#soap cod fluff

[partiallysame]

Ghost gets no bitches and he reminds me of whatever that TikTok audio is that’s like “how’d you get her?” And the other person is like “get her? No she grabbed me by the throat and told me I was hers”.

Word count: 800

Warnings: none (ghost being immediately whipped)

So hear me out you’re at the grocery store and while walking down the aisles you see this behemoth of a man. Big muscle sexy, surgical mask covering his face. You want. What to say? How should you approach? Ah yes you need help getting something from the top shelf. Stepping so you’re in his line of sight

“Could you come here?” You ask him and he just gives you a blank stare. Raising your eyebrows clearly waiting for a response he turns around looking for who you could be talking to and who is clearly not listening to you. When he sees no one else in the aisle he slowly points at himself, questioning you. “Yes you.” You smile trying to hold in a laugh. Quickly adding a “please” in the sweetest little voice and he is scurrying over to you.

“Could you please reach that box for me?” Ghost raises his arm up and points to a box when you nod confirming that’s the one you want he hands it to you. “That one too please” he obeys. You have him hand you two more boxes (not needing any of them). Then you try to push your luck a little. “Wait not this one” you hand him a box back and he returns it to the shelf. Before you know it you’ve had this man put all the boxes back just to hand them to you again. A smirk plastered on your face. Not once did the large man question you, not when you were looking up at him with those pretty eyes.

“Ok done with this aisle. Come on.” You start walking and his feet are following you. He hasn’t said a word to you but is following you around the store like a puppy. Down the next aisle you pointed at something (well within your reach) and he handed it you.

“Are you always this obedient?” You watched his eyes go wide but he found himself nodding. He’d probably say yes to anything you ask when you’re looking at him like that, like you want to eat him whole. His answer brought a smile to your face and he swore his knees were gonna buckle. You held out your hand, “phone.” It was a statement not a question and he quickly (fumbling) pulled his phone from his pocket and handed it to you. When you saw it was locked you looked up at him moving the phone ever so slightly towards him. You had meant for him to take the phone and unlock it but instead he mumbled out “0000” a small but dramatic gasp left your lips “oh so he does speak.” You typed in the 4 digits and the phone opened. You looked up at him when the basic passcode worked. “Simple and obedient. Just how I like ‘em” ghost swallowed hard. No one has ever treated him like this. Spoke to him like this. Not even Price. He should be offended? Insulted? Definitely not turned on. Right? (mark him down and scared AND horny). You handed his phone back to him, your number and name resting on his screen. He reached to take the phone from you, but you didn’t let go. Fingers touching you looked up at him “you better call me. I’ll be real sad if you dont.” He swore he was gonna pass out. Before you let go of his phone, hands still touching, heavy steps made their way into your aisle.

“Aye lieutenant there ye are. Been wandering round lookin fer ya.” Soap called down the aisle.

Ghost refused to acknowledge his friend calling for him, keeping eye contact with you. Your smile got bigger as you let go of the phone.

“Lieutenant huh? That mean you know how to give orders too?” He nodded again. “Then I’m definitely going to need you to call me. I’d like to see that.” Your eyes shamelessly raked down his figure. Fuck he needs to hold on to something.

Once you finally walked away, Soap approached quickly asking who you were and when ghosted shrugged his shoulders “I don’t know.” (But he’s gonna that’s for sure)

“She’s a fine looking lass I’m gonna go talk to her.” Ghost’s hand moved fast, grabbing the back of Soap’s neck guiding (pushing) him in the opposite direction of you. He was thanking god you saw him first and not Soap. If you had talked to Soap like that, ghost knew you’d have him walking on a leash (who’s he kidding if you had asked ghost would’ve barked)

Part 2 Part 2.5 part 3

[joonieskinks]

simon ghost riley is sometimes a little blunt (warning: smut)

You adore him for who he is, but it still unnerves you with just how blunt he can be at times.

It usually happens privately with just you:

“In about 5 minutes, I’m gonna eat you out.” He says as you are in the middle of The Goblet of Fire on the couch. You almost choked on your popcorn.

Or you’re doing laundry in the morning. “We need pineapple juice next time we’re out, want you to enjoy swallowin next time you’re suckin me off.” Jaw dropped.

He does it in front of the team too- and sometimes it’s even worse:

You accidentally dropped your lip balm onto the bar floor while fishing it out of your purse and bend to pick it up.

“Haven’t seen that angle in a while, dove. It’s been too long since we done doggy.”

It’s a never-ending series of eyebrow raises when Simon decides to open up his mouth and you’re around, needless to say. You brunt all of the embarrassment and the deep blushes, Simon couldn’t give a shit. He didn’t even clock it when John, Johnny and Kyle would all give him shocked looks. Man just owns it. Completely unbothered.

“Youre wearin the skirt you wear when you wanna get fucked. That your goal?”

“Simon!” You hiss, you can feel the red hot heat rush to your face.

But he just stares back at you in earnest, waiting for your response. You can hardly believe how composed he is when his Captain is right there glaring at him.

“So?”

“I need another beer.” John excuses himself, he can’t even look you in the eyes right now. Kyle joins him shortly after making a run for it, but you’re left with a quiet Johnny patiently waiting for you to respond. Eager, almost. Joy.

“You can’t just say things like that in public, especially not in front of your friends!” You lecture, pulling down your skirt in the process.

“Why? If you wanted to fuck, you could’ve just said so, love. Give me 2 to down this pint and I’ll meet you in the toilets, yeah?”

“Simon!” You smack his thigh.

“Can I watch?” Johnny asks excitedly.

“No!-“ “Fine.”

Johnny’s face lights up while yours turns slowly to give Simon a death stare.

“Do you want it or not?” You roll your eyes and throw your purse over your shoulder.

“You two are ridiculous.” And they watch you walk away.

Simon only shrugs, pounding back his beer before coming after you. Doesn’t make a difference to him if he fucks you here and now or at home and later.

“… so is that a no?” Johnny asks with puppy eyes.

[angelicangelz]

The difference between hookup!ghost and husband!ghost

NSFW - MDNI

This man has had a fair share of hookups in his life before he decided to settle down. He never intended on it, but when he saw you he knew he had to change his ways. You were just too perfect to pass on or throw out for a new girl.

You brought out a gentle, nurturing side of him that even he didn’t know existed. His rough hands touching you so gently that he surprised himself. He’d make love to you, a selfless man that attended to all your needs. Out, and inside of the bedroom.

He’d take his sweet time with you, legs over his shoulders as sucked and nibbled at your clit. His tongue lapped shamelessly at your wet cunt, occasionally dipping into your dripping hole. His fingers thrust in our out of you, brushing past your g-spot over and over again.

He’d draw out your orgasm, all four of them before he’d line himself up with you and slowly thrust in. He wanted you to feel every inch stretching you out, every vein in his thick cock, until he fully bottomed out.

With your legs around his waist, and his lips right next to your ear, he’d tell you just how good you were. “My perfect girl…doin’ so good f’me”. “Let me hear ya”. “So beautiful, all of ya”.

Then, there was ghost before you. A completely different man. Much more reckless, careless and rude. He wouldn’t waste time on your pleasure. These fucks were for himself, pushing you down on your knees to destroy your throat before he’d destroy your pussy.

Once he got his dick wet, he’d pull you up and throw you onto the bed. He didn’t care much for the intimacy. He’d press your face into the mattress, your ass sticking out in front of him. He’d harshly thrust into you, immediately setting a rough pace as his hand lands on your bare ass.

“Such a fuckin’ slut”. “Can ya take all o’ me?”. “Takin’ me like da good whore ya are”

His incredible stamina never faltered, though. He was able to go multiple rounds both before and after he was all ‘wifed up’. Except now, he’d leave the both of you satisfied and spent.

Although you’d love to experience his feral side someday.

—

I didn’t expect my first work to get the love it did lol 😟 so here’s another one!! ignore mistakes thank you

[phantasm-ae]

cw: fluff, cowgirl afab reader x ghost, grumpy x sunshine, clumsy reader

HEADCANON: the team meets Ghost’s little bird

PAIRING: Simon Riley x reader

It all started when Soap, half-joking -- not really -- asked over a pint of that terrible guinness that one of the recruits mentioned that he voiced out a lingering thought out loud,

"So, Ghost. Ye ever gonna introduce us to yer missus? Or is she just some hallucination ye made up tae wind us up aye?"

Ghost, who had never confirmed nor denied anything about his personal life, simply shrugged. "Pub. Friday. Seven."

Soap thought he was joking.

At exactly Friday, seven-fucking-pm though. Soap. Soap realized he was wrong.

They met at a grimy pub near base. Price was wary. Gaz looked openly curious. Soap just looked excited, because how normal could Ghost’s wife possibly be? Some goth lady with a death glare? A sniper with a scar over her eye? A shadow in human form?

None of the above.

What actually walked in was—

A tiny woman in a beat-up leather jacket, dusty denim jeans, a battered cowboy hat tilted low over her messy braid. Coupled with a pair of cracked leather boots that clomped across the floor like she owned the place.

Holy shit

She looked like she could ride a bull, shoot a rifle, and kiss you breathless — not necessarily in that order.

She waved frantically the moment she spotted them though — knocking over a chair and nearly tripping over her own boots as she did.

"HEY, SI" she yelled across the entire bar.

Ghost — stoic, terrifying, 6'4" Ghost — immediately straightened in his seat like a teenager seeing his crush. He actually moved. Stood up. Went to meet her halfway like she was the only thing that existed.

Soap’s jaw was physically on the table.

This tiny woman. Small. Wiry. Sun-kissed and with the greatest pair of tits Soap has ever seen immediately launched herself into Ghost’s arms like a missile. He caught her easily -- of course -- one hand on her lower back, the other ruffling her tousled brown hair with ridiculous tenderness.

Leaning down to let her smack a kiss right onto the cloth of his mask like she couldn’t give a single shit about what people thought.

She yanked the brim of his hat down over his eyes — wait! when had he gotten a hat?? — and laughed that big, reckless, wild West laugh that turned every head in the pub.

The team stared in horror and awe.

"This can’t be real," Gaz muttered. "I’m dreaming. I died in Syria."

"She's so small," Soap whispered back, scandalized. "And she’s—she’s—hot??"

They made it back to the table, Ghost’s hand resting casually on her hip like a leash.

When they made it back to the table, she shoved Ghost into a chair, plopped herself onto his lap without ceremony, and grinned at the rest of them.

"Howdy, boys," she said, tipping her hat.

Soap almost cried.

She was absolute chaos. Stole the darts right out of the wall and challenged Soap to a game ("loser buys shots, city boy" "'m from Scotland, lass" "Cattle country ain't like sheep country, sugar" "we have cows. They moo too").

Gaz: "You're so fucking stupid mate"

Soap: "Shut it aye?"

Flirted shamelessly with Ghost across the table — calling him "sugar," "cowboy," and "my big strong man" with zero shame in her Southern-twanged voice. Told Price he looked like a "sheriff with a broken heart."

Somehow wrangled Ghost into a pool match where she used him as her pool cue guide — pressed up against him, his huge hands guiding hers, while she winked at the others over her shoulder.

Ghost never smiled. Never joked. Never talked much. But with her? He was... different.

Softer. More human. Maybe even a little helpless, the poor bastard.

Price, to his credit, kept a straight face. Barely.

Soap, meanwhile -- after losing to her on those stupid darts and took on the challenge of guzzling down the said shots -- was vibrating with suppressed laughter.

She was chaos. Pure, distilled chaos — loud, funny, mean, fun, but also wildly affectionate. She stole a chip off Gaz and a stranger's plate without asking. Shooed off two creeps with a death glare who wouldn’t stop pestering the girls at the counter. Challenged the bouncer -- a hulking and massive bloke -- to arm wrestle and actually fucking won! Spent half an hour helping to take pictures of an old couple on a vacation to send to their grandkids. And started a chant for Price to shotgun a beer (he declined, though grimly but... endeared).

And through all of it, Ghost just... watched her. Silent. Steady. The same way he’d scan a perimeter — except more devoted. Soap swearing that he could even see him smile behind the mask.

At one point, she tugged on his sleeve and whispered something in his ear that made him let out a genuine, low chuckle. An actual laugh. Gaz's drink came out of his nose at that and Soap almost passed out from the shock.

By the end of the night, they were all completely obsessed with her.

(And slightly terrified. She challenged another guy twice her size to a pull-up contest and won.)

As they stumbled out of the pub, she looped an arm around Ghost’s waist and shouted, "THIS IS MY HUSBAND! HE’S BIGGER THAN YOUR HUSBAND!" at absolutely no one.

Ghost didn’t even blink. Just tugged her closer and murmured, "Alright, birdie. Inside voice yeah?."

"YOU LOVE ME BABY," she hollered back.

"Yeah," he said simply, not caring who heard. "I do."

And if anyone at the pub dared to stare — well, nobody wanted to make eye contact with a man wearing a skull mask who looked like he could bench-press a car and the woman who looked like she could drive said car through you and still smile while doing it.

Soap later: "Lass is unhinged aye?." Gaz: "You’re just mad she drank you under the table, mate." Price: "I like her. She’s good for him." Soap: "Naw, like... she’s pure mental. He’s just as daft. It’s a match made in hell, I’m tellin' ye.

Ghost, hearing them gossip: (Just shrugs.) "I like her loud. Makes it easier to find her."

masterlist

[abusivegymrat]

Embarrassing things Ghost has gotten hard for before;

Warning(?): sometimes it’s okay to write about being the mc and the center of attention🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️😖😖 if i write it while cringing u will read it while cringing period. We love things that r hard to read.

1. You were in a briefing where you weren’t allowed phones, and when the other lieutenant on duty turned at you, you immediately took your phone and buried it between those thick delicious thighs. Bury his head, please.

2. When you dominated him in training, wrestled your way out from under him and kicked him face first onto the floor, stepping on his back. It felt like a foot job, tbh.

3. When you manhandled someone else. See, all the younger recruits are like siblings to you, especially women. You once saw one of them crying because she was “too heavy” for her man so you just picked her up and threw her over your shoulder. He felt saliva building up in his mouth when he saw the muscles in your arms ripple.

4. Whenever you get tasked to do a debrief, because he could watch you talk all day. And when he stares at you for too long, his mind wanders off into dangerous territory. Can’t help it.

5. Apparently fireman carried him away from fire when he was unconscious, Soap won’t shut his bitch ass up about it.

Meh sorry

[amaranthinespirit]

wife!reader who keeps killing, and husband!simon riley who sees no wrong in it. prev next

the first time was purely accidental. a mere mishapt that ended in manslaughter. that's not to say the man didn't deserve it because of course he did—at least that's what simon said. but the bodies that followed? those were no accident.

simon didn't think you—his sweet missus—were capable of such crime. not because he thought less of you and your abilities, of course, but because you were just so sweet and pretty, it was jaw dropping. downright deceiving.

you kept luring men back to your precious home, steering clear of the new, pretty rug simon bought you after he had to burn the last one. and after you stabbed them, or axed them, or poisoned them—simon kept your options open after the first few—you'd clean up. yourself, anyway.

simon grumbled that one time when you tried to help, swatting you on the rear with his large hand before groping you and sending you off. so you learned to just leave the body for him to come home to and pretty yourself up for him to ravage you later.

it was a fair deal, after all. he cleans your messes, you pretty yourself and then he makes a mess of his own with you.

your own version of bonnie and clyde.

he never questioned you either. "can't do anythin' wrong in m'eyes." he would shrug whenever you asked, going back to shrugging the floorboards free of the metallic substance once again.

like he said, if you wanted someone dead, they were dead. sure, he'd twist his neck and nearly break it trying to get a good look at the poor bloke who dare crossed you—never a woman—but again, he'd shrug it off every time, muttering gruffly, "wot'vr the missus wants."

his lips are sealed when the police come by. killing is stressful enough, yeah?

"who keeps coming by?" your voice spoke softly from behind him. he had just shut the door after the police thanked him again and moved to the neighbor's house.

he grunts. "just salesmen."

"oh." you paused before frowning. "do I need to kill them too?"

simon's eyes twinkled, the corners of his eyes creasing with a smile under his mask—he hadn't got a chance to take it off yet—as he stood and stared at you with what you think is the most lovestruck expression you've ever seen. warring with the look he gave you on your wedding day.

"if tha's wot y'want."

he swears he's never been more in love with you.

if you guys have any ideas for this pairing, please send it in my inbox. more fics of these two are a must, and I love sharing ideas with you guys <3 much love

[thisnoah]

Smooching my cat

[lapetitepatisserie]

cod × fem!reader ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

The familiar sound of keys in the door alerted you to your husband’s return.

“My love?” he called, looking for you, boots making heavy footsteps as he made his way towards you and your child. His eyes soften once they land on you and your baby girl.

“How’s my princess?” he drawls, voice deep with exhaustion from work.

You look down at the child sitting in your lap, occupied with trying to fit a chubby foot into her mouth. A steady finger reaches underneath your chin, lifting it to meet his warm, intense gaze.

“I’m talking about this one.”

[gloomwitchwrites]

i saw a tiktok of a heavily pregnant woman saying “maybe i dont give him butterflies anymore but i do give him high blood pressure” then they walk by their S/O with a latter and power tools. and i have been thinking about how the guys would react ever since

Oh, anon. This is so cute! I love this. I know the trend you're talking about, but I feel like I haven't seen it with pregnant women specifically, but I find it even more hilarious if it is. I had a lot of fun with this one. Thank you for sending it in!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, dad!141, pregnancy, married life, parenthood, domestic fluff

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“Get off the ladder, cabbage.” John exhales, trying his best to keep his voice calm.

You’re standing just high enough on the ladder to rest your pregnant belly on the top rung. John stands directly behind you, both hands firmly planted on either side of you against the rail. It’s not to support the ladder but to catch you if you fall. A potentially likely possibility since you’re carrying extra weight in front of you. You could easily tip back enough to lose your balance.

“I’m fine, John,” you reply, continuing on as if he’s not worrying.

It’s maddening how relaxed you are, like the potential factor of danger is a completely foreign concept.

“Please,” he emphasizes. “Get off the ladder.”

“Why?” you ask. “I’m more than capable.”

“You are,” he agrees. “But you’re also pregnant.”

“So?”

“Cabbage,” warns John.

“Fine,” you exhale.

John keeps his hands on your hips the entire time. When you’re back on solid ground, some of that tension melts away, but his heart still thumps quickly.

You lightly cup his cheek, batting your eyelashes at him. “Were you worried about me, John?”

John places his hand on your belly. “Worried about all three of you.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle sits at the kitchen table, sorting through the mail. With a heavy sigh, he opens the energy bill, removing the paperwork, reading over the breakdown of energy usage for the month.

From his peripheral, Kyle notices movement. Glancing away from the itemized bill, Kyle’s gaze softens when you walk into the kitchen. You’re pregnant, close to your due date. Even waddling around, Kyle can’t seem to keep his hands off you.

He leans back in his chair, appreciating you for a few languid seconds, then his heart drops into his stomach.

“Damn it all. Put that down, love.”

Kyle shoots out of his chair, trying to calmly but quickly make it over to you.

“I’m fine,” you insist, attempting to walk by. “I can assemble it.”

“No.” Kyle’s tone is firm but gentle. “Give it here.”

His heart is pounding, anxiety spiking from not just the power drill you carry, but the cardboard box full of wood you’re attempting to guide down the hall.

“You sit here.” He points to the chair. “Sort the mail. I’ve got this.”

You slowly ease down into the chair, and Kyle breathes deep, trying to calm his nerves. “Bloody hell, woman,” he mutters.

John "Soap" MacTavish

He hears your footsteps first, and then your voice as you curse under your breath.

Johnny lounges on the sofa, reclining against a fluffy pillow. At his feet are his two-year old twin daughters. On the television, a Bluey episode plays. The girls aren’t watching. They’re smashing their dolls together and running them over with the yellow toy excavator.

Sitting up, Johnny glances over the top of the couch

At first, he smiles. Then frowns. Then launches himself off the couch.

“Put it down,” commands Johnny. “Drop it.” He steps on a doll and winces, wobbling slightly.

You turn toward him, pregnant belly coming into view. You’re carrying a ladder, the large one, and you’re not supposed to be lifting anything over a certain weight.

“Down,” he repeats. “Put it down.”

You roll your eyes and turn away. Johnny makes it to you quickly, grabbing the ladder and placing it on the floor.

“What are you thinking?” he asks. “You’re bloody pregnant.”

“Don’t yell at me.”

“I’m—I’m not yelling,” soothes Johnny, cupping your face in his hands. “But you gave me a right scare, yeah?” He kisses your forehead. “I’ll take care of it. Go sit with the girls.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon is curled up on the sofa, a precious bundle in his lap. His two-year old daughter rests her head against his chest, gaze focused on the colorful pages.

“He started to look for some food,” reads Simon from The Very Hungry Caterpillar. “On Monday he ate through one apple.” His daughter traces the outline of the apple, and then runs her finger over the caterpillar. “But he was still hungry.”

As Simon turns the page, he hears your soft but determined footsteps. He briefly looks away from the book, his gaze falling on your belly, round and full of his child. Inwardly, he smiles, knowing that the family you’ve created together is about to grow by one.

“On Tuesday he ate through two pears,” continues Simon. “But he was still—”

His voice disappears, and his stomach flips, blood pressure spiking as he watches you turn the corner. You have a step stool tucked under your arm and a drill in your hand.

“Goddamn it,” he mutters, lifting his daughter out of his lap and placing her on the sofa. “Daddy will be back shortly, doll.”

He kisses the top of her head, and then takes off after you. With the added weight, your steps are slow, and it only takes Simon a few strides to walk past you and cut you off before you make it to the nursery.

“What are you doing?” he asks, reaching for the drill.

“Hanging a painting,” you reply like it’s no big deal.

Simon sighs. “Give it here.”

“I can do it,” you insist, turning away from his reaching hands.

Simon plucks the drill out of your hand and holds it out of reach. “Give me the step stool.” With a pout, you surrender it. “Gonna give me a bloody heart attack.”

[karlachismylife]

Simon Riley got his fingers fucked up. Time spent under Roba's torture messed up the joints, made his digits barely able to flex and curl and left him with chronic pain, especially once the temperatures start to drop. It's alright, not the worst thing he came out of that encounter with, he can live with it. Doesn't bother him even that much.

It's just that Simon Riley used to love knitting.

Soft, creamy white, thick yarn turning into volumunous sweaters with huge warm collars his mother and his brother's bird could wear, safe from the nasty winter chill. Stripey socks, comfortable hats, long fluffy scarves - he could and would do it all.

Roba took it from him. Knitting needles became almost impossible to hold properly, struggling over the yarn mess for more than 15 minutes pisses him off and makes him never want to pick it up again. He can barely make a couple rows of a shitty excuse of a scarf, let alone finish a single thing.

And then Soap brings his LT over to his family home for their joint leave - two whole weeks in a household full of bustling life, hearty food and loving banter. In the evenings, when Johnny and all the younglings of the family have already spent their buzzing energy and are snoring in their beds, sometimes piled up like tired puppies, Simon and Mama MacTavish both are kept up by their insomnia. In a pleasantly dimly lit living room, this beautiful woman with white hair and noble profile sits, kitting - soft white wool of Highlands' best sheep turning into a sweater in her hands.

Simon comes to sit with her, calmed down by the sounds her needles make and the hypnotizing movements of her hands. First couple of nights he just lets it lull him to sleep before Mama MacTavish sends him off to wam bed with her snoring son already sprawled across it like a starfish.

Then Simon picks up needles himself. It's a slow, torturous process, his grip slipping, threads coming apart, frustration and anger at his useless fingers building - yet Mama's hands always come to rescue. She soothes the pain in his fingers, helps fix uneven loops, tells him stories of Johnny's childhood to distract Ghost from his angry mind. It works.

By the end of the leave he presents Soap the ugliest knitted hat with pompoms stitched to it in a row resembling a mohawk, and you bet Johnny wears it all the time, flexing in front of everyone who sees him in this monstrosity. He takes it to all the places he shouldn't, stubbornly unwilling to part with the gift, and loses pompoms - yet somehow Simon constantly sees new ones pop up on the hat.

It's Mama MacTavish stitching them on, because she knows, Simon needs a little help with this painstaking work for now.

[sunofnebulah]

simon who smokes strictly camels or pall malls.

you always smell it on him, even after he takes a long shower. mint, leather, earth, and tobacco. you think its so funny when he genuinely gets offended at johnny when he tries to pass him a marlboro, grimacing.

“tha’ shits nasty. ‘d rather eat fuckin’ dirt.”

so you’re surprised when he asks to try your cute little virginia slims that you keep in a dainty decorated container.

you raise your eyebrows and stifle a giggle. “you hit your head or something?” he clicks his tongue and snatches your container pulling one out. he places it in his mouth and leans back into the couch, spreading his legs. he nods to the table at the lighter next to his ashtray.

“light.”

you squint at him dramatically and scratch at your head. “never thought i’d see the day you’d cheat on ms. pall ma-“

“light.” he says sternly, but with a small chuckle under his breath.

you grab the lighter and turn to light it for him. after you do, you sit back and watch as he smokes from the little thing grasped between two of his large fingers.

he exhales slowly and looks at you

“now i know why y’so cranky all the time. shits ass.”

but you know he doesn’t mean it because he guides you onto his lap and smokes the whole thing, occasionally shotgunning you. :)

[deunmiu-dessie-sideblog]

lmao thinking about how the tf141 men know you're serious by the way you say their given names. like they just turn docile immediately, no matter what they're doing or their positions.

“kyle, johnny, zip it.” swiveling in your chair, you turn your gaze towards them and glare, lips set into a thin line. the two men who sit next to each other stop their quiet bickering and nod softly, focusing on laswell once more.

ghost usually avoids doing med checkups when the time of year rolls around and it just ends up making the medical professional's jobs harder than it needs to be (they usually come to you in order to get him to do it.) “simon, i’m not in the mood. now.” he sulks and broods (swears he doesn't.) but nonetheless does the med check up, that you sit in on so he doesn't run.

price isn't exempt from it either, despite being captain. during a mission including farah and her people, the two had been going back and forth on the trek to the meet-up point. annoyed you had stopped price with a hand to his chest and met his eyes. “john, leave it alone. we don't have time for this.” he’d kept eye contact for a bit but had nodded, clapping you on the shoulder. “heard, seargent.”

ppl call you the 141 whisperer 💀 lolll

[hannibalised]

Reader who doesn't speak English as their first language and Simon being so in love !!

Over the dinner course, you leaned forward confidently, like you were sharing a secret.

"I think we should buy a baby wheelchair for them."

Price's missus was going to have a baby shower next week.

"Wot?" Simon blinked.

"A baby wheelchair—" You pulled your fist into a punching stance and moved it back and forth, mimicking a tiny car. "Like a baby car… phew phew."

"Oh, that's a stroller." Simon raised a brow, watching your head bobble in a self-absorbed nod.

"Exactly, baby car… stroller."

And it was so cute when you looked up at him whenever you forgot certain words.

"Simon, how do you say in English? The takka-takka-takka—"

"Helicopter," Simon said fondly, earning himself a sweet peck on the lips.

The task force enjoyed it immensely. When Soap said, “Break a leg !” and you raised up a fight at why Simon should break his leg.

Or when Kyle couldn't stop laughing so much with the way you pronounced, “Bitch” to the bird who was hitting up on Simon.

And Simon loved it all, felt love in your eyes through your words, especially when you used his vocabulary—God, it did something to him.

Saying "bugger" when you put too much ketchup, and "bloody freezin’, innit?!" with that corky little smile because you knew how much it wrecked him.

"Bollocks," you would curse, and he’d already be losing his heart and mind, dragging you to the bedroom.

The way you would slip into your native dialect when you were upset, voice rising as you made frustrated noises—Simon would forget the argument entirely, just watching you with that pretty face he’d go to war for.

And something, something about the way you said "I love you" in your native language first, just as softly, and how you called him "my love" in that same way too.

Bloody hell, he’s so in love.

Masterlist

[bagofshinyrocks]

Government name vs Military callsign

Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?

Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: none

John Price

Government name.

Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it can’t hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.

“If you want me to ‘shake a leg’, call my name, luvie.”

Now if you holler “Jonathan Price”, he’ll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and he’s peering into the room with an apology on his lips.

“Yes, luv? What’s wrong, poppet?”

“Lift the other end of the couch, would you?”

He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. “Anything else I can do, love o’ my life?” He’s hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.

“No, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.”

When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.

Simon Riley

Military callsign.

When you two are alone, and he’s already given you permission to call him Simon, don’t call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.

“Ghost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.”

“Fuck you callin’ me that for?” 

Once he sees you’re alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.

“We playin’ games now?” You didn’t want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.

“Sorry, baby.” Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.”

Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips. 

A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.

Kyle Garrick

Government name.

He doesn’t mind being called Gaz, and you’ll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesn’t even mind if you use “Kyle” or “honey” in front of his squadmates. Though “Kylie” he does have some displeasure with.

“I’ll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.”

Call him ‘Garrick’, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. He’s too cute for you to stay mad.

If you shout “Kyle Garrick”, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?

“Kyle Ga-”

“Yes, dear!” Shit, he didn’t mean to ‘yes, dear’ you. “Yes, my dear, I’m right here.”

You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once he’s close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. “I need a kiss.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “God damn you.” He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. “Don’t stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.”

“Give me another kiss, or I will be.”

He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room. 

“In my own fucking home,” he muttered.

John MacTavish

Military callsign.

He’s got some thick skin. And he’s had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting “John MacTavish” meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.

Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.

“SOAP!”

Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.

“JOHNNY!”

“I’m here, bonnie,” he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.

“C’mere, c’mere.”

He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. “Wassit?”

You pointed to the leaf in your hand. “A caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.”

He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. “Bonnie, I thought something was wrong.”

“Hm?” You spared him a glance. “What are you talking about, bubba?”

“You called me Soap.”

“Did I? Didn’t mean to spook you, loverboy.” You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Just wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.”

Posted: 2023 Dec 10

[syofrelief]

soap who's got a little crush in the intel office

Soap, who isn't processing a word out of your mouth as you explain the complicated geometrics of this base, how normal detonations wouldn't would because of something longwinded and boring but goddamn if you didn't have the cutest face he'd seen in a while.

Soap, who sheepishly had to walk his distracted ass back to your office to ask if you could please jus' explain it one more time, i wasnae payin' any attention last time, muttering an excuse about a migraine. You didn't say anything about the demolitions expert being distracted at a demolitions debrief, welcoming him in with an eye roll.

Soap, who'd get distracted every meeting going forward if you could pull him into your office, sit so close he could smell your shampoo, and explain to him patiently the objective and geography and the coordinates and hell, you could explain year 8 geometry and he'd hang on every word. Your office was nice, cool and cozy. He didn't like group debriefs; he needed to stand up and pace or fidget with his velcro vest, or ask too many questions than Price thought appropriate.

But you used better explanations, sat through his often stuttered questions, and let him play with the pencil holder on your desk while you spoke.

Ghost had taken to finding him there in moments of downtime, listening doe-eyed to you murmur about a mission that didn't even belong to them. He snorted. Soap darted to his feet, stumbling over the rug.

"I...I was..." he gestured vaguely, neck purpling with embarrassment. You swiveled in your chair, grinning.

"Hi, Lieutenant," you greeted Simon, waving pleasantly. "Johnny just wanted some alone time."

Soap gaped at you because that's how you decided to phrase that?? In front of his LT?

Not even addressing the elephant in Simon's mind - Johnny. You called him Johnny.

"Price needs ya," Ghost said gruffly, disappearing down the hall.

Your cackling echoed in Soap's ears as he followed grumpily. "Sweet boy," you murmured, going back to your notes.

It was another late night of Soap's pestering. Please, bonnie, jus' need ye to explain tha' again, my ears, ye ken, all screwy from the bombs n' shite. You raised your eyebrows, surprised that, again, a detonations expert needed review on C4 placement for a relatively low-stakes assignment.

He was sitting too close again, knee brushing yours. The low lamplight shone in his dilated eyes, baby blues wide with adoration. The overt affection in his gaze made your cheeks burn a bit, until you noticed the circles growing beneath them. Soap was exhausted; the lines of his stout shoulders sagging into your cushy armchair.

"Johnny," you said when he asked another frantically inane question. He clamped his mouth shut at your tone, hands yanking on the pockets of his pants. You chose your words carefully.

"Are you sleeping?"

He blinked. "Eh? I'm- what sorta question- Yeah. Course," he blustered, puffing up a bit.

Your chin tilted. "Y'sure?"

Johnny nodded, but you saw the falter in his gaze. The bags were prominent now. Deep purple beneath his dark lashes.

"Why don't you head off to bed," you said quietly. "It's late. You've got early rollout tomorrow." You handed him a manila folder of notes to review and a tired smile. He stood quietly, head heavy with a sorrow you hadn't seen before.

You didn't see him for a while after that. It made you a lot more productive without the nagging or constant whassat? whassat? whassat? aimed at every piece of intel you had spread on your desk. But the armchair looked lonely, and you missed his cheeky teasing.

A knock startled you from your pondering. Eyes flicking to the clock - 1:00 - you frowned, opening the door a sliver.

A mountain of grime and sweat pulled you into a hug, muffling your surprised squawk.

"Johnny?"

He sluggishly dragged you into your office, finally releasing you when the door was shut. You struggled to regain your footing. Head reeling, you scaned him for injury. But...he was in pajamas?

"What..."

"Went...running," he said hoarsely. You nodded slowly, piecing apart the lie. Barefoot, dirty hems. Night terrors, probably, coupled with an unlocked door. It made your heart ache.

"Sit...sit down, Soap," you whispered, coaxing him by the shoulder. A meaty hand clapped over yours and were alarmed by the intensity in his bloodshot eyes. Too crystal to be drunk but too crazed to be...here.

"Sit, Johnny," you said, firmer. He sank shakily, keeping his eyes on yours.

"Nay...nay, nay, I can explain, I jus'...had a question a-about tha last thingie you were...you were..." he trailed off, seeing the pity in your face. "Don' look a' me like that," he muttered.

A moment as your hand shifted down his arm, fingers still laced with his. A gentle motion, petting the gooseflesh rippling over his musculature.

"You wanna hear somethin' funny?"

His eyes shot to yours, pleading. Johnny scooted closer, almost falling into your lap. A reminiscent smile flitted over your face as you continued to stroke him.

"A few recruits, while you were gone, got ahold of one of those mop buckets. Big yellow one. Well," you cleared your throat, muffling a giggle. "Well, one of the pipes burst upstairs, and the whole hallway flooded. So one of them got the great idea to make a slip'n'slide..."

You giggled at your retelling, quietly imitating the characters in your little tale. Johnny had edged closer, head inches from your chest. Not pausing your whispering, you pulled him to you. He draped over you, absolutely massive over your tiny desk chair.

It was unbelievably uncomfortable. Your legs were numb in two seconds.

The story was over, but Soap squeezed your waist the moment you had the thought of moving. "Grabbin' a pencil," you soothed, patting his sweaty head. His heart was pattering slower now, breaths coming easier.

"Can...can ye explain it again?" His forearms tightened a bit, relaxing when you stroked his hair.

You grinned. "Yeah, Johnny. Sure I can."

not as good as i wanted it but it was cute in my head.

pt 2 ish

[ruesol]

You’re eating fruit and your friends can’t stop watching. (Ghost and Soap)

Notes: suggestive, crack fic.

main masterlist

One would think that the two men were on the battlefield with the way they were intently staring at you.

Simon was focused on the way you’d take a bite out of your apple, lips wrapping around the curvature of the fruit as your teeth sunk into its crisp flesh.

So pretty and plump. Like an apple

Johnny was too busy staring at the droplets of juice that were trailing down your chin. He could almost taste the tartness as he imagined himself licking you clean. He had to bite his lip to keep himself from moaning when he saw you lick your lips to clean up the stickiness left behind.

You then disposed of the apple and grabbed a banana. Simon’s hand immediately latched on to his thigh. He began to shift in his seat as he watched you take a bite of the banana.

However, you didn’t chew the entire thing and kept a morsel of it in your left cheek, too distracted to chew because you were on your phone.

Simon’s fingers dug into his thighs at the sight.

He felt like a dog in heat.

Johnny began to imagine his own-

“What are you two fuckin’ idiots doing here? Get back to your work stations!” Price barked as he walked into the base’s lounge area.

But Simon and Johnny were too entranced by you to respond.

Confused, Price looked in the same direction as them to see what was so interesting.

“Oh,” The captain breathed out with a slight blush.

_

part 2 (no smut :/, but lots of kissing)