he always hit back with the same stinking attitude. 

In moments like those you thought of the rare nights where both of you would be so tired from fucking that you’d both collapse in the sheets together and cuddle. You’d lie there in a pile of dewy sweating skin and loose limbs and slowly find yourselves searching for the others warmth. You’d put your head to his chest and listen to the steady booming rhythm of his heart beat, and then he would sigh and run his hand over you hair and down your back, slowly drawing to a close at the base of your spine where he’d rub circles and draw you even closer. 

You thought of those moments because you wondered - if you were to begrudgingly admit it to yourself - if Soap cared about you the way you cared about him. It was a fucked up kind of care, the kind that always ended in bickering and shouting and hurt feelings, but even through it all, care all the same.

You wondered if he knew how to care after all those years of focusing on being the best, focusing on making records and achieving fame as one of the youngest members of the SAS. In all that time, he’d honed himself as a weapon, but you wondered if he had paid attention to much else, if he’d kept track of the people in his life or if he’d let them fall by the wayside. Were you just going to be another in a long line of names in that notebook he always wrote in? 

“You gonna give me the first hit for free, Frenchie?”

You jolted when Gaz playfully shoved your shoulder and snapped out of your thoughts. In all your pondering over Soap you forgot about all about training and everything else. You forgot about your surroundings and zeroed in on him. You cursed him and held your hands up, ready to block Gaz if tried to come at you and tried your best to focus on him instead, keeping your mind in the confines of the sweaty gym walls. 

-🧼-

You didn’t see Soap for a little while after that. Ghost had come into the kitchen that night and taken him away for a meeting, and soon enough they were packing up and heading off on a mission together, keeping Price occupied with Laswell as they oversaw. It meant that things had been quiet around the base, but you were grateful for the interruption to the chaos.

It gave you some time to think and reflect on your journey with the 141 and the explosive relationship that you and Soap had developed. It was uncomfortable to admit it, but your work was getting sloppy and you were succumbing to your temper in a way you hadn’t in years. You were fucking a fellow team member and you were up all hours of the night sometimes stewing over arguments like an unwatched pot. Your professionalism was slipping and your relationship with Soap was the only factor that was affecting it. 

You had half a mind to go to Price and tell him to move you, requesting that you go for the betterment of the team given the interpersonal relationships getting difficult. Not that you’d tell him the extent of the difficulty you were having, oh no. Price himself had threatened to do so plenty of times anyway. He was getting tired of you both scrapping like creatures of the alleyway and he was getting angrier every time he had to break you both apart. 

Though you knew yourself that that was silly and you’d worked far too hard to be kicked out from the 141 in disgrace. Being taken out because you couldn’t get on with the team wouldn’t look good and you sure as hell weren’t about to get demeaned on a whole new level just because of Johnny MacTavish and his big stupid mouth. So you decided on the only other option that there was. You had to stop rising to him, had to get him out of your head for good.

-🧼-

Soap was back after a week, work weary and exhausted like someone coming from a long tour instead of a short stint in Colombia. After the debriefing he’d gone straight to his room and shut the door with a bang that rivalled one of his controlled explosions. Despite it though, you continued down the hall and knocked on that same door, stronger and more assured than the other times you’d done it, three firm knocks over the chipped paint. 

You opened it without waiting for his response and blustered in, taking in your messy stomping ground with a tinge of nostalgia as you’d thought about what you’d done there weeks before, pressed up against the hard ground like a dangerous target. You bit your lip and looked from the sparse array of furniture and coverings and to their owner. Soap was hunched into a chair in front of the full length mirror, nursing on a bottle of beer while he swiped over his extensive injuries with cotton wool. His chest was bared and gnarly, his body was covered in lots of little cuts that looked angry and red, stretching across the thick expanse of his torso like the textured wallpaper you’d grown up with as a kid. 

“Didn’t tell you to come in,” he said eventually, giving you a sideways glance. 

“I know.”

“Then get out. I’m no in the mood to start shit tonight.”

You baulked, not used to him being quite so abrasive. Soap usually preferred to be cheeky, a little mean sometimes, but he wasn’t usually so direct unless you’d done something to him. Though it hadn’t escaped you how tired he sounded, his low voice even gravlier than usual as he tried to hiss and claw his way out of your presence. Whatever he’d been doing, it had taken a toll. 

“I don’t want to start shit, Soap,” you said gently, stepping toward him like you were approaching a feral animal. “Do you need help? I can get so-”

“I don’t need help.”

He seethed when he rubbed over a particularly rough patch of flesh and cursed, slamming his hand into the table with a bang. You jumped, but remained there undeterred and merely watched on as he picked up his beer and angrily downed it. He lobbed the empty bottle toward the bin afterward, only missing it by inches, but unfortunately with too much force. 

Both of you flinched when it smashed. It scattered pieces of green glass around the corner like a high pitched buckshot. The little shards glistened dangerously, as if taunting you with the idea that you were going to tear your already well abused hands up further.

“Fuck sake!” Soap growled, settling his head in his hands.

You stood there unblinking for a moment and gulped, not moving a single muscle. Your heartbeat was in your ears and the smell of beer pervaded the room like a leaking gas, but still you didn’t let it show. 

Slowly, with tiny steps, you approached the pile of glass and picked up the pieces, trying not to let them crunch under your boots and scatter further, collecting them in the bin. For a while, the only noise in the room was the clink of the little glass pieces as you collected them,  pattering against the plastic like crystalline rain. 

When you put the bin down and looked over at Soap again, he still had his head in his hands and was breathing heavily. His back betrayed the way his heart beat a million miles an hour and immediately you knew that this wasn’t the night for saying the piece that you’d prepared. You shoved your speech to the back of your mind and thought instead of how you could try and calm him and bring him down from the panic he was losing himself in. 

“Soap?”

No response. He kept rigid in his position and was still taking in air like a panting hound.

You stalked toward him, taking timid steps until you reached his side and gently laid your hand on his back. He jolted with your touch, his back tensing hard, but he didn’t shove you away or shout anymore. He was still, apart from his erratic breaths, you could feel his pulse now through his feverish skin and gulped as you realised just how fast it was. 

“It’s ok, Johnny. You’re alright,” you soothed, rubbing calming circles into his back. 

He shuddered as you said it. He whined, it came in low and trembled through the air like a puff of smoke, but nevertheless you heard it. The unmistakable sound of someone holding back tears. Everything within you screamed out to turn tail and run, leave him to his feelings, but your feet stayed rooted to their spot and your hand didn’t waver from its course against his back. 

You reasoned that you were in a state of shock. In all your time with him, you’d never seen him like this, you’d never witnessed Soap being so shaken or even showing a hint of the man he’d become then. It was unnerving, knowing that someone so composed was crumbling in front of you, it was like seeing your childhood home knocked down into rubble. 

“J-Johnny Come on,” you stuttered, unsure how he was going to react next. “Let’s get you up. Come on, come into bed. Shh, it’s alright, come on, I’ve got you.”

He was still mute, he didn’t take the opportunity to crack a lude joke like he normally would,  or lash out like you thought he might, or even demand you leave again. Instead he surprised you by letting you drag him up from the chair, the material stained messily with his seeping cuts, and he collapsed onto the bed. The normally resolute and unwilling soldier curled up into a foetal position and shook on the dark sheets beneath like a scared lamb. 

“Hey, shh. Shh, now. It’s ok, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

You soothed him, attempting to calm him down with quiet words and joined him on the bed. Your body slowly formed around him and you wrapped an arm around his middle while keeping the other free, running it over the harsh spiky hairs of his lank mohawk. It sat messily and limp against his head, almost sweated free of the handfuls of gel it took to keep it standing. You felt the traces of product still, but weren’t deterred by them, continuing to rub his head and clutch him to you. 

“You shouldn’t be here for this,” he said eventually, his words coming out breathless and weak. 

“Why?” you asked.

Was he going to get defensive, did he not want you to see him like this? Or was he trying to protect you from an oncoming outburst? You thought of the many possibilities while the silence grew thick between you, his racing heartbeat the only other thing moving through the room. It beat hard and kept his body warmed like an overworked furnace, he was burning against, but you kept him held tightly to you nonetheless. 

“You shouldn’t have to coddle me.”

He was still panting, but he continued to talk through it. He was insistent that you leave, but even then you didn’t miss the fact that he was pressing closer to you as he spoke. The stubborn Sergeant would never admit it, but he needed you there with him. You knew that. 

“I don’t have to do anything, Johnny. 

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be,” he protested.

“No? How should it be? You wanna call me a few names and see if that makes you feel better?” you asked, chuckling weakly at your awful attempt at lightning the situation. 

Soap huffed at that. You apologised quickly for the stupid joke and instead focused back on stroking his hair, trying to clear whatever debris that had been caught up in there. Through all your finger combing you kept discovering chalky little bits of gravel and tried to brush it out of him as softly as you could, occasionally running your fingers over his fuzzy scalp, thinking mournfully that he’d probably clip it back down soon.

“You don’t have to stay,” he tried again. 

“I’m not here because I have to be,” you whispered, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “I don’t want to leave you alone like this.”

“Why’d you even come in the first place? I thought you were still mad.”

You hadn’t expected him to ask that. Hadn’t thought he’d even be coherent for the rest of the night. Though Soap was incorrigible as ever, even through a panic attack he somehow managed to be the most composed psychologically spiralling person you’d ever attended to. You bit your lip and shrugged, ready to tell a half truth. 

“I wanted to start a blank slate,” you murmured. “Didn’t want to keep fighting.”

“And you had to break down my door to tell me that?”

“I didn’t break down-!”

You cut yourself off before you could rise to him and reminded yourself that Soap was recovering from something bad, from whatever had happened over on that mission. So instead of correcting him, you clicked your tongue and rested back into the sheets for a moment, contemplating what to say next. 

“I just wanted to clear the air before things got all heated again.”

He hummed as a response and settled against you again, staying still for a moment. After a few minutes you wondered if he might have fallen asleep he’d gotten so still, the trembling that had wracked his body before, now settled. The sound of him swallowing thickly let you know that he was still awake, he was just considering what to say next. 

“I fucked up today.”

You let his words hang in the air, the sentence caught up in the web of tension that already swirled between you both. You pursed your lips and ceased petting his hair, figuring out your next move. He was tense again, you could feel the static jumping through his bones.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” you asked carefully.

“Not much to talk about. Someone threw a grenade our way and separated me and Ghost. I ran off to try and regroup and they caught up to me. They were gonna shoot me point blank in the face, but…Price stepped in just in time.”

“Jesus…”

Soap let out a breath and Sprawled out a little, cosying his back flush against your chest and settling his tired body into yours. You could practically still smell the explosions and gunfire rolling clean off of him, the chalky debris still caught in the creases of your fingers. It was as if he’d been plucked straight from the field and put back in his bed like some sort of game. 

“I thought about you for a moment,” he whispered.

You frowned. Did he just-? Surely not? He’d said it so quietly, but even through the doubt that suddenly flared up, you were sure he’d said he thought of you. That seemed like the kind of thing it would take no less than a waterboarding for him to admit. 

“You thought about me?”

“Mhmm.”

“What did you think about me?” you asked, voice full of wonder.

You were surprised he’d admitted it, however reluctant his hum of confirmation was. You had to see if he’d tell you more.

“Wondered if you’d be laughing at the funeral - glad I finally got shot to pieces - or if you’d be ravin’ mad you weren’t the one that got to do it,” he said with a small chuckle.

“MacTavish!”

Soap laughed a little louder and pulled away as you sat up, already anticipating that you were going to give him an earful. Ever the one to live up to your nickname, you were ready to start barking at him in an instant. You leaned over him and watched the little pilot light inside his eyes spark, not being able to help the smile that crossed your face as you noticed his anguish lessen.

“You can’t come out with fucked up shit like that Soap, I thought you were gonna say something nice! Sure I’ve made jokes in the past, but you don’t get to say that you thought about me before you were going to die and you thought I’d be glad about it! Fucking hell man, do you really think I’m that twisted and horrible?” you ranted, “you make me want to claw my eyes out at times, but I don’t want you to die! I care about you even when you drive me nuts and even when you make me feel like an idiot, I still-...why are you looking at me like that?”

“You care about me,” Soap simpered, almost visibly burying the trauma deep below the surface. “How sweet, my little puppy just admitted their little feelings.”

MacTavish’s stupid smile only got wider as he watched you clock what you said and he slowly began to rise up. He supported himself on his weakened arms just so that he could get a good view of your flustered face, eyes piercing into you like bullets. As usual. He was wielding his uncanny ability to make you feel like the room was a thousand degrees and you were jumping around like a fried egg trying to stop yourself from burning. 

“Soap, all I meant was-”

“Don’t you mean Johnny?”

“No, Soap, I’m not playing this game with you right now.”

“What game? I’m just askin’ you to say my name - you were sayin’ it earlier!”

“Yeah, well you were in a bad place there. You’re clearly better now,” you said sourly, looking him up and down. “I’m not fucking you.”

“Who said anything about fucking?” he laughed.

“You did the moment you asked me to call you Johnny,”

“I dunno about that. If I was wantin’ that, I’d tell you to call me sir,” he said with a growl.

You squealed as he pushed you back on the bed, leaving you flat against the sheets so that he could lean over you and pin you down. The bastard seemed to have renewed himself in the wake of seeing you so vulnerable because in that moment he was caging you in his arms and keeping you right where he wanted you. Your hands flailed to attack Soap’s scratched up chest but it didn’t matter - you may as well have been trapped underneath marble, he clearly wasn't feeling the pain of his wounds so much anymore.

“Soap, c’mon! This isn’t the night for it,” you protested weakly, not even sure you were convincing yourself. 

“Isn’t it?”

“You were just about on the verge of a breakdown, Soap,” you said flatly.

“That’s why I’m asking you to give me this,” he sighed, looking off to the side for a moment. “I need it. I want to feel in control again.”

He loosened his grip on you a little, but he used his adjusted position to lean down and kiss your neck, fanning his warm breath onto your sensitive skin. He knew all the right spots to go for, knew exactly how to win you round. You shuddered and held back a delicate moan before it could trickle from your mouth, body still trying to hold back even while some part of your mind traitorously turned against you - telling you to let him do whatever he wanted.

“Soap, please. Look at me a minute, please!” you pleaded, the sensible part of you winning out over the little gremlin inside. “I don’t wanna- I don’t want…I can’t just be someone you fuck to get over the pain. When we first started doing this it was fun, but now I’m at a point where I’ve realised that it…it hurts me.”

“What are you talking about?” he frowned, his eyes trained fully on you now.

“It hurts being close and feeling like I mean something to you sometimes, but somehow feel like a burden anytime we leave each other’s beds,” you said hurriedly, whimpering when you realised what you’d admitted. “I can’t keep on doing this.”

He paused for a moment, looking deathly serious, before he sighed and rolled over, releasing you from his iron grip a little, but still keeping you wrapped in his arms. Soap spooned himself over your figure and held you to him like a teddy bear, saying nothing for a good few moments until he’d thought of something to say. The cogs of his mind were rattling loudly in the silence.

“You’re not a burden. You’re just better off keeping your distance. Better off looking out for yourself, French,” he breathed.

“Is that really what you think? Cause sometimes- sometimes when we stay in each other’s rooms at night, it feels like - well I dunno how to describe it, but it feels good! It feels nice to be each other’s comfort. Then when it inevitably rolls around to the next day its like you become this different person and the guy that replaces you seems like he hates my guts.”

“I don’t hate your guts,” he laughed, a strained and uncomfortable ghost of what he would normally sound like. “I just can’t let myself get too close to you.”

“Is that what’s happening right now? You not getting too close to me?”

He snorted as he evaluated the position you were both in and unwrapped his arm from you, the loss of pressure almost causing you to cry out. It felt like you’d been robbed of your beating heart. You sat up with Soap and stared over at him, looking at his eyes as they shifted from you and to the sheets and back again in an awkward circle. You’d have loved to have known exactly what was going through his racing mind.

“What is it you want from me exactly?” Soap asked finally. “It’s not like I can offer you much, shit if Price were to find out we’d be fucked. This is pretty much all I can give you, French. This is all there is.”

He gestured round to the barren room and stared at you earnestly, trying to show you that he wasn’t lying. As if you were asking him for the world when you were well aware of what he had on offer. 

“I’ve never expected roses and a parade, Soap. I just wish that when we were outside each other’s rooms you didn’t lord around treating me like I’m an idiot that doesn’t even deserve to be here.”

“Would you stop saying stupid pish like that! I don’t think you’re an idiot, and I think you deserve to be here just as much as anyone else on the team, despite the reservations I had in the beginning you proved me wrong. It’s you that held onto what I thought before and now you’re projecting your crap onto me because you can’t see what I’m really doing when I get on at you! You’re so intent on making me out to be an arsehole, you just don’t seem to be able to get it into your thick skull that I’m tryin’ to look out for you. You’re tenacious and whether you like it or not you’re stubborn. You’re so intent on trying to prove yourself to everyone, you race off like a bull in a ring. One of these days you’re gonna be so distracted by seeing red that you won’t see the kill comin’ and then where are you gonna be? Where am 

I gonna be?”

You froze like a deer in the headlights and widened your eyes, heart beating like a thunderstorm was going off in your chest. Vertigo was spiralling through you, every muscle in your body tightening as you fought to stay upright through the haze. Soap cared about you too.

It was taking a while to settle in. It was unbelievable to you after so many hours spent furiously combating what he said to you, nights spent grudging him for thinking that you were an incompetent liability, and now you knew that he returned your feelings back. This was going to make it doubly hard to stay away from him, scratch that impossible, you thought.

After deciding that you were entirely done with thinking for the time being, you wrapped your arms around him and held him close, mind breaking as the dichotomy of your intentions for the night and what you actually ended up doing sank in. You were cuddling the man that you’d come to ‘break up’ with. You’d fully intended on telling him that that was going to be the last time in his room and now you were reduced to a sagging pile of uniform in his arms.

Well, you couldn’t think too much on that. 

The two of you drew back from each other and the moment you locked eyes, that’s when everything else melted away. All reason and good intentions were scattered to the wind, abandoned for a kiss that had you both fighting for control. All you had to do was ruck down Soap’s trousers and he was naked, but before you could do much else he had your top and trousers off too, ensuring that you were both bared completely to each other as you went on. 

The sound of sharp breaths, grunts and moans filled the air like woodland ambiance. You were the foxes screaming out into the night and the little creatures that tried to move stealthily in the dark all at once, dampening moans and losing cries until you were almost screaming out into the echoing room. Soap’s hard body melded with yours, heating you like a hungry fire, tightening the ever growing coil of need within your belly. 

“Yeah, keep moanin’ like that, puppy,” Soap hummed, kissing down the length of your body. 

“Ooh, it feels so good, Soap,” you breathed.

You yelped in surprise when he slapped your thigh and whipped your head up to look down at him with a glare. The eyes that met yours weren’t regretful of their actions though, no they were downright set ablaze with expectation.

“You know better than to call me Soap,” he admonished, driving his point home with another slap. 

You squealed as he bit at the sensitive flesh of your thighs, leaning down and nipping you his teeth, he let his hands roam everywhere but where you wanted them to.He wasgoing to remain stubborn until you addressed him properly.

You huffed out a sigh full well knowing that this was far from where you pictured yourself that night, but even still somewhere in the back of your mind it made sense. You were in heaven and hell all at once, you were getting pleasure you secretly craved and were already paying for it in the moment. You were left panting like your namesake and feeling as if your body was going to explode. Why wasn’t he putting that stupid mouth of his to good use?

“C’mon please, Johnny, please touch me. I’ll be good for you, sir,” you moaned out, reaching for his mohawk so that you could guide him to where you needed.

“Aw, you’ll be good for me, hm?”

“Yeah…c’mon pleaseeee,” you pleaded desperately, whimpering when he nipped at your thigh again.

“Since you asked so sweetly, Frenchie,” he grinned. 

You cried out as he licked a stripe down you, gripping the sheets in preparation for what was to come. With every flick and swirl of his skilled tongue, you were begging for more, singing for him as he growled and dug his fingers deeper into the thick flesh of your thighs. He was relentless, his mouth hot and perfect on you, enticing you in for more, causing that feeling from deep within you to grow as the minutes sweetly passed, you were racing to a finish, feeling yourself just about to jump over the edge like cloth in a gale.

Your fingers threaded their way through his hair, trying to encourage him to quicken his pace, but you’d barely gotten your hands tangled through a few spikes before your wrist was snatched away in his vice-like grip. You whined and tried to pull his fingers from you, but it was no use. He slapped your other hand away and fought you off with ease. 

You gasped when he drew away from your thighs and started to crawl upwards, shaking the bed with the weight of his unyielding body. He was a tiger stalking toward you and you were prey unable to do anything but moan out like the pathetic little creature you were. 

“Poor puppy, were you enjoying that?” he said, voice dripping with fake sympathy. 

“Yes! Why’d you stop?” you complained, settling back onto the bed as you realised you weren’t going to get anywhere with him.

He was in charge now, not you. His eyes told you that much.  

“Because you were getting greedy,” he said with a smile, it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You don’t get to cum before I do tonight. I don’t care how long you have to wait, this is for me.”

“Sir!” you protested.

“No complaining. You said you’d be good for me! You remember the last time you didn’t shut up? I can easily gag you again,” he threatened.

Your skin flushed further with the embarrassment from the not too distant memory of  last time, it hit you like a train. He’d picked up an old scarf in a moment of frustration and had tied it so tight round your mouth that you were convinced Price was going to know something was up the next day with the redness that had been left behind.

Your heart was already working overtime trying to accommodate your overworked body, the thought of him leaving marks was going to send you over the edge. There was something so hot about surveying the damage you both did the next day, being able to feel him all over you while you trained, feeling the ache of him.  

“I would never complain,” you murmured, giving him the innocent eyes.

“Uh huh, that so? Well why don’t you get on your knees for me and do what you do best.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn't fight him. If he wanted to finish first then you were going to make quick work of hi, you decided. So with that in mind, you slid off the edge of the bed and pulled a pillow with you, settling onto it while you waited for him to move into position, dropping his legs off the edge and displaying his cock for your waiting mouth. 

His thick length was already hard and straining, ready for you to ravish him. Your mouth was already watering in anticipation, while your body was shivering from the icy air, adjusting to being away from the unbearable warmth of Soap’s body. There was only one way to reclaim it, knowing this, you surged forward and wrapped a hand around his cock while you settled the other on his thigh, holding yourself against him and feeling the fine hairs of his legs brush against your sensitive skin. 

You followed suit with him and licked a long stripe up his shaft to begin with. You then settled your tongue around the tip, licking and swirling until he was making high whiny moans in the back of his throat. You gathered the spit that already pooled in your mouth and let it drip onto him, pumping it messily down his length with your hand while you dipped your head and swiped your tongue over his balls,sending him jolting and shaking. 

“Fuck! You’re so fuckin’ good at this,” he moaned, making the springs of the mattress squeal as he tightened his grip. “Keep going, yeah…just like that ugh-”

You could feel your mouth curve in satisfaction as you finally swallowed him, taking his dick into your mouth and to the back of your throat. Soap was left speechless and instead settled on a growl, grabbing your neck as you kept on sucking, ready to take over when he wanted. The pressure of his fingers round you and the way his cock jumped in your mouth only served to make you more determined, he was sensitive that night. He was all wound up and ready to go. 

“Yes, fuck yes, oh my god! So good for me, that feels so good…”

You kept on a steady rhythm twisting your hand and letting your head bob up and down on him. Listening as his moans grew lighter and airier with every passing minute - like he was reaching the end of a piano scale, ready to come plummeting down. You were engrossed in your task, you barely noticed when he put a little more pressure on your neck and only realised what he wanted when he pushed you off of him.

You frowned, confused that he pulled away when he was getting close, usually never one to tease himself like that. Though, your confusion settled when he went straight to his drawer and pulled out a condom, inviting you up to the bed with a quick hand gesture. It was all you needed to come jumping up like a rocket, settling over him while you rubbed at your jaw, trying to work out the ache that already coursed through your tired muscles. Taking him was always a struggle. 

“You did so well for me,” he growled, rising up to meet you while he slid the condom over his shaft. “I want to finish inside your perfect little body.”

You gulped, not able to respond as he kissed you deeply, swiping his tongue over yours and distracting you from any kind of coherent thought. All you knew in that moment was the warmth of his mouth and unbidden strength of him as he wrapped his arms around you, and the sharp sound of the lube bottle opening. Your body was so familiar with the sound you preemptively tensed for the cold of the liquid before he smeared it around your opening, you could feel his mouth smiling around yours. 

“You’re always so sensitive,” he whispered, breaking away from your mouth and hovering around your ear. “Relax for me, love. That’s it, it feels so good doesn’t it?”

His breath tickled your ear and you shuddered from the dual sensation of it while his fingers entered you. Shivers raced up your spine and felt like they were sparking out of your body. First he started with one, but soon enough he pumping two inside you and getting you nice and ready for him. His fingers curled and kept up a good pace, and soon enough he was pulling them out and shoving you into position, knowing you were almost too gone to move yourself. 

“Hands and knees,” he growled, forcing you upward while you struggled to get control of yourself. 

You got shakily into position and for that he gave you more praise, making you squeal when he pushed himself inside you and buried your face into the mattress, forcing you into the soft sheets below. Your cheeks smushed up against the wrinkled bed and your stomach tightened as you felt him bottom out, your hands grasping to stay upright while he dug his fingers into your ribs. 

“You’re so special to me, you know that?” Soap sighed, curling himself over you. “No one else drives me wild like you do.”

Your head was barely there, but still you heard him as he whispered his sweet words out into the air, dissolving into the atmosphere as your breaths mixed with each others. You panted as he picked up his pace, hips gently fucking into yours before they were bucking wildly. His cock caught in just the perfect spot everytime, the feeling of it pierced through your core and rattled around your body sending you wild for him.

“You feel so good. You’re so tight around me,” Soap groaned out. “Keep moaning for me, yes, just like that. Fuck!”

“Feels so good, Johnny. Yes, faster, feel so guh- good.”

“Yeah? Yeah? I can go faster, gonna give you everything you can take! That’s it take it!”

He curled one of his hands around your hip and played with you as he sped up his pace. The sounds he drew out of you were like nothing you’d ever made before, and they mixed with his loud grunts and moans to create a wall of noise that competed with the slap of skin on skin. 

Your flesh felt like it was turning to molten lava and your belly tightened more and more as he continued, your legs shaking as they struggled to stay upright. Everything felt like it was becoming too much, too much heat, too much noise, but it was perfect, it was all you needed to reach the edge. You were so close. So, so close…

“Fuck, I’m gonna- I’m gonna-” you called out, barely able to speak coherently anymore. 

“Gonna come for me?”

“Yes!”

“Remember- ugh - what I said?”

He comes first. 

You mentally cursed and fisted the sheets below you as he kept up his punishing pace. With the way he was going you weren’t going to be able to indulge him, your vision was already going shaky and your breaths were coming in in short pants, you couldn’t hold on any longer if you tried.

“I can’t hold on,” you whimpered, arms giving out a little as your hips tried to slow against him. 

“Yes you can!”

He slapped your thigh and growled even louder, keeping up his punishing pace until he was straining, his thrusts were growing irregular and his hand was getting sloppy in its movements. After a few more thrusts he was spent, roaring into your ear as he pressed against you. You could feel the warmth of him growing inside you, but had little time to process as he bucked into you hard and sped up the hand that still snaked round your hips, sending you spiralling with him only a few moments after he had finished. 

You felt sparks of white light dance outwards in front of your eyes, sparkling like angel dust behind your closed lids.You panted, feeling like your throat might burst from the pressure and whined, feeling your legs shaking even still as you settled against Soap and lost yourself in each other, dying a little death in his arms that now lay limp around you. 

Neither of you made any moves while you recovered, his breaths huffed out against your neck and the air began to ring with silence as your heart quietened down. Soap’s mouth closed as he regulated with you. 

The room begun to settle its spinning and finally you were able to keep your eyes open for longer than a few seconds. Within moments you were wrapping yourself closer into each other, shuffling and nuzzling into each other's skin like it was your last few moments alive, tangled up in sweat and heat. You both sighed as you settled and looked into each other's eyes after some time, each considering the other for a moment as the air settled around you.

“I thought about this,” Soap murmured, casting his eyes down to the arm you had wrapped around his neck.

“What?” you asked, confused. 

“When they were gonna shoot me…I actually thought about lyin’ here with you. Someone told me once when you think you’re gonna die, think of somethin’ good so you don’t go down panicking. I thought of this.”

His voice was grumbly and low, so close to sleep that you wondered distantly if he was having a waking dream. You shivered again, your muscles aching as they tesneed back to life with frenetic energy. It was a little difficult to comprehend. The man that you’d once convinced yourself was an annoying robot sent to test your last nerve was apparently a well of untapped emotion. 

“Did it work?”

“Did it stop me from panicking?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm…difficult to say, that moment feels blurry now. Like short term amnesia or something like that. Didn’t help much in the aftermath though.”

“Too busy thinking of me while you were fighting your way out?”

“Pretty much.”

“Sap,” you laughed, feeling your disbelief reach its height. 

“Not so much. Nothing more distracting than dealing with a semi in a firefight, Frenchie.”

Idiot!

You slapped his chest and listened to the whoop of laughter that left him with malice, suddenly having second thoughts about spending the night with him. Though even while you struggled to get off of his combusting chest, he kept you held against him, his thick biceps wrapping around you like overgrown anacondas and keeping you rooted to the spot. 

“You’re a moment killer Soap!”

“Ach, don’t pretend you don’t find it funny too. Don’t get all moody with me!”

“I’ll fucking show you moody, MacTavish!”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Carpe Noctem 29

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, gaslighting, manipulation, violence, blood, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

“I should go,” you get up as Cole comes back in the back office, “I’m so sorry about today–”

“Go? Where?” He asks as he stands in the door. “Back to that maniac?”

“Well, I…” you swallow and let out an exasperated sigh, “yeah, I have to–”

“You don’t have to,” he insists, “you shouldn’t. Someone that angry can be pretty dangerous.”

“I know, it’s just–” you have no argument, no excuse, just the truth, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“You don’t?” He wonders.

You shake your head and grab your jacket from the rack, “I’ll be fine. I’m sure he’s calmed down. I shouldn’t have lied–”

“But you did. For a reason. If that’s how he reacts… you never mentioned a boyfriend,” Cole shifts on his soles.

“Boyfriend?” You almost laugh, “no, not exactly.”

“It’s complicated, got it,” he nods, “well, you were wrong, you know?”

“About what?” You take your pure of a lower hook on the rack.

“That you don’t have anywhere to go. I’m just putting it out there,” he raises a hand to rub the stubble along his jaw, “if you need somewhere to stay, er, my parents’ could spare a guest room.”

“Oh, Cole, no, I couldn’t. That’s too much. I’d hate to impose on your family like that.”

“Uh, you definitely wouldn’t be. My mom would love to meet you,” he lets himself smile, “I brought home some of the extra treats and she loved them. She’s a baker too.”

“That’s— that’s sweet,” you shrug and look away, “I just don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“I wouldn’t suggest it if it wasn’t,” he insists, “but I really don’t feel great about you going back to a man like that. I’m big enough to defend myself, but you…”

You know he’s right. This isn’t the first time you’ve seen Lloyd get violent and just like with Johnny, it’s only inevitable that it turns on you. You’re not exactly excited to go back to that house.

“All my stuff…” you begin, arguing with yourself as much as him.

“My ma has some stuff she can lend you for the night,” he offers, “as long as you don’t mind flannel. And I’m sure you could use a nice warm meal.”

“Cole,” you rub along your jaw evasively as you look away, “I just… I feel so bad about putting you out. Your parents too.”

“You’re not. You know, I think you surround yourself with the wrong people. The sort that make kindness seem like a debt to be paid back. You don’t owe me anything. I’m just being decent, like anyone should,” He turns his hands out. “But if you say no, I’m not letting you walk out of her without my phone number. And you have to promise to call me if anything goes bad.”

You frown and look at your feet. Lloyd could use the night to cool off just as much as you. You cross your arms then force them straight. He’s entirely right. You’re letting all those others people who bargain courtesy like currency colour your doubts. Why should you begrudge him the action of others when he’s only ever been nice?

“Did you ask your parents? I don’t want to be a surprise,” you chew your lip.

He smiles, “I texted ma but I’ll give a call before we go. Trust me, you’re more than welcome.”

☕

The drive is longer than you expect, but not. You should’ve figured that the farm would be out in the country. At the same time, you never factored in the time it must take Cole to commute each day. It whittles another ounce of appreciation out of you. He seems too kind for his own good.

That generosity sees you in his passenger seat. You left your car behind at the cafe to save you gas and the trouble of driving. You didn’t fight too hard. You want to be in one place and still.

He steers down a long dirt road and as the moon disappears behind a thicket of trees, the land turns desolate. Your chest sinks just a little but as the silver light breaks free again, you let out a breath of relief. Ahead you see the yellow windows of the farmhouse and dark colossus of the barn not far behind it.

Cole pulls up behind a big red truck and shifts into park. The motor cranks slightly before he turns it off. You can’t help but wonder how someone like him came to own a cafe in the city. Maybe after so long in the rural desert, the urban sprawl must be alluring chaotic.

He gets out first before you muster your strength. He comes around, startling you as he opens the door for you. You thank him, the gentlemanly gesture almost jarring. You’re so unused to kindness, it unsettles you. That should tell you something. It’s a ringing cry for change.

“Are you sure…” you begin the same question you’ve asked every five minutes for the last hour.

“Sure,” he interjects firmly, “really, ma always cooks too much and my sister’s off finding herself. Again. She’ll be happy to have you around.”

You nod and climb up the wide porch steps beside him. He pulls back the screen door and waves you in ahead of him. A fragrant aroma draws you in; roast beef and roasted veggies. The homey glow embraces you, welcoming you without a word.

“Here,” he tugs on the back of your jacket, “I’ll get this.”

He hangs his own coat as you undo yours and hand it over. He puts it over his own then beckons you on. Hesitantly, you follow his direction, walking down a walnut trimmed hallway to a dining room decorated in faded florals and pine.

“Ethan,” a woman calls through before she appears in the doorway across from you, a large dimpled glass dish in her hands, “oh! I thought you were your father– eee! This must be her.”

She rushes to the table and sets the steaming dish on a potholder. She still has her oven gloves as she sweeps around the room, “Beverly,” she introduces herself, pulling you into a hug, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Uh,” you gulp as she squeezes you, only releasing you as Cole clears his throat. “I’ve heard a lot about you too.”

“Really?” She nearly squeals, keeping you at arm’s length, “he didn’t say you were so pretty.”

Your eyes round and you let out a nervous giggle. Cole groans under his breath and brushes his hand over his sandy hair. It’s kind of cute when your own parents were never so excited to see you.

“Thanks, that’s too sweet,” you smile, “erm, thanks for having me.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” she titters as she lets you go, “Cole always had a soft spot for those in need.” She turns to him and touches where his cheekbone is still red from his scuffle with Lloyd, “and look at him, my knight in shining armor. How many times do I have to tell you not to fight? You never were very good at it.”

“Ma,” he urges her away from him, “I’m fine.”

A ding chimes from the kitchen and she springs back, “oh, that’s the dumplings.”

She spins and hurries off, leaving you off balance. You slowly face Cole and put your hands on your hips, “so how much did you tell her?”

“As much as I know,” he rubs his neck sheepishly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want her to freak out when she saw my face and– it wasn’t anything that makes you look bad.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. I don’t want to be a charity case,” you cross your arms.

“Trust me, you’re far from it,” he assures you, “really. I want you here.”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t trust your own judgment. Whether he means it or not, it hardly matters. You’re just grateful to have a night away from it all. Some time might be just what Lloyd needs to grow some common sense.

[wolfpants]

thickets playlist

Here is a collection of songs I listened to death whilst creating my piece for @writcraft for this year's @hd-erised. Suffice to say, Patrick Wolf, who has been a constant in my life since a very young age, was a huge influence. The title comes from his song of the same name, the concept from my love of his album The Bachelor.

You can find the whole playlist on spotify

List of songs:

Patrick Wolf - Thickets Johnny Flynn - The Box Nick Drake - Cello Song Orange Juice - Blue Boy Johnny Flynn - Raising the Dead Owen Pallett - Lewis Takes Off His Shirt Fleet Foxes - White Winter Hymnal Smashing Pumpkins - Thirty-Three M. Ward - Poison Cup Patrick Wolf - Blackdown listen on spotify

read thickets on ao3

[howietheslothful]

The Midnight Pursuit

Johnny Vampire AU x reader {one shot}

Synopsis: a blood thirsty Johnny hunts down his helpless victim.

~~~~~~

My lungs burned with each gasp of frigid air as I tore through the dense thicket, the jagged branches tearing at my clothes and skin. The cold Texan forest night enveloped me, shrouding the world in an inky darkness that threatened to swallow me whole. Fear gripped my chest, constricting with every beat of my heart.

Behind me, the man's laughter echoed through the trees like a sinister melody, sending shivers down my spine. It wasn't just a sound; it was a malevolent force propelling me forward, deeper into the wilderness. I didn't dare glance back, for fear that his sinister silhouette would materialize from the shadows. The moon cast feeble beams of light through the gnarled branches overhead, creating dancing patterns on the forest floor. But the beauty of the night was lost on me as I navigated the uneven terrain, stumbling over roots and rocks in my desperate bid for escape.

My mind raced, trying to make sense of how I ended up in this nightmare. The laughter, once distant, now seemed to be closing in. Was it my imagination, or was he getting closer? Panic surged through me, urging me to push my aching legs harder, faster. I could feel the cold sweat on my forehead, my pulse pounding in my temples. Every rustle of leaves, every creaking branch, sent shivers down my spine. I dared not scream; the silence of the forest amplified the pounding of my heart and the rhythm of my breath.

The laughter persisted, a haunting soundtrack to my terror. It mocked me, fueled my dread, and I couldn't shake the feeling that it reveled in the chase. I stole a glance over my shoulder, my eyes widening in horror as I caught a glimpse of a shadow among the trees. There he was, a dark figure weaving through the underbrush with an unnatural grace. His laughter now had a face, twisted and contorted in a malevolent grin. I could see his eyes, glinting with a madness that froze my blood.

A surge of adrenaline propelled me forward. The forest seemed to close in around me, as if nature itself conspired with him. I pushed myself beyond the limits of exhaustion, my muscles screaming in protest. The forest became a labyrinth, each turn leading me deeper into the heart of darkness. I didn't know how much longer I could keep this up, but the alternative was unthinkable. I couldn't let him catch me. Not in this night, not in this forest, not ever.

“When I catch you,” his voice called out into the night, “I’m keeping you, my little bloodbag!”

((If y’all like this, feel free to request more!:)))

[kfrances]

some more couples for valentine’s day xoxo

zib and mitzi belong to @lackadaisycats (check out the short film in march!!)

prudence belongs to @frankensfine

[johnnyandthicket]

P8-9 / The Twins

BEGINNING - PREVIOUS - NEXT

[instruth]

WRITTEN ON PAGES OF BLUE

Reading from pages of blue

Torn from an old autograph book

Flows a poignant line or two

Stirring rhymes in corners and nooks

Living words from a hidden alcove

Pledges of true friendship and love

Carved and signed in thickets of tears

By the wishes of ones who were dear

So that if ever the lands, seas or dimes,

Through the undenying passage of time

Shall ever dim the mindful thoughts in me

Your golden hand from these living pages

Shall again imprint in me a lasting memory

In a moment of passion in soulful rampage

In delicate intimacy, softly tenderly tame

Remembering unto calling out your name

With hopeful dreams, preciously sustained

Recollection of sweet intimacy as retained

On these pages of blue, shall be contained

©Johnny J P Lee

22 April 2024

A Gogyoshiren Poem (20)

Photos Credit J. P. Lee

[konig-is-bbygrl]

Look for me In the Moon (SoapGhost fic) TW: suicidal thoughts, thoughts of alcoholism, major character death, depressive thoughts, descriptions of injury, canon typical violence

WC: 2.5k

A/N: This is a very sad, dark, gritty fic. This borders on Dead Dove content. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THE TW MENTIONED. The advice given by the therapist in this fic is NOT REAL ADVICE. If you are having a mental health crisis, please call the hotline in your country.

The mission nearly killed him. No, no it did kill him. But not in the traditional sense. Not in the death of the body, but in the death of the soul. Death of the spirit. The mission had gone sideways quickly. 

One missed sniper, hidden in the moonlit evening. The glint of an M13’s barrel was the only indication of anyone on the roof adjacent to them. It was all his fault. It truly was. He was supposed to clear the rooftops and he had missed one. 

He had gotten distracted by Ghost. By Simon. By those deep, chocolate-brown eyes. Those eyes, framed by blonde lashes and contrasted by the black balaclava he always wore. His mind was elsewhere, focused on a conversation they had had nearly a year ago. 

“Ya know, LT, they say when you die, you come back in the sunsets. I like to think my gran is in the purple ones,” Johnny said to his Lieutenant. 

The pair were dressed in nice clothing, watching a sunset together and sharing a beer. Johnny had just received word that his grandmother had passed after a long, painful with cancer. Due to the current mission, there was no way for him to get home for her funeral. In a bid to comfort his comrade, Ghost, or rather, Simon at this moment, had snuck two beers from Price’s stash for them to enjoy while the sunset.

“When I die,” Simon began slowly, pausing to take a long drink of his beer, “don’t look for me in the sunsets. Look for me in the moon. In the way, the moonlight turns everything white. And in the way the moon lights up the sky at night,”

The alcohol had loosened Simon’s lips just enough to let him speak his mind freely.

Johnny smiled fondly at his Lieutenant, finally taking a moment to truly appreciate how beautiful he was. The way the light of the dying sun turned his eyes the color of melted chocolate in a candy shop window, his eyelashes glowing like snow under December sunlight, and the delicate curve of his Cupid’s bow. 

“Simon,” Johnny spoke softly.

Simon’s head turned and a light smile played along his lips. It made Johnny’s heart soar. His heart hammered against his ribs so hard he thought it would burst forth from him, right into Simon’s lap. Before he could stop himself, his hand drifted to the nape of Simon’s neck, up under the balaclava, slowly slipping it from his head. 

Simon. Simon. Oh gods, Simon. Johnny could now admire him in all his glory. Not just his eyes, not just the gentle curve of his smile and the flash of white teeth behind his lips. No, all of him. Johnny’s hand remained on the nape of Simon’s neck, feeling the warmth of his skin. The other man’s hand covered his own.

Slowly, as if connected by an invisible string, the pair leaned in. Their lips and it felt like an atomic bomb had gone off between the pair. It wasn’t just sparks. It was a flame that anyone within a five-mile radius could feel. Pulling away, Johnny got another glimpse of that beautiful smile that rarely graced Simon’s face. 

A gun report broke the delicate silence that had blanketed the sticky night. The gunshot itself wasn’t scary. Those were normal. The silence that had followed, true silence, no birds or bugs calling to each other in the night. Most importantly– no shots fired back. 

“LT, how copy?” Johnny said on the radio.

Silence. Not even a crackle of a radio turning on.

“LT. How copy?” The Scot demanded firmly.

Jumping on the main channel, he called to the others, telling them he was going to investigate Ghost’s position on the edge of the thicket that surrounded the town. After an affirmative from their captain, he moved silently through the city streets to the position. He saw a mass laying on the ground.

“Jaysus, LT, when someone calls for you over the radio, answer ‘em,” Johnny scolded in a hushed tone.

Once again, silence. His heart was in his throat, why hadn’t he answered? He always answered. Coming within three steps of the mass on the ground, the realization slammed into Johnny like a Humvee. 

A black balaclava with a skull design, half slipped from the face of the dead soldier now laying on the ground. The light eyelashes of the deceased seemed to glow in the light of the full moon. The most horrifying detail? The one that would stay with Johnny until he too joined the sunsets? The hole in the side of the soldier’s head, viscera turning the blonde hair a sticky, dark red shade.

Johnny felt vomit rise in his throat as he approached even closer, leaning to inspect the dog tags, now laying in the pool of blood slowly engulfing the body. The words embossed into the metal washed over the Scotsman like a bucket of ice water.

“Riley, Simon, BT: O-, NKA”

The next few hours of Johnny’s life were a blur of radio calls and gunfire. Calling out to his team to tell them that Ghost had been KIA. Finding and killing the sniper. Evac’ing out with the body. When he finally came back to reality, he found himself showering on base, scrubbing the blood from under his fingernails. Oh, how did he wish the blood that crusted over his fingertips was his own. 

Retreating from the porcelain sanctuary that was the shower, he donned his regs and exited. He numbly walked to his room and sat on his bed. The time passed, unconscious to him. A knock rang out in the small room, startling Johnny nearly out of his skin. 

“Come in,” he called out, his own voice sounding foreign to him.

The door creaked open and in walked his captain, the hat that usually sat upon his head now absent. It had been since the heli landed back on base. 

“How’re you holding up, son?” The elder man asked, taking a seat next to him on the bed. 

“I… I don’t know. It doesn’t feel real. I can’t believe it,” Johnny sighed, hanging his head.

Price’s hand rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a glinting piece of metal. The dog tags that had previously adorned the neck of Johnny’s lover. They had been buffed and shined to perfection, with all the blood from that night scrubbed away. While the blood and viscera were gone, the memories that were contained in the raised lettering on the tags still remained. The image of Simon’s body was still burned on the inside of Johnny’s eyelids. 

“He uh, didn’t have any surviving family we could find so they gave them to me to do with as I pleased. I think you could use them,” he placed them in Johnny’s hand, “for closure,”

His hand wound itself tightly around the dog tags, feeling the cool metal against his palm. In the back of his mind, he knew Simon was dead. He knew it was the end. But his heart wouldn’t believe it. The hope in his heart that the blond would walk through the door at any minute and speak to him in that Manchester accent just wouldn’t die. 

That hope didn’t die until the funeral. It wouldn’t die until he watched the casket be lowered into the ground. Then, as the dirt was shoveled on top of the ornately decorated casket, the hope of Simon returning to his arms would finally die. The reality set in. Simon was dead. Johnny finally cried that day.

It was like the tears wouldn’t stop after the funeral. They hadn’t stopped for three days. Johnny hid himself away in his room, sobbing into his pillow, begging whatever god might be listening to either give him Simon back or take him too.

The sadness of the loss was choking him. Clogging his lungs and suffocating him. He cried and cried. He cried until he had run out of tears to cry. The ever-consuming sadness soon replaced itself with anger. Burning anger. Anger that threatened to burn up Johnny and everyone else around him. 

Hours were spent in the gym, training, sparring, getting better. He needed to be better. He had already lost Simon, he wouldn’t lose anyone else. He spent time on the range as well, sighting every gun he could, tweaking them, making them perfect. His skills got better and better, his cleanliness on missions getting better and better. The anger fueled his need for revenge. When the rage had quelled, the fire had been put out, he moved to praying.

He prayed every night, for hours. His knees ached in the morning from kneeling on concrete and his hands cramped from squeezing the dog tags between them as he murmured wishes to any god who would hear him. Through tears, he would stare at the ceiling, hoping for answers. Hoping for a divine hand to reach down and soothe the pain that resided in his heart. He was lucky he couldn’t drink while on base, or alcohol would have become his god. Anything to soothe the pain. When anger had subsided, and prayers went unanswered, the dark veil of a depressive state had settled over Johnny’s mind.

Suddenly, nothing was worth it. No mission gave him a thrill. No conversation could spark a smile or joy within his chest. No friendly touch could move away the dark cloud that hung over his head. There were nights when the thought of walking into the armory under the cover of night had crossed his mind and stayed there. A plan. Walking there, finding what he needed, going to the rooftop where he and Simon had watched the sunset together, and ending it. Ending the pain he faced in his heart.

It was as if Price had read his mind and seen every dark, twisted, demented thought of revenge and suicide. He approached him one evening with an order.

“Johnny, you’re being put on indefinite leave. And you aren’t coming back until a psychiatrist has cleared you. I’m sorry, son, but you need help. More help than you can get on base.”

He packed his things that night, leaving without a word to his team. He was sent back to his home in Scotland where he had weekly meetings with a lovely woman named Cheyanne. In their sessions, they talked about how he was dealing with the loss. He was told to get a hobby. Something to distract him while he was home alone. He was given a list of ways to deal with the grief when it crept up on him like a prowling beast at night. 

“Okay, Mr. MacTavish, how have we been?” Cheyanne asked, sitting back in a plush leather chair in her office.

“I uh, had a bad week this week. It wasn’t good. Nothing I could do, no amount of painting or sketching could get the image out of my head. I’ll admit, I wanted a drink. God, did I want a drink. But I didn’t. I did what you said. I processed it. I worked through it all. I sat with the thoughts for a while.”

A smile danced across Cheyanne’s lips. “That’s good, Johnny, that is really good. You’ve made big strides. I think you’re almost ready to go back. That is if you’d like to go back.”

Did he want to go back? If he did, would he be the black sheep of the team? Would they judge him for needing help? After thanking Cheyanne and leaving the office, Johnny’s mind continued to race. He loved and missed his team dearly, every one of them. However, would they accept him back into the fold after a stint away?

Lying in his bed, staring at his ceiling, he made his decision. He would return for the rest of his deployment, and when reenlistment time came, he would make his final decision. Whether his stint in the military is done or not. If he left his 141 family. After the appointment with Cheyanne, she put the order through that he was ready to return to base.

The next Monday, Johnny drove himself back to the base, anxiety settling in his chest. Worry about the opinions of his found family. Before entering the base, he took a moment to steady his breathing and lower his heart rate. 

“It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.” 

This became his mantra, repeated over and over again in his head. Entering the barracks, he found his room and put his stuff down. His room at the barracks was much more familiar than his pay-by-month apartment. He had spent much more time in the barracks room than he had in that dull apartment with off-white walls and cream carpeting. While he put his belongings away, a knock on the door echoed through the small room.

“Come in,” Johnny called, his back to the door as he unpacked his duffle bag. 

Footsteps followed by the door shutting perked Johnny’s ears. “Good to have you back,” Gaz’s voice rumbled.

Johnny turned to his friend and smiled. “Good to be back, it was dull without you guys.”

The man before him chuckled. “You left a Soap shaped hole in the team. Should’ve seen us in training. We were a mess!”

Gaz filled Johnny in on everything he had missed, every stupid joke, every bar night, every good sparring match. The friendly conversation between them helped ease the anxiety that bubbled in Johnny’s stomach. It was like he had never left. The team treated him no differently than before he’d left.

There were no changes until the next mission. Johnny would be lying if he said he felt no anxiety going into the next mission. His mind was flooded with a thousand different thoughts. What if he missed another sniper? What if the comms went down? What exit points would exist if it goes sideways?

Price seemed to have noticed this, once again seeming to hear the thoughts in Johnny’s head. “You’ll be alright, lad. You’ve got a team behind you,”

The baritone voice of the captain comforted Johnny’s overworking mind. It slowed his thoughts and brought him back to the mission at hand. Get a USB drive out of a building and get out. Quick. Simple. Easy. The ease of the mission filled Johnny’s chest with pride. He could do this.

Upon entering the battle zone, Johnny’s mind went blank. His focus remained only on the mission. Any joke that came through the comms from Gaz or Price was swiftly ignored. He remained silent over the comms unless calling out positions or getting input from his teammates. It was different than before. He couldn’t bring himself to laugh when facing the gunfire of the enemy. With the lives of his teammates in his hands. This was the most glaring difference after Simon’s death.

Not only did Simon “Ghost” Riley die that night, but so did Johnny “Soap” MacTavish.

Tags: @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @sinclairbrosbathmat​

[whisperthatruns]

As a boy, Norton had developed, quite by himself, a method of intense prayer---not to any image of God, but to what he liked to think of as the genius of a place, the fostering spirit of an ash grove, or a shore line. What he prayed for was, in one guise or another, a private miracle: he contrived to be favored, by the sight of a doe, say, or the find of a lump of water-polished quartz. Whether his will merely coincided with circumstance, or really did force tribute, he could not be sure. Either way, he had a certain power. Now, lulled by the putter of the car, and feigning sleep, Norton began to will toward him all the animals of the forest---the fog-colored, delicately striated antelope, the lumbering, tousled buffalo, the red foxes, the bears. In his mind's eye he saw them pause, startled, as by some alien presence, in their deep thickets and noonday retreats. He saw them, one by one, turn and converge toward the center where he sat, fiercely, indefatigably willing the movement of each hoof and paw.

Sylvia Plath, from "The Fifty-ninth Bear" (1959), Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams: Short Stories, Prose, and Diary Excerpts (Harper & Row, 1979)

[foxounderscorecube]

for the ask thingy :)

Golden deep, burnt sienna, ruby, rose, prussian azure, mars brown!

Golden deep: I think probably spring because seeing the blossom and flowers come out makes me very happy :)

Burnt sienna: The two that come to mind are just ones that are nostalgic for me more than anything. I don't know the titles of them, though! One is of Hemingway's cats in Key West. I Googled it but I can't find the exact one. When I was little and first got glasses, I apparently immediately pointed to it and said "Cats!!" because I'd never seen it before. The other is a painting that my mum's friend, Johnny, painted of the house my grandparents used to live in - that one doesn't seem to be online at all, which I suppose makes sense. He drew horror stuff - his most well-known work was for 2000AD in, like, the 80s, I think? My grandparents have the full piece, obviously, but my mum has always had a print test from it up on a wall, which is a segment of it. The full piece is gorgeous, though - ominous greens and blues and thickets of thorns with the windows of the house glowing yellow in the dark. I wish I had a picture of it! There are details on it that you can only really see up close, though, so it's nice just standing and looking at it. Sorry, that answer ended up being way longer than it needed to be!

Ruby: Ooohh, an ideal first date. Honestly, I don't really care too much about the activity as long as the vibes are good. I like to just hang out. I think going for lunch or for a coffee/bubble tea/similar would be good. It's not like it's anything exciting, but it's nice to get a little treat and just chat, you know? Depending on the person, though, a museum date would be top-tier. Art, natural history, historical stuff, I just like museums. Again, nice place to hang out and have a chat.

Rose: I have good friends!!

Prussian azure: If we're talking about perfumes, I tend to gravitate towards amber and vanilla scents. In general, though, hmm... I really love the smell of strawberries. When you've got a punnet of strawberries and you open that bad boy up. Hell yeah.

Mars brown: The end of Paprika, when Atsuko and Tokita talk, always makes me go all happy. Not a film, but guaranteed to make me laugh, are some particular Ashens videos: the Easter special with THE GOOSE; the "Wonderful sound, strange shape" toy violin; and the PDA from the 80s where you could, theoretically, write on the screen and it'd make it into words. Theoretically.