#mention of soap

[mrssoapmactavish]

penny for your thoughts

content warning: mature themes, talk of death, gore, violence, mature language.

synopsis: flukey and ghost have a chat about the inevitability of the end. they make a promise that neither of them reach that point prematurely.

flukey is an oc.

in the words of her lieutenant, fuckin' hell.

flukey hadn't been this unfortunate on a mission since she was a rookie, back in days long past.

but alas, here she is, self-barricaded on the roof of a compromised building on a black-ops mission, a stab wound in her thigh placed in such a position that she'd need a bit of physical therapy and proper recovery to ensure she isn't limping for the rest of her days.

if she doesn't die on this mission, her mind curses, she'll be absolutely fucked.

a deep breath leaves her as she keeps one hand pressed against the make-shift bandaging she's used, the warmth of her life-giving liquid seeping out under her fingers, staining her skin.

"this is bravo 0-7, flukey, how copy?" there's the voice she's used to. the stoic tone of her manchester lieutenant, finally coming through. if there was a god, he'd be right stoked. "bravo 0-7, flukey, how copy?"

the aussie reaches for the walkie strapped to her vest, reaching and pressing the button, her voice much more strained than she would've liked it to be. can't be weak in front of your CO, eh? not when that bugger's taken more than a few bullets in front of ya.

"this is flukey, solid copy." is all she can get out, letting go of the button and letting out a deep exhale and a groan of pain, the last of the adrenaline having finally worn off, leaving her in nothing but agony.

"thought you were gone." ghost grumbles over the comms, making a soft laugh leave her trembling lips, fingers going to clamp around the button. "fuckin' nearly did, one of those cunts got me good."

there's a pause on the other end of the line, before a gruff little sigh leaves her superior. "keep those eyes open, fluke. give me some landmarks so i can find you."

"could just drop a flare, it's a fuckin' ghost town 'round here. what with how many squirters got dropped," flukey responds, a soft sigh leaving her as she feels her pulse start to fluctuate under the hand on her wound.

"that gives you away. landmarks, fluke." there's that tone again, the one that says 'i'm the boss man, listen to me or die.'

"shit, ghost, you're really pullin' me bum leg here," she jokes, though because it's met with silence, she sighs softly. "m'on the big skyscraper, one with the fuckin' thirty floors of windows. f'i look over the ledge, i can see a fountain, fuckin' city plaza."

another moment of her pained silence, struggling to keep herself both awake and grounded, until that voice chimes in; "was that so hard?"

"respectfully, sir, get stuffed." "glad to see you've got enough energy to get mouthy."

now that is funny, at least to flukey's blood-loss addled mind, too straddled with the impending possibility of permanent corpse status, so she laughs, unrestrained and pained, over the line.

"coulda used a big ol' shadow like you out there, lt. maybe it'd be a grave 'stead of this bullshit, got me bludgin' around. not sure i'll even make it outta this, sir." her mind is slipping away from herself, but her tongue is looser than ever– which is saying something, since she knows why bloody mactavish always gets her right hosed.

she can hear him in her head, right now. "flukey, if ye're gonna convince me you can knock back a few pints, ye've got to keep yer mouth shut 'bout it, steamin jesus, hen."

"you will make it out of this, sergeant. keep those eyes open. talk if you have to." ghost's voice is, quite honestly, the only thing keeping her fighting off that urge to just rest, close her eyes, let sleep swallow her whole.

"aw, ghost, y'gettin' all soft on me. not so much of an ankle biter now, am i?" "watch it, fluke. no one's here but us, no one'll know you died of strangulation." "takin' the piss, aye? here i was, thinkin' you an' johnny were a couple o'..." a cough interrupts her sentence, appropriately shutting her up, a satisfied rumble leaving the lieutenant because of it. can't have her insinuating he's getting busy with his sergeant, after all!

"aye, lt. penny for y'thoughts?" fluke speaks, voice soft and quiet, her eyes wandering down to the somewhat exposed skin around the gash, watching carefully as she eyes her fingertips turning a tint of white best left for ghosts made from sheets.

or the mask, her mind readily supplies.

"worth more than that," ghost grunts, entertaining her words, if not to keep her from retreating into the ending moments of her life, to see if everything really does flash before your eyes like they say.

"mm, how 'bout a pint then? pint for yer thoughts? and f'christ's sake, ghost, if i hear a joke, 'll fuckin' bury you out in the bush behind me house." she suggests, in no place or state of mind to be threatening the man willing to scale such a large building– likely not fully clear, to be plain– in order to save her.

"pint sounds fair," the man's voice rumbles, before he's quiet a moment. "entering the building. hang in there."

fluke isn't aware of how long her eyes close, though she's torn from the warm, loving embrace of death herself by the voice coming through her walkie.

"think you're not that lucky this time." "aww, bugger off." this is enough to get a rare, subtle chuckle from the lieutenant, M4 raised as he continues to sweep the building floor by floor, making his way up to the sergeant in distress.

"... think you're too young to be out here, dyin' on me." the man tells her, quiet honesty being enough to give the woman a small surge of confidence and keep her awake just a bit longer.

"so 've grown on ye, aye? cheeky. good on ye, finally gettin' in touch with your feelins', daft cunt." another laugh, this one bringing a ring of panic into ghost's mind, one that urges him to hurry the fuck up.

"think we make a deal, you and i." "yeh? what'ye want, my fuckin' leg? y'can take it, f'you get me outta here." "not quite. think we need to watch each other's back a bit more."

there's silence for a moment, flukey finally speaking up again. "sentimental. keep talkin'."

"neither of us dies out on the field. how's that for a deal?"

the prospect, especially when you feel so close to seeing your family up in the peaceful beyond, seems incredulous. though, even if it's a dying woman's wish, might as well humour him, one last time.

"...alright, sappy bugger. ye got yerself a deal." she answers, closing her eyes to rest again, the voice on the other line tapering off in the recesses of her mind, echoing like a bell in a clock tower.

it's not that much longer before her body, mostly limp, is lifted from the top of the roof by a rough brit who prays to a god long forgotten by him that the redhead makes it back to base alive enough that he hears about some shitty story of the outback.

[nyxiswrites1200]

Thinking of John Price being married to the prettiest wife. He invites Soap, Ghost, and Gaz over to his house where his pretty girl is sitting in the pool in the smallest bikini.

Getting all flustered because of the other guys but Price kisses her and says it's fine.

Ghost especially can't help but stare. He's never seen something so pretty in his life. Price knows you like him, you like the masked brooding L.T.

You sweetly ask for permission and of course Price grants it. You get to flirt with Ghost and hold on to his muscular arm while you try to convince him to get in the pool. However you just end up beneath him on a pool chair as he touches you.

"You take good care of your husband, love?"

"Mhm, I do. Let daddy fill me up all the time"

"You got room for one more?"

Letting him fuck you as Soap and Gaz try not to stare but they sit on the edge of the pool with their cocks hard. Price watching as he shamelessly strokes his cock, asking you how you like Ghost's dick in your tummy because it's so big.

Ghost fucking you in the backyard of your husband's house as the rest of em watch, trying not to be pervs. But you're just a sweet pretty little thing :( they can't help it.

Ghost is pounding you, making you moan so loudly. Good thing there's a tall fence surrounding the yard. He's got you pinned under his large frame, not even undressed.

Soap and Gaz cum in their swim trunks and Price's shoots over his happy trail on his stomach as Ghost pumps you full, leaving you dripping with his cum. You already know Price is going to want to fuck it back into you tonight along with his own.

Ghost was sweet though. Sent you flowers when he was away because he didn't want you to feel used even if you did want his cock anyway...

An: I don't know what came over me guys <3

[bluegiragi]

work it out (part 1)

early access + nsfw on patreon

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hello, Congratulations on the 5k follows!!

I discovered this fandom a few months ago and have been living for your writing ever since.

I was thinking as a drabble of the taskforce gentlemen coming home at the crack of dawn from a long mission and seeing their spouse's hand, limp on the ground peeking out from the side of the couch. All the panic and worry going thru their heads, so much bubbling up, horrible scenarios. They rush over and find you sleeping on the floor. The power had gone out last night and the hardwood floor was the coolest place to be (you didn't want to open the window because you know how they worry), so you were watching stuff on your phone and drifted off. Crisis averted!

Thank you for your time 💜

—Wide-Eyed Panic

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Why were you behind the couch?] ❞

I’ll start by saying all of them would be concerned and immediately go into panic mode—why were you behind the couch? Why was your hand sticking out? Why, in God's name, were you not moving? Cue the horrible thoughts and flashes of what went on in their work lives.

John Price ➺

John entered the house with a sigh, slipping off his boots as the door was closed and deftly locked behind him. Grunting under his breath, the man rubs over his face, the lights off as he calls out with a tired grumble to his voice. 

“I’m back,” his voice echoes, the tone moving through the darkness far louder than it should have. There’s no answer. “Love…?” Pausing, John blinks slowly at the wall, ear twitching to the utter silence of the home. No water in the pipes. No buzzing of electricity. No you. Eyes rising, they dart around quickly as his finger moves out to the light switch. A small push elicits nothing, just as he thought. The power was out. 

Dread slowly creeps into John’s chest.

Hand reaching behind his back, the man’s fingers inch over the smooth metal of a pistol, grasping the weapon before he begins walking forward. He keeps silent, feet moving to where he knows the wood won't creak. 

His mind runs. 

Why was the power off? Where were you? Why didn’t you respond—were you hurt? John’s mind goes to blood and bullets, his jaw clenching tightly as the pistol comes out to rest in front of him; hands shifting the grip as he takes a soothing breath. Panicking wouldn’t help anyone, but it would be pointless to lie about how his heart hammers. 

“Fuck,” he growls, eyes going tight. 

That’s when he sees it. Blue eyes widen sharply. 

“Love!” John shouts, all other concerns about intruders meaningless to him. Your hand was sticking out from behind the couch, a dark shadow in the low light. He rushes over as you jerk, yelling in alarm as he rushes to grab you, pulling you up into his arms and pulling you away into the closet across the room.

“John!” You blink rapidly as you’re set back against the wall. 

“Shush now,” he grunts, eyes panicked. “Keep awake, let me look.” A hand moves all over your body, searching and pulling at clothes to touch the skin for any wounds. “Tell me where it hurts, then. Quickly. We have to move—”

“John, what the hell,” you push at him, moving him back. Your eyes try to adjust to being so rudely awakened at such an hour. “What are you doing?!”

You weren’t hurt. 

The Captain’s face pulls in with confusion, back against the closet door and now in more darkness than ever before. He can barely make out your face before you sigh and put your hands against his arms. 

Things begin to calm down as his hand rests at your hip, nearly tight enough to bruise. In his other is the gun just before you put your hand to it and softly peel the item away from him—putting it on the shelf that you know is to your left. 

Hands find John’s cheeks as he pants.

“John,” you say his name again. “...what happened.”

“Why were you on the ground?” He forces out firmly, voice a low grunt. “Why were the lights not—”

“The power went out for everyone, okay?” You speak slowly, rubbing your thumbs over his beard. “It was on the news. I didn’t open a window because I knew you would worry about that—the floor was cool and it was getting too hot in here.” 

Your mind tells you to explain quickly and fluently. You move forward and press your forehead into John’s as he sags with a great exhalation of breath—his arms circling you tightly until your spine might crack. 

He doesn’t speak for a long while, just holding you.

“Scared me,” he mutters, missing you deeply on the forehead, speaking into your skin. “Fuck, you scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

He keeps you to his chest, eyes fluttering shut and his spine hunching over you, fingers splayed over your back. You run your hands through his hair and calm the swelling of your heart.

You can feel his pulse mirroring your own.

Simon Riley ➺

When he sees your hand, he freezes. 

Simon wasn’t a stranger to the lights being off in the home—you opted for lamps and low light more often than not; this wasn’t new. He had only quirked a brow when he came home to the pitch-blackness, off from his recent deployment and eager for a warm bed to fall into. He admits he’d let himself calm down on the car ride home—your home was where he could relax and release tension until it became as unimportant as an ant on the pavement. 

But when he’d closed the door silently behind him and walked the few steps it would take to enter the living room, where he was sure you were still up either reading or watching something on your phone under a blanket, his body had stiffened immediately. 

Your hand sticking out from behind the couch. Limp. 

Lifeless.  

He’d been staring at it for only a few seconds before the memories came back—the ones of gore splattered to the walls and ceiling of an old flat back in Manchester. 

Simon’s thoughts had hit him like a bullet.

Not again.

Rushing forward like a bear, the man slips along the hardwood as his knees go down, shaking the home at the force at which he grabs at your body and flips you from your side to your back. 

You gasp awake and instinctually throw out a fist, connecting with a stone chest as you hiss and blink in panic. 

Fingers ruthlessly dig into your shoulders, wide brown eyes open, and…and afraid. 

“Simon?” You mutter softly, all fear in your heart is squished in an instant. 

The man breathes through wheezes, balaclava fabric moving from the force of his breaths. His fingers are shaking, blinking as his head jerks to look your lying form up and down swiftly. 

You hesitantly put a hand on his cheek and he flinches before nuzzling into it. 

“Don’t…” he takes a quivering breath into his lungs, and after, loosens his grip on your skin. Simon’s hands go to your waist, dragging you up and stapling you to his chest. “Don’t do that again.”

His voice is low. Vulnerable. 

You blink, hands holding him back on the floor. 

“...The power went out,” you try to explain only half of it softly, muffled by his neck. 

He only holds you harder, eyes open and blankly staring at the floor a foot away.

Johnny MacTavish ➺

Johnny hums a song under his breath, hanging his keys on the hook near the door.

“Dearie!” He calls to you loudly, itching at the side of his head and chuckling. “Don’t run too fast to me now, I’m all yours for two w—”

The light switch is moved by his finger, but no light illuminates his path to the living room. Pausing in the entrance, the man’s brows furrow tightly, speech cutting off like scissors to paper. 

“...eeks?” Johnny ends his sentence, turning back around to look at the switch in confusion. “The hell’s going on with that?” He mutters to himself, a frown growing on his face before he refocuses on his mission to find you—now with the added task of figuring out why the power was out in the house. 

“Swear,” the man grumbles, huffing while he runs a hand over his face, “if those kids down the street did something I’ll be livid. Little devils, I swear.” 

Johnny steps farther into the living room, glancing around. 

“Dearie?” He pauses, listening before calling out your name. “Where’s she off to?”

He sighs softly, wanting to hold you now that he’s home to do so—squeeze you in his arms and take in your scent again; he’d missed you immensely while he was away.

Johnny came across your hand sticking out from behind the couch by accident, moving to make his way into your bedroom thinking that you were sleeping. He sees an odd shape in the blackness and pauses, feet slowing to a stop. 

When he notices that it’s a hand—your hand, he doesn’t even realize that he’s completely gripped the side of the couch and wrenched it back until the scratch of the wood floors screams in his ears. 

You wake up to hands on your cheeks, sharp yelling, and your head being shaken up and down until you’re conscious. 

“Dearie, hey! What the fuck,” the last sentence is growled on fast lips. “What the fuck.”

Your hands slap to Johnny’s wrists, nails digging in. 

He breathes out quickly, looking into your eyes to look for dilation as the darkness forces him closer. “There we are, tell me where you’re hurting, now, yeah? Did you hit your head? Let me take a look. It’s okay, I’ll get you all fixed up, there’s no need to worry.”

“Hey!” Your hands push at his, trying to shove the brick wall away from you. “Quit it! Johnny! I’m fine! ”

The man pauses at your animated movements, blinking rapidly before his grip loosens. 

When it’s obvious that you’re perfectly fine, he moves back and groans, thumb and forefinger digging into his nose bridge. 

“Hell’s bells, Hen.” You glare, panting on the floor before you push yourself up. 

“‘Hell’s bells’, me?” Johnny’s head plops to your shoulder. “You just shook me like a fucking rabbit!” 

“Scared the shite out of me, you terror.” The man huffs. “Need to put a heart monitor on you.”

“Piss off,” you sigh, putting a hand to your chest to feel the pace of your pulse and the blood that runs furiously.

Johnny, moments later as he’s still resting on your shoulder, starts…laughing. Low at first, then gaining noise the more it goes unchecked—a deep rumble into chest-jerking amusement. You look down at him, the couch tilted and long scratches over the floor. Pausing, you blink at his shaking shadow before your lungs start quivering. The two of you bend over one another with shared, house-shaking laughter. 

“What the fuck were you doin’ behind the damn couch?” Johnny grabs you close, kissing along your neck as he picks you up, dragging you to your feet. 

“The power went out!” You giggle, chest hurting from the fast gasps of breath as more kisses are spread over your skin. “It was colder down there and I didn’t want to open one of the windows because I knew you’d throw a pouting match about it.”

“Christ, Dearie.” Lips meet your own. “I had half the mind to think you had a heart attack. Nearly gave me one.”

Kyle Garrick ➺

Kyle sighs as he rubs at his jaw, itching the skin and slipping out of his jacket. 

“I’m home, Love!” He says, his voice echoing over the flat. “Want me to start on supper or have you eaten yet?” The man smiles, taking off his cap and putting it on the coat rack, sighing softly. 

It was good to be back. 

Bending down to unlace his boots, he pulls at them until they’re loose enough to slip out of, thumping to their sides on the rug until he reaches out and fixes them. 

“What’s that, then?” He calls into the darkness, not hearing your answer as he quickly checks the time on his phone. “Fuck, it’s late,” Kyle utters to himself. 

Walking into the kitchen, he touches the light switch only to be met with nothing. Pausing, the man’s face pulls in—fingers twitching at his sides as he glances at the window and the moonlight that seeps in to glare along the floor. 

A deep frown takes hold of him, and he looks around once more before backing up.

“...Love?” Kyle wasn’t too concerned—the building wasn’t always the best, and power outages weren’t unheard of. But, damn, if the high of getting off of a deployment didn’t put him in a negative head-space when it came to a change in routine involving you. 

Why weren’t you answering him?

Walking slightly faster into the living room, his hand nearly reaches into his pocket to call your phone if you didn’t end up in any of the rooms—pulse beginning to be infected with a steady injection of adrenaline. 

Brown eyes find your hand behind the couch when they’re about to shift to the open door of your bedroom. A sharp gasp is inhaled instantaneously. 

Kyle races over, grappling to it and pressing his fingers to your neck for a pulse. You softly breathe, none the wiser as you lightly shift and sigh in your sleep; a delicate hum moving out as familiar fingers dig into you. 

It’s through his panic that a thought quickly cuts through the man’s mind. You’d mentioned this before. 

Kyle pauses, just about to loudly wake you. 

‘It gets hot when the power goes out, Kyle, I swear one of these days I’m going to just fall asleep on the floor. At least it’s cool down there.’

Well, the power was out, and, it seemed, you really had fallen asleep on the floor. Now that he thought about it, the flat was running hot—and he also knew that you knew he had gotten nervous of late when you left the windows open at night. 

“Bloody hell,” the man releases a long breath, free hand moving to grip the back of his head. A few seconds later, Kyle chuckles to himself, shaking his head with a small smile. “You are losing it, Mate. Losing it.” 

Without another word, he grips you, and with a grunt, picks you up and takes you to bed, setting you down on the pillows and making sure to leave the sheets off of you so you don’t grow uncomfortable.

A kiss is pressed to your forehead, and you hum in slumber, smiling unconsciously.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Love.” 

He leaves to go make a quick supper of cereal and milk.

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

smutty brainrot part 3...?

you lay spread out on a desk, simon's desk no less, with papers scattered all around you in an attempt to clear the space.

between your spread legs knelt johnny, eagerly lapping up the evidence of your arousal like a man starved.

but your eyes weren't on him, instead they were simon who simply loomed in the corner, eyes roaming your body unashamedly. his mask was rucked up from when johnny pulled him into a kiss not 5 minutes earlier.

when he catches you watching him, the bastard only smirks smugly.

"oh gods," you moan, your eyes shutting in bliss as johnny presses his fingers in.

simon clicks his tongue, making his way over before grasping your chin. "eyes on me, pretty girl," he says, but your body refuses to obey his words.

he clicks his tongue again disapprovingly, gripping slightly harder.

"are you gonna make me repeat myself, love?"

this time you force your eyes open despite the flush of embarassment.

"there we go, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

somehow even more arousal pools in the pit of your stomach, your mind growing hazy.

"keep talking, l.t, our girl seems to like it," johnny says before delving back in. this time he swirls his tongue around your clit, and your back arches of the table involuntarily.

simon hums, pressing his hand down on your lower belly to keep you in place. that only serves to heighten the pleasure, and you feel yourself rushing towards that peak.

"you're doing so good, love. taking it so well," he murmurs into your ear, and you practically sob in pleasure.

"im close, oh fuck please, im so close," you say with a shudder.

"come on, cum for us pretty girl," simon says, and like a switch flipped you cum immediately, johnny's fingers and tongue helping you ride through your orgasm.

but soon after, it transitions from being 'too good' to 'too much', but johnny was always known for his voracious appetite after all.

you can't even gasp out the words, but simon can read you like the back of his hand.

"that's enough," simon mutters gruffly, a quiet 'tsk' escaping his lips as he grabs johnny by the hair, yanking him away from between your legs.

his eyes are dazed, drunk on the taste of you and your pleasure as he grins goofily.

"so...round two?"

[klaart]

The gangs all here👍

Edit:// hurt no comfort :)

Edit2: I lied part 2 is posted‼️

[syoddeye]

you sign up for one of those 'learn to farm in a different country!' programs and wind up in scotland.

the owner meets you at the station, a bit surprised to see you. (you can’t blame him—you don’t look the farming type.) but he’s excited for some ‘new meat’ around the farm. he says something about possessing a love for teaching and training in ‘the ways’. he chats your ear off the whole drive to his remote sheep farm.

it’s a little weird there’s no one else from the program at the property, and that the three other farmhands are a bit older than you expected. he shows you around, and explains the ins and outs of the operation. points out a display of medals and badges, waxes poetic about he and his mates finding ‘peace’ in raising sweet lambs. his phrasing’s a bit weird, but it’s harmless.

toward the end of the day, exhaustion catches up. you traveled across the world and slept on planes and trains, and you’re ready to tuck into a real bed. after dinner, when you ask about the lodging situation for visiting volunteers, there’s an awkward pause. four sets of eyes exchange looks that instantly send chills down your spine.

why, you’ll be sharing a bed with one of them. it’s that or the barn. and none of their former guests have preferred the barn.

meanwhile, back at the station, a sweet elderly lady tells the station manager that she can’t find her newest farmhand, who was due to arrive hours earlier.

[gomzdrawfr]

Retired life

[journen]

Tired Soap.

[hiding-in-my-blanket-fort]

In case anyone needed this reminder:

Your fav COD man does not get off on your pain during sex. Ever.

So much of male-dominated language involving sex glorifies a woman's pain for his pleasure. She's expected to "just take it".

Your fav COD guy does not want that when he's with you. And if you've come to think of it as normal - because of previous experiences, because that's what everyone tells you, because you don't want to make a fuss and disappoint him, whatever the reason - he'll put a stop to it and have a serious talk with you about it.

These men have seen and experienced horrible shit in their lives.

You are their safe space. Their home. The one person they feel like they can be truly vulnerable with in a world that has made them battle-rough with scars, misery, and grief.

They want you to stay soft with them. They want you to have the safety of completely pure pleasure. They never ever want you to force or endure anything, let alone for their sake.

If it's a kink you're into, that's a different story.

But if you're not into it, your fav won't go anywhere near it. They won't pressure you to "just try it, maybe you'll like it". It's completely off the table, never to be mentioned again, and they'll be sure to lavish you in all the things you really love to show that you can relax with them.

Just as you have allowed them to lower their guard and let down their walls, they will do the same for you. When you are with them, you are safe in every sense of the word.

[berberriescorner]

"Late Night Cravings"

Characters: Simon Riley x Black!Reader.

Summary: Missing your deployed husband, you get a late-night surprise that satisfies both your cravings and loneliness.

Warnings: Steaminess, a bit of angst, loneliness, fluff, mentions of phone sex with suggestive language and descriptions, mild swearing, and lighthearted humor. Oh, and if I hadn’t already made it clear at the top of my blog: minors DNI. My content is for the grown folks👏🏾.

Authors Note: Hello my lovelies🫶🏾! I've been toying with the idea of writing for the Simon Riley/Ghost fandom for a while now. Thanks to some awesome encouragement, I finally took the plunge! This story idea wouldn't leave me alone, so I decided to say, "What the hell," and give it a shot. I hope I captured Simon to the best of my ability. Please remember that this is my first attempt at a Ghost fic…and, well, “I’M JUST A GIRL!🥺🥹😩😆” Okay, a grown woman, but a girl nonetheless. I had a wonderful time writing this, and I hope you all enjoy reading it. Word Count: 1,700+.

Inspired By♥️🖤:

The clock ticked past midnight, the silence of the empty house amplifying the sound. In the dimly lit kitchen, the soft glow of the refrigerator illuminated your very pregnant features as you rested a hand on your swollen belly. You sighed, heart heavy with longing for the man you loved, miles away on some unknown continent, carrying out numerous dangerous missions.

You stood there, staring at the array of food in the fridge, a wave of emotions washing over you. Pregnancy hormones wreaked havoc on your mood, and tonight, you found yourself overwhelmed with sadness and longing for your husband, Simon.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you reached for the phone on the counter. Your fingers trembled with emotion. You needed him. His comforting presence, the sweet sound of his soothing voice to chase away the loneliness that threatened to consume you.

"Hey, love," Simon’s voice came through the phone, warm and comforting. His tone was deep and smooth like whiskey on a cold winter's night.

Your breath caught in your throat. Simon’s voice was a mixture of relief and longing washing over you. "Hi," you replied sheepishly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Everythin' alright, angel?" your husband asked, concern lacing his words.

You sniffled, wiping away a stray tear. "I... I just miss you, Si. And I'm so hungry, but nothing in the fridge sounds good."

Simon’s heart ached at the sound of your voice, at the thought of you being alone, in need of comfort. "I wish I could be there with you, angel. You know I miss you more than anythin’."

A sob escaped your lips, emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "I’m sorry, Si. This is probably the last thing you need to deal with right now. I just wish you were home... I need you here. I need you to hold me. To eat junk food with me in the middle of the night. It’s weird not having you with me throughout this pregnancy. I got so used to you being around the first time. It never mattered how late it was. Whatever I craved, you either got up to fetch or prepare it. I miss eating with you. For goodness' sake, I probably sound like a blubbering cow. God I know I sound selfish. I’m sorry, Si."

“That’ll be enough nonsense. No more name-callin’. Eat all you want, beautiful. Vent all you want. ‘S no bother, love. Truly it isn’t.”

A flicker of determination sparked in Simon’s eyes as he listened to your words. "I may not be able to be there in person, but I can still make sure you're taken care of. Give me about ten to twenty minutes, love. I need to sort something out."

You pouted and whispered your agreement as Simon rushed you off the phone, still unsure of how to satisfy your cravings. You plucked a bottled water from the fridge.  You waddled toward the living room. Your smile lit up the room as you noticed a pregnancy pillow on the couch. Simon had scattered them throughout the house before leaving. He wanted you to find comfort in any room while he was away.

Your fingers hovered over the remote, drawn instead to the flashing screen announcing Simon’s incoming call.“Babe, that was quick. I’m excited it’s a video call. I miss your f—” Your words came to a pause. He was no longer among his comrades. Your husband had whisked away to his sleeping quarters, all gear removed aside from his balaclava. Some would find it terrifying, but Simon knew that in the depths of your deviant little mind, you found it sexy, arousing even. The shirt and pants he wore underneath were deliciously form-fitting. He watched as your eyes roamed over his biceps. Though you couldn’t see, you were certain there was a sexy smirk underneath his balaclava.

“Eyes up here, angel,” he commanded, voice smoky and sensual.

“Damn it, Si. Now I’m craving both food and you. You cheeky bastard. Did I mention I miss your sexy ass,” you questioned in a teasing manner.

Simon leaned in closer to the screen, giving you a devilish wink. “Miss you more, angel. If you can stay up late for me tonight, I may have time to call you and render some special sleep aid,” he offered, voice smoldering with desire.

“Can’t we do that now?” you whined, mouth forming a slight pout.

“Not now, love. There are more important matters to handle first. I’m afraid my work isn’t done for the night. Can you be patient for me?”

“Yes, but—”

“Atta girl,” he husked, aware of what those two words would do to you. 

You tried making a convincing argument, but a knock at the front door interrupted the conversation.

Confusion clouded your thoughts as you heard the sound of the doorbell ringing in the background. Stunned, you made your way to the front door, heart racing with anticipation.

Who on earth could be at my door at this hour?

“Um, Si. Baby, there’s—”

“I know. ‘S alright, love. Answer it.”

As you opened the door, your breath caught in your throat at the sight of a delivery bag from McDonald's sitting on the doorstep. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you realized what your husband had done.

"Si, you didn't have to..." you began, your voice filled with gratitude.

"Just open it, love," he interrupted, his voice warm and reassuring.

With watery eyes, you opened the bag to reveal an array of your favorite foods: chicken nuggets, a fish filet, fries, and a vanilla milkshake. Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized the lengths he had gone to make you feel loved and cared for, even from miles away. Simon understood that as a grown-ass woman. You could’ve ordered the food, but he knew it was more about the gesture and putting your mind at ease that mattered most.

"Thank you, baby," you whispered, love overflowing for the man who had stolen your heart many moons ago.

On the other end of the line, Simon smiled, his heart swelling with love for his wife. "Anything for you, angel. Now, let's eat together."

You giggled as his hand waved over an assortment of goodies you had sent in a care package.

“Baby, don’t you have any real food? Anything other than snacks?” you questioned, worried he wasn’t eating enough.

“Johnny’s on kitchen duty tonight. Not takin’ any chances. Eat up, love. Tell me about your day. Is the lil’ lad holdin’ down the fort? Papa left him in charge. And the littlest lad you’re growing? Is he still kickin’ you all night? He’ll be a ball of energy once he’s on the outside. You jus’ wait and see.”

As the two of you sat on the video call, sharing a meal, bonding over the love for your children. You felt closer than ever before. Distance may have kept you apart, but with a little FaceTime, all was right in the world.

After thirty minutes of conversation, the time came and Simon had to go. 

“Duty calls, angel,” he gruffed, slightly annoyed.

“Go fuck some shit up, baby.”

Though your words were encouraging and playful, Simon saw the worry in your eyes. He did his best to put you at ease. Your husband playfully tapped the skull emblem on his mask. “Always a step ahead. Consider it done, love.” You offered a weak smile and chewed your lip nervously. Almost scared to end the call. Underneath the balaclava, his smirk disappeared. Your reservations could be felt even through the screen. Simon’s eyes darted around for a second before lifting his mask briefly. Your eyes connected as the usually stoic man offered you his most sincere attempt to ease your worried mind. Ashamed of him picking up on your innermost thoughts of panic, you broke eye contact. “Look at me, angel.”  The beautiful shade of your orbs landed on his once more. “It’ll be alright, love. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be careful. Get some rest, and do your best to answer later tonight.”

“Jesus. You always know just what to say, and do you have to be so damn sexy when saying it? I just want to eat you.”

Simon dropped his mask back into place, voice lowered. With a hint of a growl, he responded, “Be sure to get that rest while I’m working, love. You’ll need the energy. I don’t care what time it is. When I get back. I want you pickin’ up on the first ring. Have that camera angle ready. ‘M going to watch you ride my pillow until you’re a shakin’, soppin’ wet, messy puddle. You’ll beg me to come. The filth that falls from my lips will be like music to your ears. I’m going to take you apart piece by piece with my words. Just to put you back together and do it all over again. You’ll be chanting the words ‘I can’t. No more, Si.’ How’s that sound, love?”

“Can you leave already? The quicker you depart, the faster you return,” you panted. “Fuck, Si. I’m so achy for you.”

“There will be no playing while I’m gone. Understood,” he asked, voice gravelly.

“Yes,” you purred.

“Yes, what,” he demanded.

“Yes, sir,” you moaned softly.

“Good girl. I have to go now, angel.”

“LT, wheels up in ten,” Johnny shouted from the doorway.”

“ I heard you the first time, MacTavish. Give me a fuckin’ minute.”

“Simon! Be nice,” you bristled.

Your husband turned back to the screen. He rolled his eyes as Johnny leaned in to meddle.

“Hello, dove. When are you going to leave this grumpy bastard for me,” Johnny questioned.

You started to reply with a teasing answer, but Simon cut you off with an irritated grunt.

“Gotta go, angel.”

“Okay, baby. You take care of my man, MacTavish.”

You giggled at Simon threatening Johnny while ending the call.

“MacTavish, flirt with the missus again.” Instead of ending his statement using words, Simon stared Soap down with a cold, emotionless gaze. His head tilted to the now black screen, and his hand moved to rest on one of his now re-holstered weapons. Johnny smirked, slapping a hand on Simon’s back. “That little lady’s got you head over heels LT.” Simon made no argument, just offered a grunt of agreement.

What did you think, my lovelies? Let me know in the comments! And if you enjoyed it, don't forget to reblog and share the love!

Divider: @firefly-graphics

Wasn’t sure who to tag😩…

Tagging a few of my love bugs💓:

@darqchilddaydreamz @thirtysomethinganduncensored @percosim @astoldbychae @theeblackmedusa @johnnyshoe @thabiddie23 @starrynite7114

…

Inner workings of my mind:

*thirty minutes after posting it-> “they hate it!”*

*takes deep breath. must fight the urge to delete it.*

😆😂🤣.

[transmascsimonriley]

drunk 09 ghoap kiss

[call-of-duty-incorrect-quotes]

Soap: Check in on your friends but also don’t forget to check in on your enemies. Make sure they’re doing bad.

Soap: That’s why I have Graves on speed dial.

Ghost: We also follow him on Instagram.

[milkydough]

Alex likes Farah

[jwhitewolfbarnes]

You just wanted to rile him up. Make him ache a little, stop giving in so easily. Show him that his pouty face with those baby blues isn’t all powerful like he thinks it is. You’re starting to regret that a tiny bit.

“Right there, John,” you breathe out as he pumps his hips into yours at a steady pace. His reaction is immediate; his hand comes up to grasp at your throat- applying firm, delicious pressure. He forces you to look in his eyes, “Stop fucking calling me that.” Each word punctuated with a sharp, brutal thrust as he moves your legs higher up on his hips. Your mouth drops open in reaction to his bed-shaking movements. “C’mon pretty girl, ya know what I want to hear. Say it, c’mon baby,” he pants out, staring right into your wide eyed face.

Regret may have started to set in, but it hasn’t fully won you over. Another approach, maybe?

“ah fuck Johnny, feels so good,” you manage to stutter out as he continues his punishing pace. His eyes flash with something and you think you might have won this round… until he stops. He moves to pull out, but you snap your legs around his waist before he can make it out all the way. “no, no, no! please Johnny, I’m so close. Please don’t stop baby.”

He chuckles as he drops his hand from your throat and leans down to press his body almost completely against yours. He kisses you, such a filthy and desperate display. “oh, I’m sorry baby… ya close?” His voice is sickeningly sweet as he mocks you, “if ya knew how to act right, I’d give ya exactly what this pussy needs. but yer being a fuckin brat. I just want one thing from ya, thas it. Ya need ma cock so bad, yeah? Say it an I’ll give ‘im back.” He pulls back, pushing your legs off of his waist with an ounce of his obvious strength. His dick slips all the way out as he grits his teeth and you whine. He maneuvers your legs up, hooking one into the crook of his elbow and stretching it outwards. Those fucking blue eyes, clouded over with lust, roam over your entire body. He smacks the tip of his dick on your clit a few times, before smiling cruelly up at you.

“One word an I’ll fill ya up just like ya need. Only good girls get ta cum, wan’ be a good girl? What’s ma name?” Tears are slipping from your eyes from where you’ve been forced away from the cliff of your orgasm. This is decision time, give in to that pretty face and get fucked within an inch of your life? Or say nothing and be forced to watch him jerk off on your stomach before leaving you without orgasm? Pride be damned.

You take in a shuddering breath, reaching up to card your fingers through his shaggy mohawk. You drag him close enough to kiss, and he comes willingly because he knows the battle is over, victory is his. He grins devilishly, knowing his prize is right on the horizon. You brush your lips against his before locking eyes with him and practically purr out the magic words.

“Please make me cum, daddy.” Before you can even blink, he’s fully sheathed inside you. He’s gripping the fat of your thigh and stomach by the handful. Nonsensical praise and filthy dirty talk pour out of him as he watches every last jiggle of your body’s reaction to him fucking you. He may think he’s won this battle, and sure the round may be a point for John, but you also got exactly what you wanted.

Later after he’s thoroughly fucked you, and himself, into exhaustion, you lie there tucked into his side contemplating the best method of revenge. John is blissfully ignorant to your scheming mind as he runs his fingers delicately along the ridges and rolls of your back. He presses loving kisses into your hairline, content to spend the rest of his night tucked impossibly close to your plush body. Glancing up at his unfairly attractive face, an idea forms as your eyes roam the column of his love-bitten neck… seems it might be time to see how potent John’s power is when he’s finally put on a short leash…

a/n: sorry for the poor attempt at a scottish accent :/

[a-b-riddle]

check tags for warnings

In the mood to write angst. Imagine you’re the conscientious observer who accidentally sees how your team talks about you behind your back.

Your morals were… complicated. You didn’t believe in killing anyone. Your faith told you that killing someone is wrong and even if it’s to save your life, handling a gun is something that doesn’t sit well with you. You’ve been to gun ranges. Mandatory for your position in the military that you have basic fire arm knowledge. But having something in your hands that could so easily take a life made you uneasy.

You were pescatarian, but tried to limit meat. Cried anytime you saw chickens in those trucks heading toward their demise. You fed stray cats around your house back home. You tried to be kind and cherished life in all most of its forms. The exception being garlic butter shrimp that was too good to give up and anytime of bug resembling a cock roach. And yes, palmetto bugs were still cock roaches.

And wasps.

Fuck wasps.

At the same time, you were pro-choice. Initially, you were pro-choice for other women, but you didn’t think you would have the strength to get an abortion. It wasn’t until you were holding your friend’s hand as she got her D&C that your views on your own body autonomy changed. It didn’t have to be medical to be necessary.

But you still refused to hold a weapon. Which is why even though you were a very talented medic, you were always judged for not carrying any sort of defense while in the field.

But no one on base would dare say anything to you about it. At least not to your face…

You got stuck instructing a training seminar when your phone continued to buzz in your back pocket. But even with the consistent messages, you didn’t falter by showing the newest members how to give basic first aid until health could arrive.

Nearly two hours later, you finally fish your phone out to see what’s going on.

Dozens of text messages in a group chat between you, Captain Price, Johnny, Kyle and Simon. You had gotten close to them over the last few months. You were halfway through your contract and were already dreading leaving knowing they were staying behind until the job is done.

You open it, your phone taking you to the first unread message.

Cpt.: Hows the arm healing up?

Soap: Fine. Hen did a good job of keeping the sutures nice and even. Should barely scar.

Gaz: Wouldn’t have a scar if she just fucking carried.

Soap: You think she honestly would even know what to do with a gun if you gave her one Garrick 😂

Ghost: Still think she’s a liability. Someone who won’t raise arms against an enemy isn’t meant to be on the team.

Cpt: Already tried. Laswell says we need the numbers. As long as she does her job there’s nothing I can do. We can’t be down a medic and it’s either her or nothing.

You shook as you continued reading the conversation.

Liability. Coward. It went on and on about how weak you were. Why couldn’t you just carry a small pistol instead of expecting everyone else to keep you safe.

It then switched to your personality. No one should be that happy. Annoying. A yapper. Couldn’t get a word in most of the time.

On and on they went until you realized they spoke so freely because they didn’t realize you were in this group chat. What did they say when you weren’t around?

You felt like a fool having extending more than just trying to be a civil coworker, but a friend. Taking on tasks that weren’t your responsibility simply to help them.

Getting a floral arrangement delivered for Johnny’s sister after she had given birth. Talking on the phone to the nursing home where Price’s mother resided trying to sort out her insurance. Taking priority Kyle when he was injured after falling out of a plane (both times) over your other patients. And always having the electric kettled going in the morning so Simon could have his tea without waiting too long.

You were helpful. Just because you had one boundary didn’t mean their words held any merit. But still you couldn’t help the deep feeling of just… betrayal? Rejection? You weren’t sure there was a word fitting enough to sum up how utterly stupid you felt.

Maybe they were right. This wasn’t a civilian setting. This wasn’t just life and death for your patients, but for you. You were out in the field with no form of protection except from others.

You weren’t abandoning your morals. You couldn’t. Not when every fiber of your being told you to remain steadfast. There was only one solution.

You didn’t have much to pack. Uniform was issued to you. Your stethoscope and some other tools came out of your own pocket. Your laptop, phone, charges. You packed all your lounging clothes and miraculously everything fit into a military duffle. Which wasn’t actually anything impressive given how big those things are.

You were confident in your decision even if it made you feel like a failure.

As you stood outside the office door you returned back to the group chat. One by one you proceeded to block all of them. You knew when you left the group they would know that the notification would pop up and they either wouldn’t give a shit that you finally knew what the actually thought of you or they tried messaging you to make amends to cover their asses. You weren’t sure which was worse.

Once you had blocked the last one, you left and knocked on the door that you had been idling in front of. A faint ‘come in’ was granted before you walked through.

“Hey, Kate.” You greeted. “Can we talk?”