#soap cod x reader

[gothghostiie]

soap who watches pornstar!reader religiously, he cannot help but want to get his hands on you and show you what a real man fucks you like, instead of these stupid actors. he knows youd never just say yes if a random fan asked you to collab so what does he do?

he makes an onlfyfans too and speedruns his way to the fucking top, to the point it would be stupid of you to decline him.

[oldrainfall]

MDNI 18+ / ~ 2.6k words / Oneshot

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games), Modern Warfare II (2022) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: John "Soap" MacTavish/Reader Characters: John "Soap" MacTavish, Reader Additional Tags: No use of y/n, POV Second Person, Smut, light fluff, Oral Sex, gender neutral reader, Brat John "Soap" MacTavish, A little bit anyway, Gender neutral terms of endearment for reader, Light Dom/sub, Hand Job, briefly, Soap gets most of the attention in this one folks, Light Possessive Language, Oneshot, Author Has Played Call of Duty, not well, but I did, Reboot John "Soap" MacTavish, Reader is an Operator, Desperate John "Soap" MacTavish, Not Beta Read, we die like (redacted), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot Summary:

Soap and you find yourselves in a safe house all on your own, in a rare moment free of danger, and manage to steal it for yourselves, indulging in some much needed RNR.

________________________________________________________________

"Tha's it, pet." Soap praises, his voice low and soft, a sound that's gradually been growing to be more and more of a comfort to you as of late, it mixes beautifully with the slick sound of his cock easing in and out of your mouth. He always takes his time with you when you let him have you like this, as if making sure to savour it, even his thick, scarred fingers which were tangled amongst the roots of your hair had a certain gentleness to them, amplified further by the way his other hand was caressing your cheek, the pad of his thumb tenderly brushing over the corner of your eyes, wiping away the involuntary tears that had gathered there and clung stubbornly to your lashes, before doing the same to the bit of drool that managed to escape from the corner of your mouth, and had been lazily dribbling down your chin.

Despite the way it makes your jaw twinge, getting to see the way his breathing gradually gets shallower, louder, adding to the symphony that always accompanied your intimate moments together alongside his staccato groans and grunts, made it all worth it. "Jus' like tha'." Every sound he made was nothing short of addictive, and you were determined to make it your life's mission to pull all of them from Soap's lips until you memorized them all.

Which is why you fight against his grasp to push him deeper into your mouth, until you can feel the weeping tip of his cock kiss the back of your throat, before you swallow around him. A low strangled groan forces its way out of Soap's body, seemingly startling the man himself as much as it delights you. He huffs and pulls you back up some, his hips twitch off the bunk, chasing the warmth of your mouth reflexively, as he shoots you a reprimanding look, one that didn't really come across as anything other than fond, which had his striking blue eyes — that are as vibrant as ever, even in the low lighting of the safe house, as if taking personal offence to anything that'd dare to try to hide them, and shining anyway from a mix of spite and Soap's special brand of unbridled defiance — narrowing minutely, doing nothing to hide the way they practically glinted with amusement and want. "Easy wi' tha', dinnae need ye hurtin' yerself."

You roll your eyes at him, and huff through your nose. With the tip of your tongue you follow one of the veins along the underside of Soap's cock up the length of his shaft, only to smooth your tongue right back out on the underside of his tip and running it right back down, over and over again. "Cheeky." Soap barely manages the word, his voice trailing off into another unsteady vocalization of his pleasure as his lashes flutter, fanning out when his eyes were mostly closed. That doesn't spur you to relent though. You both know that he likes it— he likes when you mouth off to him, when you walk by him brushing your hand along the small of his back, when you squeeze his arse when you know you can get away with it, when you eye him up, especially if you do it at a time where he's not allowed to immediately get his hands on you and retaliate, like during briefings.

Even with how much Soap seemed to live for you riling him up till he snapped, he never got rough about it, not unless you went out of your way to ask for him to. No, your big bad Sargent liked to keep a soft touch— even after you teased and prodded him to his limits with fleeting touches and words of filth whispered against the shell of his ear whenever they'd pop into mind, leaving him redfaced and caught off guard, often resulting in him staring at you like a puppy that just had a steak pulled out from under it as you'd go back to whatever it was you had been doing, teeth pressing against your bottom lip as you fruitlessly tried to force down your smirk.

When he'd finally break — and he always did no matter what it was that you had been doing to him — and take you over a desk, or against a wall, in the armoury, in your rooms in the barracks, or like now, on an old lumpy bunk that creaked at any and every movement, tucked away in a remote location in a safe house that was held together with little more than rusty nails and a fraying hope, with a crackling fire and the soft moonlight easing through the windows acting as your sole sources of light, he was still so fucking gentle. Touching you as if you were something delicate, or fleeting, like he thought if he moved too fast or pressed too hard you'd flit out of his touch like a startled finch, or as if you were a vase at risk of shattering into countless shards.

Keeping your hands flat, you gently smooth your palms over the tops of his thighs, savouring the way you could feel the slightest of tremours in them. His belt buckle jingles softly, hitting against itself from your fingers catching the hem of his pants. In your rush to get at him earlier you had merely pushed down as much as they had to be, leaving them quickly forgotten after the fact.

It was about time you corrected that.

Shifting on your knees, you draw back until only the head of Soap's cock remained in your mouth so that your tongue could still lap at him while giving you just enough space to fuss with Soap's clothes, an action that has Soap letting out a broken off whimper. A sound which is quickly chased by a slew of what was presumably curses, but was so enwrapped in Soap's accent — now much thicker from how worked up he was and worsened further by his budding frustration from being pent up — that you couldn't make out anything intelligible. Your hands trail lower to fumble with Soap's combat boots, pulling at the knot of the laces until it loosens, and you can ease his feet out of both of them, dropping them behind yourself to be found later. Eventually he seems to pull himself together enough for you to catch a few things, at least. "Yer nae playin' fair, pet. Cannae jus' dae this ta me." He whines rather petulantly.

Just for that, you pull off of him properly, his poor cock twitches where it lays against his abdomen, making an absolute mess of his shirt. To stop him fussing further you wrap your hand around him and lazily pump him, the quiet slick sounds filling the space between you both, as your other hand works on pulling his pants and boxers down the rest of the way, letting them fall in a heap at your knees. Soap's hips twitch up into your movements, as if trying to goad you into moving faster, but you simply use your elbow to press into his hip, keeping him down while you continue to stroke him. "You're so spoiled, you know that? Should just leave your sorry ass like this."

A proper grin pulls at Soap's lips, and he looks down at you through his lashes, with a glint in his eyes that was the pinnacle of pleased— like a puppy that had managed to charm its way into stealing an entire bag of treats. "Aye, ah ken, but ye wouldnae dare. Ye like spoilin' me, luvvy." There's just something about the way he looks above you, his chest heaving and a healthy flush darkening his skin along his cheekbones, while he's blatantly biting his bottom lip and looking at you like you're the only thing in the world worth looking at, that causes something in your chest to ache and twist in a way that shouldn't be as heady as it is.

Instead of dignifying Soap with an actual reply right away, you just grunt softly, vaguely providing him with a, "Maybe." as you hook your arm under one of Soap's knees, guiding it up so that his thigh presses against his stomach; you can feel the muscle jump under your touch. "God knows why I do, you're always such a fucking brat about it." Your protests are contrary, you know they are, especially with the way you're fisting his cock and lazily rolling your hips against the leg Soap still has firmly planted on the ground in a rather fruitless bid to take a bit of your own edge off. You spoil him because it's him, and as much as he can be a prick or a brat sometimes, at the end of the day Soap had still batted his eyes at you, and managed to sidle up to you enough that he found a nice warm place to curl up in your chest like a stray dog in a sunspot. He was a brat, a loud mouth, a bit of a know-it-all even when he wouldn't let on that he was, and he seemed to find a new way to get himself in and out of trouble every day, but god damn it, he was still your stray dog, and like hell were you going to give him anything less than every breath you took, every bit of blood rushing in your veins through your pounding heart, and every bone in your body.

You'd give him everything, because he was yours, and there was no way you'd ever let this ridiculous man forget it.

"Shite..." Soap hisses through his teeth, both his hands move to tangle in the thin sheets laid over the bunk, as the way his hips meet your hand begins to grow sloppier and more uneven. "M' nae a brat." The protest passes Soap's lips weakly, any bite it possibly could have had was dulled even further by the way his cock was practically drooling all over your hand, and the persistent groans and whimpers leaving him.

While you let it drop for now, you most certainly plan on getting him back for back-talking you later. Right now though, you have much more pressing things to pay attention to, like the way he's so visibly close to falling apart under you, his leg was trembling under your hand as his vocalizations got even more unabashed. The way the corner of your mouth lifts as you watch him is entirely involuntary; not that you do much in the way of trying to stop it from happening in the first place, mind. Hearing how Soap keeps murmuring your name doesn't exactly do much but encourage your expression and touches, especially when he practically keens as you take him back into your mouth, even if it's just the head of his cock. You're already pressing your elbow harder against his hip to keep him from lifting them too much and fucking into your mouth mindlessly; you both know that if he wanted to he could knock your arm out of the way, but even with how little blood was left in his brain he behaved and let you keep him down.

That doesn't stop him from wrapping his thick fingers around your wrist, trying to encourage you to pump his shaft faster. "Fuck, c'mon pet. M' so close ta comin', ye gotta let me. Please, please." There's a steadily growing note of desperation to his voice, the hand he still has tangled in the sheets curls tighter, pulling them hard enough that they now lay heavily askew on the bunk. As much as there's a part of you that delights in the idea of pulling back again, leaving him there heavy and aching, you can only be so cruel to him in one night, so you let him guide your hand, squeezing him just a bit tighter, if only to hear the way his voice gets rougher, a stream of words passing his lips mindlessly as he chases his finish, mostly your name intermixed with a healthy dose of 'fuck, please, yes,' and of course a slew of babbled, 'thank ye,'s over and over again.

It doesn't take long for even that to shift into 'God ah'm so close,' and 'oh ah'm gonna come in yer bonnie mouth, pet. Gonna make sure ye taste m'fer days.'

You just squeeze the underside of his knee, not like you can talk around him, besides, you didn't want to waste any extra brainpower trying to formulate intelligible words; not when you could be using it instead to memorize every little way Soap was starting to crumble under you, the muscles in his thighs jumped as his back arched off the mattress, both of his blue eyes glazing over, wide but staring up at the ceiling unseeingly, at least until they flutter closed, your name bullies it's way out of his mouth, followed by a few more curses, and some pure unfiltered praise, as his come fills your mouth in thick spurts that you're quick to swallow down before he makes a mess, or at least, so he doesn't make any more of one than he already has.

Using his hold on your wrist, he guides you unsteadily off your knees, and on top of himself, causing your legs to tangle with his own. While he lets out a soft hiss of oversensitivity when you accidentally brush against him, Soap just winds his arms around your shoulders and pulls you in even closer for a kiss, tasting himself on your tongue with a soft groan. The way he's touching you quickly lost the notable edge of desperation that had been there before, the usual gentleness taking its place. "Yer tae good 'fer me, luvvy." He murmurs, as he brushes your lips together again.

One of your hands finds its way into his mohawk, absently tugging your fingers through the strands in a bid to try to bring some order to the mussed strands, before tangling near his nape and forcing his head back, he grunts, but doesn't fight you. There's something addicting about the way he always just lets you move him about, especially with the way it makes his eyes spark, and had his breath — which had yet to return to normal — quickening once more. You were more than willing to take advantage of him tolerating this while you could. "You're not getting off that easily, MacTavish." You say in as equally as low of a tone. "I'm not done with you yet." After all, you were still worked up and aching yourself, and you well and planned on making that Soap's problem, much like he had with you.

That familiar cheeky grin returns at full force as if you had just offered Soap everything under the tree on Christmas morning. "Aye, didnae think ah'd ferget aboot ye, pet." A shocked gasp passes your lips as he abruptly flips you both over, which causes the bunk to creak in protest under your combined weight on its old springs. Your gasp is quick to turn into a soft huff of amusement as he pins you beneath him and presses close, like he's doing his best to meld you together. "Gonna take such good care o' ye, luvvy." He murmurs as he peppers your face and neck in little fleeting kisses, as if eager to please you and trying his best to love on you everywhere at once.

You can't help the way you laugh at his antics, which somehow only seems to encourage him further as his hands find your hips, dragging you closer. Rolling your eyes fondly, you use your hold on his hair to pull him back in for another kiss.

He might be a brat, and a bit of a stray, but for better or for worse, he's definitely yours.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

________________________________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

If you have any ideas/prompts of what I should write next, feel free to comment or send me an ask. I’m open to writing more stuff with Soap, or any of the other members of the 141 (either with each other, reader, or a combination of everyone).

[chamomiletealeaf]

There’s nothing the 141 boys love more than a fat pussy. Like I’m talking no thigh gap, thick thighs, cushioning and hiding your pussy away nice and snug until they open your legs to eat you up. They’ll thank you for keeping their meal warm too.

Better yet if they’re fucking you. Holding your legs together and pushing your knees to your chest so they can watch your juicy pussy take them nice and deep.

They love when you wear bikinis, tight little shorts, anything that frames your pussy nice and pretty when you bend over.

Pussy jobs 100 percent. They love slotting their thick cocks between your puffy pussy folds and watching how cute it looks getting teased.

You bet they have cheeky little polaroids of you bending over with a cute shy expression on your face showing off your pussy. And don’t be surprised if they share them with the rest of the team 🫣

[7s3ven]

German Shepard hybrid! Reader who used to work as a bomb detector but was medically discharged due to PTSD.

Laswell who hires you as a supervisor to teach other hybrids how to sniff out a bomb but tells you to take it easy.

Task Force 141 who take a liking to you and find your long twitching ears adorable.

John Price who brings you a pastry every morning, knowing fully well you have yet to eat.

Simon Riley who calms you down from a panic attack when you think you hear the ticking of a bomb (it’s a clock).

Jonny McTavish who likes to play with your ears and talks to you in a way he would talk to an actual animal or baby (you secretly like it).

Kyle Garrick who brings you cups of tea and is always restocking the cupboards in the shared kitchen with your favourite snacks.

Task Force 141 who enter the office smelling strongly of nicotine and ash after a long mission. You mistake it for the familiar smell of a bomb and before Simon can react, you’re tackling him with your ears pressed flatly against your head.

“Bonnie, ay! It’s alright, it’s alright. There’s no bomb. You’re alright, lass.” Jonny eases you off Simon, letting you bury your face in his neck as you shake.

Kyle rubs soothing circles on your back as Simon stands up, slowly walking towards you.

“No bomb, see love? Nothing.” He removes his vest, shaking it. When you’ve finally calmed down, you nod.

“No bomb.” You whisper but it’s mainly to reassure yourself that you’re safe.

Task Force 141 who adore you, even in your panic-stricken moments where you act on pure instinct.

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Continuation of Soap using military talk on you, let's change things up a bit

When you use military talk it always makes Soap crack up.

The first time it happens he's playfully chasing you through the appartment. "You little shit! You ate the last one, don't deny it!", he is shouting after you. And when you just giggle he can feel his heart skip a beat.

"Can't prove it Johnny, maybe you ate it and forgot!", you counter. And you can hear the soft thumping of his feet speed up.

You're sqealing in delight as you try to rush around the couch to have a barrier between you and him. Before you can do that, there's fingers on your waist and Soap grabs you. Your body abruptly changes directions, being thrown onto the couch instead of running behind it.

You land with a soft "oof" and Soap immediately holds your wrists down. His cheeks are tinted a lovely shade of pink and he's panting.

You wriggle in a mock attempt to get free and say: "Captain! There's been an ambush!"

He grins: "Yeah? Captain, really?"

You laugh a bit and answer "Captain we got a Situation Alpha over here!"

Your heart soars when he barks out a laugh. "That...", he tries to stop laughing and fails "That's not how it works."

Now you're both breathless with amusement and you get out between huffs of breath: "We need backup! Got a charly foxtrott here! Need an evac right now, or we'll be in a deep code red!"

Soap absolutely wheezes in laughter above you, his entire body shaking and he finaly collapses onto you. His voice mocks you between his bursts of laughter. "In a code red...", he's near hysterical as he throws your words back at you "Got a charley... charley..." He gives up trying to repeat you, rolls off of you and falls to the soft carpet next to the couch with a thud.

You lean over the side still giggling and watch him, as he clutches his ribs while shaking with laughter.

"Ow, ow, ow it hurts.", he wheezes between laughing and your grin grows soft and fond.

Finally he calms down and smiles up at you, both your expressions mirroring the affection of the other.

He crawls up to you again, caging you in between his arms and leaning down until his lips brush yours. "Better rescue you from your dangerous situation then."

The following kiss if full of smiles.

[amaryllis-3]

Word count: 1.3k

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x Reader

Soap had always been proud of his dog hybrid nature. Who wouldn't when they could count on better senses and physical abilities than the rest of the human population, instincts that had proven true on too many occasions to be considered a fluke, and a pair of puppy-dog eyes that increased the chances of slipping out of tricky situations by a good 90 percent? Hell, he could look like a terrifying beast during operations, only to turn into the most endearing and lovable being in his everyday life. Not to mention all the extra cuteness points he could benefit from.

It was a double win.

Thus, he'd never found a reason to complain about his circumstances, not until that evening.

He'd caught it after a full day of training, one of the few that had managed to undermine a bit of his restless energy. The most heavenly and enticing scent he'd ever detected had passed right in front of his room. The man was on his feet before he could realise it, his quick legs bringing him to open the door far too dramatically just to peep out with his head, as if suddenly wanting to appear more subtle.

The corridor was completely deserted, no trace of the person who had so utterly captured his interest, except perhaps simply for the faint trail left by your perfume, still lingering in the air.

Johnny didn't let it drag him down. Instead of going back to his quarters and forgetting about it, his body moved without a second thought to search the area, nose needing to work overtime to try and pinpoint your exact location. Your essence was unique, new, and therefore easier to identify among the others he was already familiar with. Or should have been, in theory.

He'd ended up circling around the same corners and halls, tracking a trail to then get stuck in a blind spot and have to start over again, but nothing. He'd found absolutely nothing. A total fiasco.

You seemed to have dissolved into thin air as quickly as you had materialised.

Soap felt his mood plummet, fatigue setting in after the thrill of the hunt had subsided. The doggy ears flattened on his skull, lips pouting a little as he returned on his steps and settled to call it a night, for now.

He wasn't giving up; it wasn't really his style. This was purely a tactical pause to rearrange his strategy.

Johnny told himself that things would work out. They lived in a guarded area, where access was restricted and supervised. Surely you couldn't have sneaked in without a proper motivation, and had you become a stable resident, he would have met you sooner or later. So it was merely a matter of time.

Too bad that between thinking it and actually applying it there was a big ocean to bridge.

The man was going crazy. Not even a week had passed, and still there wasn't a single spot in the entire facility that wasn't soaked in your aroma. It was addictive, and it haunted him like a ghost, only to elude him if he decided to chase it. For a highly developed olfactory sense such as his, it was a real curse being able to smell you everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Being affected so much was foreign to him, a little alienating if he had to be honest. He'd tried asking at other hybrids if they'd noticed anything out of the ordinary, anything that might explain the reason for his strange behaviour. Maybe you simply had a more intense fragrance than average, and it might have similarly hit them. He hoped this was the case because otherwise he would have seriously begun to believe that he'd lost his sanity. Yet he'd received nothing useful other than a pat on the shoulder and the advice to not stress over it.

As if it was that easy.

He didn't know your appearance; he wasn't even sure whether or not you were someone he wanted to associate with, but one thing was clear: he needed to figure out who you were and fast. Every fibre of his being screamed at him to hurry up, to plant his hands on your hips and push you towards him, to lap your skin with his tongue, pointed canines sinking into it with the sole intent of marking you, making you his—

God, he was raving.

Luckily, it appeared some pious soul up above had chosen to not abandon him in complete delirium, since after sleepless nights spent tossing and turning, body sweating and mind clouded by heated fantasies, you had finally showed up.

He was hanging out with his squad, arms crossed at his chest and dark circles barely visible, when your scent hit him for the umpteenth time. There was, however, something different about it: it was stronger, more consistent, more real than it had ever been. His head immediately spun towards the source, his gaze fixed on the centre of his thoughts. You.

"Who's that?" He enquired before he could truly ponder it through. He was oblivious to what force was holding him back from throwing himself at you like a madman, but from now on he would certainly have to give some credit to his self-restraint. "New medic," came Ghost's dry reply first, followed next by Price's grunt. "Specialised in hybrid care, I 'eard."

Soap's heart did a little flip. His attention was solely on you as you crouched on the ground to check one of the young recruits who had been injured. You were actually more attractive than he could have imagined and also seemed a kind-hearted individual, if he could take as an indicator the diligence you were putting into your approach.

Well, that wasn't enough though, was it? He needed more to come up with some sort of justification as to why he was so drawn to a complete stranger.

Now that he was aware of your name and looks, discovering your routine and adapting it to his own was the inevitable next step. Of course he hadn't spoken to you, not yet at least. He merely stalked you around the base like a guard dog, supervising your every action and pretending to be doing something else whenever the sneaking suspicion of being watched led you to turn and check if that was true.

Could it result creepy? Yes. Would he be bothered by it? Not exactly.

What had started out as simple curiosity (lies; he was down bad from the beginning) was morphing not quite subtly into another feeling.

His cerulean eyes never left you; you were the first thing they lingered on when he walked into a room and the last from which they reticently parted when he moved away. The urge to constantly keep track of your whereabouts soon became a condition he was unwilling to renounce, not with the way sharing your spaces made him feel. Learning your preferences, habits, and mannerisms then had proved so effortless, so natural that not a single doubt had arisen in his mind.

Ah, he knew it. You couldn't be a horrible human, not with the way your being inebriated his consciousness, and your face pushed him towards total adoration. Johnny was falling in love all too fast, and he didn't regret it one bit. You were the most wonderful person who had ever stepped on this earth (he would have fought anyone who tried to say otherwise), the one he could share his future with.

And it looked like he wasn't alone in that, with the way more and more blokes had begun to crowd your space. Who did they think they were? Couldn't they see how you were well above their league or how clearly he'd already committed to keeping you for himself? Hell would freeze over before the Scot had given up what he considered naturally his, and you were no exception. It was the moment to carry on the perfect plan to win you.

➮ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[2kiran]

i hope your brain comes up with an idea for soap cuz my brain is EMPTY but i need that man crying and squirming from how good he feels:( I NEED TO EAT HIM OUT FOR HOURS AND TEASE HIS NIPPLES I CANT ARGHHH

꒦⁺ I WANNA F#CK, LIEUTENANT READER —— JOHN MACTAVISH

content ˖ ࣪ ˖ ftm soap (or cis), dom gn reader, sparring, lieutenant reader, implied taller reader, marking, superiority & humiliation kink, slight brat taming, overstim., oral sex, fingering, nipple play, modified 30/08/24

soap is becoming a little too stubborn for his own good.

You were growing more annoyed by the second.

For the past few weeks, Soap has been teasing you nonstop. Getting too close to you, performing suggestive acts in front of you, and whispering dirty words in your ear then pretending like nothing happened. He was practically eye fucking you with every chance he got.

Currently, he was sparring with you. He insisted because he wanted to train for ‘fun’ and he hasn’t in a long time, especially with you. Whenever he got to pin you down, he lay on top of you way too close. You’d feel his crotch on the lower part of your body.

“Ya already tired, lieutenant?” He teased, glaring at him in response as you drank water.

“‘Cause of you? I’m definitely not.” You wiped off your sweat from your forehead.

“Right, and yer definitely ain’t slackin’ off with me.” He retorted, wiping off his own sweat with the back of his hand.

“If I wasn’t, you’d be long knocked out, sarge.” You massage your sore neck, not reconsidering your words.

He laughed, “That a challenge?”

A newfound vigor stirred within you, “Sure is.”

With that, you both continued. He attempted to punch your chest, but you quickly dodged and kicked the small of his back. He groaned out, catching himself before he could hit the ground. He successfully landed a fist on your side, leaving you stumbling before punching his rib.

“Ow!” He winced, clutching the affected rib.

“Awh, did I hurt you?” You faked a sad pout.

He rolled his eyes at you, frowning, “Ah fuck off.”

You barked out a laugh, massaging your knuckles with your unharmed hand.

“This is over.” He sighed as he gripped the hem of his shirt, pulling it off. He caught you just slightly staring at him. “You like what you see?” He asked after a beat with a toothy grin.

“Absolutely not.” You eyed him, seeing a small bruise begin to form from where you hit him. “Sorry for your bruise.”

His eyes flashed with a wave of confusion before looking down at his torso, “Oh, that? Just a small one, and ‘s from you ‘nyway.” He winked.

Your eye twitched in irritation. “You tryna fuck with me, Soap?”

Oh shit. He gulped down water from his bottle, almost choking when you asked. He lightly coughed, “What’re ya talking ‘bout?” His eyes blinked, feigning innocence.

“Don’t do that.” You stalked closer to him.

“Don’t do what?” The corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Teasing me.” you replied, prowling forward. Seethe building in your throat.

Backing off, “But I’m not.” He was nearing the wall behind him with every step. “Oh yeah? Let’s not pretend you weren’t feeling me up.” His eyes widened a fraction as he felt his back meet the wall. “Must’ve been feelin’ things.” He muttered. You plant your hand next to his head, caging him in. “Quit lyin’ to me.” You trailed your free hand down, hovering right below his crotch.

“You’re already turned on, Soap.” You whisper directly into his ear. He can’t suppress the shiver, his hips lowering to your hand. You pull it away and you hear him stifle a whine.

“What’s got you acting like this?” You kiss the juncture where his neck and shoulder connects. “Wanted your attention.” He confesses, gasping as you sinked your teeth into his neck, sucking in a hickey. “Could’ve just asked, y’know?” You lick at the mark. “But there ain’t no fun in that.” He defends.

“If you weren’t gonna be this difficult, I would’ve been a lot nicer than I am now.” You hum, sucking at his collarbone and he squirms in your hold. “I like you like this.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. “You got a thing for marking?” You nip at the other one. “Only if it’s you.” his mouth curves into a smirk. “You’ve been such a brat, soap, I don’t think you deserve it.” you whisper against his flesh.

He whines, “C’mooon. Fuck me.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I got a better idea.”

He frowns, watching you kneel in front of him. His eyes widen in surprise when he’s hit by realization. “What are you—?”

You cut him off, “Silence, sergeant. You don’t want anyone else hearing you, do you?”

His eyes squint in a glare. You kiss the inside of his thigh, so close to where he needs you the most. “Do you like fucking your superior?” you suddenly question, gripping his thigh to give you space in between his legs. “I...” he hesitates. “You what, hm? Fucking a superior and acting very inappropriate during meetings, missions... and much more than I could name. You’re the one being so unprofessional, always begging to be fucked.” the tip of his ears burned in humiliation, cheeks flushing and a whimper suppressed.

“Bet you like the idea of someone being stronger, having more power than you. You just won’t admit it. Moaning a ‘lieutenant’ every chance you get to be alone,” you bite into the meat of his scarred thigh, “is that why you asked to spar with me? So you could get off on my strength, Soap?”

His teeth nips into his bottom lip, “Maybe.”

Your tongue gently licks at the bite. You pull his sweatpants along with his boxers, revealing his wet core. “Used my fingers earlier.” He answered your silent question.

“So impatient.” you teased, circling your tongue around his hole as he let out a quiet moan. You press your lips near his hole, causing him to squirm against you in anticipation. He opened his mouth to say something, but you shove your tongue into him. “You’re—hngh! Oh fuckkk...” he gasps, retracting the pink muscle before you thrust it back in, setting a steady pace. You withdraw slowly, roughly rolling your tongue against his entrance. “Ah-mmmhf... hhnnngh... ‘m already close, fuckin’– ah!”

You curled your slick tongue inside of him, just barely grazing his sweet spot. Alongside it, you begin to push your fingers into him, getting him closer to the edge. “Shit—fuck–” he muttered curses in-between grunts, before warm liquid filled your mouth and cascaded on your fingers. He attempted to lift his trembling hips away, but you didn’t let him. “We’ve only just started.”

“C-can’t! I ca—ffuuuck... can’t anymore!” he cries out, his hands grabbing at your hair and at the wall. He didn’t want to actually stop, already shoving your face into him more. He was only embarrassed at the thought of you milking him dry. Fingers grazed at his sweet spot, driving him closer to one of his many orgasms. The both of you were glad that no one at this hour needed to use the training room because they would be shocked to find sergeant Mactavish as a whiny, little mess nearly sitting on your face.

You’ve been at it for hours. Yet, you never grew tired of him. You’ve already developed a sweet tooth for him.

“I-I’m! Pleaaaaaseee... ‘m gonna cuum, ngh!” he mewled, the grip of his hand tightening on your hair. Your face was soaked with his new wave of euphoria. As he was recovering from his climax, you stood up and he immediately snapped his head up to gaze at you. Hurriedly, you close the gap, kissing him before he could relish at the glimpse. He whines into your mouth, and you knew he could taste himself.

Catching him off guard, your fingers quickened inside of him. His arms wrapped around your neck, hips bucking down for more friction. With your free hand, you circled your thumb around his nipple before giving it a tight pinch. He squealed when you withdrew for air, mouth falling to greedily inhale.

You leaned down to lick at the other one, earning you a sharp tugged at your hair. “S-sensitive! ‘m sensiiiitive there, please...” he slurred in a way that was oh so whiny. “You said you wanted attention, so I’m giving every part of you mine.” He sobbed as you sucked on his nipple, teeth clashing against his skin while your other rubbed against it.

He was drooling, blabbering incoherent phrases as you took your time with him. “Take this as your punishment for being a brat.” You lightly bite the bud, causing him to gasp loudly. “Mhhmm...mhmm, ‘m sorry, I’ll be good.” His eyes leaked even more tears from the pleasure. His brain turned into complete mush, his only thought was you.

His flesh was littered with your bite marks, an evidence that this wasn’t a dream.

“Lieutenant....” his lips curve around a moan of your rank, “k-keep goin’.” He whimpers once more as you tease his sensitivem perky nipples. “You’re so insatiable.” You tease affectionately.

He abruptly came with a loud groan, clenching around you. “Ah—fuck!” Your fingers slowed as you felt his slickness coat your palm. “Came just from that?” you lean down, offering a chaste kiss to the bruise you gave him. “Sh-shut it. Let me take care of you now.” He insists, his hand finding your belt.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

You know I'm sitting here thinking how fun it would be to date both Ghost and Soap at the same time. You would literally have a black cat boyfriend and a golden retriever boyfriend in one.

I'm talking you have Johnny who would die if he did not get to be cuddled every day. Man who have to get regular physical contact with you throughout the day because he might just throw a tantrum if he doesn't. So you best believe that he's pulling you into dim hallways for a make out session. Coming up to just grab your face and smash one good Irish kiss on your lips. And if he can hold your hand during the meeting he so would.

Then we have Ghost. Who's attention starved but also freaks the fuck out if you smother him too much. So when he comes to get love from you or when he allows you to get vulnerably close to him it feels so special. Hits a whole way different because you have this stern male curled up on your lap while you rack your nails through his scalp.

Picture this. You three are back at the rooms you share. It's like 2am. Ghost is probably still looking through paper work for tomorrow's meeting. You rock up because you can't sleep so you just place a quick kiss on his cheek as you walk by, not in the mood to distinct him but also you can't just go past him like he's not there. You pull a tub of ice cream and are more than happy to eat it in silence when sleepy Johnny rolls up because he can't sleep alone in that massive bed. Boy gets all pouty but that soon changes when you offer him some ice cream. And then god knows how but you two end up in a twerking competition with each other. And it's literally you two trying to throw it back while Ghost just shakes his head watching his two crackheads.

I doubt you would need a blanket with two radiators sleeping next to you as well. Like peeing isn't an option at night because girl how are you slipping out of a tangle of limbs. And you're always in the middle. God forbid you trying to take the side of the bed. They need you in the middle. Need not want. Knowing you are safely tucked between them is the only way both of them can sleep.

Also Soap would be down for anything. Face mask? Sure. You want to put oils in your hair? Count Soap in. I feel like my boy would even agree to get his nails painted. He is the coolest of the bunch leave him alone. With Ghost at least at the beginning the only thing you would be allowed to mess with would be his eyebrows. Giving him an eyebrow cut or just plucking out a more clean shape, while he holds onto your hips.

But then you have moments where you three are just sprawled on the sofa. You are resting against Simon, slowly running your fingers up and under his mask. Soap is laying practically on you both and Ghost is brushing his fingers through his hair. And it's just one happy mess of tangled bodies enjoying an evening off.

God, did I needed to get this off my chest... guah..

[gothghostiie]

thinking about johnny cominh home after a hard day, you're sitting on the couch and want to ask him how his day was and how hes doing, but before you can even say hello hes pulling your pants and undies down, getting on his, hooking your legs over his shoulders and nuzzling into your bush :((

[chamomiletealeaf]

Thinking about having to share a bed with Simon and Johnny that would barely even fit just two of you because the safe-house only had one bed.

You're so shy and can't even bring up the elephant in the room when it comes time for bed and you're blushing so damn hard you can't look at them. So when you all walk into the bedroom with the barely queen sized bed...

"Uh, I can probably curl up at the bottom or something, or make a bed on the floor. I don't want you two to be uncomfortable." You say avoiding eye contact and playing with your hands.

Simon and Johnny look at each other and smirk knowing full well they're gonna have you sandwiched snugly between them tonight.

"Don't worry love we can make it work, it's just one night, we're all adults." Simon says, and you can hear the smugness in his voice.

"Yeah bonnie it's nothing. I'm sure we'll all be comfortable. Don't worry your pretty little head." Johnny reassures.

Not much later, you're there in your tiny pajama shorts and low cut long sleeve shirt you brought to sleep in, thinking you would be sleeping alone in a separate room and bed. Had you known you'd be sharing a bed with these two burly men you'd have brought something more... appropriate...

You're sandwiched between Simon and Johnny, ass pressed against Johnny's front and tits squished against Simon's chest. You shift around a little bit trying to get comfortable and apologize when you press your ass further into Johnny.

"Sorry Johnny." You mumble, face heating with embarrassment.

"It's alright lass, I'm quite comfortable. How 'bout you L.T.?" Johnny teases, squeezing your hip as he "adjusts" his hips too.

"Snug as a bug Johnny." He responds with a playful tone.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't soaking your panties right now. Even though you were embarrassed out of your mind, being smushed between Simon and Johnny was a dream come true. You try to hide your face in Simon's chest to go to sleep but the feeling of Johnny's thick cock pressing against your ass was just too much. And fuck, Simon's warm and big chest against your cheeks with his massive arms around you were driving you insane too.

They knew what they were doing too, because little did you know that Price set all of this up on purpose at the request of the two fuckers. Props to Gaz as well for suggesting a smaller bed to really get you between them.

You just wished you hadn't worn gray shorts, because the dark wet spot in them was becoming pretty obvious, and it wasn't long before Johnny and Simon finally took turns shoving their noses between your thighs to get a whiff 🥴

[7s3ven]

FILE LOADING. TF 141 x hacker! Reader, pt 1

( full master list) (intro to this series)

IN WHICH… you needed a way to lessen your prison sentence and TF 141 needed an efficient hacker… as well as someone to spoil.

Notes: hacker! Reader, reader has a criminal background, reader has piercings, tattoos + tooth gems

A/N: first cod series finally lol… please like this post guys, I finished it right after I slipped while practising a taekwondo kick and body slammed into the tiled floor 😭.

—

The air inside your prison cell was muggy and overall unpleasant, causing beads of sweat to form on your forehead as you fanned your face.

The pathetic excuse for a window was not helping, letting only a small amount of oxygen enter the tiny room.

In all honesty, you weren’t treated as badly as other prisoners. A coworker of yours had pulled some strings the moment you were arrested, which meant you got better food and some perks.

But as always, life in jail still sucked.

You were too busy staring at the blank wall in front of you to notice the metal door keeping you locked up was now creaking open.

“Get up.” The warden harshly nudged your shoulder, barely giving you a moment to compose yourself. Your hands were yanked behind your back, the cool metal handcuffs digging painfully into your soft skin.

Your jaw clenched as you were dragged down the dimly lit hallway. You knew better than to ask questions as they would not be answered. All you could do was walk in the direction the warden shoved you in.

The breeze from the well-ventilated interrogation room was the first thing to hit you as you entered. You arched an eyebrow at the woman sitting at the table, her hands gracefully clasped together.

“And you are?” You didn’t recognise her as you slumped into the seat across from her, purposely sending the warden a biting glare.

“I’m Kate Laswell, a CIA operative.” She didn’t waste time before she spoke, leaning forward to catch your attention.

Your lip peeled back into a sneer, “The worst kind of people.”

She ignored your jab. “I’ve come here to give you an offer. You see, SAS is in need of a hacker and I’m told you’re the best fit for the job.” You watch as she opens a slim folder, spreading out the images for your careful gaze to study. They’re printouts of your exploits, files nobody was supposed to obtain. You had deleted your digital footprint after hacking databases, you were sure of it.

“You’re good. Too good to waste in a cell." You hear her softly sigh.

“I did what I did. The justice system isn’t so flattered by my ability to retrieve their sensitive information. Plus, I did murder someone… a few people, actually. So in all honesty, this isn’t an unfair punishment.” You leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, crossing one leg over the other.

“We are well aware of your long record.” Laswell sends you a pointed look. You merely grin, your canine teeth glinting in the light.

“Did you see my arson report?” Your lips spread into a grin, “Because that’s the best one. Set an ex-boyfriend’s car on fire and it just lit up. It was great. You should read it sometime.”

Laswell cleared her throat, reminding you of the situation at hand. “As I was saying, I can lift your jail sentence with a click of my fingers but only if you agree to work for me.”

“Thought I was working for SAS.” You interrupted.

“You’ll work for an elite team called Task Force 141… but you’ll answer to me. I give you the orders.”

“And the catch of this job?”

Laswell’s lips curve into a faint smile. “This is not a job offer, Miss L/N, it is a uniquely presented opportunity. You will get no pay for your services. The reward it reaps, however, is greater.”

You paused for a second. What could possibly be better than money?

“Freedom.” As if reading your mind, Laswell spoke again. “If you do this, you’ll be free before next year. This is possibly your only shot at freedom, do not throw it away. If you stay locked up here, you’ll only rot while the world keeps spinning.”

Now she had your attention. “You must be desperate if you wanna hire me.” A chuckle slipped past your lips but it was mainly to ease the awkward tension that had settled. “What would the job include?” You tilted your head, subtly shifting forward to hint your interest.

“You’ll be working alongside Task Force 141, giving them intel on possible threats and making their jobs easier by gaining access to classified information. I hear you don’t work well with other people but really, what choice do you have?”

Her words prodded at you and the teasing smile on her face aggravated you but she was right. You had no other choice.

The room was silent as you weighed out your choices. The walls seemed to close in on you, a stark difference to the freedom you were promised mere moments ago.

“So I risk my life for this so-called elite team… and in return I get some vague promises of freedom? Smells like bullshit. You lot will probably stab me in the back.” You scoffed.

“You’ve already painted a bright red target on your back. It’s only a matter of time before people realise you’re worth more dead than alive. With us, you’ll have protection. And a purpose.”

Laswell stood up, pushing her chair back with deliberate calmness. The legs scraped against the concrete floor as she did so. “Make no mistake, L/N, people like you don’t simply disappear. Someone will come for you… someone who wants your head on a stick.” Her words hung heavily in the air.

There was a flicker of fear in your eyes and like a feral predator, she ate it up.

“Okay.” You slowly murmured. She had convinced her with her carefully concealed threats. “I’ll do it.”

Laswell smirks. "Good. Pack your things. Your new team will be picking you up in an hour.”

—

The loud roar of the helicopter blades filled the air as you stepped onto the tarmac, shielding your eyes against the bright sun. You rubbed your aching wrists, clicking your tongue at the bruises the tight handcuffs had left.

A few soldiers are waiting for you into the chopper, their silhouettes barely visible through the dark tinted windows.

“Couldn’t just send a car?” You grumbled as you climbed into the helicopter. Laswell followed close behind, unbothered and seemingly used to such a commotion.

“Always for the theatrics, John.” She jokes with the man sitting across from her, eyes crinkling as she grins.

You glance at the man’s name tag, reading Captain John Price. He’s handsome… for a man his age. In a ruggish and rough sort of way. A cloud of smoke slips past his lips as he calmly puffs on a cigar, not at all caring how the chopper unsteadily tilts to the side.

“This the hacker? That pretty ‘lil lass over there?” A voice, thick with a Scottish accent, cuts through the silence. Your eyes dart to stare at the burly man with a Mohawk as he looks you up and down. “Thought the hacker was a bloke. Ain’t complainin’ though.”

You stiffen at the comment, running your tongue over your top row of teeth. It unintentionally gives him a view of your shiny tooth gems. “Thought you lot were an elite crew. Y’all don’t fact check?” You lean back into the cushioned seat. It’s surprisingly comfortable, much better than the stone-hard mattress back in your cell.

The Scot laughs, unbothered. “She’s got bite. I like ‘er. Name’s John McTavish but most call me Jonny. You can call me Soap if ya want.”

You sarcastically laugh. “Soap? What kind of muppet name is that? You had a reputation for eating soap as a kid?”

Soap’s eyes light up, not what you were expecting with your insult. “Ay! The cap’n said the same thing! Called me a muppet too!”

“You still are.” Someone chimes in from the front. You didn’t even realize there were two more people squeezed in to the seats in front of the controls.

The one in the passenger seat turns around, smiling. With his soft brown eyes and gentle features, you can’t help but find him pretty.

“Y/N L/N, right? Nice to meet you. I’m Kyle Garrick.” His voice has a slight British accent to it. “This is Ghost next to me.” He jabs a thumb at the man wearing a skull mask who’s doing a poor job at steering the helicopter.

“Ghost?” You question, “What sort of name is that?”

“Simon Riley.” Ghost grunts out. His British accent is somewhat aggressive, evident in every syllable he barks out.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. For some reason, he annoys you. It’s more like the way he’s looking at you through the eye-level mirror.

The chopper shakes again. You watch as Kyle grasps his seat, his grip so tight it almost cracks the delicate leather. “Sorry.” Simon gruffly replies.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward. “What’s up with him?” You nod your head in Kyle’s direction.

“Fell out the bloody helicopter when Ghost was last flying.” Kyle replies. You almost laugh. It’s not something that should be amusing but your lips quirk into a small grin.

“So… does this whole arrangement cover my food and accommodation?” You question, suddenly aware of how hungry you are. Laswell slips out a small folder, handing it to you.

“Your accomodation will be one of our safe houses twenty minutes away from base. We considered having you live on the base itself but socialising isn’t part of your job. You’ll be living with the Task Force to ensure you don’t run. And all your costs will be covered. You will be given an allowance for your own expenses such as impulsive purchases.”

“Thought you said I got no money.”

“Once you have completed what is necessary, you will no longer have access to the allowance.” Laswell clarifies.

“And I walk free.”

Laswell nods, “Then you are free to go. If needed, CIA will pay to transfer you to another country so you can start anew. Most do not get second chances, L/N, so be careful.”

You lick your cracked lips, aimlessly playing with the hem of your oversized shirt. Maybe you could go to Europe; it had been a little dream of yours as a kid.

“Should go to Scotland, lass.” Jonny pipes up above the loud helicopter blades.

“London’s better.” Simon retorts, “Can actually understand what they’re saying.”

“What about Korea?” Kyle butts in.

“You aren’t even Korean.” Jonny argues back, lightly scoffing.

“Yeah, but I wanna go. Is that a crime, Soap?”

Their pointless bickering was comforting in a way. You had spent the last few years of your life locked away, isolated most of the time and alone. It was nice listening to people talk again.

Simon landed the helicopter with surprising grace, being the first to unbuckle his seatbelt and jump out. Kyle was next. Laswell unlocked the sliding door, stepping aside to allow you to slip past first.

You merely stared at her before muttering a tense thanks.

“Watch your step.” Kyle warned you as he held out a hand to steady you.

“It’s literally three feet. I can manage.” You snap back, effortlessly stepping out of the chopper. Jonny lightly chuckled while Kyle slowly withdrew.

“Feisty.” Kyle muttered.

You stared up at the safe house, tilting your head. “It’s… cute.” You hummed. It was a cottage, not the first thing you expected as a safe house.

“Were the pink roses your idea, Riley?” You joked, pointing at the pretty flowers.

He grunts, a sound you’ve suddenly become familiar with. “I prefer Ghost.” He corrects you.

You shrug. “Used to call inmates by their last name. Helped me ignore them when they tried hitting on me in the early years of prison.” You stepped forward onto the stone cobble path, admiring it.

“A small cottage… bet this is a military dream, huh?” You kicked a pebble.

“It is, actually.” Jonny pipes up, “It’s every man’s dream to retire in a cute little house with a pretty lass.”

You lightly scoffed, “I ain’t here to play work wife, McTavish. Can’t even cook.”

“Thank goodness we have Gaz then.” Jonny retorts, “Bloke should be a chef if this career doesn’t work out.”

You take a moment to study the house and its surroundings while the others file through the door. There’s a small white Pickett fence wrapped around the land, bright green blades of grass wrapping around the neatly painted wood.

The cottage is clearly old but well renovated. Rows of vines adorn the side, a surprisingly aesthetic sight. There’s a garden filled with sweetly smelling flowers and the same pink roses sitting at your feet are also perched on top of the porch.

The windows are the favourite aspect of yours. They decorate the stone walls, a sharp gothic detail to them.

It’s almost too pretty for a criminal like you.

“You comin’ in?” It’s Kyle who notices your absence, peeking his head past the doorway. For a moment, he thought you had made a run for it but he was relieved to find you standing among the garden.

You clear your throat, pulling at the bottom of your shirt. “Yeah.” You step onto the rickety porch, the wood creaking under your weight.

The interior of the house is so different from your tiny cell. Walking past the door almost feels like walking into an entirely new life.

Jonny is scavenging through the fridge, pulling out a tall bottle of beer. “Want some?” He offers it to you.

“I can’t drink, warden’s orders.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“It’s just a beer, can’t hurt ya. ‘Sides, you ain’t in jail no more.” Jonny insists, shaking the bottle. It’s tempting but on instinct, you glance at Laswell.

She’s sitting beside Price, talking to him in a hushed tone and going over a file, presumably one containing details about you.

“I ain’t stopping you from drinking, kid.” Laswell says, feeling your stare on her face.

Hesitantly, you snatch the bottle from Jonny, popping the lid open with practised precision. You haven’t tasted beer, or any other alcohol for that matter, in a long time. You’ve never liked beer… but the first burning sip feels heavenly.

“You got any vodka?” You ask, glancing into the top cupboards.

“Do we look Russian? Nah, can barely drink that shit straight.” Jonny’s face scrunches up at the thought.

“Bourbon then.” Your words catch Simon’s attention.

Jonny grins as he reaches up, grasping a fancy-looking bottle. “Only other person here who likes bourbon is the LT. Guess he isn’t alone anymore.” He pours you a glass, handing it to you in exchange for your bottle of beer.

“Don’t understand how you lot can stand beer. Too bitter for my liking.” You mutter, pacing around the room.

You hear Simon quietly hum in agreement. “Finally someone smart.”

COD TAGLIST (comment to be added/removed): @jenepleurepasbaby @rm25711 @talia-the-gemini @margaaaa30 @mixplara @alex—awesome—22

@lunamoonbby @little-b33 @ghostswife-8 @tea-drinking-nerd @certainlygay @lucienofthelakes @supaturtl3 @pr3ttypupp4 @royalz658 @whoreforfictionalmen18 @ashy-akuma @1bucky-barnes-wife1 @chloepluto1306 @voguiing @eyeless-kun @joshwashingtonmybeloved @fuzzyducky3 @childishname @angel-bugz @kee-0-kee @undercover-smutlover @10honeybee01 @kat247 @munson24 @sweetlittleblackrose @babybimbo777 @wfinniegenx @galactict3a @hyperfixatedcatlover @creepumiku @yoontoons @moraxnomora @1ckyfairy @lunerbitch @tizylish

[shinoko-oshi]

Simon fixes your sleep schedule

Simon hadn’t realized just how fucked your sleep schedule was until he moved in with you. His birdie.

Waking up in the middle of the night or at the ass crack of dawn only to find you curled up on the couch, blanket wrapped around you, phone in hand, eyes barely open. Sometimes, you’d be watching a show, other times scrolling mindlessly, and on rare occasions, half-asleep but refusing to actually get up and go to bed.

And then, without fail, you’d spend the next day complaining about how tired you were. You’d drag yourself around the apartment, yawning every five minutes, rubbing at your eyes like a petulant child. And when he told you—plain and simple—that you needed to go to bed earlier, you had the nerve to roll your eyes at him.

“Okay, dad,” you’d say before walking away, completely ignoring his advice.

No amount of reasoning could convince you. If anything, the more he brought it up, the more stubborn you became.

So, Simon took matters into his own hands.

First, he switched out your usual tea for chamomile, hoping it would knock you out easier. Every night, he handed you your favorite mug, tea bag steeping inside, always a different flavor, something new to throw you off. Just in case you started getting suspicious.

You never noticed. Never questioned it. Just sipped at it, curled up in your blanket, completely oblivious.

Then came the melatonin sleep spray. He practically doused the corner of the couch where you always nested, soaking the blankets and pillows in the scent, ensuring that once you settled in, sleep would come whether you liked it or not.

And slowly, it started working.

You began dozing off earlier. The nights where he found you awake at ungodly hours became less frequent. You stopped yawning every other sentence. Stopped rubbing at your eyes like you were seconds away from passing out on your feet.

The dark circles under your eyes faded. Your complaints about exhaustion became fewer and farther between.

He never said anything about it. Never told you. Just watched in silent satisfaction as his plan worked.

But his favorite part? When you passed out on the couch instead of the bed.

Because that meant he got to pick you up, carry you to bed, and watch you sleep peacefully for a moment before pressing a kiss to your forehead and climbing in beside you.

It was selfish, really.

Because, sure, fixing your sleep schedule was technically for your health. But he couldn’t deny that he loved the way you curled into him when he slipped under the covers. The way you nuzzled into his chest, warm and pliant, letting out a soft sigh in your sleep as he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer.

And, well better sleep also meant more cuddles.

And Simon loved that most of all.

Ik your sleep schedule is fucked. Go to bed.

[thebookbutterfly]

fanfiction isn’t enough, I need to chew on him

[partiallysame]

Being Price’s lil wife

-Task force 141 knew Price was married. Man wore his ring religiously, always putting it back on the second they were in the helicopter/plane/whatever after each mission

-He’d come to work with a lunch packed with a cute lil heart note

-To be honest they all assumed you were the same age as Price (old) He always said he’d been “married for years” (3)

-They never knew your name, Price only ever referred to you as The Missus

-Gaz swore Price had a photo of you in his wallet (he did) but they never knew what you looked like untilllllllll

-You called your husband simply to complain. The AC had gone out and the repair man wouldn't be able to get there for a couple days. No no this simply would not do, his perfect lil lady could not be uncomfortable in her own home he wouldn’t have it but fuck he’s out of the country for a few more days. His team however is not and while stupid, they do know how to do maintenance work (why? Just because.)

-He called his team for a very important mission. Gave them the address, accompanied with “I don’t want to hear a fucking thing about you causing any trouble or being disrespectful to the Missus you hear?” The boys were absolutely giddy to finally see the ever so important Missus.

-The second you opened the door Soap was apologizing for having the wrong house and oh so politely asked if you knew where the Price household was. This had to be the wrong one because there you stood, pretty young thing, big doe eyes. Standing in just a big shirt ending at the very tops of your thighs, lashes batting at the three soldiers standing at your door.

-“You’ve got the right place. John told me you were coming, please come in.” You had to hold in a giggle, watching all of their eyes go wide. Gaz immediately looking at the sky, the floor, anywhere but the wife of his captain that he was just undressing with his eyes.

-When you turned to guide them into the house they all saw PRICE printed on the back of the large tshirt just barely covering your ass (this is your own home pants are never required and its hot as hell without the ac). Now it was Ghost’s turn to look anywhere but at you.

-As they worked you’d bring them water or snacks. They now understood why Price kept you hidden from them. The perfect lil housewife. The woman of all of their dreams already taken.

-When they were finished they went to the kitchen to inform you they were done only to find a full meal set on the table waiting for them but worst of all? There you were reaching up to the top cabinet. On your tippy toes, your shirt (Price’s shirt) riding up enough to expose the bottom of your ass and lacey pink panties. Soap had to bite his knuckle to keep from groaning. Ghost grabbing the tops of his teammates heads, turning them away from the incredible sight in front of them.

-Price was right to keep you hidden from them

-They might just have to sneak in and break something every time Price was out of town if it meant this is what they got to see.

Price's lil wife Masterlist

[devil-in-hiding]

something something reader is a bartender at a popular little pub, and night after night you are hit on by men so plastered you often have to sigh and call over one of the guys you work with the idiots end up vomiting all over themselves (sometimes it’s worse than vomit but thankfully you can count those incidents on one hand)

you think by slipping on your grandmothers old wedding ring, it will sway men from hitting on you at work. And it does, there’s still some that try to test their luck, but the minute you flash that pearl on your finger they’re scurrying off to find their next target.

Cue four new regulars, four attractive military men that always flash you a polite smile and leave you a nice tip. Price comes in more than the others, claiming the stool near your register for himself, Ghost doing the same the rare nights he slinks into the pub. Soap and Gaz come in together some weekends, sitting themselves in front of you with big grins on their faces as they watch the game on the tv overhead.

They’re all sweet, a little cocky at times but nothing that one of their grins or sly remarks can’t make up for. They ask how their favorite girl is doing when they return from longer missions, genuinely listening as you fill them in on the things that have happened since they’ve been away.

Perfect gentlemen.

Until one night you forget your ring, having had to rush your shower and sprint out the door to make it to the pub before the nightly rush.

You filling glasses when you hear the chime of the bell and a familiar laugh fill the pub.

“Was wondering if I’d see you boys tonight.” You smile, motioning for them to give you a moment as you serve the other patrons.

When you slide back over to them, you immediately reach for their usual glasses, grabbing your cloth to wipe them off, when a hand clamps around your wrist and you jump, nearly dropping the glass as Ghost turns your hand over in his.

“Trouble at home pretty?” Price comments, concern etched on his face and it takes a moment for you to catch on, and you can’t help the little giggle that spills out.

“Oh! My ring… It’s kind of a funny story. I uhm.. I’m not actually married.” You laugh, expecting them to laugh along with you, but all you feel are four pairs of eyes piercing into you.

“Come again?” Gaz asks, voice a tad deeper than usual and you ignore the chills it sends down your spine.

“I started wearing it so some of the drunkards would leave me be, kind of forgot about it, just became habit.” You chuckle nervously, hand still in Ghost’s grasp and he’s eyeing you in a way you’ve never seen before.

“Hm. Interesting.”

[stargirlstabber]

imagine the task force 141 falsely accusing you of being a traitor to the team. knowing your biggest fear, they use it against you. water. water, where your feet can't touch the ground. water you can't see through. at first it started with waterboarding. then slowly but surely they threatened to drop you into the pool. into the dark, deep pool. even john, who was like a father to you before, didn't help you. no. not at all. actually, he was the one who stepped into the water fully clothed, dragging your crying and squirming form with him into the bloodcurling liquid. your tears blended in with it while you we're screaming, practically begging that you were the wrong one. that you'd never do something like that. but they just stood at the edge of the pool, watching their captain almost drowning your terrified self. how would they react, when they get the information that you really weren't the one...?