#sergeant mactavish

[miguel-owhora]

you cannot tell soap isn't the type of guy to enjoy being rimmed. he's splayed on the bed, legs wide open, on his stomach, hugging a pillow. and he doesn't even bother trying to be quiet, moaning and gasping without a single care as you're kneeled behind him, happily enjoying eating him out.

digging your nails into those thick globes, pulling them apart and licking him. stretching him open with your tongue alone, fuck, breathing in his musk and enjoying how the thick hair feels on your face.

soap's the type of guy to grind back onto your face, desperate and needy for more. fuck, he'll probably reach behind and shove your face deeper into his ass, and you'd be more than happy to let him do so.

[danibee33]

https://youtube.com/shorts/-bvNKbuongQ?si=PZ2EyapSWtrgkflh

Which one of the guys would act like this?

first of all, i love this and i giggled, so thank you♥️

& to answer your question:

hear me out… Johnny. my mans can get shot, stabbed, beat up- you name it, and he’ll get up ready for more.

bring out a needle though? immediately no, immediately no.

[hooty-duty]

Simpler Times

Someone yelled "the floor is lava" two hours ago, and Soap refuses to touch the ground until he's declared the winner.

I've had this in my 'almost finished but not quite happy with it yet' group of drawings for far too long

[konigsblog]

Heya! Sorry if it's stupid ask, but I have read your post a while ago that you're Scottish (If I'm wrong then I'm sorry and I would feel embarrassed.🙃) And I want to write Sergeant Johnny Mactavish and Captain John Mactavish x reader. And since they are also Scottish I want to write/them say some Scottish lines, or just words. So I was hoping what usually Scottish people will say, I don't want to mess up. I only know aye, shite and lass but that's much about it.

Sorry if my English is bad.

And I wish you an great day/night/evening!😊

SCOTTISH PHRASES AND WORDS TO USE WHILE WRITING FOR SOAP MACTAVISH.

— yes! i am scottish, so here's some phrases and words i hear, and say, in scotland and what other scottish people usually say. :)

bonnie = that means calling someone pretty, like bonnie lass means pretty girl, since lass means girl. i'd say this is usually aimed towards girls, like a man would call a woman a bonnie.

lad means boy, like a friend usually. lads is plural ofc, and you could use it to say soap and the lads, or his pals. — “me and the lads.” (lads isn't scottish, it's british - which obviously being scottish means your british, but anywhere in great britain you'd hear this. as well as the one below.)

pals means friends, friend is a pal. — “thought he was yer pal.” = “thought he was your friend.”

dinnae = don't, it's how we say it in our accent. “dinnae do that.”

dae = means do, again, how we say it in our accent. “dae that for me.”

“haud yer wheesht” means shut up, like be quiet.

blether means talk, you might call someone a blether if they gossip or they're a chatterbox. — “stop blethering.”

crabbit means to be annoyed or grumpy. — “why ye crabbit?”

aye means yes. — “aye, dae that.”

ken means know. “a ken that.” not the barbie doll, it means know :) — “a ken that.” means “i know that.”

eejit means idiot. — “yer' an eejit.”

“ah umnae” means im not. ‘ah’ means im, or i, ‘umnae’ means not. it's hard to explain, just our accents though.

‘peely wally’ means pale. (heard this too many times towards myself, im pale as paper..) — “yer' lookin' a bit peely wally.” honestly, i don't think you'd need to say this that often in fanfics with soap, but maybe if someone is ill, you'd say that.

“gonnae no do that” means don't do that. “gonnae” means gonna, so like “gonna not do that” you'd say to someone if they did something you didn't want them to do.

“yer bum's oot the windae!” you're lying, being dramatic, or over exaggerating something.

“dafty” means stupid. — “yer' a dafty.”

VIDEOS TO WATCH FOR HELP AND UNDERSTANDING OF THE ACCENT:

it shows the accent differences between a scottish person, an english person, and an irish person.

https://youtu.be/Z-WliS0HHF8?feature=shared

[lunarw0rks]

i like how we collectively agree that soap is the type of friend that would fuck you if you asked. no argument, no negotiation necessary. he just will.

and you don’t even have to be a bestfriend; johnny is slutty like that.

[creme183]

“Close your eyes, Soap…” 👥

[confused-wanderer]

Gaz is driving after a long mission, all out of danger and heading to base. Ghost and Soap had to pull off multiple back to back nightwatches, so much so that Price had forbidden either of them from even touching the wheel. Ghost and Soap both just shrug, sitting in the backseat of the small car while Price calls shotgun.

A few hours pass by, and Gaz starts talking to fill the silence. Ghost hadn’t responded, he was just swaying slightly with the car’s motion. His arms were folded on his chest, leaning against the armrest so he was presumed to be asleep. Which no one minded.

The volume quietened down, but Soap was still bantering, chatting to pass the time while Price and Ghost both rested. Hours pass by, and Soap feels his eyelids grow heavier. Slowly, his response to Gaz dwindle, the bursts of chatter dying down to quiet responses.

Eventually he finds himself leaning against Ghost, mind too tired to find anything wrong with it. His eyes slip close from time to time, and he hums occasionally to let Gaz know he’s still listening. And when he falls asleep, letting out a soft exhale and head coming to rest on the others’ shoulder, he’s far too gone to care.

Ten minutes of chatter pass by, before Gaz calls for Soap. Presumably because he noticed the lack of response he was getting. He’s about to call again, a little louder in case Soap is spacing out when he hears another voice answer:

“Johnny’s asleep, Gaz.”

Gaz almost swerves the car into a ditch. Turns out, Ghost was never asleep after all.

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

Mistletoe mancandy series: Sgt. John 'Soap' MacTavish

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

Random Soap MacTavish headcanons

sfw and nsfw

pairing: sgt. Soap MacTavish x reader (cod mw)

tags/tw: domestic stuff, afab!reader, handjobs, shower-sex

a/n: just a taste of our cinnamon-role-but-can-kill-you Scottish man before I start publishing my new series with him, tihi

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish MASTERLIST

sfw

-the way to this man's heart is through his stomach and I will die on that hill

-has such a big appetite, two portions minimum and has no shame in eating more, ''m a big lad, bonnie, need the fuel'

-but he's still respectful if you're having dinner outside your closest circles of friends and family, not complain and always lets everyone have their fill before even thinks about serving himself a second one

-this means Soap always has some snacks with him, most times it's a protein bar or something verging on healthy

-such good table manners??? you were surprised when Soap didn't eat like the average man, scarfing down the food in seconds well he still did that sometimes

-you got the explanation when he caught your poorly hidden astonishment, explaining how his ma drilled him with all kinds of etiquette and manners always saying 'just because yer in the army doesn't mean yer need to behave like a Neanderthal'

-give this man an evening with a home-cooked meal and cuddle on the couch to nap away the food coma afterwards and he's whipped

-he never puts on a shirt at home, just really likes walking around with only a pair of joggers

-he unmistakably has golden retriever energy, but compared to popular belief, his seemingly never-ending social battery can run out, and when it does, Soap's behaviour can flip like a switch

-makes him an introverted extrovert, he loves people, loves chatting and social situations, but craves alone time to re-charge

-you're his uncertified pillow, if you sit together he most certainly either has his head in your lap, is sprawled on top of you and face in your neck, head on your stomach with arms wrapped around your waist

nsfw under the cut

-much like, but compared, to Price, Soap doesn't mind your ass but he's a certified boob man

-if your boobs are big enough, he likes using them as cushy pillows, which often end with his face between them

-yes, he's definitely motorboated you out of the blue

-other times he repeatedly nudges them so they wobble or simply squish them together, grinning when you question if he's having fun

-if you don't have fuller busts, he likes to just rest his hand on your chest, always defending himself that even you unconsciously do it sometimes, but the argument falls apart when he rubs your nipple to make it perk against his palm

-Soap. loves.handjobs

-will never forget when he was taking a shower and you decided to join him, boobs pressed nicely against his back as your arms wrapped around his torso, then your hand slipped down his stomach until brushing his already half-hard cock, blood rushing straight to it the second you joined him

-when your fingers wrapped around him, Soap's hands fell to the wet tiles, head hanging between his shoulders, staring at your small hands jerking him off

-sometimes he feels like a teenager concerning how reactive he's to your presence, you don't even need to do something overly sexual and blood rushes south

-sometimes you caught the way he watches you intently, asking an innocent 'what?' squealing out a 'Johnny!' when he pulled away whatever cover or his pants remember the point of him going commando most of the time? showing off his bulge or rock-hard erection rather than verbally answering

[nrdmssgs]

Masterlist

Downloaded Blender because I want to be like @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot when I grow up.

[the-californicationist]

Guile & Guilt (Ch. 08)

Soap/Reader — MDNI 18+

Sorry for the wait as usual. Hope y’all can forgive me!

/:/:/:/:/:/:/

FEBRUARY — FRIDAY: 7 days until the wedding

In the month or so after Christmas, your relationship with Johnny had progressed considerably. He was on a particularly challenging tour, but you only heard about his work in sparse mentions. Most of his conversations were centered around your relationship “after we tell Pidge”.

It was all he wanted to talk about.

“After we tell Pidge, we can look for a place together in Glasgow. What do you say, lass?”

“After we tell Pidge, we can take trips with them. Always wanted to see Iceland.”

“After we tell Pidge…”

And on and on and on. It wasn’t that you weren’t excited to be with him. You adored him, and he seemed to feel the same way about you. But, telling Pidge was scaring you out of your damn mind. In the worst case scenario, you’d be losing your best friend and the man that you…

Careful, that dark voice was back in your head , don’t want to say the word, huh?

The man that you… liked a considerable amount. Not love. Love was a commitment. You were not in love.

The dark voice cackled. You ignored it.

You were going to see him this weekend for the combination stag and hen party, and you could think of little else. But, you had plenty to work on. As the maid of honor, this was your time to shine. You needed to prepare for more than just seeing Johnny. In fact, you were about to have six girls at your tiny apartment for a slumber party tomorrow night. The whole 600 square feet of your place was decorated in gold glitter and streamers. There were big B-R-I-D-E letters above your bed, and a giant inflatable diamond ring was propped up on your futon. You’d already sprayed Marlowe twice with the water bottle for threatening it with her claws.

Tonight, though, you were alone. You had asked Johnny if he would fly in early, but he hadn’t been able to confirm. So, you were sitting on your bed, staring at your phone, dressed only in his shirt, praying for some miracle.

You stayed up as late as you could, but still no call.

SATURDAY — Early morning: 6 days until the wedding

Your phone buzzed where it lay against your chest. You slowly awoke, and it was still dark outside. Bleary and only semi-conscious, you picked it up without looking at the screen,

“Hello?” You croaked.

“Mo mèirleach,” he whispered, “Open the door, hen. It’s fuckin’ frigid.”

“What?” You didn’t understand. Johnny was outside? You looked at the clock. It was 0311.

“I’m downstairs! Buzz me up.”

You did, and then you waited, waking up more and more as you stood in the kitchen, drinking some water to clear your dry throat.

He knocked softly, and you let him in. Immediately, and without so much as dropping his rucksack, he pulled you into his arms. You smelled his sweat, a strong hint of fire or smoke, and something you couldn’t quite place. It was almost like gasoline, but not quite. He’d come straight from the field.

“Hey,” he pressed his forehead to yours and kissed you gently, smelling your skin and nuzzling into your hair.

“Hey,” you smiled up at him, hugging him a little tighter.

Having him back was making you feel like no time had passed at all. He held you just as he did when he told you goodbye in December, and now, all of January felt like some wasted dream.

You looked behind him,

“Where are the others? I thought you said they’d be coming to the party this weekend.”

“Put them up at a wee hotel. The Indigo, just a few blocks away. But, I’ve been sleepin’ on the fuckin’ floor too many nights, now. And I wanna be in my woman’s arms instead.”

His woman. Your heart clenched in your chest. He noticed your emotional response to his words; always the observant one. His smile felt so good, even though he had caught you in his snare,

“Aye. You’re my woman, aren’t you?”

Huge, rough hands warmed your skin as they snaked underneath your shirt, reaching up across your belly, finding your hanging breasts and squeezing them ever so gently.

“Shower with me, lass. I’m right filthy.”

“Alright,” you nodded, and he pulled your shirt off the rest of the way, discovering the nothing you were wearing underneath.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Johnny lamented, holding you at arm’s length to study your skin and curves with a deep admiration, “Look at you, mèirleach. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m dreamin’.”

You led him to the bathroom, which you doubted was big enough for the both of you, and he stripped off all of his dirty clothes. You helped him, peeling him apart, layer by layer, discovering him in pieces.

His broad chest filled your vision in the tiny washroom, and you latched onto his nipple, tasting the salt from his sweat as you did and listening to him moan. He laughed from the sudden sensation of it,

“It’s sensitive, lass. Easy…”

Your eyes found his, showing him that you knew what it felt like, and you did not relent. You enjoyed watching him squirm beneath you, his hands resting on the side of your neck, threatening to pull you away when he became overwhelmed.

You gave him a break, kissing across his tattooed ribs and over his belly. He lifted your face up to his, pressing you against the bathroom counter, growling in whispers at you,

“Careful, thief. Don’t go givin’ me ideas.”

“What kind of ideas, Johnny?” You teased, dragging his boxers down over his plump ass to squeeze his cheeks in your hands.

“Ideas about what I’d like to put in that fuckin’ mouth of yours.”

He grabbed your hand and shoved it onto his hard cock, still covered by his boxer briefs, the fabric askew and taut, ready to come off.

“See what you fuckin’ do to me, thief?”

You smiled, staring down at the evidence of what you had done to him. You took his hand and slowly moved it between your legs, letting him curl and experimental finger up just far enough to dip into your wetness.

“See what you do to me?”

He shuddered, his body falling forward, and he caught himself with his free hand on the countertop, pinning you beneath him. He was playing inside of you with his fingertip, as achingly slowly and gently as could be, barely moving it, basking in your warmth. His face contorted into a twisted grimace, and he grunted,

“Fuckin’ hell, mèirleach. Get in the damn shower, or I’ll have you right here, lass.”

The shower curtain rings hissed across their metal rod as he followed you inside. You washed your hair, and you used your soapy hands to wash his. The soap turned brown with dirt and sand, and you made a face, laughing,

“Johnny! You are filthy.”

“Yeah, we ran into some trouble at the end of our mission. Lost contact with base. Had to camp in the wee mountains for a few nights, tryin’ not to freeze to death.”

“Holy shit…”

You pitied him, using your vanilla scented soap to scrub down his body for him, letting him be treated to your sudsy massage.

“Knowin’ I was comin’ back to you kept me goin’. I dreamt about this wee shower, hen. Even Ghost was surprised that I was able to keep my whingin’ to a minimum. But, I knew you were here and I wasnae gonna let anythin’ stop me from comin’ home to you.”

He bent to kiss you, and you kissed him back, letting the water wash over you both, bathing you in the heat of each other. He pulled away, grinning like he’d won something, and you felt the blush rise into your cheeks.

You made the hand signal for him to turn around and he spun, giving you his wide back, planting both of his hands on the wall like you were going to search him.

You started at his neck, washing away days of dirt and grime, feeling his swollen muscles pull and push against his bones. He had a new tattoo on his spine. It was a little Gaelic word that you couldn’t read.

With your fingertip, you traced over the black ink, softly rubbing over the raised skin, healed but fresh. He stilled, realizing you’d noticed it.

“Gealladh. It means ‘promise’.”

You wiped it clear of soap and lay your lips to it, kissing it softly, making him tremble beneath you. You tried to pronounce it, whispering it against his skin.

The rest of the shower went quickly, and by the time you were clean, he was ready to get dirty again, fondling you and rubbing across his curved length hungrily.

He wrapped you in your towel and watched you braid your hair, kissing your neck and sharing your toothbrush. You tried not to be grossed out by it, but you made a face and he rolled his eyes, spitting out the paste into your sink and trying to kiss you with his messy lips. You giggled, leaving him in the bathroom to finish up.

The cool air in your apartment made you clamber to get under the covers, eager to warm up and anxious for him to join you. He sauntered out of the bathroom looking like some Greek god, wet and tanned, tattooed and scarred, fresh from the bonds of war.

He threw his towel down with yours and climbed into bed next to you, curling you up in his arms, sighing with the most delighted contentment. His big jaw pressed into the side of your neck, looking for purchase, and he began to suck and lick at your skin, traveling down your shoulder to your nape, sending shivers down your arms.

“Did you miss me, mo mèirleach?” His voice was so quiet, you could barely hear him.

“I did, mo chridhe,” you whispered back, turning your body to face him.

He took both of your hands in both of his and kissed your forehead. All of his sexual overtones and lurid advances in the shower had somehow been washed away, and as the orange blush of dawn came through your window, he looked changed. His hair was soft, the mohawk all grown out and curling at the tips, his eyes glassy and full of something that looked suspiciously like hope.

“I know this has been hard on you, lass. I’ve been more than just a wee bit selfish, and I want you to know I’ll make it right. I promise you that. Do you hear me?”

You nodded, pressing your cheek to his chest, inching closer to him. He wrapped you in a tight hug, holding you too close.

Did you believe him? Would everything work out for the best? Or were you continuing down a path that would lead to ruin? How easy it was for him to convince you of the opposite. He could lead you like a lamb to the slaughter, and you’d go willingly, bleating up at him with all your love and affection as he pushed you into the chute.

His arm became heavy, and you heard his breaths lengthen in his chest, and you knew he was asleep. You had an alarm set, so you curled up in his warmth, letting him doze, allowing yourself to sink into the murky blackness of sleep along with him.

SATURDAY — Lunchtime: 6 days until the wedding

Johnny had changed into something clean and left you in bed, kissing your face and promising all sorts of filthy things to you after the bar crawl tonight. He begged you to dance with him when you wound up at the club, washing away your worries about Pidge, claiming she’d be too drunk to notice. You rushed him out, warning him she’d be here for lunch, and washed your sheets.

Sure enough, your phone rang and Pidge was outside your apartment, screaming with six other girls to be buzzed up not an hour after Johnny left, and you breathed a sigh of relief they’d missed each other coming and going.

You had the whole day planned out. Lunch was at a little cafe near the river, perfect for a photo op or two. Then, you’d booked a nail salon for mani-pedis for the whole squad. After that, it was back to the apartment to put on your faces before going “out-out”.

For the most part, the day had been a wild success. Pidge was already a little tipsy from the non-stop mimosas, and even though your bank account had seen better days, it wasn’t that bad. Now, you were in the middle of the evening ferality. Someone had ordered a pizza and there was hairspray in places you didn’t think hairspray could go. Marlowe was hiding in her cubby under your bed, and you were already done getting ready.

You’d told everyone it was black and white themed. Ham and Pidge would be in white, with all of you in black, and the goal at the end of the night was for them to find each other by hopping from bar to bar. The stag would chase the hen through downtown Glasgow, and you’d planned to have them all end up at The Berkeley Suite.

There were girls everywhere. It was like a bomb had gone off in your apartment, and there wasn’t really a space for privacy except for the bathroom (as long as you shooed everyone out of it first).

“I’ll just be a second!” You shouted over the thumping music, closing the door behind them.

You took care of business and spent a brief minute checking your phone. You had two texts from Johnny, and when you opened them, your breath caught in your throat.

Mo Chridhe: open this when youre alone thief

Mo Chridhe: blacksuit.jpg

Johnny had sent you a mirror selfie of his outfit, and he looked stunning. You couldn’t believe it was him. You’d never seen him so dressed up. His hair was shaven on the sides, the mohawk back to its full potential, and his suit was a gorgeous black with velvet lapels and a gold chain between the button holes. He wore no tie, instead letting the first two buttons hang open rakishly, showing off his tanned chest.

You texted him back:

You: you are still so damn hot lol

Mo Chridhe: show me you

You obeyed, taking a racy selfie in the bathroom mirror just like he had done. You showed off your cleavage , and the short, high cut of the dress as it hugged your ass. You tried your best to be pouty, just like all the Instagram models, but you weren’t sure if you succeeded.

Mo Chridhe: i might be the luckiest cunt alive or im dreamin

You: lol ;)

Mo Chridhe: ham might be chasin pidge all night but ill be chasin you

You smiled down at your phone before closing the app and returning to the fray.

Glittered, glammed, and ready for a night of debauchery, you took your phone off its charger and made your way out into the cold evening air. Pidge had brought a jacket, but Cherise had decided to go without, claiming that hot girls didn’t get cold. You were definitely cold, so you wondered what that implied.

The first stop was The Variety Bar. You had texted Johnny and told him to warn you before their first bar choice so that you could pay the tab and bolt before Hamish could put his hands on Pidge. But, it didn’t really work out like that. You had all ended up as one big group, and spent most of the time jokingly keeping them from kissing each other. Price held up a wet coaster between their mouths which sent Pidge coughing and spitting, causing enough of a ruckus that you decided to move to the next spot.

Johnny sat with you at the bar while you paid, trying his best to keep his hands off of you.

“Lookin’ like a right goddess tonight, you are.”

“Stop it,” you smiled, “No flirting allowed while your sister is literally right behind us.”

“Och,” he shook his head, “She’s in her own wee world. Where to next, lass?”

You slid the check back to the bartender and thanked him, turning to Johnny and smirking triumphantly, knowing he still needed to pay before he could follow you,

“Don’t you hunt people for a living? Come and get me.”

You left him at the bar, frozen with a delightful look of surprise on his face. You found Pidge and the other girls outside.

“Alright,” you smiled, “Onward. Let’s head over to Max’s.”

“Oh, God,” Anjali sighed, “You really want her to blackout, huh?”

“Fuck it! Max’s it is, ladies!” Pidge screamed.

Everyone cheered and marched on after her. She cuddled into your arm as you walked,

“Thank you so much for this, babes. You’re the best friend a girl could ask for, you know that?”

“You are, too,” you kissed her on her temple and squeezed her arm a bit tighter.

By the time you’d had two drinks at Max’s, Hamish’s clan found you again. Gaz was the one who spotted you through the window, holding his hands up to the glass and pointing you out.

“Uh oh,” you smiled, “Last call, girls.”

Cherise laughed,

“I don’t know why we’re running. Might as well just party with them.”

“It’s tradition, right?” Bekah rolled her eyes.

“Well,” Pidge shrugged, “You all can wait here then, if you prefer the boys to me.”

“No! Pidge, that’s not it, babe,” Cherise protested.

Pidge drunkenly waved her off,

“It’s fine, no worries. See you at Berkeley’s. How about that?”

Pidge stormed off out the door, and you followed behind trying to get her to calm down. She eventually did, drinking the water you had bought for her. But, that was how the group got split. Half the boys ended up with you and Pidge and Anjali, and the other half waited at Max’s until the happy hour rounds were over.

You’d gotten all settled in at Berkeley, listening to the loud club music, letting the high of your buzz wash over you, trying not to think about how nice it would be to have Johnny here, dancing with you like he promised.

Then, Pidge realized she forgot her jacket, so she sent you back to the other bar. You left her with Gaz and Ghost, and Price wandered out into the street with you.

“‘Bout time Hamish finally caught his hen anyway,” you speculated as you walked with him.

“Aye,” he agreed, “And maybe your stag as well.”

Your eyes darted up to him and then checked over your shoulder, just to make sure Pidge wasn’t behind you.

Price continued,

“Are you sure keepin’ him a secret is the right thing? He’s dyin’ to tell her. Fuck, he was tellin’ people he didn’t even know about you.”

You smiled,

“Yeah, I know. I just want the wedding to be about her. Nothing is ever about her, you know? She deserves to have a day where she doesn’t need to consider other people’s feelings for once.”

“What about your feelings?” Price asked.

You didn’t answer him. You just shrugged and kept walking. Suddenly, you heard screaming behind you,

“Wait! Wait up!”

Pidge and the rest of the crew rushed over to you and Price.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

“We’re gonna surprise Hamish this time,” Pidge smiled, pulling out a big confetti popper from her purse.

“Oh, God,” you grinned, looping your arm through hers and dragging her along.

Nothing was going according to plan that night, but you were so tired that it was hard for you to care. You weren’t even sure if Hamish’s group was still at the other bar, and you hadn’t heard a thing from Bekah or Cherise.

Finally, you made it back to Max’s. Just as you were about to open the door, it burst open and out poured Johnny, tangled in Bekah’s arms. She was giggling and kissing his cheek, leaving streaks of purple lipstick all over his freshly shaven skin. He was holding her close to him, his fingers digging into her side so tightly.

You knew what that felt like.

You gasped, stepping back, stunned. He looked right into your eyes and stopped. The whole world came to a grinding halt. All of the time that you had spent together seemed to lay out in front of you, prostrating itself, and being found unworthy. You felt nothing. Just a creeping numbness that leaked into your core, a fire burning without kindling, unable to be extinguished.

“Och, Jesus and all the fuckin’ saints,” Pidge threw her hands up, “Couldnae even wait until after the party to get your hands into one of my mates, could you? Arsehole. Get outta the way.”

“No, tha’s not it, Pidge!” He frowned, “Bekah doesnae —”

“Bekah, what?” Pidge spat in his face, “Bekah doesnae care that you’ll turn up next month or next year or next week in a box with the wee Scottish flag draped over it? Okay. Now, move yourself from the door, Jonathan.”

Bekah was sort of octopusing herself around him, wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders, sucking on his earlobe, caring very little about the Scottish flag no matter where it was draped.

Johnny was trying to fight her off now, suddenly angry at Pidge,

“What did you just say to me, Brigette?”

“Oh, shut up! You’re just like your da, and you’ll end up dead like him, too. See?” Pidge turned to you suddenly, eyes wild with fury, “This is why I warned you, Johnny MacTavish is a fuckin’ widowmaker. And that’s all he’ll ever be.”

She finally made it around her brother and wrenched the door open, disappearing into the club. Johnny still had Bekah in his arms, and you couldn’t be there anymore. You turned and walked in the direction of your apartment, miles away but hell-bent on getting back there.

“Hey! Wait! Thief, please. This isn’t what it looks like,” his voice was cold and distant. You didn’t turn around to listen. You weren’t sure what it looked like, but you didn’t need to see it to know how it felt.

Johnny could have Bekah. He was allowed to have her. He was not allowed to have you, and you couldn’t have him. That much was clear now. You should’ve listened to your friend. You’d known all along, hadn’t you?

“Wait, mèirleach!”

You spun on him like a snake, striking out sure and true,

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

He could see in your eyes that you were serious, venomous as you were in your delivery. His eyes looked desperate, like a kicked dog, but he didn’t let her go. She smiled and waved at you, looking drunker than you’d ever seen anyone look. You tasted the bile in your mouth from your disgust.

Price jogged to keep up with you, and he grabbed your arm,

“Wait, girl. Just wait a second.”

You jerked your hand away and hailed a cab that was pulled over on your side of the street. You climbed in and shut the door, begging the cabbie to drive quickly, and he did. You stared out the window, watching all of the lights blind you as they seared into your eyes, burning the images you’d seen that night brightly into your memory.

+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

Chapter 09

[sincerelykarai]

Call of Duty characters if They were in Percy Jackson!☆

This is just what cabins I think the 141 would be in if this were the PJO universe :D

Task Force 141

Price: I feel like he'd be an Athena kid or a Hepheastus kid. He just gives know-it-all vibes

Gaz: Either Aphrodite or a Demeter half-blood. Mostly Aphrodite tho I mean have you seen Elliot's smile?

Soap: I feel like Soap would be Apollo, a very cheerful lad (lmao).

Ghost: Either Hades or Ares. I see him get stereotypically get put with Hades often but I also feel like he could be an Ares kid as well.

Laswell: I feel like she'd be a Demeter kid? Or Athena. She just kinda gives that sort of energy.

Nik: DIONYSUS!! I couldn't wait to write about this one because he is literally a child of Dionysus in my eyes!

Los Vaqueros (did I spell that right? 💀)

Alejandro: Either an Ares kid or a Zeus kid. I can honestly see him being a child of Zeus.

Rudy: A Poseidon kid. There's no other option I can't see him as anything other then Poseidon's child 😭

Graves: Hades. I mean- he just kinds gives Hades vibes. Or he could potentially be a child of Hermes.

Valeria: Either Hebe or Hecate. I'm leaning more to Hecate though.

[phantomslag]

soap ♡ explosions

[queen-lilzzzz]

[confused-wanderer]

Ghost doesn’t really take off the mask because he gets the same response either way. Horror, shock, disgust, you name it. That’s why sometimes even if he forgets to put the mask on, he’s used to the response and doesn’t notice he’s forgotten to dawn it.

Until Soap.

He meets with Johnny one day in a civilian setting, absentmindedly taking off the mask while walking to where the other was waiting for him. Soap’s back is turned and Ghost walks upto him, placing a hand on his shoulder to let him know he’s arrived.

Johnny turns, light dying down and the smile evaporating the moment he sees Simon.

“The fuck are ya?”

Johnny has accepted Ghost’s mask as the default face. Like- he literally cannot imagine the man as anything else. And he’s spent so much time with the other that he can read every emotion and thought Simon has. The mask was pretty much useless to hide anything from him anyways. He can see the soft crinkles around his eyes when he’s fond, the raised eyebrow of unimpressed or even the furrowed face he makes where Soap just knows the other man is pouting.

So now when he sees a blond haired man exit Ghost’s room multiple times, the way he comes and goes as he pleases Johnny doesn’t think any different. All he thinks is:

Simon and Ghost are boyfriends.

He mentions it to Roach, who managed to keep his composure until the Scot left before breaking down.

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

Pillow Princess Soap

I've been told @groguspicklejar would like this one :D

Also, @glitterypirateduck I know he's your fav <3

Treat him well, people