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togament · 14 days

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as much as i love cute festival fluff with togame (someone else pls send in an ask for it lmao), consider confessing to togame on valentines with homemade chocolate since he’s a big foodie & he, more than anyone, would appreciate the effort 🥰

i can see him maybe not clocking the intention right away either bc he didn’t have friends until shishitoren (+ find it hard to believe anyone would be interested in him like that) & the thought of choji of all ppl making him realize it’s romantic bc the chocolate reader gave him “wasn’t as nice looking as kame-chan’s :<” is soooo funny to me

GHHRHRJRH GNAWING ON YOUR ARM THIS IS ADORABLE!!!!! kinda teared up a bit ngl. imagining a soft blushy togame got me in my feels. i feel like (Also yes pls someone send in a cute festival date hc with togame/any of your faves!!!! I have things to say about our turtle guy in particular but we can do your other faves too. idk i'm in a yappy mood.

“you’re finally ready to confess to togame after mulling it over for months. you even made chocolates for him to (hopefully) immediately devour. things don’t go quite as planned though.”

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : none just fluff, gender neutral reader, reader’s jelly and an overthinker, togame’s in looooove, choji’s a little shit (affectionate)

full story under the cut! fully SFW.

standing at the gates of the ori, you bounce on your heels in sheer nervousness, eyes tirelessly darting around in search for togame with two chocolate boxes in one hand. one smaller one and one huge and beautifully decorated one. god your heart’s beating a mile a minute and your brain’s working overtime. what if he got into trouble? a possibility. what if someone’s confessing to him? of course someone would. he’s tall, handsome, kind, can cook—what’s not to love?

what if someone asked him out on a date? shit.

..what if HE asked someone out on a date? double shit.

oh god. oh no. your form visibly slumps at the thought, doubtlessly breaking your own heart again. but hey, on the bright side, you could eat your own chocolates, right? you made them extra delicious too, making them into flavors you know he’d like. you even snuck in some ramune flavored sweets for him.

…you know you’d hate eating chocolates for the rest of your life after this.

but then, the sun in the form of choji, shines through the dark clouds in your mind. your body visibly straightens back up when you hear his distinct laughter and endless yapping along with the soft crinkles of cellophane and boxes. listening even closer, you can hear togame speak and get promptly cut off by the smaller boy.

breathe. he’s here.

shit— what if those boxes you heard were all his and choji was just carrying them with him? what if he already gave someone a kiss today? what if he’d take your box of chocolates and hand it to his date instead?? what if—

“oh hey it’s bunny.”

you were just ready to walk away when you were stopped in your tracks by his deep voice calling out the nickname he so annoyingly picked for you. even when you’re looking away you could just hear him smiling. you turn, giving both boys a slight wave before you’re met with the absolute mountain of chocolates choji and him are carrying.

you’re not the only one who wanted to confess to him then.

“hey uh-mind adding these to your pile?” you say, failing to mask the sadness in your voice. you catch yourself though, immediately correcting yourself. “got these for you guys. no biggie, really.” you made the chocolates. granted the smaller box’s for choji and it’s way less decorated compared to togame’s. more ‘default’ chocolate box than ‘I have liked you for the longest time please accept my love’ chocolate box. you yap some more, digging your own grave, “these were on sale today so… thought you guys might want a snack.” you didn’t get them on sale. hell you made each and every single one by hand for the both of them to suit their tastes. god knows how much time you and him have spent talking about cooking and food.

but then choji gasps.

“hey! lying’s not nice!” choji chirps at you, dropping the boxes of chocolates on the ground unceremoniously. togame could only look on since his hands are already occupied with even more of choji’s valentines chocolates. the smaller boy looks at you suspiciously, albeit playfully. "you made these, didn't you?"

fuck. he noticed. you stare at choji like a deer in headlights now, too stunned to utter a single word.

he eyes the beautifully painted box in your hands and you pray for the ground to just eat you.

“iiiiis that one mine?” choji points at the larger box, eyes shining. togame looks on though, silent but his mind’s racing too. little did you know the chocolates they were carrying were all choji’s, given by his droves of admirers and friends alike. while togame didn’t mind not getting any chocolates this year and all those years before that, he finds himself hoping.

please don’t let that be choji’s.

“Wh-no! it’s-“ “-kame-chan’s? waaah his box is way larger and prettier than mine is!” he cuts you off, eyeing the boxes as you hold them in your hand. still, he takes his smaller box from you. “why’d you give kame-chan a bigger one? you like him or something?”

a pause.

“is that why you’re blushing?” he prods, wiggling a finger at you. "is that why you're blushing too, kame-chan?", he adds, wiggling two fingers at the both of you.

you could just explode at that moment.

“HUH?? What??? n-no! I mean YES-“ “oh so you do?” choji adds, cutting you off again. Taking togame’s larger box of chocolates from your hands, he shuffles through the chocolate boxes he dropped on the floor, handing the taller, now stunned boy his first legit box of valentines chocolates.

you three are blanketed in silence. with the exception of choji’s giggles.

"choji wait-" “welp, I’ll be in the ori!” he brightly exclaims, swiftly taking all of the chocolate boxes from togame’s arms and off the floor, leaving him with the single, most prettiest one in the bunch.

yours.

choji leaves you both with a playful wink and you both stand there, glancing at each other and fumbling awkwardly.

silently, he opens your chocolate box and is immediately greeted with a beautifully arranged selection of chocolates and sweets. his gaze flits from the box, to your reddened face and back again. you motion for him to eat. and he does.

he didn’t think it was possible to like you even more.

he pops one of the ramune shaped bites in his mouth and his eyes immediately widen in delight behind his amber sunglasses. pushing the glasses up his forehead to meet your eyes properly, you fail to tear away your eyes in time.

“sure you made these yerself, bunny? could've fooled me. these are restaurant quality. ” he says in between bites. his tone’s something he only uses around you and choji. vulnerable, safe, gently.

your heart’s beating way too fast for your own good.

“mhm. thought you might like that one because y’know… ramune and all.” you respond, “your favorite, right?”

with an acknowledging hum, he closes the box, twisting and admiring the beautifully decorated container, a forest green box speckled with gold and ornate lines. you really set the bar way up high for him. he smiles softly to himself and you swear you see his cheeks redden a tint.

“…can ya teach me to make them?” his voice grows softer, just enough for you to hear him. “how’s next weekend?” as soon as the words escape his lips, his heartbeat rises up to his throat. what if you didn't want to? he's never done this before, making the first move. he still can't fully grasp why you'd go so far as make something for him, someone who's only respected out of fear, someone who's wronged so many for just one cause. it haunts him sometimes. the Shishitoren could forgive him but he can't forgive himself. why would you?

you'll convince him soon enough. make him see what you see in him, what others see in him.

now's not that time though. your mind’s already in another dimension, thinking about him giving his date YOUR dessert with the recipe YOU made for him. letting out a soft disappointed sigh before opening your mouth, you respond, “maybe I could.“

“Maybe huh.” he echoes you, arching a brow at you with a small frown ghosting his lips.

“yeah, maybe. I could send the recipe over to you if you want. you could try making it with your date-“

“date? I want to make them for you next month, doofus. only you.” he retorts, wanting to get his point across. he realizes you're overthinking again. he's assuring you. meeting your eyes, he sees the shade of red on your cheeks darken. you look like a fish out of water, mouth agape and eyes wide. extending a hand towards you, he nudges your chin up with his knuckle. “y’know what that means right? I like you.”

a small gasp escapes your lips.

“you do..?” a pause. “why?”

he laughs, playfully pinching your cheek.

“I just do, cutie. always have. I take it you like me too?”

you nod. do it properly this time.

“yeah. I really do.”

he smiles, dimples deepening on his cheeks. he looks so relieved you like him back. you swear you feel like you’re on cloud nine — is this really happening?

“it’s a date then." he says as he reaches over to pat your head. "you better not flake on me, bun. Else I’d take that imaginary date of mine out instead.”

scoffing, you push his chest and he lets out a soft 'oof'.

“you wouldn't dare—“

“ARE YOU GUYS DATING YET??”

choji screams from the distance, the entire Shishitoren gang’s staring at you both from the ori, desperately waiting for the both of you to finish. they've been watching you both the entire time with bated breath. his friends are all cheering him on.

a pause.

togame reaches over to hold your hand, intertwining his long fingers through yours. hoots and hollers echo as he waves them off with a hand.

you could only smile up at him, squeezing his hand into yours.

he squeezes back.

a/n: hehehehe self doubt togame making me soft. MAKE HIM FEEL WORTHY GOD DAMN IT. DATE HIM AND DATE HIM HARD.

#wind breaker #windbreaker #nii satoru #satoru nii #jo togame #togame <3 #togame jo #windbreaker x reader #jo togame x reader #togame fluff #windbreaker fluff #wind breaker fluff #bibi asks #bibi yaps #winbre fluff #TAKE TOGAME ON COOKING DATES I BEG.

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wherenymphsroam · 5 months

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literally me fighting demons (the urge to write for such a niche character that he literally doesn’t even have his own ao3 tag)

#sorry I am #so yappy about lan ying #HES SO !!!!!!!!!!!!#need him in my guts and in my heart #would let him worm his way in there and tie my heart up in a chest harness ❤️#like yeah babe go ahead and set up shop #him and leon are silently glaring at each other guys this is awk ….#yaps. ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚

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malk1ns · 16 days

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Most definitely talking about Sid's upcoming heat and Sid's yapping that he doesn't need any help but Geno knows he will get a call the first night of a whimpering and desperate Sid

👀

"Stop scenting me," Sid snaps the second Zhenya sits down.

Zhenya rolls his eyes. He hasn't even caught his breath from his last shift. Fuck this altitude, and honestly, fuck the Avs too, Sid's cozy little friendship with MacKinnon be damned.

"I'm serious," Sid continues, scooting down the bench to make room for Rusty, who practically dives over the boards to avoid a too many men. Zhenya obediently scoots along with him, grabbing Rusty around the waist to keep him steady.

"Thanks," Rusty wheezes, and Zhenya pats his shoulder before turning back to Sid.

Sid's glaring at him. He hates being ignored under normal circumstances, and it only gets worse when he's careening towards heat—a fact that Sid is strenuously denying.

"Sorry," Zhenya says, making his eyes big and ducking his head. "Smell good, Sid, can't help it."

Sid's eyes narrow. After so many years, he's wise to Zhenya's tricks, and he's apparently not far enough into pre-heat to fall for them anyway. Zhenya adjusts his mental calculations forward a day. "I don't know what you think you're smelling, but it's not me. I'm not due for another two weeks, and we talked about this. I don't need you this time."

"Okay," Zhenya says placidly, tapping Sid's knee. Sid's cute when he gets all worked up and indignant like this.

"Hey—" Sid sputters, probably picking up Zhenya's amusement, but then coach is tapping his line in, so Sid can't do anything but glare as he swings over the boards.

Zhenya watches as he swings a big arc towards the goal, changing direction so abruptly that the d-man shadowing him loses an edge and hits the ice. Sid turns to snap at the guy, and Zhenya readjusts his math again, this time back a few hours.

Pissing Sid off always makes things move faster.

They drop the game in OT, but that's okay. They played well, better than they have since the trade deadline, and the shock of losing Jake is finally starting to wear off. Sid doesn't look hollowed-out whenever he looks to his left any more, and Bunting is the exact type of yappy, determined presence on Zhenya's wing that he's always played best with. The postseason is still a reach, but suddenly the games they're playing seem like they mean something again, and that's all Zhenya wants, really.

Playoffs are nice, but Zhenya's old enough now that he doesn't live and die by each individual season anymore. If he can keep his production up for a few more years, avoid major injury and quiet the people who constantly call for him to be traded, he'll be happy.

Well. That, and getting Sid to finally admit that what they've been doing for nearly two decades now isn't just friends helping each other out. But Zhenya can be patient on that front.

Seeing Jake in Carolina colors is hard, and Zhenya discreetly wipes his eyes during the tribute video. Sid doesn't bother, staring up at the enormous new jumbotron with shiny eyes. The win makes it easier to stomach, though, and Jake stops by the locker room after the game, lingering well past when the Hurricanes' bus must have left for the hotel.

He and Sid talk for a long, long time, tucked away in a hallway while Rusty and Zhenya linger, ready to head off any media that comes this direction. They're left alone, though, and when Jake finally slips past them, he's knuckling at his eyes. Zhenya politely doesn't mention it when he pulls Jake into one last hug.

Sid's marching for the parking lot, and Zhenya has to hustle to catch up with him. When he draws even, he practically trips over his feet—Sid smells ripe, fertile and alluring, like he's minutes from dropping into heat. Surely he feels it by now.

Sid slides him a sharp glare. "Don't fucking start," he mutters, angling away when Zhenya leans towards him. "You were right, okay? But it doesn't mean anything."

Zhenya takes a deep inhale and consciously steps to the side, giving Sid his space. "Call if you need," is all he says, cutting towards his car and speeding up before he can give into the impulse to manhandle Sid back to his house and his bed and keep him there.

"I won't!" Sid calls across the garage. Zhenya shakes his head.

It doesn't always go this way. Sometimes Sid invites him back, sends him texts like i think it's starting soon and would you mind...? as if any alpha in their right mind would turn Sidney Crosby in heat down. He gets squirrelly when it happens too many times in a row, though, acts like Zhenya's going to hold him down and bite his claim into Sid's neck without permission, and tries to put distance between them.

It never lasts, though.

Zhenya's in his pajamas and glasses, settling in with his Kindle, when his phone rings.

"G," Sid whimpers over the line, and Zhenya sits upright, the sound of a distressed omega plucking at his instincts even at a distance. "G, where are you?"

Zhenya fists his hand in his duvet. "You say you don't want," he says carefully, listening to Sid's gasps, wondering if he'd managed to get something from his toybox or if he fell into it so fast that he's using his hand. Sid doesn't take care of himself like Zhenya would if they were mated, and he's come over more than once to Sid on his belly and whimpering because his own fingers don't get him right.

That's what Zhenya's always been for.

"I didn't mean it," Sid whines, voice muffled. "G, I need you."

Zhenya pulls the phone away from his ear and looks at the screen. Not even ten, and they have an off-day tomorrow. "Sid, you say I stay home this time," he says, but he's throwing his blanket back and getting up. "You change mind?"

"I was lying," Sid moans, frustration edging into his voice. "I was...G, please, you..."

He's falling deeper into it now. Zhenya hesitates; Sid had sounded so sure, more than usual, but...

"Geno," Sid says, practically a sob, and the decision is made. There's only so much his own instincts will allow him to ignore, and Sid calls him every time—if he didn't want Zhenya coming over, he shouldn't be calling.

It takes Zhenya a few tries to remember Sid's new door code, but when he steps inside, the smell of Sid's heat practically bowls him over. Zhenya has to stop and breathe, adjust to the overpowering sugar-and-marine salt permeating the air, before he can walk without stumbling to Sid's bedroom.

"Oh, Sid," he says, pausing at the doorway.

"Please," Sid begs. He hadn't gotten to his toys after all, and he's practically twisted in a pretzel, two fingers stuffed inside himself while his other hand strips his dick. He's come once already by the mess on his stomach, but his dick is so hard it's purple, and his face is twisted in agony, not pleasure.

"Shh," Zhenya croons, voice dropping to alpha-register all on its own. He's across the room and stripping his clothes off before he's even registered it, but when he gets hands on Sid's torso Sid takes in a deep, shuddering breath and relaxes.

"G," he mumbles, looking up at Zhenya through tear-damp eyelashes. "You left me."

"I'm sorry," Zhenya murmurs, gentling Sid onto his back, pushing at his shoulder until his hand slides free. His fingers are shiny with his own slick, and Zhenya pauses to suck them clean, eyelids fluttering at the taste. Sid watches him, chest heaving, and when Zhenya lets Sid's fingers drop from his mouth, Sid trails them down Zhenya's face and chest, resting his hand over Zhenya's heart. "I'm here now," Zhenya says, leaning down to kiss Sid. "I'll take care of you."

"Yes," Sid sighs as Zhenya slides into him, letting his legs butterfly out and his head loll to one side.

Zhenya stares at Sid's neck, exposed and there, and practically bites through his lip, fucking Sid harder. He wants to bite Sid so, so badly, has for years, but Sid always pulls back just when they're on the precipice of turning this into something more, always ices Zhenya out when it starts to feel too serious, and Zhenya's not going to push—it has to be Sid's decision.

Something of what he's feeling must be leaking through, because Sid opens his eyes and looks at him. His eyes are blurry; he's deep in it now, and every exhale is a half-purr as Zhenya's knot starts to grow and catch at him with every thrust. "Mmmm," he moans, the perfect picture of an omega submitting to his alpha, but the way he tilts his head to expose his neck is all purposeful, as is the way he coyly looks at Zhenya.

"Sid," Zhenya groans, grinding his teeth. He can't stop himself from dropping to his forearms and getting his noise into the crook of Sid's neck, licking frantically over Sid's scent glands. The smell of them blooms in the room, heady and intoxicating, and Zhenya's thrusts go ragged and desperate as his knot swells. "Sid, please." He feels drunk, he doesn't even know what he's asking for, opening his mouth around the meaty muscle where Sid's neck meets his shoulder.

Sid's hand is at the back of his head, but he's pushing, not pulling Zhenya back, and Zhenya's teeth dig into Sid's skin. His "bite me" is barely audible, but it's the loudest thing Zhenya's ever heard, echoing over the roaring of blood in his ears and their breath.

He bites. The world falls away.

When Zhenya swims back to consciousness, his knot still hasn't gone down. Somehow, Sid had managed to get them on their sides, and he's petting over Zhenya's sweaty back, nuzzled up against Zhenya's chest and humming.

"Sid?" Zhenya croaks, eyes flying open when he remembers. "Oh, fuck, Sid, I—"

"Shh, it's okay." It's Sid's turn to soothe Zhenya, purring until Zhenya's heart slows down. Zhenya's nostrils flare as he inhales, and all he can smell is happy, contented omega.

"We..." Zhenya's floundering, head spinning as he tries to put the pieces together.

"I asked you to do it, bud," Sid says. He sounds quiet, but sure. "I wanted it. I was..." He sighs, and Zhenya can feel him shrug. "We can talk about it later, but...I was talking to Jake, and he said, you know, we're lucky—it doesn't matter what happens, because in the end we always have each other. And then I got home, and I was thinking about how he's right. You've had plenty of chances to leave, and you never did. And you always come when I need you. So...it felt stupid, to be pushing you away still."

"Sid," Zhenya groans, half infuriated and half overcome with fondness. If they weren't still knotted together he'd pin Sid down and bite at his sensitive, ticklish stomach as punishment until Sid was laughing and kicking him away. "You say to me when you think these things, like, don't make me come run over so late, scare me like I do what you don't want."

Sid shrugs again, and now he smells smug. "You always come when I call," he says, and Zhenya can't even argue that point.

He wouldn't want to, anyway.

#sidgeno #my writing #a/b/o

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ivymarquis · 5 months

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Hi loves 💕💕 I saw requests are open so I figured I'd send one in! I absolutely love your work you're so talented and I binge read all of your fics!!

I would like to request fem reader x soap where Soaps wife adopted a dog she found on the streets and keeps her even though he hates the idea.( he has a cannon fear of dogs which I find a little funny) slowly but surely he warms up to the dog but not fully. While he's out on a mission there's a robbery and the dog protects the reader and scares off the intruder. Soap hears about this and is instantly is best friends with the dog because even though he hates dogs he loves that the pup will protect his wife (I also hc that mabey it's not a street dog but a retired k9 reader adopted to feel safe while he was gone and she just didn't tell him until he comes home and sees a dog. it's up to you what you pick💓)

Hello anon I appreciate your patience!! I did pick and choose a wee bit to make the fic make sense for me, I hope you like it!

The Exception to the Rule

Pairing| Soap x Reader Rating| T Word Count| 1.9K Content/Warnings| Housekeeping first- this fic is SFW so if you find it in the tags I won’t be bothered about minors reading it but I am an MDNI blog and I will block any minors or ageless blogs who follow me. Got it? Cool. The author is an American attempting to write a Scottish accent, likely inaccuracies about how military dogs in general or bomb dogs in specific work. Allusions to prior animal injury, allusion to potential dog choking (in the context of choking off a working dog who won’t release its quarry), allusion to home invasion, dog bites, Johnny is not happy, the author does not condone getting animals you know your partner has issues with (but the plot necessitates it so on we go!)

Soap knows his wife well enough to know when she’s taken a “ask for forgiveness rather than permission” course of action. It’s written all over her face when she accepts his FaceTime call and answers his greeting of “What did ya dae, hen?“ with a “Please don’t be mad.”

Now certain men might have to worry about their brides stepping out on them on deployment. Soap knows her well enough to not even entertain that notion, so the wheels start turning for what exactly she could have done that has her looking this guilty out the gate.

The answer comes very suddenly in the form of a bark on the other end of the screen.

John Soap MacTavish sputters, something he is not often inclined to do, “Is that a fuckin’ dog?” And not just a dog. That wasn’t a little yappy fluffball who can be picked up with two fingers if need be. It sounds like one of the damn bomb dogs always yapping over in the kennels.

“Please don’t be mad!” She pleads again.

“Well a’m not happy, that’s for sure. Where and why did ye git that thing?”

This is completely out of character for her. Soap’s disdain for dogs (and why) is well known. She bloody well knows. So what the hell?

“It’s not permanent! You said this deployment would be a long one, and there’s been break ins in the neighborhood and I got nervous and my friend told me about this rescue group that helps rehome retired military dogs.” Her explanation is all in one breath. “They approved us” (Us??) ”as a foster family. He’s already got applications in for a permanent home. It just feels,” she pauses to catch her breath, and Soap can feel himself softening ever so minisculely to the dog- as long as he’s on the other side of the world, away from it, “safer here, with him here since you’re gone. The break ins have been really scary, they haven’t caught the guy yet.”

Fucking hell how is he supposed to argue with that? Especially if there’s some prick on the loose breaking into houses.

“Cujo better nae be oan th’ bed wi’ ye,” he grouses, acquiescing while still making his displeasure known.

“His name is Kabar and I’ll have the bed freshly stripped when you’re due back I promise.”

Soap is a god damn sucker for those pleading doe eyes, giving a big exasperated sigh to signal he’s letting her off the hook. “Fine. Bit he better be gaen by th’ time I pull intae th’ driveway. Let’s see th’ damn thing then,” Christ he hopes it’s not a Belgian Malinois. He knows they’re popular for military dogs but his darling is not built to handle a maligator, retired or not.

“Okay hang on,” she replies, notably cheerier as she taps the screen.

It’s a German Shepherd, thank fuck (Johnny must be having a stroke to be grateful for the sight of a German Shepherd in his bed)

He knows as well as anyone else they can be intense, but they’re a step down from the Malinois at least.

The coloring is traditional, but Soap’s brain starts nudging him that something is wrong with the dog. It takes a moment to click before he realizes the problem.

The damn dog only has three legs. “Is he a tripod?” The question is out before he can stop himself because no he is not inquiring about the damn dog. It was just a thought that escaped.

“He is a disabled veteran!” His bride corrects cheekily, before much more solemnly adding “He was a bomb dog.”

Oh Christ. He did not need to know that. Doesn’t need to think about the damn animal waking up one day with four legs and clocking in to work with his handler before boom.

“A’m only entertaining this because of the break ins, hen, am ah clear?”

Maybe having that booming bark rattling the windows will keep any would-be intruders at bay. This is the worst part of the job- being stuck on what might as well be the other side of the world when she’s got something to deal with.

“Absolutely crystal clear!” She’s all too agreeable, pleased as hell to have her cake (the dog) and eat it too (Johnny tolerating it).

Somehow this is going to blow up in his face and he’s going to permanently end up with a fucking military dog he doesn’t want, he just knows it.

But there’s no fucking way he can tell her No. Absolutely not. He goes back today, with a potential threat lurking around the neighborhood. He’d never forgive himself.

The rest of the conversation is much more in line with what he usually anticipates with their phone calls being- He doesn’t much like talking about work off the clock although lets her know of any interesting shenanigans around the base, and listening with baited breath as she regails him of tales both extraordinary and, well, extra ordinary.

Usually their phone calls end when she passes out in bed, and they’re perfectly poised to continue that habit tonight also.

“Ye made sure all th’ doors and windows are locked, hen?” He asks as she starts snuggling into the bedding underneath her.

“Yeah Johnny, I,” she cuts herself off with a big yawn “-I double checked them.”

It’s a few minutes later that the phone slips from her hand, camera pointing at the ceiling as she drifts off.

Johnny can almost imagine he’s at home laying on his back, watching the rhythmic movements of the ceiling fan in time with his lovely girl snoring slightly in his ear (despite her verbose protests that no she doesn’t snore- okay. Whatever you say, gorgeous.)

It’s an incredibly comforting moment that lets him feel a bit closer to home that is ruined by the sound of snuffling by the speaker.

The dog’s nose appears on screen, the angle making him look like an aardvark as he sniffs the phone before laying down, presumably relishing in the fact there’s not a damn thing Soap can do about this situation.

“Ye better keep an eye oan my girl, Cujo.” Soap grumbles as he begrudgingly hangs up the phone.

The mission ends quicker than expected- substantially quicker- and as content as Soap is with getting home he also is annoyed.

The mission got cut so short, and it’s so damn late by the time Soap is driving home that he knows the fucking dog is still there. The agreed upon date has not yet passed, which means that fuck is lazing about on his side of the bed.

Not to mention the mere obstacle of convincing a former military dog he’s never met, in the middle of the night, that yes this is his fucking house and he’s the one paying the bills around here and yes that actually is his spot on the bed so kindly fuck off.

At a point during his drive home, a police car flies by him. Then another. Then another.

Must be the fucker that’s been breaking into homes. Hopefully he gets caught and that’s one less thing to worry about when Johnny leaves again.

Except the red and blue lights seem to be fucking honed in from the spot that he’s steadily driving to, and Johnny’s convinving himself that he’s seeing things. There is no way that those lights and sirens are stemming from his house, thank you very much.

Even still, he feels himself driving faster. The sooner to quiet his anxiety that’s brewing.

The anxiety doesn’t dissipate as he makes each turn to his home. If anything it gets worse.

Because all that noise and the flashing lights are stemming from his own fucking home. Johnny can barely get the thing in park before he’s flying out of the vehicle. He can hear screams and specifically her crying and in an instant Johnny’s beyond being keyed up.

One of the officers attempts to intercept Johnny- thinks he’s just some nosy fuck from who knows where- and it takes everything in him not to blow his top entirely as he cuts the man off with a stern “This is mah house ‘n she’s mah wife!”

The sound of his voice booming into the night is enough to catch her attention and bring her running to him. Johnny embraces her as she flings herself at him, crying into his shirt as he strokes her back and soothes her.

He can piece together the general what happened, although he’s completely unaware of the details.

One piece begins to fit into place as he starts to hear what all the screaming is. His initial attention completely fixated on ensuring his wife is whole and hale, now he can check that off the mental list he now has the bandwidth to listen to the bellowing.

“Git it aff me! Och Jesus, someone git it aff o' me!”

“Cannae git th’ damn thing tae release him,” Johnny hears one of the officers comment dryly.

“Can always choke him off if the owners can’t git him tae let go,” the other one supplies.

“Eh, ah guess,” the first one responds in a bored tone that makes it clear he has a this guy fucked around and now he’s finding out, and I don’t see a reason to hurry- the dog looks happy anyway, stance to the situation.

On the side of the house, face down in the grass is the man who presumably broke inside.

He is so incredibly lucky there are witnesses and a sobbing wife to curtail the dark, angry thoughts swirling around in Johnny’s brain. Otherwise all it would take would be one phone call to Laswell and this prick disappears forever.

Attached to the calf of that man is Cujo, happily laying on the ground with his tail wagging slowly like his teeth aren’t sunk inside a man’s flesh. If the dog gets too annoyed with the man’s wiggling he shakes him like a chew toy, starting up a fresh round of someone git this fucking dog aff o’ me! until he lays still.

The mention of choking the dog off the would-be intruder doesn’t slip past his darling in the slightest, looking up at him with wet, pleading eyes.

Damn it all, he’s always a sucker for that look.

“Johnny, do you know how to make him let go? I don’t want him choked!”

He decides she’s probably better off not being told how often that ends up having to happen, and that Cujo will be just fine minus a few brain cells if push comes to shove.

But he has spent enough time (against his will, mind) around the dogs that he’s learned the basic commands over the years through repeated exposure.

“No promises, hen, bit we’ll see.” The dog has never met him a day in his life- there’s no guarantee he’s going to listen to a man that’s a stranger barking orders at him, but Johnny gives the sharp German command anyway.

To his surprise, the dog lets go immediately and turns towards them, giving the skipping lope that a 3 legged dog does before placing himself in a heel at Soap’s side, eyes wide and head tilted.

Johnny doesn’t want to think about what could have happened tonight if it wasn’t for Cujo- Kabar- taking such an involved roll in apprehending the man stupid enough to break into his home.

And he’s most assuredly not magically over his aversion to dogs- especially military dogs- but he might be able to tolerate an exception if it means having some peace of mind that his wife is safe at home.

#john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #cod x reader #my writing

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