#soapxreader

[novalityy]

No going back, Part two.

⋆·˚ ༘*🔭 In which a call is way more concerning than it seemed.⋆·˚ *🔭

Warnings *ੈ✩‧₊˚ - Blood, fighting, arguments, framing, crying, torture, taskforce 141 being mean, angst, some comfort? Tell me if I forgot some!

Call of duty taskforce 141 x reader.

HI Everyone! How are y'all? I have finished part two, please give me some ideas on how this story should end! I hope y'all enjoyed thisssssss :)

For the past twenty-four hours, all you had felt was pure, unrelenting agony. The pain was a maddening blend of physical and mental torment, twisting and gnawing at every last shred of your will. That you’d managed to stay awake for the last day surprised even you.

It was a cruel sort of perseverance, one that left you teetering on the edge of reason. Blinking with the only eye that wasn’t swollen shut, you cast your gaze downward, focusing on your lap, on the wreckage of yourself.

Blood. It was everywhere.

The white shirt you had pulled on that morning—clean and bright—was now drenched in crimson. No trace of its original color remained. Your jeans, once a comfortable faded blue, had turned so dark with blood they now looked black. The sticky warmth clung to you, soaking your skin, seeping into every fiber, until it felt like even your soul might be bleeding out.

The sheer amount of blood you’d lost was staggering, and yet here you were, somehow still breathing. Not for much longer, though.

A bitter laugh—if it could even be called that—escaped your lips, gurgling through the blood pooling in your throat. So this was how it would end, not in some grand act of heroism, not even in a blaze of reckless glory, but here, like this. Alone, bleeding out.

No, not alone.

Your gaze shifted upwards, slow and heavy, and there he was. Jho—no, Soap.

You refused to call them by their real names anymore. It made it easier that way. At least, you told yourself it did. Calling him “Soap” put distance between you, a barrier against the raw, aching betrayal that carved deeper wounds than any knife ever could.

He stood a few feet away, his posture tense, shoulders hunched like a man carrying the weight of the world. Or maybe the weight of what he’d done. Of what they had all done.

Out of all of them, Soap had come the farthest while trying to avoid hurting you. His blows landed softer, his hands hesitated. But it wasn’t mercy—not really. Even now, he looked like he was barely holding himself together, struggling against the very actions he had chosen to take. And yet, despite his visible anguish, he had still done it.

He had crossed a line that no amount of guilt could erase.

Soap had always been an open book. Honest to a fault, with a heart that wore its emotions like a badge. You used to admire that about him, the way he seemed to carry a soul so full of light and warmth, even in the darkest places. But now? Now you hated him for it. Because it made this worse. It made him harder to hate in the way you needed to, and yet you hated him all the same.

You never thought you’d feel that way about him. The Scott who could make anyone laugh, who could turn the worst of days into something almost bearable. But he wasn’t that person anymore—not to you. He had become something else, someone who had carved pain into your body and left you drowning in it.

And yet, there was no mistaking the anguish on his face now. His brows were furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. The faint tremor in his hands was just visible, even as he tried to hide it by clenching them into fists. He looked at you as though he might shatter under the weight of it all, but you refused to let it move you. Refused to let that flicker of humanity sway you.

Because no matter how much it hurt him to do this, it had hurt you more.

“I hope it was worth it,” you croaked, your voice barely more than a wet rasp. The words sliced through the heavy silence between you, and for the first time, Soap flinched.

Good, you thought. Let him feel it. Let him carry this.

And yet, even as the hatred burned brightly within you, a part of you—the part you hated most—couldn’t help but mourn the loss of who he used to be. Of who you both used to be.

The door creaked open, and you flinched, your entire body tensing. Gaz entered the room, his presence suffocating, his footsteps heavy with purpose. A shiver of dread rippled through you.

Soap had guilt written all over his face, but Gaz wore his emotions differently—his anger burned hot and wild. And his anger was strong. He had done almost as much damage as Ghost, and it showed in the way he looked at you now.

"Stop trying to guilt him," Gaz spat, his tone sharp and biting. "You’re the one who decided to be Makarov’s bitch."

The words stung, sharp as a knife, but you forced yourself to look at him, even as your chest tightened.

"You’re still stuck on that," you rasped, your voice weak and uneven.

The effort of speaking tore at your throat, and a coughing fit escaped you, bringing blood up with it. You turned your head, spitting it onto the floor, crimson droplets against the cold, gray cement. When you continued, your voice was quieter but steady.

"I am not the one who did it—"

Before you could finish, his fist connected with your face. The impact was brutal, sending you and the chair toppling to the ground. Your head slammed into the floor, pain radiating through your skull. The chair beneath you cracked, its jagged edges pressing painfully into your side.

You groaned, the sound barely escaping your lips. Your vision blurred as tears and blood mixed together, and for a moment, all you could do was lie there, breathing heavily.

Panic clawed at your throat, threatening to take over, but you forced it down. You can’t panic. Not now. Not here.

Gaz crouched beside you, his light eyes blazing with fury. His jaw was tight, his breathing harsh. He slapped your cheek hard enough to sting, forcing your eye open.

"Look at me," he ordered, his voice low and venomous.

You did. Slowly, your one good eye fluttered open, your gaze locking with his.

For a moment, something shifted. His expression froze, the rage faltering. Your eye—your only remaining window to the world—looked dead.

The spark, the fight, the defiance that used to burn so brightly was gone. Completely. Utterly. Gone.

You were gone.

That single moment of eye contact hit him like a punch to the gut.

His anger didn’t vanish, but it cracked, if only slightly.

You could see it in the way his jaw slackened for a split second, the way his breath hitched.

He rose abruptly, towering over you as his fists clenched at his sides. His anger returned, shielding him from whatever emotions had started to surface. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked out, Soap following him, the door slamming shut behind them.

You lay there for a long moment, your body broken, blood pooling beneath you. Every breath was a struggle, every second dragged like an eternity.

But it wasn’t the physical pain that consumed you. It was the mental.

Closing your eye, you let the pain and exhaustion consume you.

＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚

The sudden yelling jolted you awake, pulling you from the edge of unconsciousness. A female voice cut through the haze, sharp and desperate, and it was getting closer to where your body lay in a pool of your own blood on the cold, unforgiving floor.

You felt hands on you, hurried and frantic, as the restraints holding you down were pulled away. A firm grip steadied your limp form, propping you up against a warm body.

“Sweetheart! Wake up! C’mon! CALL THE FUCKING MEDICS!”

The voice was familiar, laced with authority and a kind of raw emotion you weren’t used to hearing from her. Laswell. It was Laswell.

Creaking your eye open, you caught sight of her blonde hair, disheveled and wild.

Her face was a mixture of fury and something else—fear, maybe? You couldn’t tell.

A faint smile pulled at your cracked lips, though it didn’t reach your eyes. It was all you could manage, a fleeting gesture that likely did nothing to ease her panic.

“HOW COULD YOU? UNDER WHAT PROOF?”

Laswell’s voice rose again, trembling with rage as she turned her fury elsewhere.

“I AM THE ONE WHO MAKES THESE DECISIONS. YOU HAVE NO INTEL, NO RIGHT, NO FUCKING SKILL TO DETERMINE WHO THE TRAITOR IS! AND IF YOU DO YOU REPORT TO ME!”

You blinked sluggishly, your mind struggling to keep up.

It took you a moment to figure out who she was yelling at, but then you heard the sound of boots scuffing against the floor. More feet entering the room.

A few sharp gasps followed as they took in the sight of you, and you could imagine why. You probably looked as close to death as anyone could without actually crossing over.

Laswell’s grip on you loosened, her touch lingering for a moment before she let go.

You felt other hands now—gentler, quicker. The medics.

The cool sting of antiseptic, the pinch of needles, and muffled voices surrounded you as they worked.

You couldn’t hold on anymore.

The weight of it all—pain, exhaustion, betrayal—dragged you down. Your good eye fluttered closed, the world fading into darkness once more.

And this time, you didn’t fight it. You went limp.

＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚

holy shit, I loved this, I hope u too?????? Ily all thank y'all so much for the kind comments y'all deserve the world!

Tag list＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚ -> @gaiagurl05 @msjaeger @notsochillnerd @cocklivers @sensiblesomething

[chaser-mw]

I CAN OFFICIALLY DIE NOW HE NOTICED ME

The only next step is to become best friends. SCOTLAND FOREVER 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🫡

[doxkbdbsish]

One shot or ??

I'm just starting to write fanfics. English is not my first language. Please don’t judge too harshly—I’m still learning

You place another box on porch, wipe your forehaead with your palm, and axhale.

The day was hot, and you were already quite tired from unloading your things.

Because of the bulky boxes, you don’t immediately notice the figure on the neighboring porch.

But then—you feel a gaze.

You lift your head…

And lock eyes with the one watching you.

A tall, broad-shouldered man, casually leaning against the railing.

A light breeze plays with his light-brown hair, but even the slightly messy mohawk doesn’t hide the sharp, predatory precision in his gaze.

His blue eyes are slightly narrowed, his lips curled into a lazy but good-natured smile

He looks as if just a few minutes ago, he leaned back in a chair with a cup of tea and thought, "I wonder who we have here?"

"Oh, hey," his voice is deep, with a slight Scottish accent. "So, you’re the new neighbor?"

You smile, brushing dust off your hands.

"Yeah. Just moved in today."

He pushes off the railing and steps down from the porch, moving smoothly, confidently, but without a hint of aggression.

Just… very calmly.

"Johnny," he introduces himself, extending a hand.

You shake it—a firm grip, but not crushing

"Nice to meet you," you reply.

Johnny glances over the boxes, tilting his head.

"Let me help?"

You chuckle, waving him off instinctively

"Oh, I’ll manage."

But before you even finish speaking, he’s already bending down, effortlessly grabbing the heaviest box and swinging it onto his shoulder in one smooth motion.

You blink, a little taken aback by how fast he moved.

"I believe you," he smirks, "but that doesn’t mean I can’t play along."

You don’t know what to say.

You didn’t have time to refuse or even thank him, and he’s already climbing onto your porch and setting the box down by the door.

You blink.

"Uh… thanks?"

He turns back, chuckling.

"No problem. I’m always around if you need anything."

You don’t yet know that he really will always be around.

[iheartchv]

hi!! i hope you’re doing well! i don’t know if ur still doing match ups or not, but i thought id give it a shot?

i’m 5’3, pale and petite (also flat but i *kinda* got an ass.. this was weird to type lol), but i don’t have the prettiest smile. i’m also blonde with blue eyes!

i listen to kpop, but i like music from all sorts of genres and styles. ex: depeche mode, nickelback, ashnikko, mitski, etc. if the song is good then i’m listening!

i’ve recently been sketching at work to pass the time, but other than that i don’t really have any interesting hobbies. i play video games, watch youtube and movies— but i want to do more stuff! i’d love to travel the world and take part in different cultures. i know id want a career in something creative.

i’m pretty shy, i only really talk to people i feel comfortable with but i get along with most people! i’m pretty awkward though, i stumble over a lot of words and talk fast when i get excited (my mouth moves faster than my brain). but i love to laugh and make other people laugh!!

sorry i just unloaded all of that on you good lord 😭 again, don’t feel obligated to respond or anything!! have a good day!! mwah

🤔 I match you with...

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish 🧼

I think Soap would be a match for you

I feel like he would help you out of your comfy space, so to speak

He finds you cute overall

You don't have a pretty smile?

He thinks so

"Aw, come on. O' course ye do"

He'd flirt with you, trying to get something out of you

But if it's a smile, he'd grin even bigger

"There ye go. See? You look so pretty... so perfect..."

Soap is so sweet to you

He always talks and saying that he'd go out with you

Well... this time he's serious

He wants to go out with you, he wants you to be his

"What do you say, hm?"

Your heart raced whenever you were around him

And yeah you did have a crush on him so...

"Yes, I'll go out with you"

He's over the moon

This man will treat you like royalty

And now that you 2 are dating his flirting will be more teasing, more spicy

just let your imagination go wild okay?😜

If you just want to stay home and play a videogame or watch something, he's down for that, as long as he gets to have you close to him

And give you kisses on top of your head, on your neck and shoulders

He'll go even further if you wish...

You're his world, his everything

[sentientcave]

And They Were Roommates

Part 2!

Sooner than I thought I'd get it done, but I ended up with more time today than I thought. It's moving day! This one goes out to the two people who read this so far (ilu), and also the dream of affordable rent and friendly, walkable neighbourhoods.

Part 1 Here

Fem!SoapxFemReader

~2.6k

Alcohol mention, SFW

MDNI - 18+ Blog even if this is you know, pretty tame at the moment

Your apartment is on the third floor of a walk-up, with a little balcony off the living room, and a decently sized kitchen. The rooms aren’t too small either, and your landlord has never cared about you putting holes in the walls or painting, only that you’re quiet and you have not once been late paying the rent. She lives on the first floor, and you have a sort of pleasant, neighbourly relationship with her. It’s easy enough to like a landlord that doesn’t raise your rent arbitrarily or drag their feet on repairs, but Leslie’s also a handsome, handy butch, and her wife, Amelia, is a wispy artist, and you’ve always been on the cusp of wanting to be properly friendly. You let her know before you head off to work that you have a new roommate moving in today, and that there would be a bit of noise in the afternoon.

“Oh, you found someone? Good. You want them on the lease?” she asks.

“I don’t think she wants to be. She’s just giving me cash so I can pay it. Is that alright?”

Leslie nods. “Sure is, honey. Thanks for letting me know. Oh, and I want to do a check on the radiators before the cold weather hits— Shouldn’t need into your apartment, but the pipes’ll be clanging something awful. It’s supposed to be cold and rainy Monday, so I’ll turn on the heat, and you can text me if your rads don’t warm up.”

“Alright. Thanks Leslie.”

She laughed. “You don’t have to thank me. You’re just saving me paperwork and a trip up the stairs. I’ll be standing by this afternoon if you need the door taken off the hinges to get any furniture through.”

You head off to work, humming to yourself. There’s time to stop for a take out coffee too, something you’d been denying yourself for the last few weeks to conserve money, and the barista gives you an extra shot of espresso, just because she missed seeing you.

God, you would have hated moving away. This neighbourhood has been good to you, and starting over somewhere else would have been hard. You recognize most of the faces around you, and often get a smile or a nod when you pass by, or even a good morning from a few. It feels like being part of a community. You unlock the door to the shop, and you don’t bother locking it behind you while you quickly get things set up.

The bell above the door jingles just as you’re about to go and flip the sign. “You know, you should really keep that locked when you’re not open,” John says. He’s an irregular regular, the sort of customer you see every few days for a couple weeks and then not at all for months at a time. You like him— He’s always polite, and he always takes your recommendations seriously, and comes back to tell you what he thinks. He’s older, but in a non-distinct way where he could be anywhere from 30 to 45. The muttonchops kind of make it hard to tell.

“A customer coming in a minute or two ahead of time is not terribly concerning to me, John. And the shop is open, I just haven’t flipped the sign yet.” You do so, and dust your hands together, like you’ve just accomplished some great feat.

“What if I wasn’t a customer?”

“What, like a robber? I’d give them the money from the till and then ring up the cops so they can stand around and be useless a while.”

His stern expression cracks into a smile, the crows feet around his eyes deepening. “Alright, fair enough.”

“You’re here early. Usually don’t see you until lunch hour. Got a busy day ahead?” You absently straighten a pile of books on the table by the door before you return to your perch behind the counter to sip your coffee.

“Yeah. Helping one of my sergeants move this afternoon. Someplace in the neighbourhood, but you’ll be closed long before we finish.”

You hadn’t realized he was military, but now it seems obvious. He’s got that straight-backed, keen-eyed look to him that could belong to few other professions. “Oh, are you Jamie’s captain?” you ask, connecting the dots. It's too close to be a coincidence.

He raises his eyebrows. “You’re her new flatmate?”

“Yeah! Ha, I guess you’ll get to see how I live. Always weird when a customer crosses the threshold of familiarity.”

“Didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

“We don’t— Not yet, anyway. I’ve had an ad out for over a month, she’s the first person who’s responded that I think I could actually live with. You would not believe the number of guys who responded thinking that a picture of their dick counted as a reference.”

“Did Jamie give you references?”

“Yes, her old landlord, her LT and her Captain— Guess that’s you. But I met Ghost last night, and I didn’t really think I needed to call the other numbers after meeting Jamie.” You shrug. “Although looking back on it, I guess getting a vibe check from a giant in a balaclava is maybe not the most legitimate reference I could have received.”

“You ever think you might be too trusting?” John asked, leaning against the counter. He didn’t have a tendency to use his size to intimidate, but he was looming over you now, giving you a stern glare that you’re sure his newer recruits have nightmares about. You’re not intimidated though. You’re too familiar with him by now to be worried. He’s just got this protective, almost fatherly streak to him, and a bit of paranoia that makes more sense now that you know it’s coming from his military background.

“Have you ever thought that you might not be trusting enough?” you ask sweetly. “Not to sound trite, but I’ve found that when you approach things with an open mind and heart, things work out. But maybe I’ve just been lucky.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t been eaten alive,” John grumbles, moving away from the counter, shaking his head.

You just shake your head too, picking up your phone so you can text Jamie.

I met your captain!! Well I already knew him but I didn’t know he was your captain

The response comes in almost instantly

UR BOOKSTORE GRIL<

GIRL<

NO FOCKIN WAY<

???

caps got a crush on ye. dirty old man >:( <

Dinny wry kitty ill fight im 4 u<

You hear John’s phone ding. He glances at the screen and laughs, and then looks over at you. “Jamie just told me to square up.”

“Wouldn’t be fair. I bet she fights dirty,” you tell him. “Is that why you call her Soap?”

He laughs again, his broad shoulders shaking. “No, but it might as well be.”

John buys a couple of old westerns and heads out soon after, leaving you to putter around the shop. You get a few customers through, though not many. Fridays are never very busy. Saturday and Sunday are always the busiest days of the week, and the days that the little book shop is open the longest. From what you've gathered, Bruce, the owner, makes most of the money to keep the place going by renting out studio space upstairs. The second floor is a wide open room, and the third floor a maze of little studios. There's a bulletin board behind your counter with all the workshops and events listed. Bruce lives at the other end of the first floor, and you rarely see him. The bookstore was something for his wife, who had gotten bored and moved on to pottery, and then glass blowing, and was currently occupying a studio upstairs and writing a novel. Sometimes she asked you to read chapters of it, and you had to come up with polite ways to tell her that she needed to put a lot more work in that wouldn’t get your ass fired.

Jamie texts you updates on the move, mostly complaints about how she didn’t think she’d need so many boxes, she didn’t think she had that much stuff, as well as a picture of her reclining on a couch while Gaz and Ghost lift it into the air, with the caption RIDES HERE that you receive just as you’re locking up the store.

They gonna carry you the whole way here?

no :( LT said im 2 heavy <

rude fucker <

You should reconsider your no killing in your spare time policy Just this once

ur rite. <

only after ahm dun mvoing tho<

hes useful 2 me yet<

You giggle and stow your phone back in your pocket, picking up your pace so you'd have time to do a quick, last minute clean of the apartment and shut Red Herring in your room so he doesn’t make a run for freedom while the doors are open.

He never listens when you tell him he doesn’t have what it takes to make it out there alone.

You happen to glance out the window when a pickup truck pulls up in front of the building. John and Gaz climb out. It’s a smaller model, and the couch from the picture is strapped sideways across the short-box bed with a pile of boxes stacked neatly underneath. A blue sports car pulls up behind it, and Ghost unfolds himself from the passenger side while Jamie throws her door open and hops out of the driver’s side. You head downstairs to meet them at the front door.

As soon as she sees you, Soap runs over and throws her arms around your waist, picking you up bodily and swinging you around, like she’s a soldier returning from the war and you the long suffering wife awaiting her return back home. You shriek with laughter and hold on tight, worried that she’ll drop you. Not that it’s all that far from the ground. Maybe it’s just kind of nice to be manhandled by a big strong woman.

“Missed ye,” she says in your ear.

“Jamie, we just saw each other yesterday,” you remind her, still laughing. “We just met yesterday.”

“Pff. No matter.” She gives you one more spin before setting you down. “Awlright, let’s put these big strong lads to work, aye? If ye ask nice Gaz’ll prob’ly take off his shirt.”

“I think he should keep it on, actually,” you say dryly.

“Yer right, kitty, don’t want to get distracted while there’s a job to be done. I’ll take my shirt off for ye later, since yer insistin'.” She loops an arm over your shoulders and presses a quick peck to the side of your head before letting go and dashing back over to the vehicles, giving you no chance to say that you most certainly had not been insisting.

No one lets you help, beyond opening doors and helping them navigate corners, but you suspect that you really only would have slowed up the process. They make carrying the couch up the stairs look easy, and the whole job is done in under an hour, despite the three flights of stairs. Soap moves her car to the lot, taking the space Leslie indicates, and you walk up together, Leslie telling her the laundry hours and letting her know that she was welcome to paint her room any colour she liked.

“Hey, John,” Leslie says peering in the open door with a grin. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

John turns a curious shade of pink. “Ah, well. Things have been busy. No time for workshops.”

“Well, you’re welcome back any time. Bring your friends, even.” She claps Soap on the shoulder as she turns to head back downstairs. It strikes you that she only came up to say hello to John, who had done his best to avoid her the whole time they’d been moving boxes. “Nice to meet you, Jamie. You’d best be good for our girl.”

“Ahm always good,” Soap protests. “Ask anyone.”

Leslie glances over at Gaz, Ghost and Price, who shake their heads in unison.

“Awlright, ask anyone except these bastards. They dinnae appreciate me. Even when I was going to order them takeaway and git ‘em a few pints.” She pouts, leaning against the doorway dramatically clutching her chest. “Ahm misunderstood in my own time.”

Leslie chuckles. “Well, she’s a handful. Good luck with that one, honey,” she tells you as she trots back downstairs.

You shuffle Soap into the apartment and close the door so you can release Red Herring from the confines of your bedroom, where he’s been yowling his displeasure for the past hour. She flops over the back of the couch, landing upside down with a sigh, and pulls out her phone, head tipped over the edge of the seat. “What do ye lads want? A Chinese? Or somethin’ else?”

“We also don’t have to stick around.” Gaz looks around at the others. John is looking at your bookshelf with interest, and Ghost is crouched in the hallway, greeting Red Herring. Gaz gives you a sheepish smile. “Or, uh. Maybe we do.”

Soap hauls herself into a more upright position, both hands still holding her phone. Her core strength must be unreal. You briefly wonder if she has actual, honest-to-god abs. “You want ‘em gone, kitty? Hens only?”

It strikes you that whatever this group has going on, it’s more than a little codependent. Better to get used to them now. “It’s alright. I’ll hang out in my room if I run out of social battery. Used to do that when Fern’s friends got to be too much.”

Soap tosses her phone down and flips her legs over the side of the couch and then to the floor. “Oh no, kitty. Dinna start off bein’ accomodatin’ when ye’d rather not be. I can tell ‘em to fuck off. Weal. I can tell Gaz and the captain to fuck off. I have ta drive LT home. No cabbie in his right mind will take the poor fella.”

“Not even the one’s not in their right minds,” Ghost says mournfully. Somehow, he’s coaxed Red up onto his shoulder, and is wearing the fat orange cat like a fur stole. You can hear the cat purring from several feet away. “For some reason, I make people nervous.”

“Couldn’t be the eye black and the fuckin’ skull motif, LT,” Soap says.

“Couldn’t be the size of you either,” Gaz adds.

“Sweetest pup I know,” John agrees. “People just don’t trust these days. Sign of society collapsin’.” He winks at you.

“What’s the word, kitty?” Soap drapes herself over your shoulders and nuzzles against your hair. Her nose runs along the curve of your neck, and it doesn’t seem to bother her even a little that the other three are watching with fascination. They're trying to be subtle about it, and failing miserably. John has a book in his hands, holding it upside down. Gaz is pretending to study a picture on the wall. Ghost is… Well, Ghost isn’t pretending to be subtle. “Want ‘em to go?” Her voice sounds a little breathy against your ear, and you’re not at all sure what to do with the electricity that shoots through your whole body. “Have us some girl time?”

“They did just help you move,” you say slowly. It’s taking a moment for you to collect your thoughts enough to speak. “Would be rude to send them away without a meal, right? Plus Red just got settled into his new nap spot.” You gesture at Ghost, who’s carefully walking over to the chair to sit, holding his shoulders very still so as not to disturb the cat, his eyes still turned your way.

You're not totally sure what Soap thinks is girl time, but you think it might be several shades more intimate than you're used to.

“Aw, yer too good ta my lads, kitty.” Soap kisses the spot right in front of your ear and lets you go. Without her solid body holding you up, you briefly consider melting into a puddle all over the floor, but manage, somehow, through sheer force of will, to keep your knees from buckling.

Leslie was right. You definitely have your hands full.

[ninaz7]

Masterlist

This is a list of my completed works on Ao3 for easy acces. Take care when reading, all works have heavy smut and/or non-con themes! More specific tags on Ao3!

Sleeptoken

Release me:

15 chapters/48k words/polyvesselxreader/fakenames being used

You were waiting in line for a metal concert and somehow made unexpected friends with the four guys in line behind you. After having an amazing time during the show, they invite you to hang out with them for the rest of the night. Will you accept? And is the sexual tension you feel just in your head, fuelled by the alcohol in your system, or are they really all flirting with you?

Call of Duty

The Afterparty:

7 chapters/24k words/literally every possible pairing with reader starting with soap&ghost

While going out clubbing one night all alone, you are being followed by a creepy guy from the club. Luckily you meet two guys who are willing to pretend to know you, to scare him away. What is going to happen the rest of the night?

Will you see them again after?

Mistakes Like This:

6 chapters/14k words/keeganxreader/inspired by @callsign.j on tiktok

You have lived in these secluded woods full time since your father passed, now suddenly you got letters stating the land around your peaceful home will be used for military activity, and a new base will be built nearby. How will you protect yourself when soldiers come lurking around your cabin, and why does this ghost masked soldier really keep trying to get your attention?

[goatgoesmbe]

Inspired by those woodchopping tiktok videos tw : implied Stalker!Soap SoapxReader

Soap scrolling tiktok casually, swiping videos after videos in his fyp. It varies from some cool art, military life, and of course.. some bonnie lass.

And then, his thumb hovered over the screen as he stopped at a particular video. You, in a white tanktop, stretched across your chest and showing your biceps that bulged slightly when you gripped your axe before swinging it hard on a hard stump, splitting it in half.

He felt himself chubbed up in his pants, he didn't think he would get jealous over an axe- or a tree stump.

After leaving a like, he saved your video and spent all night watching video after video of you- his other hand was already in his boxers, pumping himself lazily.

It doesn't take long for him to know more about you. You live near some woods alone, well not really- you do have some dogs, 2 collies, and an alaskan malamute.

He learned that you're more than a bonnie thing that could crush his head with your thighs, you're also sweet and caring. He could tell from some of your videos helping around with your little community.

He held back a groan as he saw you smiling oh so sweetly while holding a child in one arm and carrying some sacks of flour in the other from your truck to some shelter.

You're perfect.

He then sat up and reached for his laptop, putting his skill to good use.

You really should pay more attention before you post your videos, the license plate of your truck is showing for a split second in one of them.

[sigh-tofm]

i lovelovelove it when in soapxreader stories the first thing reader notices about soap is the nasty scar on his temple. it always means some deliciously unhinged shit is coming up

[kanescrochet]

When The Sea Sings

Soapxreader

Mer au

Happy mermay

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The sea called to you in a voice only you could hear.

Each morning, before the village stirred, you found yourself drawn to the rocky shore beneath the cliffs—where the water turned glassy and strange, and the mist hung low like secrets clinging to the earth.

That’s where you met him.

The first time, you thought he was a trick of the fog—glinting scales, a flash of silver-blue fin, and a voice rough like waves breaking on stone. But then he spoke.

“Yer not afraid of the sea,” he’d said, watching you with eyes the color of a storm. “That’s dangerous.”

“You don’t seem all that safe either,” you’d replied, heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

His name was Soap, or that’s what he told you. He said it with a smirk, like he expected you not to believe him. But every morning after, he was there—perched on a rock, half in the water, the sun catching on the glimmer of his tail. Scars curled over his shoulder and collarbone, proof that even the ocean wasn’t always kind to its own.

You talked. You laughed. You learned.

He told you about the deep—its darkness, its kingdoms, its dangers. He’d once been a soldier of sorts beneath the waves, guarding something old, something sacred. But he’d broken a law, swum too close to the surface, stayed too long. He never told you why.

You knew.

Because the more you met him, the longer he lingered.

And the closer you both came to the edge of something you shouldn’t touch.

“I shouldn’t want this,” he said once, voice low as the tide. “You. This.”

“Then don’t,” you whispered, even as your hand brushed his. “But I do.”

That night, the sea turned violent. Villagers said the spirits were angry. Fishermen returned with torn nets, frightened eyes. You knew what it meant.

The ocean was warning you.

The next morning, you found Soap already there. Not lounging, not smiling—tense, coiled, eyes sharp like broken glass.

“They know,” he said. “They’ve felt me here too long.”

You swallowed hard. “What happens now?”

“If I stay, they’ll kill me. Or worse, drag you under just to teach me a lesson.”

The wind blew cold through the rocks. Your fingers trembled, but you reached for him anyway, your hand cupping his damp cheek. “Then run. Swim. Just—don’t let this be the end.”

He leaned into your touch, eyes closing like he could memorize the warmth.

“I’ll go,” he said finally. “But I’ll leave something behind.”

From the pouch at his waist, he pulled a shard of shell—iridescent, warm to the touch. He pressed it into your hand, fingers lingering.

“If you ever hear the sea singing louder than usual… it’s me. Listening.”

He kissed you then, salt on your lips, his hands anchoring you like he never wanted to let go.

Then he was gone.

The waves took him in a single pull, leaving only silence—and the shell clutched tight in your palm.

You returned to the cove for days. Weeks. Months.

The villagers say the sea is quiet now. Safe.

But some nights, when the moon is high and the wind dies down, you hear it again—the faint hum of something not quite human beneath the waves.

And you smile.

Because even if you can’t have him, you know he’s still listening.

[karlachismylife]

For the celebration! The Prompt: laying their hand on the other’s leg. The pairing SoapxReader or DammonxReader, you choose! >:3 pls and tyyy

Never ask me to choose again, darling, I'm polyamorous for a reason >< You get both! And also lots of love from me for your support and overall awesomeness <3

Link to the celebration post for anyone interested here!

Emotional Support Dog

John "Soap" MacTavish x gn!civilian!reader

Even the air around you feels charged with anxiety. No amount of meticulously created comfort can tone it down: tucked into the soft corner of your couch, surrounded with pillows, a blanket, a steaming cup and a bowl of snacks to accompany fat stacks of papers to read, you still feel nervous. No one can blame you though: your boss wasn't particularly fair informing you of the upcoming meeting late. Very late. Couple of days before a very important meeting with your place at the company depenging on it - that sort of late.

Goddamn corporate.

So it's not surprising that you're slightly crumbling under pressure to get prepared with all available documentation; maybe they're trying to set you up to be at their mercy or fail, but you're not going down without a fight. Even if the fight makes your knee bounce nervously and the almost-forgotten nail biting come back as your eyes scan one bureaucratic word vomit page after another.

You're so engrossed in the process of absorbing vital information from the bulky speech figures and long columns of numbers that you nearly miss the sound of the apartment door opening and closing - and the one entering isn't even trying to be subtle about it. Poor door suffers a concussion in its core each time it gets slammed shut by the overly excited to be home individual; then follows the jiggling of keys thrown to their place, two hasty thuds of boots being enthusiastically kicked off, and finally - a dramatic pause. Were you a little less busy, you would've already been at the door, right where one hearty hug awaits, arms opened and everything; maybe you would've made him wait on purpose, just to see a sulky pout of an impatient pup light up with pure inner sunlight by your presence; but you can't just pull yourself away from this very important reading.

So in a minute Johnny peeks around the living room entrance, wary expression immediately replaced with a loving glint in the aquatic eyes at the sight of you. In two strides he is already at the sofa, plopping his ass right next to you and nuzzling the side of your face with one, two - three kisses: to the temple buzzing with brainwork, to the soft cheek and to the corner of your sightly frowned mouth.

"Whit are ye doing there, bonnie? Thought ye fell asleep, didnae even come hug me at th' door," here comes the famous pout, eyes full of betrayal boring straight into your soul in hopes of coaxing more kisses and cuddles. Would've definitely worked.

If not for the bloody headache fussing over this goddamn meeting planted into your skull.

You open your mouth with a sigh, planning to answer him - you're going to hug and kiss him alright, just a second, you just have to finish this paragraph, so wordy and inhumanely written that you almost don't doubt it was done by a real person - to deliberately make every reader's of this file head explode. An efficient way to balance the workforce market.

Soap, however, reads into your frowny silence and immediately smells that something's wrong. And it very much might be his fault - even though he did the dishes, took you to your favourite Italian on the weekend, showed impeccable restraint when a guy at the parking lot ran his mouth at you (that prick was lucky Johnny didn't want to start the date with a fight: "Ye better thank tis guardian angel 'ere fur haudin' me back, or ah'd teach ye a lesson, ye sod," - all said with a firm hand placed on the small of your back while you glared at the mouthy motherfucker), folded the laund- oh shite. It was the laundry, wasn't it?

"Bonnie, ye're nae angry at me, are ye?" Johnny tilts his head, trying to catch a direct glimpse at you, and almost shoves himself between you and your reading, squeezing in more kisses. "Ah'll dae th' laundry, ah promise, must've forgotten-" - you finally blink and emerge from your hyperfocused state, immediately cupping the Scot's worried face and planting a loud smooch on his nose.

"I'm not angry... not at you, at least," you give him an apologetic kiss on his pouty lips and look back down at the paper in your lap. "It's just work. Gotta read all this or I'll be in trouble, boss gave me a really short notice this time. It's like they're trying to set me up... sorry for ignoring you, sunshine."

Initial relief on Johnny's face that showed there when you confirmed he didn't get on your bad side (he did fold the laudry after all, just managed to forget that he did) gets replaced with a concerned look once again. Leaning back a bit, he gauges the stacks of papers laid out on the coffee table in front of you and furrows his full brows.

"'N' how long ye 'ave tae read all tis?" - "The meeting's two days away, morning." You rub your neck with another exasperated sigh, and a much larger hand, warm and calloused, comes up to do it for you, squeezing the sore spots and making you shudder as it forces the knots away. How long have you been sitting here, hunched over the papers?

"Steamin' Jesus, tha's a lot of reading tae dae," he mutters, squinting to try and make something out of the corporate gibberish - and inevitably failing. With a sigh, Johnny reserves to kissing your temple again. "Well, shite, nae lik' ye 'ave much choice, dae ye? Wanntae 'ave pasta fur dinner? Ah'll cook."

With a confirming nod and a grateful grunt from you, already deep in the papers again, he raises from the couch that creaks with relief, but then pauses and sits right back down. His big hand finds its way to your leg, squeezing your knee reassuringly and stopping the jittering with warm, heavy weight. You lift your eyes once again, meeting his bluest ones with a net of crow's feet around them, nothing but warmth towards you. This sight makes breathing, constricted by the pressure put on you by the situation, easier.

"Ye got tis, aye, bonnie? Ah ken ye got tis. Ye gonnae show 'em."

With a pat, meant to gently hammer in this confidence in case you were still worrying and doubting yourself, Johnny finally gets up, and your knee immediately feels cold without his big paw on it.

"Ah'll go start th' dinner, and ye holler if ye need anything, aye? Ah heard snoggin's good fur yer brains."

Of course he did. Bloody rascal with his innocent blue eyes winking at you and calming your wired self down. Well, why refuse such considerate service when offered?

Forged Under the Stars

Dammon x gn!reader

The cool of the night yields under the relentless burning of several campfires and torches lighting the clearing your celebratory party takes place at, their heat amplified by mulled wine and other drinks generously shared between everyone present. Sitting close to one of the campfires, you quietly observe folks with genuine smiles on their faces that only add to the pleasant warmth in your chest. It's nice, you think, seeing them relax and shrug off the heavy weight of barely avoided danger. They deserve this small moment of peace and quiet among impending doom, and so do you.

Drunken laughter at one of the barrels people gather for the good ale distracts you, your curiousity piqued as you lazily try to make out what caused the whistling and hooting - some brave soul trying to compete against others in absorbing a humongous mug in one go, perhaps? Whatever it is, it keeps your attention long enough for someone to stumble a bit clumsily and seat themself down with a quiet "oof", warm knee nudging your leg in an accidental move before the person straightens up. Snapping your eyes to the right, you can't help the wide smile tugging at your lips.

"Hello to you too, Dammon," you raise your clay mug as a greeting, taking in the view. The blacksmith doesn't look too out of it, but he's clearly tipsy - you aren't surprised, he does give off the impression of someone easily getting lightheaded from a drink or two. Even the warm orange hue of the campfire can't hide cute rosy blush on his cheeks and pointy eartips; neither manages he to conceal a certain glint in his bright glowing eyes.

"Sorry," he mumbles, probably referring to his clumsy landing, but you just shake your head - he didn't even really disturb you, holding up quite well. Same can't be said for everyone: with another glance around, you notice a completely plastered tiefling maiden try and dance with Wyll, who ends up catching her and preventing a fall after fall for the giggling girl. A quiet rustling from behind alerts you, but even without looking you realize it's just Dammon's tail getting restless, usual reserved attitude lifted by ale or whatever he was drinking.

You two sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching the party and stealing glances at each other, smiles widening and chuckles escaping when you catch each other looking - after one of these accidental eye contacts Dammon and you burst out in particularly loud fits of laughter, leaning forward and shaking your heads. Alcohol makes it so much funnier, fuzzy, pleasant feelings coiling like furry cats in your stomachs.

"Gods above, I haven't laughed like that for a long time," Dammon sits back up and tilts his head back, inhaling fresh night air and watching the night sky. His vision makes the stars shine brighter, and while you watch him instead of the nightsky, you think you see the celestial bodies swirling in his eyes, reflected as if they were a crysral clear lake.

"Not much laughter in Avernus, eh?" Your slightly intoxicated tongue works faster than your brain, and you immediately stutter, cursing yourself for bringing The Descent - of all things, damn it! - up. "Sorry, didn't mean to..."

"It's alright. I know what you meant," Dammon's smile doesn't falter and he tears his gaze away from the sky to look at you. Maybe it's a play of the flickering flame you sit at, but it seems as if his eyes only shine brighter when looking at you. "And you're right, that wasn't... although there was this one time..."

He briefly checks if you're listening and goes off - waving his mug, unusually expressive and talkative, clearly encouraged when you prop your cheek on your palm and listen on. Maybe you don't quite keep up with the amout of terms and unkown words his slurred speech is littered with, but you still laugh, when he puffs his blushing cheeks, reenacting the way some poor apprentice thrown into his forge held a heavy anvil and tried to use it as a hammer when they ran out of those (how does a forge run out of hammers? why yes, of course, when a whole squadron of unprepared for battle soldiers swarms it and takes everything and anything they can use as a weapon. yes, the firepokers too.)

At the sound of your laughter, loud and unbothered, Dammon pauses with his antics and turns back into his shy self, holding his breath and drinking in the sight of you with a surprisingly sober shine to his eyes. Your fit of giggles dies down, when you feel a warm hand on your thigh, barely squeezing, long tiefling claws carfully denting the skin underneath your clothing.

"Thank you," sincerely whispers Dammon, looking at you like you've hung the moon in the skies and lit up the fire in his forge, "for everything. For this night."

He leans in closer, lips slightly parted, something else dancing on the tip of his tongue, something he can't brace himself to say out loud. You smile, covering his palm with yours - his is strong, warm, a hand of someone working hard, rough and with visible burns from accidental sparks scorching through the protective mittens. It startles Dammon, fingers twitching and squeezig a bit harder before he lets go of your leg and moves his eyes away. His ears slowly start glowing brighter, tail swishing behind you and nearly swatting your bum - turns out, it almost coiled around your waits while you two were sitting next to each other.

Unwilling to let his bashfulness to get in the way, you catch Dammon's hand before it slips away and hold it gently, allowing to rest on your thigh again, your fingers almost intertwined.

"I'm glad you're here," there's enough courage in you for the both of you, added in liquid form or coming to you naturally - doesn't matter. Dammon's shy smile grazes his lips once again, and he finally allows his tail to wrap around your seated form, carefully, ready to pull away if you show any signs of discomfort.

You don't.

"I hope we see each other again," with your support, Dammon allows his thoughts to spill out. It's a little bittersweet, a reminder that the celebration will eventually come to an end and you both will have to move on, heavy burdens on both of your shoulders. But maybe, just maybe the knowledge that wherever life chucks you, if there's a forge nearby, you might see a familiar face - maybe that knowledge lifts the weight just a little bit.

After all, this blacksmith has some fine, strong shoulders you can lean on.

If you know anything about the Faerûn traditions, it's that lovespoons are carved out of wood. Unlike that little forged one that you find among your posessions the next morning.

[nrdmssgs]

Can you do a soap fic where a new girl gets transferred and she’s also a sergeant and she’s short and really bitchy, soap flirts with her and she never fails to reply within an insult or a snarky comment?

Masterlist Pairing: SoapXReader TWs: no AN: I took forever, I know, sorry.

The first thing, you thought of, seeing how people gather around Soap, how attentively they catch every bit of phrase covered with thick accent, how eager are they to become part of the next mischief, his mind plotting, is a Kelpie. By no means you were superstitious, but you remember well, what your granny told you: these Scottish demons are nothing but deception, temptation and constant shapeshift, hiding under calm water surface and dragging anyone, reckless enough to trust them, to the depths of cold northern lakes.

You had enough of 'shape-shifters': you were fed up with friendly looking lads, being all sweet around you, only to find out your soft spots and use them against you. So when his smile sparkles too close to your secluded corner of a bar counter - you frown automatically

"Oi, wee-one, what are you doing here all alone, while all the fun happens elsewhere?" That shit eating grin is too familiar. It only portends lies and mockery.

"Daydreaming of your smooches, Sergeant." You know, this man will start flirting with you today sooner or later: after all, he always does. So instead of fearing it coming - you decide on leading this train wreck.

"A'm sa-a-a-a-ae flattered." Johnny can speak British, very much so, when he needs it. But he must be too used to everyone falling for his accent. So he decides to torture your fogged mind with his gibberish.

"And a`m sa-a-a-a-ae lying." You can't hold back a little aping to make this moment even more harsh for him. But that'll teach him.

From your very first day on the base, this man decided, that his holy duty from now on was to haunt you with his flirtatious comments and stupid jokes. You ignored him once, then twice... on his fifth 'strike' you decided, you had enough and fought back. None of Johnny's line remained unanswered by you ever since.

Your rebuffs usually helped for some time. Today it won you fifteen minutes of peace. Because after that Soaps face reappears on the horizon with a jolly 'Anyway, Sg, hae any plans for t`night?'

"Oh, I have one plan, buddy. The first part of it is to not share the other part with the people, I don't want anywhere around me. So lemme guess, this is the moment, you are asking me about the second part?" You talk loud enough, so that not only Johnny, but the whole group of dumbheads enamored by him, hears you.

"I guess, nae, but if you want me to... What's with the second part?" Slowly but surely the damned accent leaves his speech.

"I can't, love, I'm tied up by the first part." Any person, not familiar with Soap would shame you for such a strong reaction. But you knew better, and soon he only proved you right.

"So someone is into restraining? Ah kin just happen tae know a thing or twa aboot this..." You are in mere seconds from snapping right back at him, but he manages to switch your attention to some completely unrelated question.

And just like that you lose concentration for a moment only to find yourself walking down the street with MacTavish and his company. His speech is all honey and velvet with notes of cheerful laughter. Man shouldn't possess so much charm - it is simply unfair. Yet, here he is - all bubbly and so tempting and warm.

Your group turns onto a quiet road, lit by one streetlamp. "Hey, look up!" calls the voice of one of the soldiers, and you lift your head. There is a soda can on the flat lid of the lantern. God only knows how it got there. You're not even surprised when Johnny asks right next to your ear who's ready to knock down the can on the first try. You just turn to him and clarify, “If I do this, can I ask you for anything?”

Soap nods enthusiastically, and before he can add something about the fact that you can always ask him for anything and without any bets, you pick up a pebble from the pavement.

"Watch and learn, Sergeant." You smirk and throw a pebble. The sound of an empty can hitting the asphalt echoes down the street.

Others cheer your victory, when Johnny leans closer and nods with a face of a defeated one.

"Sae what shuid it be, darlin'?"

That smirk. He is trying to look happy even after he lost. Lying scoundrel. Oh, you'll wipe that smirk off his face.

"You seem very proud of your country?" You can't help, but smile, as Soap nods and moves even closer, invading your personal space. So you go on.

"And very proud of that hairstyle of yours... How about we combine your two biggest sources of pride, Johnny." Some soldiers start getting your idea and you hear a few muffled laughs. But Soap doesn't get it till you specify, "Lets paint this mohawk. Blue and white sounds patriotic enough for you, MacTavish?"

If anyone asked you to name the highlight of that day - it was it. Shining smile disappearing from Soaps face, his head ducking, his eyes looking for something under his own boots. He looked lost... But only for a moment.

"Aye. Will need yer help though, wee-one."

For some time, you forget about this evening. Work and duty are quite effective at helping you to put aside any life outside debriefs, trainings and missions. That is, however, only until one late evening, when Soap appears on the threshold of your room with a towel and a pair of tubes of hair dye.

"Sergeant MacTavish keeps his word. Always." These words you hear from a tiny bathroom, where you wash your hands.

He welcomes your return to your room with a bare torso. You try to not look, but one brief glance is enough for his sculpted six-pack, ribs covered with a thin web of scars and tanned broad shoulders to be forever ingrained in your memory. Scoundrel. Seducer. Kelpie. You turn away almost immediately.

"Out of my room. Now!"

"Naw-naw-naw-naw, ye got me wrong! Ah juist dinnae want ma tshirt to get goosed!" He started babbling as quickly as if his life depended on it. So you take a deep breath and nod.

"Ok-ok, calm down!" You come closer to him and brush your fingers through Johnny's dark hair, trying to understand, where should you begin.

It's so strange to see his face not somewhere above, not even on your eye level, but somewhere below. For the first time, you notice the faint freckles on his face, the dark edges of his incredibly blue eyes, the small wrinkles. That all brings you a very strange thought: maybe there are people out there, who know soft and vulnerable Johnny, maybe there are people, whom he will never fail, never betray. You personally can't have a luxury of trusting your colleagues so much as to let them be close to you. But maybe there are people, that trust these eyes and find comfort in these arms.

Your hands fall down. "You know what, Johnny, consider the deed done... To hell ruining your hair, your self-esteem. Forget, we even had this bet, it's stupid."

"Whaaa? Naw, bonnie, it is hilarious! I want this! With ye only! And ah trust ye." He catches your hands and eagerly places them back into his surprisingly soft hair, making sure, your fingers drown in the mohawk fully and touch his scalp. There is not a single note of mockery in his voice - only plea to keep going and trust, endless trust in you - the person, who always had a few sharp words ready for any his attempt to approach you.

You feel guilt stinging you from the inside.

"Ok, I'll do it. But I must warn you - I don't have a single idea, what am I doing. And this will probably turn out ugly."

Soap only keeps nodding, not looking away from your eyes for a moment. His eyes shine with obedience and anticipation.

Not knowing it yet, you are slowly drowning in deep waters, dragged by a Scottish demon. Your very own Kelpie.

[nicoleeblossom]

Sergeant Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish…🧼

main masterlist📌

*·˚Don’t forget to reblog, follow, like, and comment on the authors’ or artists’ pages. Show them some love!

*·˚Broken link or @? Pop a note in the comments or my ask box.

Totally Platonic by @kechiwrites: Like he can’t believe he gets to have you like this.

Whatchya got, boy? by @roosterr: Rex between your legs with his head resting on your thigh, staring up at johnny with those big brown eyes

The Fox & the Hound by @the-californicationist: Then, to your shock, he leaned down and planted a kiss on the corner of your lips

Life in Color by @lunarvicar: Your rescuer hmphs at your attitude and raises a hand to his ear

Well That’s Not My Name by @bookbrokelibrarian: You couldn’t help the laugh and the pointed fingers at your lover as his jaw drops.

Tsar Bomba by @lennadanvers

Unexpected Question by @coffee-blvck

Only The Fools Fall by @groguspicklejar

Play Pretend by @groguspicklejar

University Romance by @siddyyyyyyyy

SoapxReader by @alkaline-wtr

Flirts of Irritation by @0kurakura0

Meet The MacTavish’s by @c-nstantine

Soap Soulmate AU by @all-purpose-dish-soap

Hooker!Soap Pt.1 and Pt.2 by @certifiedcodbabygirl

Infatuation by @spurbleu

Hair, Hair, Hair by @partiallysame

Buzz Pt.1 and Pt.2 by @syofrelief

Dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

[thedovesaredying]

Fic Voting!

M'kay everyone, I'm working on a bunch of stuff between working, but there's a bunch of different things and idk what to work on first. Adding a poll in case anyone wants to vote.

Reverse Fae and Cowboy AUs are owned by @ghouljams

[iheartchv]

Hi! Thank you for your 'love letter event'. I would really enjoy a fluffy love letter from Soap (cod mw2), please, addressed to Artemis.

All the best for you :)

Dear Artemis,

You're my angel, my goddess, my heavenly beauty. You make my heart beat fast everytime I see you, and you make me feel things I've never felt with anyone else. My love, you're so special to me. Words can't even explain how much I love you and how much you mean to me.

Everyday, every hour, I'm missing you. I wish I was there beside you, to kiss and hold you and never let go. You are my everything. You'll be forever mine, as I am forever yours. Happy Valentine's Day, my beloved.💝

- Soap 🧼

[sentientcave]

And They Were Roommates

Got brainworms from Ceilidho talkin' about Fem!Soap and wrote out a few scenarios, and landed on this one as my favourite. Maybe personal trainer Soap and hot woman complimenting you in a dive bar bathroom Soap will get written about later on.

Part 1

Part 2 Here

(Fem!SoapxFemReader) ~2.2k words

Alcohol mention, but no other major flags at this point. (A few jokes about axe murderers) But also MDNI because this is an 18+ blog and there will probably be NSFW content in future parts

You had put an ad up online.

Your best friend had moved in with her boyfriend, leaving you with more apartment than you could afford. You had enough savings to get you through till the next month, but things were going to be dicey if you didn’t find someone to take over Fern’s half of the rent soon.

You’d had plenty of responses, mostly from men that gave you creepy vibes, even through digital means. You’d actually met with only one person, and she was allergic to cats, which made her a no go.

She’d been nice enough, though. If it really came down to it, maybe Fern would take Red Herring. She did love that fat orange bastard. And so do you. The thought of giving him up, even to Fern, doesn’t sit right.

Red meows loudly through the door as your key scrapes in the lock. You nudge him away with your foot while you enter the apartment, wary of any escape attempts. You feed him so he stops yelling at you, and boil water so you can feed yourself some instant ramen for dinner, and boot up your laptop to check the ad again.

A few more creepy responses, one of which is just a slightly blurry dick pic. You delete them. One that looks promising.

>Hey! I’m interested in the room if it’s still available! Can we meet soon? I’m a military gal and I’m being deployed again next week and I already gave notice at the last rat-hole I was renting. Seemed like 60 days was plenty of time for apartment hunting 60 days ago, but I haven’t found anything lol. Hopefully we get along! You can give me a call any time in the next few days, and we can set up a meet’n’greet. Thanks a bunch! Jamie MacTavish

Her number is in brackets below that, next to the soap emoji, for whatever reason.

No sense waiting around. You call the number right away.

“Hello?” The voice is a woman’s, a dusky alto, which is a good first sign.

“Hi, Jamie? I’m calling about the apartment. Or, um, from the apartment.” You give her your name as an after thought, feeling silly that you hadn’t led with that.

“Yaldy! I was hopin’ ye’d call. I’ve got a friend I can move in with if it comes down to it, but I really don’t want to. He lives in a worse rat hole than I do. Are ye busy now? I’ll buy ye dinner if you like, just for the short notice and the trouble.”

Anything would be better than ramen for dinner a second night in a row. “Yeah, alright. There’s a decent pub down the street, Keeler’s? It’s close so I can give you an apartment tour if you pass the ‘not a murderer’ vibe check.”

There's a beat of silence. “Does killin’ people in the line of duty count?” she asked. “Because, er, I have. But I’m not like, prone to doin’ that kind of thing in my spare time.”

You think about it a moment. State sanctioned violence does feel different than personal time violence, although you're pretty sure that speaks to some sort of unaddressed bias. Something to think about. “I appreciate the honesty, at least.”

She laughed. “I can meet ye at yer pub in half an hour. That work for ye?”

“Yeah. That works.”

“Great. I’ll text you a picture of me so ye know who tae look for. See you soon.”

You get the text a minute after you hang up. A picture of a gorgeous woman with big smile and bright blue eyes, the sides of her head shaved, the rest of it left long and braided back from her face. She looks normal enough.

You get ready and head out, texting Fern to let her know where you’d gone, just in case Jamie actually was a murderer in her spare time.

Jamie’s already there when you get to the pub, sitting at the bar with a pint, watching the door intently, her leg bouncing. You give her a little wave, and she beams at you. She’s even hotter in real life, wearing tight, ripped up jeans that cling to her muscular thighs, and a tight black tank-top under a cropped leather jacket. She has almost no jewelry, other than the dog tags around her neck and the silver hoops in her ears. She looks, well, normal. Friendly.

You go up and introduce yourself, earning a firm handshake. She’s strong.

“Hi!” she says excitedly. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jamie, but my friends call me Soap. I’d tell ye why, but it’s classified.”

“Is it really?”

“No. But it’s fun to say.” She flags down the bartender. “A pint for my friend here, if you don’t mind. You want to grab a booth? Or stay up at the bar?”

You look around, and there’s a few empty booths, but it’s early yet, and they tend to fill up quickly. “Let’s move. If we stay up here the single dads are going to start hitting on us.”

"We are a couple of dolls, aren't we?" She flashed another big smile at the bartender as he set a second pint out. "We're movin' to a table, if ye don't mind."

"No problem, love," he says, obviously besotted already. "I'll send Jenny around to take your order."

"Thanks, pal. Appreciate it."

You pick up the pint and follow her over to a booth, sliding in on the opposite side.

"So, you said you're military?"

"Ah am. SAS no less. Best of the bloody best. Not many jobs where ye get tae blow things up awl the time." She sheds her jacket, revealing impressively muscled arms. "I could just live on base, if things don't work out here, just so ye ken. No pressure on ye. But I hate stayin' on base when I don't have to. It's the communal showers. Most of the lads are, well, lads. Gotta shower in the middle of the night, and I keep bumpin' into my LT when I do. And he said I could move in with him too. I’m in a rush but I willnae be homeless, so ye don’t need to worry about me if you dinnae think we’ll get along."

You wince in sympathy. "That sounds terrible. I don't think I'd ever be comfortable showering in front of other people."

"Is naw so bad, if it's someone ye like seein' naked. But most of em are munters anyway. Wouldnae mind so much if more of 'em looked like you." She winked over the edge of her pint glass and took a swig.

You laugh at her little joke. She's fun, and you already feel at ease with her. She tells you about her old rat hole apartment, and a little about living on base, although she's a bit vague on the details of her actual job, beyond blowing things up.

She asks you about your work, and you tell her about the used bookshop you work at down the road. You're basically the only employee, and it's usually not too busy, although it can be annoying when you get a rush in the middle of pricing 'new' books. But it pays the rent, more or less. You talk a bit about Fern, and about Red Herring too.

"I love cats," she said excitedly. "Never been able to keep one, bein' away so much. LT had a dog, and he was awlright, but I'm definitely more of a cat girl. Got bit by a few too many pups in my day."

"Well, Red's a real love bug. Once we're done here you can meet him. I think we're going to get along fine."

"Och, really? Just like that, aye? Thought I'd have to work harder."

"Honestly, I thought I was going to have to accept some weirdo or give poor old Red away. You're a much better fit than I expected to find. I think we could be friends."

Her blue eyes track something behind you and narrow slightly. "Well, I'm holdin' ye to that. We're about to be accosted by my lads. Don't let them scare ye." She shoves her plate across the table into the spot next to you and clambers out of the booth. "Oi, what're you munters doin' here? I'm gettin' interviewed for an apartment. Dinnae need you scarin' my girl."

You look behind you, spotting a giant wearing a skull-print balaclava, and a more regular-sized (though no less muscular) black man with a brilliant smile. "We wanted to make sure she wasn't an axe murderer," he says pleasantly.

"Or a chainsaw murderer," the giant adds.

Soap cuts him off before he can take the seat beside you. "Over there," she orders, pointing at the opposite bench, where she'd been sitting. "I'm not lettin' you box her in." She grimaces at you apologetically as she drops into the spot beside you. Her thigh presses against yours for a moment, before you shift further down the bench. "They're sweet, in their own way. Think I need lookin' after. The big guy's Ghost, or LT. This handsome pain in the arse is Gaz. Don't let him sweet talk ye intae callin' him Kyle unless you want him tae put yer ankles up by yer ears. Made that mistake before."

"You don't have to bring that up every time you introduce me to a woman," Gaz says, clearly exasperated.

"I do. How else are they gonna know to call you for a good time?" She smacks his hand away from her plate when he reaches for it. "Oi! Order your own chips ye bastard."

"I only want a couple," Gaz protests.

"Ye always say tha' and ye always lie. Ah umnae fallin' for it again."

"You can have a couple of mine," you offer. "I wasn't going to finish them anyway."

"When do we get to see the place?" Ghost asked.

"Ye don't, unless yer carryin' boxes for me. I willna ask her to let three strangers in her home when she's only just met me."

"Well I guess we're helpin' ye move," Ghost said. "Was gonna leave it all to Price."

"Lazy cunts. Ne’er around when there’s work tae be done.”

“I was gonna help,” Gaz protests. “I already told you that.”

“And I did tell you that you could move into my place if you didn’t find somethin’ in time,” Ghost points out. “We’re not all bad.”

“Well, they’re not bad lads tae have watchin’ yer back in a fire-fight,” Soap admits. “But they dinnae know how to be normal about anythin’.”

“Are you supposed to be the normal one?” Ghost asks.

“Aye. And I willnae have you say otherwise in front of my new friend.”

She finishes eating long before you do, with the speed and gusto of a woman who often has to defend her plate against hungry scavengers. Gaz, true to Soap’s complaint, eats the majority of your chips, although he does thank you and give you a big, wide smile, the sort that could sell someone a bridge. He’s definitely a charmer.

Soap asks for the bill while you’re finishing up. You reach for your purse, but she puts a hand on yours and gives you an intense blue stare. “No, kitty. I told ye I was buyin’ ye dinner, I’ll no’ let ye make me a liar, especially when Gaz ate half your plate.”

God she’s strong. You’re not sure that you could shake her off to insist even if you tried. “Alright. I just—”

“Oh I ken. But I wouldna offer if I didna mean it. I’m a woman of her word.” She pays with cash, and offers you a hand up and out of the booth. She points a warning finger at her friends. “And dinnae follow us, ye creepy bastards.”

They laugh, like they hadn’t followed her to the pub in the first place.

“They really do mean well,” Soap says, linking her arm with yours as you step out onto the street. “But they’ve go’ a bad habit of thinkin’ they dinnae need to respect my space just ‘cause we’ve all spent nights crammed into one room sharin’ cots. I think if the captain had his way we’d all live in his house and sleep in a big fuck-off pile like dogs.”

“Sound a bit claustrophobic.”

“Aye. Ye understand why I’m so eager to make this work with ye, kitty-cat. If I move in with LT it’s just a matter of time before Price comes over tae help us fix somethin’ and says ‘Oh, I dinny know why ye both stay in this shitehole. Whyna stay with me a while, till we find ye somethin’ better?’ And then before we know it we’re all sleepin’ in the same bed and usin’ the same toothbrush.”

You giggle, hoping that's just a joke. “That’s gross.”

“I ken! Horrible men, they are. I need some girl time before I go mad.” She squeezes your arm and knocks her head against yours gently. “We’re goin’ tae be best friends in no time, kitty. I wish I wasna goin’ away so soon.”

“You haven’t even seen the apartment yet!”

“Och, tha’s a formality. I was more wurried about us gettin’ along, kitty. The apartment doesna matter all that much, so long as it’s got a workin’ shower and a place for my bed. If I pass Mr. Herring’s sniff test, I’ll give ye cash on the spot, aye? For next month an’ half of this one, since you’d be lettin' me move in before the first.”

And, well, it’s hard to think of a good reason to say no.

[lennadanvers]

I did a thing and wrote the first part to a SoapxReader angst. It won't have a happy ending (at least I don't think so). I'm not sure I should post it though, because I don't have the next part/s done yet, and it's kinda different from what I've written so far :/