John Mactavish X Reader - Blog Posts

hi um so two of my fav writers on this platform literally reblogged another of these drabbles as i was writing this one so?? I'm buggin.

It’s the long-drawn snapping of neurons that prickle at you, eyes closed and forearm thrown over your face. A slow peel of eyelid after eyelid, foggy thoughts wisping away at a moment’s notice in the blackness of the bedroom; the ceiling is more a theory of shapes inferred from moon-coerced shadows than its usual cragginess, and you unhook your arm from the dip between your nose and forehead to reach up. Comb your fingertips through the air. 

Was it the breeze through your ever-closed window? Open now, a new development, but surely one that would rouse you like a bear from slumber. You feel large enough to be a bear, warm enough to feel tarped in fur, lethargic enough to clamber off your mattress and land on all fours and grunt like an animal. 

Maybe it was the slice of light underneath your bedroom door. You never forget to turn off the switches in your living room, the LED bulbs too glowy and insistent to sleep the way you do, curled up on one side and facing the doorway. 

Or maybe it’s because you’re not sleeping the way you always do. Not at the moment. Right now, you’re tipped onto your back, each limb swallowed up by an inch of cushion, flat like a slab of carbonite. Your body and the bed are inseparable—each pore on your skin is looped through with a stitch that dips into the sheets, rises back out and finishes with a double knot. 

All you can do is lay there. Willingly, you suppose, despite the spasms. 

A new ozone layer has settled around you, consistency of molasses, and hot to inhale. It stinks of past activity, like breaths that have been used up and tossed out. All of it cloys against your skin, maintaining a sheen of sweat to add to the discomfort. 

You’re awake now, though. 

Unhappy, but no longer unconscious. A bit bitter that you’re all alone. 

But a sharp trill pierces the air, and it hits you—that’s it.

That’s what had awoken you. 

Roused this grumpy, sticky, sore form of you that’s polyfoam-bound, torn too quick from a fundamental repose period. You’re too exhausted to moan, gripe, curse like you should. 

Even as the lights under the door flicker out, and something pushes it’s way inside with various scuffling movements. The room returns to stagnancy with a soft click, save for the lone gust of wind invading and receding at an unsteady tempo. 

Your next breath is a roiling mix of oxygen saturated with sodium and garlic. You hum aloud, a vague attempt to dissuade the bile crawling up your throat. Each time your tongue scrapes past your teeth, the morning grime collects and taints your tastebuds. 

You need water, and a toothbrush, and two tablespoons of toothpaste. Five minutes for an alcoholic rinse, too. 

Definitely don’t need the robust wafting of a pepperoni Hot Pocket up your nostrils at the ass-crack of dawn, as the mattress dips with a bulky outline. 

“Sorry, Bonnie,” a Scottish voice that is not apologetic in the slightest mumbles beside you. “Didnae mean to wake ye. Fuckin’ makes me ’bit peckish.”

We’re not gonna talk about how I wrote this instead of finishing part two of what’s in a virtue. We’re not even gonna talk about what this is. I’m just gonna… yeah, here ya go.

!Trigger warnings: dubcon

Body swap au with soap who just wakes up one day and says, “no fuckin’ way.”

Soap who thinks it’s the best fuckin’ dream he’s ever had.

Soap who solemnly agrees with you in the mornings that yes, the two of you do need to work together to fix this as soon as possible, but who spends his nights in front of a mirror stripped down to nothing, masturbating because it’s fucking you, and you’re so pretty when you’re panting. Soap who was always convinced that making you come would feel just as good as coming himself, and now he doesn’t have to figure that out anymore.

Soap who, fuck, has his cake and eats it, too.

Soap who grins so proud at the awkward way you stumble around in his body, too big for you. Soap who, after discovering you’d had to——ahem——relieve yourself for the first time, feels his skin fucking buzz at the fact that you can’t meet his eyes, your eyes, anymore without a schoolboy blush spreading across his own damn face.

Soap who knows you liked what you saw.

Soap who makes your body come again that night, not even thinking of your body anymore, but of your mind fumbling around in his body, experimenting with touches and caresses. Soap who imagines you knowing how to pleasure him inside and out when this is all over.

Soap who records the sound of your voice saying his name, because the lines are getting so damn blurry, and emails the video to himself. Takes pictures, too.

Would never blackmail you with them, no, no, no.

But he deletes them from your phone after sending them all to his drive.

Soap who, after everything is over, after you’ve both found your ways into your own bodies, trots after you like the dog he is wherever you go.

Soap who, after you check the deleted folder of your photos app, gets a good and proper scolding.

Soap who managed to record the entire reprimand, listening to the anger in your voice, the how dare you do that to me——to my body?! That’s so fucked up, Soap!

Soap who rewards himself yet again that night, teeth gnawing at the hem of his shirt that he hadn’t bothered taking off, just pulling up high enough to jack himself off with his back against his front door. Panting at the dash he’d made up his flat’s stairs, then panting your name, whimpering disingenuous apologies to your chiding voice.

Soap who doesn’t stop, who won’t stop until he’s got the real you screaming his name.

idk what I’m doing but call me a duckling bc I be following all the ppl who use this format and it looked like fun

Soap who meets you, a medic for the Shadow Company, after he’s injured on the mission. Soap who’s dragged by Ghost up into the chopper, who you lean over and promise you’ll do your damn bestest to make sure he looks pretty by the end of this.

“Let me know if you see the light at any point, Sergeant MacTavish. That’s usually a bad sign.”

Soap who won’t stop looking you in the eyes as you work, mumbling to himself in such a thick accent you figure it’s best to ignore him, especially while finishing a suture on his chest that draws out an excessive groan.

Soap who flirts with you the entire time. Soap who’s ignorant to the gaping wound on his chest, and is much rather invested in the way your smell washes over him as you hover, ponytailed hair dangerously close to his hand. Soap who lets his head fall onto your shoulder on accident, Bonnie, so sorry, even as he sniffs for more of that shampoo and tang of sweat, because you’d been working so damn hard to keep little old him alive.

Soap who lets you wrap around him, pressing your hands against the wall and the cushion next to his thigh to get leverage to lean him up and off the cot.

Soap who clings a little too tightly to your shoulder as you lead him down and away, safely back to his base and into his CO’s protection.

“Thank you for not dying on me, John,” you say as you guide him back to Ghost.

Soap who watches you still, dazed little grin on his face even as Ghost grapples a hand at his shoulder——to hold him steady or hold him back, he’s not really sure.

Soap who wouldn’t mind staying with you, though. For a little longer.

“Anytime, Bonnie.” And he throws you a cheeky wink despite his sickly flush.

“Screwball,” you mutter fondly, waving a dismissive hand over your shoulder as you make your way back up the Shadow heli’s ramp.

Soap who grins as you go, eyeing your ass as he leans over to Ghost with a whispered, “What ‘oes screwball mean?”

“‘Fuck would I know, Johnny? Now let’s get a fuckin’ move on.”

Switch!Reader 🤝 Switch!Johnny where he sucks the strap and calls you daddy when you're topping and he edges you relentlessly until you cum so hard you pass out when he's topping

Drunk

Pairing: Soap Mactavish x gf!reader

Summary: Soap goes out for a boy's night with Simon and has a little too much to drink

Word Count: 934

Warnings: none

A/N: took a little longer to get his one out but here ya go :) my requests are open for all characters I write for

Little shorter than I usually write them but I how you enjoy! I tried including more of his Scottish accent so I tried making it accurate! Beware of typos :)

You were snuggled up on the couch watching your favorite reality show with Finn, your and Johnny's border collie, curled up and dozing by your feet. Johnny had gotten back from leave almost a week ago and spent the first few days with you. Tonight though, he went out for a guy's night to the bar with Simon so it was just you and Finn until Johnny inevitably is driven home. Your Scot didn't drink often, but when he did he definitely goes all in.

Suddenly you heard a car door shut and heavy footfalls approach your front door. You got up when a knock sounded and you open it to find Simon standing on your front porch. Johnny was hanging off of Simon's arm and Simon was trying to support him as Johnny rambled on loudly. "He got shit-faced at the bar so I wanted to bring him home," Simon grunted. "I woulda called but I didn't want to bother you," he added. "No that's okay thank you Simon," you said, stepping out and grabbing Johnny.

You wrapped his arm around your shoulders and with a final thank you and goodbye to Simon, you shut the door behind you. "Why, aren't ya a pretty lass!" Johnny exclaimed. "Not as pretty as mine though," he continued, seeming to forget your relationship. "Oh yeah? Is she really that pretty?" You laughed, playing along with him while you steered him toward the bedroom. "Aye! I never saw anyone quite as pretty as her," he affirmed, his words slurring together.

When you got the bedroom you set him on the bed with a flop. You unlaced his shoes and pulled them off his feet and dropped on the floor of the closet. Johnny kept on talking but you couldn't understand much of what he was saying, his words slurring together too much. "It's too fuckin' hot in 'ere!" He complained and you turned around to see him peeling off his shirt. You picked out some clean sweatpants and a t shirt and set them on the bed. "Come on let's get the rest of these clothes off of you," you said, your hands reaching for his belt to help him change his pants. "Fuckin' hell woman what'd I tell ya!" He practically shouted, shoving your hands away and jumping to his feet; although he teetered slightly.

"Johnny!" You said, shocked; he had never raised his voice to you ever, even when he had a little too much too drink. "I already told ya! I'm taken!" He continued. "Johnny what are you talking about?" You asked, slightly bemused. "You oughta be ashamed of yerself trying to fool around with a claimed man," he huffed. Deciding it would be easier to just go along with it you gently pushed him back onto the bed to get him settled. "I've got the prettiest hen waiting for me back home lass," he said, his thick accent getting thicker as he mumbled. "And I'm going to marry her one day," his head fell back against the pillows and in no time at all Johnny was snoring.

Your hand stilled as you were pulling the covers over him and looked at your sleeping boyfriend. You quickly brushed the thought away and covered him with the sheets.

Soap woke up the next morning, groaning and covering his eyes to shield them from the sunlight filtering into the room. The room spun slightly as he sat up and his head throbbed. He couldn't remember much of last night after he and Simon left the bar. He looked over at your side of the bed and you weren't there; smells of eggs and sausages frying told him you were in the kitchen.

He flipped the sheets off of himself and saw on his nightstand were a couple of pain relievers and a small glass of water. You were a saint he thought as he took the pills and gulped down the water to battle the nasty hangover. The bright light hurt his eyes so he squinted as he stood up to change out the jeans he obviously slept in before brushing his teeth. He slowly made his way to the kitchen and saw you cooking breakfast.

"Good morning," you smirked, taking in his disheveled appearance. "How do you feel?" You asked. "Like shite," he mumbled, wrapping his arms around you from behind and nuzzling his face into your neck. "I didnae say anything daft did I?" He mumbled into your neck. "Hmmm....you did tell me you had a pretty girlfriend waiting for you when I tried to help you get changed," you mused. And you told me you were going to marry me. But you kept that to yourself.

"Sorry for being so drunk," he apologized, wondering what all you had to put up with. He started getting dizzy so he sat himself at the kitchen table watching you. "Don't worry about it," you planted a kiss on his cheek. "Maybe this will make you feel better," you smiled, and placed a full Scottish breakfast(minus the mushrooms because he didn't like them) in front of him. "Ya really spoil me Bonnie," he said before digging in. You ate with him and couldn't help but let your mind wander to what he had said the previous night. And I'm going to marry her one day. That's what he had said and you wanted to marry Johnny more than anything but he just said that because he was drunk. Right? What you didn't know was that hidden in Johnny's nightstand was an engagement ring that he bought the first day he met you.

Been writing a soap fic over my break from school and I can't wait to release it :3

Since I can't decide who to write for next and I've got a couple fics in the works for both of them, I'll let yall decide in my very first poll :)

Soap Headcannons

Summary: Just a random collection of headcannons about our boy Soap

Warnings: none

A/N: it's been sooo long since I've written anything so here's a lil something just to get me out of my writing slump. I know this is really short(I wrote it in like 15 minutes so it's kinda trash) but this is my first time writing anything about headcannons so be nice😭

Also the period headcannons are purely self-indulgent since my period is hitting me hard 😖 anyway I hope yall enjoy! Likes, reboots, and comments are appreciated :)

This man spoils you any chance he gets; flowers every time he gets home from a mission(or flowers just because), breakfast in bed, and romantic date nights are common

Soap is a naturally heavy sleeper but because of his work he doesn't sleep much. When he's home though? He definitely sleeps like a baby

He also snores a lot; Whenever you bring it up he loves teasing you by saying you do too and laughs when you try and deny it. The man also radiates so much heat he's basically your own personal heater

Takes care of you in every possible when you're on your period especially if your cramps are really bad; doesn't matter if it's running a hot bath for you or fetching whatever it is you want, you've got him wrapped around your finger(and he doesn't want it any other way)

Definitely satisfying all your food cravings and I mean all of them; you want chocolate and snacks? He's on his way out the door to go to the store. You're craving your favorite comfort meal? Say less he's already on it and driving to the restaurant

Count on Me

Pairing: Soap x military gf!reader

Summary: soap gets in trouble defending you

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: fluff, angst, mild violence, strong language, brief mention of death, unwanted touching, sexual harassment(just to be safe)

A/n: another fic for one of our favorite 141 boys! Because of the warnings I highly suggest if any of this makes you uncomfortable please don't read it! That being said I hope whoever does read it enjoys it! As always reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated! :)

Soap never really thought about the future anymore. When you work a job like he does, it's counterproductive and sometimes even dangerous to think of a future. When Soap was a younger lad he always thought he'd have a lass and a bairn or two of his own but ever since joining the military he pushed it to the back of his mind. That was until he met you. Price and Laswell recruited you to help with a mission and you ended up earning a spot alongside the rest of the 141.

Soap had always been quite flirtatious by nature but you were different. While yes he did still flirt with you, he caught himself doing the one thing he tried so hard to avoid. He caught himself seeking you out during meals or wanting to spar with you during training. He caught himself staring at you during meetings or rec time. He caught himself thinking about a future with you; little lads(or lasses) running around getting under your feet. He caught himself falling in love. At first it terrified him realizing he loved you; loving people in his line of work put a target on their back. But seeing how badass you were but also one of the kindest people he knew, he couldn't help himself.

He found out you felt the same when you two were stuck in a safe house in no where Siberia. You were given dodgy intel and it ended with you being shot. Soap had never felt his heart sink so fast; he felt like it dropped to his feet. "Soap in case I don't make it out... I have to tell you something," you said, struggling to get the words out. You could feel the life leaving with every pump of blood; it was a strange sensation to feel yourself dying.

"Dinnae talk like tha' lass," he said, holding a cloth to the hole in your stomach. "You can tell me when we make it out of here,". Your hand grasped his and made him look at you. "I love you Soap," you said. "I tried really hard not too; I tried keeping it professional but...I love you," the words were harder to speak with each passing minute. For a moment Soap's heart felt like it was gonna burst but he still had to get you out alive. Soap had managed to stop the bleeding and a heli had come for exfil courtesy of Price. You ended up making a full recovery in the medical wing.

Ever since then you and Soap had agreed to keep your relationship a secret from the rest of the team. Midnight rendezvous in your rooms, sneaking glances and featherlight touches made Soap feel like a schoolboy again messing around with the popular girl. Of course Price had his suspicions right away; he always kept a close watch over his team and saw how you two treated each other after the mission in Siberia. He didn't say anything though because it didn't affect your performance. Ghost found out after Price when you and Soap were a little drunk after a night out and were a little too loud in the shower. After that you both agreed to be more careful.

It was because of this that men still hit on you. It was nothing new to be hit on especially in the military; you usually just brushed them off politely and then laugh when you saw Soap staring daggers at the poor man who hit on you. It usually ended with you not being able to walk; not that you minded in the slightest. But this time was different.

Because of Price's reluctant agreement a team had been brought in to assist with an extraction. During the whole mission the squad's lieutenant, Yates, had been making sexual comments about you; you were able to brush them off like you always do because this was nothing you hadn't heard before. Being a woman in the military you weren't a stranger to inappropriate comments from men. But you could tell it was bothering Soap.

The mission was a success; you were able to get your target out without it being a disaster. You were hanging around base with Soap, Gaz, and Ghost after you all got back. Price had retreated back to his office to work on paperwork and the squad that was brought in was with you three in the rec room. "So y/l/n what about you?" Yates asked. They had been talking about their weekend escapades with beautiful women while being especially crude. "Who here would you let do you?" He asked, a smirk on his face. "Excuse me?" You asked, hoping you heard him wrong.

You could feel Soap tense beside you, gripping the neck of his beer bottle so tightly you were surprised it didn't shatter. Ghost laid a hand on Soap's shoulder trying to keep him from doing anything stupid. "Who would you let do you?" The lieutenant repeated himself. "Or maybe you already let them," he said still with a nasty smirk. You finished the last of your beer before standing up. "I think I'm going to go finish my own paperwork," You said, bidding goodbye to your teammates. "Oh come on don't be a bitch just answer the question," He said standing up and blocking your path. "Move. Now." You said, flatly.

"Come on it's just a simple question," he said, stepping closer. "Do you let them take turns?" He asked. "Just tell me who leaves you the most sore afterward?" He grabbed your ass and pulled you against his chest. Before you could break his hand for touching you, Soap pushed between you two and punched the lieutenant across the face. "You son of a bitch!" Soap shouted. The two tumbled and fell with Soap on top. The rec hall erupted in shouts some from Gaz and Ghost and some from the other squad. Soap was able to get a few more punches in before Gaz and Ghost could pull him off "Johnny what the fuck?!" Ghost shouted.

Yates lied on the ground, holding his face. Blood poured from his broken nose and busted mouth. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Yates groaned. You stood there stunned and looked over at Soap who Ghost was still trying to calm down. "Go take a fucking walk Johnny," Ghost growled. Soap looked over at you and turned on his heel stalking off. "You're finished Sergeant you hear me? You're fucking finished!" Yates screamed at Soap's retreating back. "Shut the fuck up Yates," Ghost said, his voice a low growl as he looked at the injured lieutenant. The lieutenant got up and left, probably to find Price's office. You didn't know what to say so you turned to leave when Ghost grabbed your wrist. "He just risked his entire career to defend you. Give him some time to cool off but you need to talk to him," Ghost said, his voice the usual grumble. You nodded, glanced briefly at the blood on the floor, and left for your room.

Soap knocked on Price's door waiting for Price to tell him to come in. The door opened and Yates stepped out. His face purple and bruised, his nose still crooked with cotton stuffed in his nostrils to stop the bleeding. His mouth was swollen with dried blood caked on it. Soap felt a sick sort of satisfaction knowing he did that. Ghost followed Yates and gave him a reassuring nod. Yates just glared at him when Price called him in. "Take a seat," Price said from behind his desk.

Soap closed the door and made his way to one of the chairs facing Price's desk. "His captain is calling for your discharge," Price said. "He's not happy that his lieutenant has a busted face," he added. "You didn't hear what he said about her," Soap said, his fists clenching at the memory. "I know exactly what he said. Ghost told me," said Price. "The fact is you assaulted a superior officer. You're lucky you're not being court martialed," Price said, looking at Soap.

"Yates is a womanizing bastard. I'd do it again discharge or not," Soap said. "I know you would," Price couldn't help but chuckle. "Fortunately for you that won't be a problem. His captain is as much of a cunt as he is but we worked it out. You'll be suspended for six weeks," Price said. "And for what it's worth I would've done the same to the bloody bastard," Price added, before he dismissed Soap.

You figured Soap would've had enough time to have his talk with Price so you headed towards his room. You passed by the rec room to see Yates mopping his blood off the floor; you could already hear Price telling him to "clean his bloody floor". You made it to Soap's room and rapped on the door. "It's open," Soap said. You walked in and saw Soap lounging on his bed wearing one of those tight muscle shirts that drove you crazy.

"So? How bad is it?" You said, wetting a washcloth and coming to sit next to him. You grabbed his hands and started dabbing the warm cloth over his knuckles. "Six week suspension," he said, focusing on the feeling of you cleaning off his hands. "Really?" You asked surprised. "How'd you manage that?" You said, getting up to rinse of the washcloth. "Price vouched for me. Without him I could've gotten into some real trouble," he replied, looking at you clean off his other hand.

"You know I appreciate you doing that but you shouldn't have," you said, tossing the cloth into his hamper. "I couldn't let him say those things about you Bonnie," he said, looking at you. "It wasn't right," Soap added. "You could've lost your job Johnny. I would never want you to do that for me," you shook your head. Soap grabbed your hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb. "I love you hen and I'll always defend you," he said. "I love you too Johnny," You said, giving him a kiss. Soap wanted to make sure you knew you could always count on him.



Looks Like Snow

Summary: Soap shovels the drive way and you can't help but admire the view

Pairing: John Mactavish x gf!reader

Words: 749

Warnings: fluff, slight suggestive material

A/n: this is a short one! Just wanted to get out another soap fic before the holidays. As always please let me know what you think of it! I've got a few other WIPs I'm working on and going to try to have out before Christmas! Requests are also open for 141 guys so send in anything you want to see or just if you want to chat! Hope you all enjoy! :)

"Because of the accumulated snow, snow plows are unable to clear any roads or driveways and roads remain closed at this time. Citizens are encouraged to stay indoors due to slick and icy conditions" The weatherman continued to report on the snowy conditions. "I can't believe the snowplows are delayed again," you grumbled, changing the channel to a lighthearted Christmas movie. "Our driveway is never gonna get cleared," you said, taking a sip of your hot cocoa. As soon as Soap heard no one was coming to clear the roads and you wanted the driveway cleared, he started pulling on his winter boots.

"Where are you going babe?" You asked from where you were sitting on the couch bundled in countless blankets. "Goin' ta shovel our driveway Bonnie," he replied pulling a beanie over his Mohawk and a simple hoodie. When you asked why he simply said his hen deserves a clear driveway. "But I'm not going anywhere. No one is," you laughed. "Besides it's too cold outside to do anything and really I was just complaining," you added. But Soap wouldn't hear of it. "If my hen wants a clear driveway, a clear driveway she's gonna get," he said, giving you a peck on the cheek and heading toward the garage to get the shovel.

After half an hour of Johnny shoveling the driveway you began to worry because it was so cold out. You knew it was stupid; Johnny had probably been through so much worse on the many missions he's sent out on but you still couldn't help but worry. It was cold and it had only gotten colder since he had been out there. You pushed the covers off and padded to the window where you could see Johnny. He was still going, shoveling the snow a foot at a time. Other than his breath billowing out in clouds you wouldn't even know he was cold. He was steadily clearing the driveway and you couldn't help but admire the view.

The thick muscles in his back stretched over tough sinew underneath the tight hoodie with every toss of the shovel. His biceps bulged under the sleeves and you bit your lip. It was no secret that John was an attractive man; you noticed the stares in public and the flirting in grocery stores. You weren't insecure by any means; in fact you found it comical that they made every effort to convince John to "give them a call". Johnny always rejected them; politely of course. Besides, you were the one he came home to.

You brought your mind back to the scene in front of you. Johnny was the greatest boyfriend you could ask for. I mean, who else would go out into the freezing cold to shovel a driveway for no other reason than you wanted it done? You truly hit the jackpot with Johnny. You saw Johnny stop and wipe his brow; you couldn't believe he was sweating considering how cold it was. You walked over to the kitchen and got a thermos out of the cabinet. You poured some of the hot chocolate into the insulated tumbler and screwed the lid on.

You made sure you were bundled tightly before opening the front door. Your feet crunched on the snow-ice mixture covering the ground as you made your way to your boyfriend. "What're you doin' out here Bonnie?" Johnny said, looking up when he saw you making your way through the snow. "I thought you could use this," you said, handing the thermos over. "You're too good to me," he said, giving you a kiss before taking the thermos and unscrewing the lid. "You're the one out here working," you replied. "It's freezing out here. I can't believe you came out here to do this just for me," you said, looking down at the now clear driveway.

"You're worth freezing for bonnie," he said, setting the thermos down and wrapping his arms around you. He slipped his hands underneath your coat and you squealed at the harsh temperature of his hands against your still warm skin. He pulled you closer to him, your bodies pressed together. "You know I can think of plenty of ways to warm you up," you whispered against his neck and he groaned. "You cannae tease me like that woman," he said, pulling you closer as if you weren't pressed together already. "Who said I was teasing?" You asked, looking up at him. You could tell by the looks in his eyes that it was going to be a long night for you.

John "Soap" MacTavish Masterlist(on going)

Updated- 12-9-23

Every Morning 💕

Looks Like Snow💕

Drunk💕

Count On Me💕❤️‍🩹

Random Headcannons Pt. 1💕

Every Morning

Summary: soap helps you with your skincare

Warnings: none just fluff :)

Pairing: John "soap" mactavish x gf!reader

Word Count-~1k

A/n: this is my first time writing for Soap Mactavish(actually any of the 141) so it may be pretty rough. This story was inspired by the lovely 🫧 anon on @uselsshuman blog! My requests are open for any of the 141 characters so please send in any requests you want! As always beware of typos but I hope you all enjoy!❣️

You were almost religious with your skincare. You took pride in taking care of your skin and it was something you loved doing in the morning. You loved the routine of layering your skin in different serums and creams and watching them work their magic. Whenever Johnny was home, he loved watching you from the bathroom doorway or sitting on the toilet seat. Because of his job you two didn’t get to share many domestic or intimate moments like this so Soap took what he could get. Soap always pestered you to let him do it for you and you always said no.

“Come on hen I could it!” Was something you always heard when he was home and you smiled but said no.

You were staring at yourself in the mirror getting ready to wash your face when Soap woke up; he had always been a heavy sleeper, something that was a blessing when he was a teenager but something that could get him killed in his line of work. Whenever he was home you did your best not to disturb him because you knew he didn't get much sleep when he was gone. Soap felt for your warm body and when he was met with cold sheets he took a look around to see the bathroom light on. The clock on his bedside table read “10:30”. He stretched and rolled out of bed to find you.

“Mornin’ Bonnie,” he said, walking over to your shared bathroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his thick accent thicker with sleep. “Morning babe,” you smiled, grabbing your face wash and a towel. His eyes lit up whe he saw your face wash and bottles of serums lined up on the counter. You saw him eyeing your bottles and shook your head, a smile already forming on your face. “No Johnny no!” You said, knowing exactly what he was going to ask. “Oh please Bonnie!” He whined, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder.

You only wore a tank top so his stubble scratched your bare shoulder. “Johnny you don’t even know how to do it!” You laughed, making eye contact through the mirror. “Yes I do, I watch you all the time,” He replied, kissing and sucking on the sweet spot on your neck trying to get you to fold. “Johnny no st-” you started before he reached down to squeeze your ass. “Okay alright,” You laughed. “You won’t regret this bonnie,” he said, planting a kiss on your cheek with a smile too big for his face. “I think I already am,” You mumbled.

“Okay first thing is washing your face hen everyone knows that,” He said, turning on the hot water. “Of course,” You said, watching him reach in front of you to turn on the hot water. Soap squirted some face wash and his hands and worked it into a lather before rubbing it onto your face. You winced at how rough he rubbed the soap into your skin but didn’t say anything. You also didn’t say anything when he got soap in your eye and tried your best not to wince at the sting. “Okay time to rinse,” he said and you leaned forward rinsing off the soap, the stinging sensation finally going away.

He grabbed a towel and rubbed your face dry before picking up you up by the waist and setting you on the counter. He stepped in between your legs and you had to widen your legs to accommodate him. “Okay first bottle we’re gonna do is this nia…niacin..” He said, struggling to pronounce the name written on the label. “Niacinamide?” You offered, trying not to chuckle. “Yeah that’s it,” He smiled and you wanted to tell him he wasn’t supposed to use it yet but you kept quiet. “What’s this for?” He asked. “It does a lot of things but it mainly helps with pores and textural irregularities,” You told him.

Johnny nodded and used the pipette to drop the serum onto your face and you were surprised that he was gentle in his kneading compared to the face wash. “Does that feel nice hen?” He asked and you smiled. “Of course it does love,” You said. “Okay now for the hylronic acid,” He said, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how he pronounced the name. “This one is to help bring moisture back into my skin,” You told him, knowing he was going to ask.

“I can’t believe you do this every morning bonnie,” he said, emphasizing the “every morning” in disbelief. “So many steps,” said Soap, screwing the tiny lid back onto the bottle. You hadn’t realize how small his hands made the bottles seem. “Every morning,” you emapsized. “I do it at night too,” you smiled and he shook his head. “Caffeine and de puffing,” he looked at the tiny bottle in his hand. “You put it on my undereyes. It helps to de-puff and energize them,” You instructed him. Johnny put some of the thick liquid on your undereye. He started massaging it into your skin when some of the serum got into your eye and you recoiled.

“Oh shite sorry y/n” he said, a worried look taking over his face. “Don’t worry about it hun I’m okay,” you said, trying not to tear up from the pain. “What’s next?” You said, genuinely wondering since he did the routine out of order. “This is the only one left. Plant-based squaline,” he said, again reading the label. “This one does a lot of things too; enhanced barrier support, moisturizing, all kinds of stuff,” You said, watching him unscrew the lid and drop the oily liquid onto your skin. “You really need all of this stuff?” He asked, curious. “I don’t need it but it does help,” You said.

He did take care to massage your skin more carefully to avoid your eyes. “Last is this right?” He said, holding up your lotion. “That’s right,” You said, watching him pour some lotion onto his hand and rub it together before spreading it on your skin. You focused on the feeling of Johnny’s fingers massaging the lotion into your skin and listening to his soft humming as he focused on his work. You enjoyed the simply intimate moment between the two of you, not knowing when you’d get the chance again to enjoy it. “Does it really feel that good?” He asked and you opened your eyes to find him smirking. “It did feel really good,” you whispered, planting a kiss on his lips.

“So how’d I do bonnie?” He asked, looking a little too pleased with himself and you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him he did it completely out of order and hurt your eye not once but twice. “You did great Johnny,” you said smiling at him. “Really think so?” He said, helping you down from the counter. “Well….. Maybe it’s best to leave the skincare to me. You did the wrong steps and hurt my eye. Twice,” You said, with a small smile. “Okay no need to be cheeky hen I’ll leave you to your thing,” He laughed. You stood on your toe to give him a kiss. “I wouldn’t mind you watching me though,” You said. Soap slipped his arms around your waist and returned your kiss. “I wouldn’t mind doing that,”

it is cod hyper fixation hour please give me recs I'm begging and crying and begging and yelling

naps to lovers?

price is an accident, you fall asleep watching a movie with him after he cradles you in his bed. plops down with you to do some paperwork and he's out, too. you wake up cuddled into his chest and pretend not to notice his boner.

next it's johnny. you're both exhausted from sparring and workouts. instead of showering, he pulls you to his bed and tells you to wait for him before you get in. by the time you want up, the sheets are crusted with sweat and soap is on top of you, crushing you to the mattress.

after that, it's both johnny and kyle. smooshed between them after a long hard mission, it's hard not to appreciate two nice pillows. simon has the picture of you three asleep on each other.

kyle finds you in the mess hall after, pulling you to your room with the promise of takeout and uninterrupted rest.

simon is standoffish at first, but eventually offers himself up as a weighted blanket for you after being reprimanded by another force's captain (don't worry, price and gaz are handling it). he lets you hold him close while stroking your hair and face until you drift off. he frequents in odd hours with you (when he knows your alone or stacked up with another one of the boys).

you don't mean for it to, but it becomes much more regular. price pulling you into his lap during late night briefings, soap's head in your lap, and kyle following you back to your room. they get so much more casually affectionate- hands on you at all times, forehead kisses, and sweet words. they begin to take you out together after missions and on off days to movies and shopping (they love dressing you up).

this all builds up to a random friday where they bring you to a house about 30 minutes from base. lately, they'd all been a bit more secretive and making investments "for the wellbeing of the team" like price's new truck that could seat 7. the house has all five of yours stuff in it (ash trays, half finished sketches, sewing kits, kyle's hat on the table). you see some of your missing clothes in one of the big dressers half-opened drawers.

it shouldn't be a surprise to you then when you walk in the bedroom and there's a california king. you really should have expected it, hen, they've been courting you for months!

yeah, johnny's naked on the bed, so what?

when they come home drunk…

… price

- thinks it’s important that he loudly tells you he’s married while you steady him upstairs to bed. points to his ring incessantly, slurs on and on about his perfect wonderful wife with the big ass and soft tummy. you roll your eyes and can’t help but smile when he doesn’t let you hold on to his arm to support him. something about protecting his virtue for his wife, as if you’re not standing right beside him. proceeds to lock you out of your own bedroom when you finally get upstairs, telling you his wife will be home soon so he can’t have a strange woman in their bedroom (but still remarks on your wonderful ass). you decide it’s too early in the morning to persuade your drunk husband to let you in, so you go down to sleep on the couch. you wake up with price sleeping soundly on the floor beside you, having gone to find his wife when she never showed up in his bed the night before.

… kyle

- gets sappy and apologises for being away. loses all concept of time when he’s drunk, says he’s sorry, he didn’t mean to be away so long, he was thinking of you the whole time, the guys pulled him along and he couldn’t say no. while he’s on his knees at your feet, pressing his face to your thighs and mumbling into your marbled skin, almost making you lose your balance with his fervent apologies, you gently remind him that you were the one who made him go out with the boys because he needed to unwind after a stressful weekend of combat drills, and that he had left with them less than two hours ago. he refuses to hear and only hugs your thighs closer, so much so that you have to support yourself on the wall. turns out all he needed to relax was you.

… johnny

- is horny. almost starts drooling when he eyes you at the top of the stairs, after struggling to close the entrance door for a good minute, causing you to investigate what made all the noise. gets a wild look in his eyes when he sees you in just his t-shirt and makes you scream and giggle as he chases you back up the stairs and to the bedroom. being absolutely shitfaced, he has the coordination of a tranquillised moose and stumbles head over heels across the floor, catches his foot on the doorway and narrowly misses the edge of the dresser with his head as he falls. still, his little soldier is courageously tenting his pants when you worriedly lean over him and he gets a good look right into the collar of your shirt.

… simon

- is emotional and clingy. can’t get enough of you, won’t leave you alone. you can’t make out half his words when he’s had this much to drink (and the mancunian in him breaks out too, making it ever harder to make out the words), but you play along, smile and nod and let him sit on the closed toilet seat and talk and talk while you do your night routine in front of the mirror. so lucky to have you, luv. how could’a lug like me get a pretty one like you, luv. his melancholy statements of love become comfortable background noise for you as you remove your makeup and apply moisturiser. lets you wash the sweat and grime of the day off his face with a washcloth, closes his eyes while you massage your floral-scented moisturiser into his skin, never once stopping his little speech. ambles after you out of the bathroom, holding on to the hem of your shirt, when you’re all finished and ready for bed. his devoted mutters only let up when be falls asleep next to you.

141 AND HOW THEY ARE WITH SOMEONE WHO THEY DISCRETELY AND SECRETLY LOVE. LIKE MAYBE NOR A HIDDEN RELATIONSHIP, BUT MORE LIKE BEST FRIENDS AND THEY LOKE READER BUT READER DOESN'T KNOW. IDKK

141 secretly in love with their friend

Word count: 2k || No warnings || Reader: gender neutral. Pronouns "you"

Simon Riley, who always chooses to sit next to you. It’s not even that he lets you sit next to him, no – he goes out of his way to sit next to you. When you’re hanging out in a pub, with him and a bunch of mutual friends (mostly the rest of 141), he lets you choose a seat while he goes to get your drinks. Once he’s back, he places your glass in front of you and tells you to budge up so he can sit next to you. Though, after a few times, it became a routine and you naturally began to make some space for him. Others also know to leave at least one seat beside you empty. If someone forgets, or isn’t privy to this unspoken rule – Simon slaps their shoulder and wordlessly points to a different chair. And so far, no one’s had the balls to tell him no.

He’s a master of dark humour and dad-jokes, and he tells them no matter what reaction he’ll get. He’s used to people rolling their eyes at his puns, but he doesn’t really care. However, with you? It's different. He closely observes your reactions, taking note of things that genuinely make you laugh and things that seem to make you uncomfortable. He catches himself yearning for your reaction, wanting to make you laugh. While in a pub with friends, he keeps telling jokes and adding sarcastic comments, but does it so quietly that only you can hear them. And when he manages to make you laugh, he has a hard time hiding the proud look on his face.

He gives you the “scary dog privilege” and goes out of his way to make it obvious that you’re under his protection. He’s not possessive nor aggressive towards others, but he can stand his ground and you’d have to be absolutely crazy to willingly get on his bad side. So whenever he’s home, he comes with you to all the places you frequent and makes sure all the regulars see that you’ve got a big, scary-looking man at home. They don’t have to know you’re just friends. Honestly, he’d like everyone to think that you’re together. That would keep all the wrong people, all the creeps away from you – that’s what he tells you after not correcting a stranger who commented on you being a cute couple. He then watches your reaction closely, wanting to figure out how you feel about the idea of being together. Whether he has a chance, or should he back off.

If you playfully flirt with him, he smugly reciprocates. As much as he likes puns, he doesn’t use pickup lines, but his witty, flirtatious comments are enough to make your face feel all hot. And he always tells them in the most deadpan manner possible, while looking at you with a half-lidded, almost lazy, look in his eyes. And he doesn’t look away, wanting to see your reaction. To see the smallest twitch of a smile in the corner of your lips. To see you roll your eyes at him or turn away with a blush creeping on your face. He wants to see if you meant it. If you’re willing to take it further.

John Price, who does a bunch of domestic things with you and for you. He makes your friendship feel as if you’ve been happily married for the past 20 years. He rarely goes back to his own flat, most of the time staying at yours. It started with him popping by for a cuppa or to fix something. Now, however, you go grocery shopping together, he has his own drawer in your wardrobe, you have movie nights that you don’t even have to invite him to. You don’t actually live together, he sometimes stays at his place to keep the sense of normalcy. But then you wake up and find him in your kitchen, sleepily drinking a cup of coffee after letting himself in with the spare key you gave him. Fresh bread lying on the counter next to him, as he scrolls through news on his phone. He greets you and stands up to start preparing breakfast for both of you.

He lets you borrow his clothes. Though, that’s a bit of an understatement. He wants you to wear his clothes. That’s why he started to “accidentally” leave his jumpers and shirts at your place. Once you officially let him have a drawer in your wardrobe, he brings all of his best, most comfortable jumpers, even going as far as spraying them with his cologne, in hopes that you'll find comfort in them while he's deployed. He also keeps an extra jacket in his car, though he only offers it to you if he’s not wearing one himself. He won’t admit it, not even in front of himself, but giving you the jacket he’s been wearing ignites a warm feeling inside his chest.

If you playfully flirt with him, he doesn’t flirt back, suddenly getting more serious instead. He might laugh quietly, but sometimes he looks downright annoyed with your teasing. At least that’s what you think. In reality he’s just worried, overthinking the situation while a sombre feeling sets in the pit of his stomach. He feels like he’s betraying you. Here you are, feeling comfortable and safe enough to joke with him like this, while the only thing he can think of is to make you his.

Kyle Garrick, who takes you out as often as possible. He organises lots of platonic (please end his misery) dates. If either of you wants to check out a new place or simply go to your regular spots, he immediately calls you. Cafes, arcades, shops, parks, galleries, bookshops. At some point, it might make you think that he doesn’t have that many friends, but no. He just chooses to spend time with you over anyone else. While eating out, you often get into arguments over who’s gonna pay the bill. He jokingly tells you that he needs someone to spend the “military money” on, but he really just wants to see you enjoy yourself properly without worrying about the expenses. To see you, being taken care of. And he’d be so damn happy to be the one to do that.

He’s also very attentive to your likes and dislikes. While walking through shopping centres, he takes note of things you seem to want but end up putting back on the shelf. That being said, he’s the best gift giver. And it’s not just expensive gifts. Honestly, he rarely gets you pricey things, worrying that it might overwhelm you. But he doesn’t stop himself from getting you knick knacks, your favourite snacks, or even simply picking some flowers for you when you go on hikes.

While deployed, he sends you short letters, sometimes adding some local sweets as well. He knows it would be much simpler to just text you or call you, which he does, but he believes that handwritten letters are more meaningful. The first time he tells you that, you roll your eyes at him. He then asks, pretending to be deeply offended, if he should stop sending them since you dislike them so much. No matter your response, he’d be sending them anyway. And if he ever finds out that you kept all of his letters tucked away safely in a box somewhere in your room, he will have a hard time hiding the tears welling up in his eyes.

If you playfully flirt with him, his brain short-circuits. The best he can do is huff a laugh quietly and reply with a simple “alright” as he looks away from you, trying to play it cool. He doesn’t flirt back, simply because he can’t. His face gets all hot, sweat suddenly coating his palms. Did you mean it? Are you teasing him? Did you finally find out about his feelings towards you? His heart is just as frantic as his thoughts. He shakes his head and tries to casually change the topic, which only makes him look more suspicious. You, oblivious to his internal torment, probably interpret his reaction as discomfort, which makes you step back and avoid flirting with him again. This, in turn, leads him to even more panic, worrying that he’s lost his chance, as he tries to bring your conversations back on the more flirtatious track.

[Sorry to my Scottish readers, you might feel a bit excluded here. Anyway, Johnny still takes you on a fun road trip!]

Johnny MacTavish, who takes you on spontaneous road trips. If you’re not from Scotland, he takes you there to show you his hometown and places he used to go to with his family when he was a kid. He picks you up and drives north but takes an indirect route, stopping at different locations that interest you. You get stuffed with snacks that he prepared for the road and lose both your voice and your hearing from how loudly both of you sing. Throughout the whole trip, he discreetly takes care of you, casually opening the car door for you, making stops so you can stretch your legs, making sure you’re not getting cold. And so, instead of getting to your destination in seven-ish hours, the trip itself takes you two days. You stop midway and find a decent room in a small inn, ending up sharing it together. He keeps his distance, but he has a hard time stopping his eyes from lingering, finding great pleasure in looking at you getting comfortable and ready for bed. His voice gets low and calm while you talk, letting the late hour lead your conversation towards more meaningful, intimate territory. Next day, once you get to his childhood home, he introduces you to his family, and at some point you catch his mum giving him a strange look. When you ask, he tells you he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. However, what you don’t notice is that he turns away while saying it, trying to hide his reddening face from you. You might be oblivious to his feelings, but his mother figured out that her son is head over heels for you the moment you walked into their house. 

He tries to teach you some Scottish phrases. You don’t really use them, worried that it would sound strange next to your regular, very not-Scottish accent. But then one day it slips out of your mouth. Maybe you got annoyed with him, which wouldn’t be surprising considering how often he teases you. The moment the words leave your mouth, a wide grin spreads across his face. He cheers like a lunatic, picking you up and twirling around with you in his arms. [And let me make myself absolutely clear – even if you’re a bigger person – you’re in the air. All you can do is dangle your legs above the ground and hold onto him for your dear life. His muscles are for practical purposes, not just visual.] 

If you playfully flirt with him, he shamelessly flirts back. With one simple comment, you unleash absolute chaos upon yourself. Hopefully you’ve got more pickup lines up your sleeve, cuz you’ll really need them. To this point, he was keeping himself in check, making sure not to overstep any boundaries. But once you flirt with him, it’s a green light, game on – he’s not stopping anytime soon. He’s a very open flirt too. He’ll use the most cheesy pickup lines on you, a wide smile permanently fixed on his face. Seeing him wiggle his eyebrows at you doesn’t even surprise you anymore. He’s also a rather physical person, so you’ll have to get used to him leaning in and playfully bumping your shoulders or knees together, or constantly resting his arm around the back of your chair.

Cw: depression

Soap comes home one day expecting his wife to greet him at the door with his favorite meal and a kiss on the cheek. He hadn’t been gone long, only a few weeks, and you knew when he was coming home.

The house is dark when he opens the door despite it being evening. It smells faintly of unwashed clothing. Shades drawn tightly over the windows, the residing plants wilted and dying. Not dead yet, he notes.

“Honey?”

Johnny hates the way his voice cracks slightly when he calls out to you.

Making his way through the house, he eventually reaches your room. He knows then, from the clothing all over the floor and the pile of books on the bed where you are. He knows from the forgotten glasses of water on the dresser and the empty wrappers of miniature candy where you’ve been. In your head.

He finds you in the bathroom, sleeping in the bathroom tub. You wake when he lifts you, silently leaning into him. Despite his exhaustion and his hunger, he strips you of your clothes and runs the water warm. Kisses upon your shoulders as you remain silent, dark imprints under your eyes showing your own fatigue. It’s only when he has you lathered in bubbles and running his hands through your hair to make sure it gets clean that he dares to ask what happened.

“It got bad again, Johnny.”

His hands don’t pause their work through your hair, simply moving down to massage the muscles in your neck.

“I got you now.”

It’s not a good thing when Soap finds out you’re sick. Not good because he won’t let you do anything at all. Leaving bed? Out of the question. He makes soup for you, some odd Scottish recipe, and hand feeds it to you like a newborn babe. No matter how much you complain he simply shushes you and dips the spoon once more. Soft kisses to your brow because he “couldn’t tell if your fever had broke yet with just ‘is hand”. Your addled brain barely registered the blatant lie. At night, he would brew you tea and help you drink until you were lulled to sleep. He may have also taken advantage of your lack of awareness to curl up beside you, one hand on your hip and the other wrapped tight around you. He was the only man you would ever need. Soap didn’t mind having to prove it.

I love how we all seem to agree that Soap is just insane for his lady (you, hello?). Constantly on his mind. On missions the boys are driven half mad by every mention of the “beautiful lass” he’s seeing right now. Oh and he’s even worse if he has a ring on your finger. “My wife” this and “the missus” that, showing the team the latest photos of you so much that any time he pulls out his phone they instinctively groan. Because nothing could possibly compare to the woman who lit up his whole life with just a smile.

I love me a man who EATS like I think I definitely have a food kink cause like the image of going down on Soap while he monches on a burger AGHHSGKDJHSKSBKN Like I need his cock rn (also side note love the term chub or instead calling a cock fat calling it chubby like 😮‍💨😮‍💨)

Another Random Cod Thot!!!!

soap x reader.

Cw: swearing... honestly that's it this part is pretty chill. (There's a nsfw bit at the end but you don't have to read it! I've sectioned it off!)

When Soap comes back home from being deployed for god knows how long, it's like he's walked through the gates of heaven. There's literally nothing he loves more than coming home, taking off that god forsaken uniform, and lounging about in some shorts (And nothing else. Because he's a lazy fuck and it's his house. he can choose not to wear underwear or a shirt whenever he fuckin wants!).

And the food...God the foooooooooood. It's probably his favourite part of coming home. No more MREs. No more mess hall food. No more stale bread with a slathering of some indescribable spread. Finally, he can eat like a king.

And he'll eat just about everything and anything you serve him. Takeout? Abso-fucking-lutely. Quick 10 minute packet food? He'll be having seconds and thirds if you let him. A proper home-cooked meal? Just marry him now, for god sakes.

I have this image in my head of him on leave, lazing on the bed in just his underwear with his large hairy chest on display, heaving in deep content sighs as he absolutely devours a pack of donuts you brought home and savouring every second of it. It's his personal bliss.

NSFW BIT BELLOW CUT

Cw: Freeuse (Reader using Soap). BJs. Big hairy horny man.

There's also the added benefit of a limitless supply of BlowJobs on your part. And he's a free use kinda guy when he's on leave. You never have to ask to take his fat cock out of his boxers, sweetheart. He's already half chubbed for you.

It's not like you can resist him anyway. He walks around the house in exclusively his undewear and nothing else. You can see the print of his dick against the fabric as he goes to town on a burger you made for him.bAnd he moans like a whooooooooore when he eats. So no one can blame you when you cozy yourself up into his side and slide his boxers down just enough to get a taste of that bright leaky tip of his.

So he gets excellent food, a warm bed, and a partner who is more than happy to wrap their lips around his dick and go to town whenever they like? He could die right there and be the happiest man alive. This is a better reward than any medal they could give him for his service.

A little extra love (John "Soap" MacTavish)

TW: Stalking, curse words (no I do not condone this behavior, i just like reading and writing about it)

It was this shifting feeling you got when you saw him for this first time. His bright blue eyes staring down at you through his thick eyelashes, "Soap" he called himself, when he did introduce himself to you. You had just made an ass of yourself by falling Infront of everyone in the cafeteria, and here he was, helping you clean up while smiling like it wasn't a big deal.

It was weird, being really embarrassed, your entire face red, ready to cry but now it's like slithering insects running through your entire body, ready to bust open if you don't get even a slip of information about him. You use to be more rational, more concerned for yourself when you started following him around, but now, that reason is out the window.

You can't help it though! It really isn't your fault you remind yourself, he did in fact help you when no one else did. He noticed you when most people would turn a blind eye, but oh, how he was different. You knew deep down he had these wonderful feelings for you, just think about it.

He smiled at you in the hallways when he passed you, even sometimes greeting you with a wave or saying your name, you even started to notice how he started wearing your favorite colors, sometimes it was his socks, or his undershirt. But you like to think he asked around to figure out what it was so he could secretly empress you. You even took notice to how he stated getting coffee around the same time you did, no it didn't make a difference that maybe you stayed an extra fifteen minutes in the cafe, but he showed up! He showed up and everyday and that's what matters.

It started feeling really special when you started realizing what routine he had. Waking up at the same time everyday, eating a similar breakfast that you decided to take on yourself, that way you knew what kind of foods to make him when yall would be fully together. You knew that he often hanged out with Ghost, presumably his best friend, and how one of his main topics to talk about was bombs. That's how you figured out he was a demolition expert.

I mean every time you got to hear any part of his conversations with anyone it was really like he was talking to you, why else would he talk to smooth and calm if it wasn't to secretly comfort you. The real can of worms opening was when you heard about him talking about a women one day with Ghost.

Your invitation to you was finally realized, you knew he had feeling for you and were just to shy to say anything, but hearing how he talked about you to someone, it was perfect. He was ready to commit, he was ready for the next step. Now reckon he hasn't talked to you much but this meant something.....

Something like being welcomed into his room when he wasn't there. Now you know this isn't the greatest idea, but how else are you gonna make sure to be prepared for everything Soap has to offer you if you don't know him one hundred percent. Taking a look around his room you were a little disappointed, you had expected him to be neat and clean but there was clothes everywhere, and laundry undone. His bed unmade, but his desk was put together, and his wights where set together neatly. He must be so disoriented you think to yourself. Not getting to talk to you very often must be putting on a mental load for him, so you start cleaning. I mean that is what a wonderful girlfriend does. You also wipe down his desk and reorganize his papers in alphabetical order. Oh how you love him so much.

You decide sense you are officially his and you did help him clean you should get a reward right? it's only fair. So you grab a shirt that hasn't been washed so it fully smells like him. You grab a bottle of cologne and a chewed up piece of gum out of the trash to put into your mouth. You lay in between his sheets and smell him on the pillows. In the bathroom you smell his toothbrush and rub it under your nose to smell him. You apply his shampoo to your hands, letting the suds fall into the bathtub to imagine what it would be like to take a shower with him. Wrapping his towel around you and smiling to yourself.

You do hope he appreciates the effort you put into your relationship. After all, you are the only one for him.

Hope you enjoyed! I'm thinking for the next one I will maybe do it from his point of view?

Hear me out.

Bodyguard trope with one of the COD men, but I steady of a bratty 20-something princess, it's a middle-aged, independent career woman with trust issues and strong morals who is struggling to accept she cannot fight through this particular threat alone.

What do we think? (Feel free to use the idea, just tag me so I can read it pls :] ).

I by the way take requests, so if you guys have any ideas, feel free to send them, I love writing for ya'll! I write for (almost) all characters, ships and x reader. It may take a bit until I get to your request, since I have to study a lot, but I'll eventually get to them all.

Fluff and theft

Note: This is my first try at writing x reader, so I apologize if it is a bit cringe or weird, I‘m still learning. I also have never played the games, so I don’t have a perfect view on their personalities, but I‘ve tried to get it as accurate as possible. Word count: 619

Prompt: "Is that my shirt you're wearing?" Gender neutral reader; platonic, can be read as a bit more.

Ghost:

It wasn't your fault, really. You fell into the mud on the obstacle course, and well, that was your last clean shirt. Conveniently there was one of Ghosts giant shirts laying around in the laundry room. It was so comfy, but you could use it as a dress. Where it looked tight on him, it completely engulfed your body.

"Is that my shirt you're wearing?", a deep voice sounded behind you as walked in the common room. "No....", you mumbled. Ghost chuckled. "I give you a ten seconds head start", he said. Shit.

You ran. But it was no use, of course. Ghost was way faster than you. When he caught up to you, he quickly put you in a head lock. You couldn’t move, but you could feel he was still being gentle. „I need my shirts, (name), you know?“, he grumbled. You snickered. „Yea, and so do I“ You knew he was frowning, even if you couldn’t see it. „I‘ll get it back tomorrow. Washed. Otherwise, you’ll be doing at least ten laps around base“, he said.

„Yes sir“

Gaz:

His shirt just looked so inviting, it really wasn't your fault. When he forgets his shirt in the laundry room, oh well, he has to expect it to be stolen.

"Is that my shirt you're wearing?", an amused voice sounded from the kitchen when you walked in the common room. "Maybe", you said. Gaz chuckled and rolled his eyes. „Are you planning to steal my wardrobe?“, he asked. You looked at the shirt, which had a big „Garrick“ written on the front. „Noooo, you know I‘d never do that“. Gaz snorted. „Oh, I know you would, (name)“. You looked at him with played offence. He just shrugged. „We’re team mates, I know you a bit at this point“. You flipped him off and tugged at the shirt. „Just so you know, this is mine now“, you stated, walking out the common room. „Oh no no no, no it isn’t“, you could hear Gaz and started running. „Catch me if you can, pretty boy!“, you shouted.

Soap:

Mixed up laundry, it happens. It wasn’t your fault, now you had a big shirt in your basket, which clearly wasn’t yours. Not that that’d stop you.

"Is that my shirt you're wearing?", Soap chuckled when you walked into the common room. „Yup. It was in my laundry basket“, you said, opening the cup board. „Is that so?“, he grinned, looking you up and down. The shirt was way too big for you, not that you minded. It was comfy. „Not that you’re not looking good in it, but I kinda need that shirt“, he said. You shrugged. „You can have one of mine“. He laughed. „I highly doubt that’d work. You’re way smaller than me, shorty“. „Oh well“, you said, „then you’ll have to get a new one issued“. He rolled his eyes and got up from the couch, stepping behind you. „I‘ll get it back tomorrow“, he said. „Maybe“.

Price:

It wasn’t your fault Price left his shirt in the locker room. He should care more about his stuff.

You walked in the common room, Price sitting on a bar stool in the kitchen. He looked at you slightly confused. "Is that my shirt you're wearing?" „Yup. You left it in the locker room“. You looked down at the shirt. „Comfy. Mine now“, you stated. He chuckled. „I don’t think so, soldier. I need that back“. You gave him puppy eye „But it’s comfy“. He rolled his eyes. „I‘m not gonna get that shirt back, am I?“. You giggled. „One day“. He shook his head. „One day I won’t have anything to wear“. You smirked. „I won’t complain“

The Lakes

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x F! Reader

Summary: While on leave for a vacation road trip, Y/N & Johnny come across the Windermere Peaks & talk about their future together. Based on “The Lakes” off of Folklore by Taylor Swift

A/N: Miss Swift is a big inspiration for my work she has a huge discography so yeah, legit this is all I want too. If I could resort to living a small cabin in the woods by a beautiful lake I’d be seventh heaven

Warnings: none

“I don’t belong, & my beloved neither do you”

It had been a few years since you & Johnny took a vacation all to yourselves. He had been working overtime consistently for the past few months & finally he was given some time off. You put in for vacation time & the both of you decided on a road trip. There were still parts of the new country you called home you hadn’t seen before & you wanted to see them in a fun way. Johnny & you had been driving all over the UK for the past two weeks. You planned on ending your trip in Edinburgh so he could show you around his favorite locals spots.

Johnny pulled the rental car you two had chosen into the parking lot of the bed & breakfast the two of you were staying at. It was a old Tudor style cottage in the northwest English countryside. You studied literature at university & wanted to see where William Wordsworth spent the final years of his career as a writer. He parked the car & the two of you started to unpack the car. The air was crisp & refreshing compared to the smog that sat over London. You looked up at the cottage, admiring it’s wisteria & ivy that grew along the side of the building.

“Come on love let’s get settled, then we can go for a nice lunch.” Johnny said grabbed your suitcase from your hand. He never let you carry your own luggage. The both of you walked in & were amazed by the decor. Victorian furniture & carved oak woodwork decorated the interior. A small older woman greeted the two of you from the top of the stairs.

“Oh you must be the MacTavish’s!” She said & started down the stairs.

“Yes ma’am, we are.” Johnny replied smiling at her.

“Oh well I am Mrs. Harkness,” She greeted them. “But please call me Rebekah. Come follow me upstairs I’ll show you around & to your rooms.” The more you looked around the home the more you realized this was your ideal home. The cozinesses & tranquility brought a sense of comfort to you. The room Johnny had rented could’ve made you melt into the floor. A marble fireplace with a Edwardian clock faced the art deco style bed with green velvet bedding. “I’ll leave you two, enjoy your stay. Breakfast is from nine to eleven am tomorrow.”

“Oh John,” You sighed looking around the room. “This room is beautiful.”

“I knew you’d love it.” He said smirking to himself as he put your suitcases on the small loveseat that was in the corner of the room. “You want to get some lunch?” He asked. You nodded following him out of the room. After getting a recommendation from Rebekah you guys decided on a small sandwich shop. The both of you decided on a outdoor picnic the autumn air was perfect for it. The two of you picked a willow tree that sat upon a hill over looking the lakes.

“This is perfect John.” You said turning to look at him. He brushed some of the hair that had flown into your face over your ear.

“I know darling.” He replied. You leaned into his touch & he leaned in for a kiss. He placed one hand on your waist deepening the kiss. Once the two of you were coming up for the air you rested your foreheads together.

“This is what I want for us John.” You softly said. “Imagine it, us maybe a sheep dog & two little ones running around. A cottage that overlooks the lakes.” You smiled just at the thought of it. “I want for our little ones to grow up with grass, trees, for them to be adventurous.”

“Just like their mother,” John started & kissed you again.

“More like you Mr. MacTavish.” You replied & booped his nose. You took his hand pressing it to your little now growing baby bump. His large hands started to rub small circles on your stomach. You brought a hand up to his face your finger tips danced along his stubble. Just you wanted to basking this intimate moment for as long as you could.

“God I love you so much.” John whispered.

“I love you most.” You replied kissing him again. “We should get going baby MacTavish has decided they want something sweet.” You giggled.

Chinese Food

Task Force 141 x F! Reader

Summary: Y/N is an American who’s Price’s Secretary with Task Force 141, being from America & let alone NYC where Chinese Food is a staple she is appalled with what Brits refer to as Chinese food

A/N: do not come for me if you’re British this is inspired by the whole Chinese Food TikTok debacle I’d also do anything rn for vegetable dumplings & lo mein god I miss New York City (my hometown) so much

Warnings: none

“I’m going to order some Chinese who wants?” Gaz asked. It was their monthly game night, & you being Price’s secretary got dragged into coming. You were still fairly new & he thought this would be a good way for you to meet everyone. So here you are sitting around a Monopoly table. Everyone started to shout out different food items, & Gaz started to add them to his DoorDash cart. You just ordered some lo mein. Mid game the food was dropped off. Everyone put down their Monopoly money & walked into the living room. One by one everyone started to grab their orders out of the bag. Y/N looked down at the labeling on a styrofoam container that was handed to her & looked confused. It read out in scribble sharpie “chips.”

“Uh I didn’t order french fries.” Y/N said trying to hand the fries back.

“Oh those come with your meal.” Gaz said opening his container. She looked at him confused, back home in New York that would be blasphemy.

“What?” Y/N replied confused. “You don’t eat french fries with Chinese food.” They all stopped to look at her.

“Uh yeah you do.” Soap said. “Here let me show you how to eat Chinese food.” You had lived in New York City your whole life & not once had you seen Chinese food eaten this way. Soap picked up the curry sauce & your eyes got wide.

“Woah woah woah.” You said super loudly. “What the hell is going on here? I’ve never see this before. And I grew up in New York City!” They all stared at her super confused. “Who mixes french fries with Chinese food?!”

The whole room erupted into different reactions & explanations about the food, then it turned into America vs. Britain. There was a lot going on.

“Okay relax One Direction.” Y/N said to calm everyone down, which that sarcastic comment really silenced everyone. “The next time we’re all in New York I’m talking all of you to my favorite little Chinese restaurant in Chinatown. Deal.”

“Deal.” They all said in unison & kept saying.

“At least you don’t microwave your tea.” Gaz said.

“I drink sweet iced tea.” You replied, & everyone look at you like you just said the most appalling comment on the planet.

“Dear lord.” Simon said & shook his head. This was going to be a long evening.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish Headcannons

A/N: I’m very happy y’all are enjoying these!

Warnings NSFW

• Y’all met while you were on a study abroad program

• You had been returning from a night class & decided to go to the local pub for a pint & some food

• It was another soldier that pointed you out initially but he caught your eye

• “Oi, what’s a wee lass like yourself doin’ all alone in the corner?” (It definitely didn’t come out THAT clearly)

• it took you a minute to process what the hell he had said since his Scottish accent is so thick

• You spent hours chatting in that bar, about your home life, studies, etc. Johnny was limited in what he could tell you about his profession

• The two of you exchanged numbers & on your first date he took you to the Scottish countryside

• The view took your breath away, & he explained the history of his homeland to you (he’s very patriotic)

• You’d FaceTime, call, text etc. once you had to return to your home country

• He was so proud to see you graduate (he knew how hard you worked towards obtaining your college degree)

• He told you he couldn’t go to your graduation due to work (it was a lie)

• He planned out a whole secret proposal with your parents over FaceTime

• imagine your surprise when you saw him after the ceremony

• He proposed in private in your childhood house’s backyard

• You initially got married in the states to be able to live with him due to his military service & start receiving housing

• Y’all had a ceremony & reception at a castle in the Scottish countryside complete with a hand tying ceremony

• Yes, you had a bagpiper at the wedding

• He wore a kilt (are we even surprised?)

• Your garter had his last name on it & was in tartan plaid that matched his kilt (yes you had a garter toss & he was in shock when he saw the garter)

• Y’all got a gorgeous little cottage by the sea & ofc a sheep dog to go with it

• He 100% would be hosting for football matches

• And if you’re American y’all would definitely host a Super Bowl watch party

• I feel like he’d love reality tv (especially 90 Day Fiancé & the Kardashians)

• He has commentary too for every scene

• “what a fooking idiot.”

• His favorite Kardashian is Kris Jenner

• Since he can barley keep his hands off of you, he knocks you up only a month after your wedding

• Since he was deployed you mailed him ultrasound photos of the bean

• For a man who is incredibly intelligent it didn’t click that you send multiple photos of the same ultrasound

• He thought he was having quints at first & nearly had a stroke

• “You’re having five of ‘em?!” “No that’s the same fetus just different photos”

• He kept the ultra sound photos in his plate carrier

• Tactical baby gear is a must (also it’s a real company which is awesome)

• Hear me out little baby kilt, Simon gifted it to y’all

• You nearly cried when you opened the gift d

• Simon is 100% the godfather of your baby, if you trust him with Johnny’s life you can ensure if anything happened your baby would be taken care of

• Johnny was lucky that he was able to be there the entire time you were in labor

• He almost fainted when he saw the epidural (I don’t blame him)

• You guys had a little boy

• Unfortunately while you were in recovery he got called back into work for a mission

• Before he left he held your son just incase it was his last time holding him

• You sobbed when he left & one of the nurses had to console you

• Thankfully it was just a hostage rescue so he was back within a few days & ready to help out with the baby

• He carried your son around in one of those baby carriers that your strap to your chest

• Your baby boy is so giggly just like his daddy

• He will constantly be making his son laugh with silly faces, hand motions, anything

• Whenever the boys come over to watch a match your son will be passed around like a hot potato one moment he’ll be sitting with Price then next Simon has him

• As your son gets older he gets interested in what his daddy does, & he’s infatuated with being a soldier

• He’ll play pretend soldier with Soap all the time

• You’re constantly picking up Nerf darts

• When Soap is away on a mission, your son will crawl into bed with you because he misses his daddy

• He draws photos of him & the Task Force to send to overseas

• I also feel like y’all’s son would be incredibly helpful around the home especially when you’re expecting baby No. 2 & after baby No. 2 is born

• Baby No.2 is a little girl

• He’s definitely very protective over his little girl

• “She’s just as beautiful as you, Bonnie”

• Y’all’s son would also enlist or commission to the British Military but I think he’d actually be a King’s Guard for a bit

• And I feel like your daughter would be incredibly creative, she’d use those talents to be an artist

• I do believe Soap is a die hard family man & that’s one of the many reasons why you fell in love with him

✨NSFW✨

• He’s definitely a cheeky bastard & will not hesitate to smack, grab, or make comments in public about you

• He’s 100% dominant in the bedroom & loves to be called “daddy”, or even “Johnny”

• He fucked you right before y’all walked into your wedding reception, perks of wearing a kilt

• This man loves your legs & especially your thighs

• He loves to watch you squirm when his hand trails your legs all the way leading up to your pussy

• He’s not quite during sex whatsoever, he’ll full on groan, moan & tell you good you feel

• He’s a sucker for flexibility

• You take up yoga to improve your flexibility

• I definitely believe y’all wouldn’t even make it through the front door when he comes home

•He’d either fuck you on the hood of the car or the damn back seat in the parking lot

• He loves it when you wear his old PT shorts & no panties easy access

• He definitely loves you & your body & would know how to take care of you

Hello and welcome to my humble blog!

My name is Walnuts and this is a new blog so please, please fill the inbox with whatever is on your mind

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ rules:

i wont write smut

i wont write about canonically minor characters

this is a safe space so be nice

i will block you if i feel uncomfortable

do not repost/translate my work

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ fandoms i write for:

Got/Hotd

Jjk

Jjba

Nana

Challengers

Stark men

The bear

Batman

Cod

Death note

House MD

Attack of Titan

hope you have a good time and remember to be kind!

Jackie and Wilson

"For whatever poor soul is coming next"

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x f!reader

3k words

Tags!: No use of y/n, fluff, down bad Johnny MacTavish, not completely canon accurate Soap, first fic! 😎👍

A/N: This is based on Hozier's song Jackie and Wilson - I'm thinking I want this to be the beginning of a collection of one-shots based on his songs, depending on my free time! But again, first fic so please any comments would be greatly appreciated! Was nervous to post but ya only live once Hope you enjoy!

The cushion on the back of the booth wasn’t the most comfortable thing ever. The deep red bump didn’t do much to help an aching back, more of a thing that somewhat fixed the posture of those who sat at it. But who goes to a bar for comfort anyway? Dingy bars aren’t the first place most people would think to go back to after nearly dying halfway across the world.

The sticky floors, the mesh of posters and old mementos hanging on the brick walls. The neon lights, the potent smell- its headache inducing and you don't even have a hangover yet. And there are too many people in here, crowding pool tables and the small dance floor, (if you can even call it that), to be called someplace one would go to calm down and relax.

This is a fact that is true for most people.

But most people aren’t military. Even fewer are SAS.

And absolutely none are John MacTavish.

The man who idolizes the chaotic ways of the world above all else. That’s what has him still in the job quite frankly. The chaos, the ability to live and thrive in an insane environment. For someone like him, these things never truly bothered him. In an odd sense, the smell of alcohol, sweat and far too many bad ideas feel closer to home than he’s been in a few months. A comfort that most don't understand. But he does.

So even as exhaustion tries to take hold, the scott wears a signature giddy smile, adds a seemingly impossible pep to his step, and he drags the 141 into a back table, somehow always energetic. Even after practically wasting away in a desert for the past 3 months, he has energy. It’s honestly absurd.

Even worse is that he always finds a way for that energy to become contagious. As much as his teammates joke and grumble about it, Johnny was their way of restoration, to push forward. He would choose a shitty bar, and even shittier alcohol over a quiet apartment or the pile of paperwork that had to get done at some point. And so, the boys would too. Even if they hid it behind the facade of “babysitting” the grown man.

So now, here they sat, against the trashy cushions, with crappy music, in the dimly lit bar, with smiles and a sense of belonging. They call it a “celebration” of a mission well done, a nod to their success. Definitely not an excuse to just drink the night away, to get the mission out of their heads for a bit. To laugh with comrades and just be… domestic? Is that right? Close enough.. Yeah? Finding their small slot back into normal society.

Don’t get him wrong, Johnny loves his job. Loves what he does, but who doesn’t want to just have a drink at a bar with his mates every once and a while? And that's why he has his third beer in his hand and is snorting and a story Gaz is telling about one of his most recent hookups. A lady who was.. “Bloody crazy! I mean it. Seemed nice at first but don't be fooled, she was insane!”

Yeah, this is home. It’s where he belongs, where he wants to belong, he thinks. With his men, in the middle of nowhere chatting about anything and everything. Confiding in and teasing each other. He trusts them with his life, he can trust them to listen when need be. And yet… there is always that ache. The strange pull in moments like these like something is still missing. It’s been happening more often lately. And it's like an itch Johnny can't scratch. A puzzle piece he can't find but is still absent mindedly searching for. The only issue is he doesn't know what it is, that it just- isn't.

The chatter fades to a muffled sound in the scotts ears for a moment as he lets out a small, genuine smile looking at his group, sipping at the drink in his hand as his forearms lay themselves on the table, hands clasping. Taking a moment to truly thank whatever may be pulling the strings. Bringing him and his boys to safety. And maybe even a small prayer to tell him what the odd nagging in his brain is about. He takes a breath and relaxes, just for a moment. Looking around the bar, truly just admiring the world around him, the bustle of it all, the people with their own lives and ambitions.

How was he supposed to know that was a fatal mistake on his part?

He couldn’t. He didn’t.

He found out a second to late, registered it after he knew he was done for. It was one moment, a mistake, a pause, that would stick with him for as long as it dared. It was a magnet, an invisible force that pulled his very being toward it. The moment he nearly drooled his drink out from his now slack jaw.

Because when his eyes connect with the woman walking through the door, he swears time stopped.

Suddenly, the crappy bar didn’t smell as bad, the music wasn’t too loud, the cushion no longer made his back ache, the room got brighter just from her smile. The very ground shifted, and not in the drunken haze way. He warmed up, eyes wide. A thought process that if he opened them more he would see more. God, it felt like getting a cavity by now, she felt too sweet to even look at.

In a single moment the world shattered around him, everything he knew was thrown out a window, as his mind was occupied by one thought only.

It was only a moment… but by then he knew he was fucked, utterly and completely.

Fate or destiny, call it what you may. An answered prayer, an utter coincidence. It didn’t matter. The bar turned into a museum, a place to observe and admire as his eyes widened impossibly more as his head tilted watching her move. A giggle slipped under his breath as he thought he could be mistaken for Ghost at this point, with his starring.

But your pull, it was undeniable. Even the thought of looking away would cause you to vanish in a blink, never for Johnny to see again. And he couldn’t have that. Not when it was astonishing in the way you simply were.

It only got worse as your group got closer to theirs. A mere table away. When you first walked in it was a trap, a line that was cast into his pond and he was falling for the bait. Confidence is something he is used to in his line of work, but it was usually the cocky kind. The kind that made him want to kick a recruits teeth in for. But you were something different entirely. You demand attention, even if you didn't know it. A high held head, a testament to the world that you were there, and you were aware of it. Thank god it was his attention it demanded, because it was nothing short of a miracle.

The air you lived in became breathable, spreading to his little corner of the bar as he had to remind himself to actually inhale and exhale as he took in the sight over and over again. Committing it to memory. The world became a movie, a fictional place where he wasn’t. One he could only watch and revel in. It was the type that you knew was going to be good before it even began. The one you had been anticipating for and knew wouldn’t disappoint. His heart rate picked up, the same way it would in the field, but in a much less stressful manner now. Jesus, what was happening to him? You must have cursed him. That’s it. The only explanation. Bewitched by not only the view, but the melody of your laugh flooding his ears now at the closer proximity. Leaning against a standing table with a glass in hand, head slightly tilted enough that a stray hair fell to cover your face.

It was comical the way his heart sped up, watching as you chatted with your own group. Something so normal, something you see every single day, was making the big strong man’s hard race like it life or death. And he knew life or death.

Romeo had nothing on him.

Absolutely nothing in the way his brain knew he was to be yours. It had to be, he had to be. It’s how the story will be written, and he will play his role. Stealing your hear that way you have entranced his own. He wouldn’t be able to tell you when he got up. He can’t tell you how his body moved on its own, knowing what needed to be done but not conscious enough to alert his brain.

What he can tell about how perfect it felt to so much as stand there by you. Soaking in your presence was one thing, standing in it next to you was another entirely.

And that's how he found himself face to face with you, who turned to him with a puzzled look, but a kind smile.

He was a goner.

“Oh… umm- Hello, can I help you?” Is all you had to say to him to confirm his every thought. This woman could heal every wound with her voice alone. And her eyes so much as finally looking back at him felt like he was seen for the first time in his life.

“Uhh.. sir? Are you alright?” Your voice rang out again, pulling him back to reality as you hand waved in front of his face slightly. A flattering smile on our lips and your eyebrows furrowed slightly, almost concerned. What came over John MacTavish in that moment is unexplainable.

“I seem to have lost my number—can I have yours?”

Her eyebrows raised. She blinks. Then tilting her head slightly.

He could die right then and there.

Leaning against the table next to her with a stupid, crooked smile and a raised eyebrow, as if he didn't just embarrassed the hell out of himself. A pick up line? That's the best you could do, John? Really? Welp, there goes every chance you had, cut your losses and- Laughter chimed in his ears like wedding bells. And that’s when he froze, every negative thought draining him as he became light. You laugh was intoxicating more than any drink or drug. The kind that was unapologetic and genuine. The kind that has the back of your palm finding your lips as you cover your giggles, nose scrunching and eyes squinting due to the smile. One that made both of you have pink cheeks for different reasons. A joke that probably shouldn't have been laughed at, but coming from the man before you, it eased the tension in the air.

It must have been the prettiest sight Johnny had ever seen.

He doesn’t know how he did it, probably because it wasn’t him at all. Must have been pure luck that after that horrible entrance she seemed kind enough to humor him that night. He bought you a drink and hung on every word you so much as muttered in his direction. You laughed at every joke, good or bad. He made it his mission to make sure he always heard that laugh from then on. To produce it from you.

Oddly enough, it turns out you were one of few words when it came to the actual conversation. And yet it was never rude, ore quiter nature. But more like you were always listening. Every word John rambled on about you picked up, asking questions or simply nodding, expressing your thoughts in your facal expression. Because of this, it seemed like he never looked away from you either, not that it was a bother, it was strangely alright. It wasn’t judgemental, only observant.

He thought he might go buy a ticket for the lottery after you agreed to give him your number by the end of the night. He was more smitten than he’s ever been, and on the dates to follow the swooning only got worse.

Every moment with you felt exhilarating, like he found that missing piece finally after a long search. And that piece loved him back He was insufferable, always gushing about the woman he has the opportunity to take out on a date. And the dates where nothing less of spectacular. The pair was stupid like teenagers in love, but more sentimental, understanding the weight of things better. Arguments never lasted long and if they did they were cleared up before any damage was done. She understood what his job ment to him, and told him she would never make him change that about himself. It was his passion, she can share.

“Just so long as you promise to come back to me.”

And from that day forth he would make a pinky promise every time he left. He was to come home. Time passed quickly, in flashes. It felt like his life went from downtime in between missions, to missions in between downtime. His heart ached for you in the days he was gone, but he always knew he would be home. He would see you again. He found a want to live, even more now that he found his world.

And as time passed them by, he found out she was perfect in the all the ways he could dream of. Especially in the impossible task of calming him down as well. Rough mission? She already had his favorite meal ready and was soothing him over. Nightmares? She was there either on the phone or more recently next to him to hold him and run her fingers through his hair. To much energy? To rowdy? You always found a way to settle him down. His anchor. And he would do the same for her if the day presented itself.

Another plus that made it all that much more, everyone liked you.It wasn’t hard too of course, but it proved even moreso how lucky he got. His family adored you, his sisters taking you in as part of the family already, much quicker than any of his other past relationships. It made him well up with pride.

Even when he officially introduced you to the 141, it was with open arms as well. If he wasnt a unit before, he absolutely was one now. Maybe just a tad bit more annoying with his bragging but of course he brags. Those boys knew how much you were doing for him, and you knew they were keeping him safe. It was a harmony that both sides respected.

A part of him knew that even if all of those people didn’t like her, (an impossible feat if he does say so himself), nothing would change for him. You were his, he was yours. Irrevocably and absolutely. If the world didn’t want them, the world wasn’t for them. Simple as that. Life became sweeter, dreamlike as he fell into a comfortable rhythm. It was almost unbelievable, no, it was unbelievable.

One day, as he was laying on the couch, laying gently on you, nearly dozing off. Then he felt your hand on his shoulder, a soft pat that made him stir but not move as he hummed in response. “Johnny?” You said, soft enough that he had to stir slightly closer to your voice. But he didn’t look up, kept his heavy eyes shut as he mumbles a small “what?”

“Earth to Johnny..” Hmm, that's odd. It mde him sit up the slightest bit more. Must have been laying on his ear wrong, your voice sounded weird. And another pat on his shoulder, a bit harder this time.

“MacTavish!”

And then he blinked. He was sitting up straight, eyes wide as he made eye contact with his Captain across from him, in the same place he left him at the bar. The bar? His cheek stung from the movement of no longer resting on… his palm? His? No that’s not right. His head hurt slightly as the smell of bar flooded his nose. What was he doing in a-

“Soap, you alright? You were out for a bit. Staren’ at nothing.” Gaz said with a smile, slightly concerned.

He looked around, baffled as he took in the same dingy bar he had met you in. In fact in the same spot exactly, same clothes, same drink. Hold on, that can't be right. His head swung back around as he took in the table next to them was, empty. Bottles and cups discarded to the side, napkins crumpled. He heard the bar door shut as his eyes flicked over and spotted the same woman walk away outside, smiling the same as she was before. Only then did it make sense.

His mind filled in the blanks for him as he rubbed his face with a groan. When something is too good to be true, it's probably because it is. Gaz was patting his back as Ghost and Price shared a look that had Price hiding a smirk. But it didn’t matter to Johnny.

What mattered was she’d already left.

The boys decided that's where the night should end, Johnny's head almost embarrassingly hung low as they paid their bill and called a car to take them back to base. This is the first time Scott has sulked in a while, running his hands through his mohawk as he kicked himself for being so stupid. Caught up in a daydream of a random woman at the bar, what a stupid fantasy to get caught in. he was practically mourning something he doesn't even have, never did have. And now something he wouldn’t have either.

The moment changed his life for sure, a memory of fake memories that will haunt his little brain every once in a while when he's bored and remembers this night.

Hiii Crab so happy to see you write outside of our rants/idea chats and my fellow delulu cod enjoyer! Would love to request Platonic!141 + Reader (sorry if this is long and somewhat confusing lol). You can do headcanons, drabble or whatever you comfy for. An idea that popped in my head kinda semi personal: Civ or 141! Reader though has parents and family is the reader is quite something else. Reader despite having somewhat normal upbringing still feel empty; they shouldn't be feeling this numb and empty deep inside of them. The reader craves the love that they give but couldn't or lack of receiving it back, though they don’t expect it or selfishly want it. Just someone who understands them even in their deepest darkest secret or flaw then boom cue the task force 141 unexpected yet welcoming to their life and maybe the one that the Reader can lean and let them be vulnerable on (finally).  

Take your time on doing this Looking for to your other writing genuinely -Cee, your fellow Soap delulu

GN!Reader & 141 (Mostly Price)

Warnings: Slight angst Ships: None. A/N: This absolutely ran away from me and I do not at all regret it, hope you enjoy, Cee!!! Words: 3549

Almost your entire life had been a cycle of self doubt that also started to churn and twist into self-hatred. You blamed yourself for the feelings. Afterall, you had a relatively normal upbringing. Two parents who were both present in your life, both of whom worked so that you all had food on the table and a roof over your head. A luxury that very few had.

The least you could do for them is follow the path that they wanted to put you on, no matter how much you didn’t want to do it. Because you loved them. 

So you excelled in your education, studying hard to try and impress your parents– to make them love you just as much as you loved them for everything that they did for you for your entire life. They wanted you to do all three sciences despite the additional workload it would add to your already stretched thin time? Then you would do them, take any extra classes after school in order to keep up with the work and not lag behind any of your peers. 

There was no such thing as a social life, either, not when you had homework and projects due. Friends were few and far between. Generally, most people left when they realised how hyper focused you were on your grades instead of social interaction. 

Did a classmate get a higher grade than you on a test? Well obviously you didn’t study hard enough, you just needed to dedicate more time to school even though school was all you had.

Did you get the highest marks in the class? Good, that was what was expected of you. Why didn’t you get full marks? You were better than that. You would do better because you loved your family. They showed it in their own way, of course, by encouraging you to study harder and get better grades. That was their love language, and yours was doing as they asked without a second thought. Because, at the end of the day, you were lucky to have an upbringing like you had. You would ignore the hollow void clawing at your chest because you had no right to feel that way– not when you had a roof over your head and parents that loved you(?).

It was when you came top of the class with full marks in a recent test, you came home with a beaming smile on your face and proudly showed the test to your parents. They took the papers from your hands, flipping through your work with critical eyes, before handing the papers back to you. 

‘Well done, we’re so proud of you.’ That was all you wanted them to say to you. That was all you needed to hear. To know that they loved you. 

‘Your penmanship is terrible.’ Was what you got instead. When you tried to point at the big 100% in green pen, you were waved away. ‘How are you expected to get a job when you write like a child? I’m surprised the teacher could even read your answers’. 

After several years of balancing a work and educational life and paving a way for a line of work that you didn’t want for parents you should have been grateful to have, you decided that enough was enough. 

No matter how hard you worked, no matter how high your marks were, they would never be proud of you. They would never return the love that you had for them until you nearly killed yourself trying. 

Spending your entire childhood, teenagehood and all of your current adulthood trying to please your parents predictably would damage one’s psyche. You had no friends, family who had never been devoted to you as you were to them, and high grades serving as the foundations to a prison-like future.

You dropped out of University. The only option forward that you saw was joining the army in the vain hope that the empty feeling inside of you would dissipate when you actually did something that you believed was more worthwhile than any University course. 

So you threw yourself into the military, working harder than all of the other recruits and training at every chance you could.

Your skills and determination became widely recognised amongst your peers. It took several years, but you eventually caught the eye of none other than Captain John Price. 

Impressed by your willpower that not many soldiers possessed, he offered you a place on the 141. 

Naturally, you agreed. You believed that being part of such a well renowned and respected team would finally beat back the lingering self doubt and emptiness that had curled itself around your heart.

It didn’t. If anything, it made it worse.

You were invited to join the 141, sure, but they had already established their own relationships between each other, had already bonded into a close knit group, and you were simply an outsider. Yes, you had been hand picked by Price himself, but that didn’t mean you were part of the team. They had their own inside jokes that they told to one another, leaving you feeling left out on most days.

And you felt… lacking around them. Ghost was stronger, Gaz was faster, Soap was smarter (he was a demolitions expert for crying out loud!), and Price was almost all of those rolled into one. They all complimented each other as a team. Meanwhile you felt like a spare tyre, a master of nothing and barely a jack of any trade. 

Despite how you felt about it all, they all called you ‘kid’. Regardless of age gaps between yourself and the rest of them, the nickname stuck mostly because you were the newbie. It came as a surprise that it wasn’t spat with vitriol as your peers before had, but it was in fact said with… an affection you couldn’t quite place.

You couldn’t ignore the hole in your chest that had been chipped at over the years, forming a gaping maw that no reassurances could really mend. 

Doubt lingered in the back of your mind, chipping away at your sanity as you prepared for the worst. How long would it take before they realised you weren’t good enough? 

You were so deep in your doubts that you didn’t realise that you had been distancing yourself even more than before until you overheard a conversation in Price’s office a few months down the line.

“-- they don’t belong on the team.” Gaz said as you passed Price’s office and your heart dropped. It was only the tailend of what he had been saying but you had gotten the gist. You wanted to stay, to listen to the conversation more and listen to what your team had to say about you, but you didn’t. What you were going to hear were likely things you had already told yourself right from the start. You keep walking on, ignoring the sting of tears burning in the corners of your eyes. The blood rushing in your ears prevented you from heating the rest of the conversation. 

“-- not only are they acting like they don’t belong on the team, but they’re acting like they’re not good enough.” Gaz continued, sighing in frustration.

“Maybe they need more time.” Ghost rumbled in reply, “Let them come out of their shell a little bit. Best not rush these things.” He was talking from experience, after all.

“Aye… maybe I can invite them out for drinks or sommat? I wouldn’t want them getting transferred before we got to know them a little more.” Soap had been the one that had tried the hardest to get close to you but had also tried to give you space so as to not suffocate you with his personality. 

“They won’t be getting transferred.” Price said with conviction, tapping his desk, “I chose them to be part of this team and this is where they’re going to stay. Let me have a word with them first.”

“Aye, sir.”

— — — — — —

You found yourself in the smoker’s shelter outside the main building. It was late enough that most of the soldiers had gone to bed or off to do their own things elsewhere so you doubted that you would be bothered for a little while. Just enough time for you to get your thoughts together. Your tears had dried in your eyes a few minutes ago, making them sting in the cold air. You didn’t need to look in your reflection to know that you probably looked like a wreck– entirely unbecoming of a soldier of your apparent status. 

You didn’t want to get transferred. Despite your distance with the 141, you didn’t hate them. Far from, actually, you held a great deal of respect for each and every one of them. It was just that you felt like you didn’t have your place amongst them. Not good enough to be associated with them. 

“Bit late to be out here in the cold, chuck.” A voice startled you out of your thoughts– one that you would recognise anywhere from the low rasp of a smoker's lungs. 

“Captain.” You croaked, wincing at the patheticness in your voice. There was a scuff of boots as Price came closer, leaning into your line of vision with a furrowed brow which only furrowed more as he took in your dishevelled appearance.

“Something on your mind?” He asked kindly, perching on the arm of the bench to give you some personal space. He left his question open, allowing you any chance to steer the conversation how you wanted to. There was no judgement for catching you at your lowest, no disgust at your red rimmed eyes— just polite understanding and a non verbal offer of pleasant company. 

“Why did you pick me, Captain?”

The question made him tilt his head, a frown beginning to tug on his features. You were worried you had insulted him.

“What brought this on, huh? Someone say something to you? Need me to have a word with them?” He straightened his back, scowling. Whilst you felt like you didn’t have a place in the 141, you could never deny the shield of protectiveness that Price held over his team. You remember in the back of your mind the day that some General who thought he was hot shit had the audacity to undermine Soap as nothing more than a ‘yappy dog’ when offered the Scot’s demolitions expertise. Price had appeared almost out of thin air and almost ripped the General a new one and things would have escalated into a fist fight had Laswell not intervened. It wasn’t as though Price didn’t think his own soldiers were capable of defending themselves, but he couldn’t care less about punishments aimed his own way over that of his Sergeants and Lieutenant. It was just a surprise that the protective streak extended over you, too, despite your distance to your teammates.

“I’ll sound stupid.” You mumbled, looking down at the ground as if expecting him to chastise you like a child. He didn’t.

“I’ve had my fair share of stupid over the years. Try me.”

“... and ungrateful.”

“I once had a guy punch me in the face two seconds after I took a bullet that would have killed him.” Price countered with a cut off chuckle once he remembered what was probably a mission long finished and cleared his throat. “C’mon, tell Captain what’s on your mind.”

And he sounded so sincere when he said it. Sounded like he genuinely wanted to hear what was going on in your head– that he was willing to waste what was already his important and limited time on someone like you. 

“Sir—”

“John.” Price corrected gently, crows feet more noticeable at the corners of his eyes scrunched up when he smiled, “We’re off duty, you don’t need to be so formal.”

“... John.” You echoed, finding that you really didn’t like saying that. It felt like calling your teacher by their first name in primary school or a classmate’s parent other than their last name. 

“Now, c’mon, tell me what’s on your mind. Might not be a therapist, but I’m better than bottling it up.” You wondered in the back of your mind how often Price did this. Sat with his soldiers and talked with them, offered them a listening ear to hear their vents and fears. You couldn’t help but feel honoured to be one of the few he willingly offered said time to. Your silence stretched on as you thought of the words to say, how to phrase what you wanted to say without sounding unappreciative of the opportunity that Price had offered you when he requested you join his team. 

“I don’t feel like I belong here.” You blurted once the silence had stretched on for long enough to border on uncomfortable. John’s face fell and you quickly realised how bad that sounded and rushed to correct yourself.

“No, no, wait, let me explain–” the Captain closed his mouth to allow you to continue speaking, but you could tell that it was hard for him. “I just… you could have anyone better than me, you know? I’m not a demolition expert. I’m… I’m not the best Sniper. I’m the slowest on the team, pretty sure I’m the weakest–”

“Nope.” Price interrupted, finally breaking the bubble of your personal space as he took a proper seat next to you on the bench but still respecting the distance enough to keep a few inches between you. “Nope, not lettin’ you say another word.”

“But–” 

“Nope.”

“Cap–”

“No.”

“But you could have anyone better—“

“But they wouldn’t be you.” He deflected easily. Far too easily. He leant back on the bench, crossing one leg over the other as he folded his arms over his chest. His fingers twitched and you could tell he was itching for a cigar but didn’t light one out of respect. 

“Alright, sure, I can ask Laswell to give me one of the best soldiers in the SAS and have them brought here tomorrow. They could be the best of the best, top of their class, better than you and maybe even better than me. But that’s a bit of a stretch.” He winked and earned a weak chuckle from you. “But they won’t be you. I don’t pick just on skill alone, kid, I pick based on how I feel people would fit into the team. I chose you because I knew that you’d be perfect.”

“As for not being a demolitions expert, let  me let you in on a little secret. I’ve no fucking clue about demolitions, either. And you don’t have to be on the team to be the ‘best Sniper’. You’re better than most, and that’s what’s important. As for being the weakest– did you or did you not bodily lift Gaz in a fireman’s carry during training the other week while he was trying to act as an injured civilian? Quite dramatically, might I add. Swooned and everything.”

You remembered that practice mission. Quite fondly, actually. Gaz was a civilian and , after being struck by a foam bullet from Soap, had dramatically screamed in agony and crumpled to the floor. When you had lifted him up and over your shoulders, the bastard continued to wail something along the lines of telling his non-existent spouse that he loved them and that his money be given to his equally non-existent children. Soap got in another shot to the man’s head, knocking off his cap in the process. Distracted as you were trying to haul your teammate out of the danger zone, you couldn’t help but laugh thinking about it now. 

“Last time I checked, Gaz is somewhat heavier than a sack of flour. Don’t tell him I said that, I’ll hurt his feelings.” Price was right, you supposed. You were more than capable of carrying Gaz over your shoulders, maybe even Soap or Price himself if the time called for it. Ghost you weren’t so sure about, though. The man was a walking mountain. 

“What I’m trying to say is that you have to give yourself more credit. You’re more than good enough to be on my team. I chose you for a reason.”

You… did not expect that sort of reassurance from Price. You had hoped for something along those lines, yes, but perhaps with a thrown in criticism or three. You waited for a ‘but’ that never came. The man snorted beside you and when you gave him a quizzical look, he waved off your concern.

“Shit, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think the next thing out of your mouth would be that your parents never hugged you as a kid.”

Your silence made him slowly turn his head towards you. It would have almost been comical if the situation wasn’t. His face crumbled and a wounded sound emerged from his throat.

“Sometimes they did!” You rushed to defend the people that raised you. “And they gave me food and shelter, clothes when I needed them–”

“Fucking hell. No, that’s what they’re supposed to do because they’re your parents. What about telling you that they were proud of you? That they loved you? I saw your records. Top of your class in not just your training but in your education, too. Triple sciences, mathematics, all of it. They had to be proud of you for that? My parents would have killed for me to get even a passing grade in my GCSEs.” You looked down at the ground and it was Price’s turn to have his eyes fixed on you. 

“They were proud of you, weren’t they?” He asked again, leaning forwards so he could catch your eye, his own filled with concern. “Kid?”

“I don’t talk to them much anymore.” 

Price inhaled sharply and he leaned back again, looking around and clenching his jaw as if fighting back his anger. His fingers twitched again. You admired his self control as he was still yet to grab a cigar that you knew he kept on his person. Usually in his breast pocket while his lighter was in his right pocket.

“Listen to me.” The Captain said, a more stern edge to his voice now that he had gathered his thoughts together. “Whatever your family said to you— how they treated you? Forget it. They showed you obligation. Not love. They didn’t want what was ‘best’ for you, they wanted bragging rights. What you’ve achieved– here, in bootcamp, in university and in school, is something to take pride in– no, no, look at me.”

Your gaze had trailed to the side so you avoided looking at your Captain in the eyes. He noticed and clicked his fingers to gain your attention back on him.

“Don’t look away from me because I want you to listen to what I’m gonna say and I want you to look at my face as I say it.” Your eyes met his blue ones, “You should be proud of everything that you’ve achieved in your life. I’m sorry that your family never told you that and I’m sorry that I haven’t said that enough to you since you joined 141.”

You opened your mouth to say something– to argue or disagree but he shook his head.

“No. It’s my turn to speak now. I’m proud of you. I am so proud of you. Everything you’ve done and everything that you’re yet to do, I will always be proud of you. You’re an exemplary soldier and I knew the moment I saw you that you would be a perfect addition to the 141 and you have proved me right time and time again. You belong on this team just as much as the rest of the boys. Do you understand?”

So many words– proud, proud, proud. That’s all you had wanted to hear for so many years from someone whose opinion mattered to you. You wanted to be seen and Price, this godsend of a man, had seen you and more.

“Kid, do you understand me?”

You nodded once and then realised that Price wouldn’t have been able to tell through your shaking. Tears blurred in the corners of your eyes and you nodded again, not trusting your voice in case it shattered. 

“What do you need from me?” Price’s voice was oh so soft, like he was talking to a frightened fawn. He could see how much his words had affected you and it clearly broke his own heart.

“A hug.” Your bottom lip wobbled and his face softened as he opened his arms, twitching his fingers to urge you closer.

“I can do that.” 

You leaned into him and he quickly wrapped his arms around you, drawing you in close. You could smell the lingering scent of his last cigar. The smell of his office and cleaning oil. You felt his chin on the top of your head and felt how his chest rumbled as he spoke.

“You’re part of the 141 whether you like it or not, alright? Me and the boys want you here for as long as you want to be.”

At that moment, for the first time in your life. You felt wanted. You felt appreciated and you felt seen.

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