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gildedkrone · 7 months

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KINKTOBER 2023 🔞

The house is quiet; Luna had slinked off somewhere in the house and a cat shaped blur of white in the yard under the afternoon sun is your answer.

Johnny is splayed across the couch in a slumbering man—one arm across his torso with the other resting beside his head on a cushion. Today, he opted for a small white singlet ending above his navel as it showcased his abs and a v-line disappearing into a pair of military-issued olive briefs.

The happy trail disappearing into his briefs is tantalising, to say the least. With each shift of his body, the briefs only seemed to slide lower until the bush peeks through the waistband and the tight garment holds onto the bulge in fear of sliding right off.

What a fucking tease to wear clothes from basic training which no longer fit his more muscled body. He’s sleeping now, and the conversation from a week ago rears its head.

“Whit if ye made me cum whin I was sleeping?” You almost choked on your food when the words slipped through his mouth full of meal.

“What?” And he’s appearing all innocent and what not.

“Dinnae yi'll waant tae fin' oot?”

“I don’t understand you, dummy.”

“Aw, c’mon bonnie, don’t you want to find out?”

The truth is you wanted to find out and with nothing else to do, the offer stands tempting. He is fast asleep and you fingers gently brush across his briefs. They catch on the opening in the garment and his face keeps its slack.

Fuck, were you actually going to do this?

Your hand evidently thought so and palmed him gently through the fabric amidst steady snoring. It took a while, but eventually, there is a stirring in his loins and the small garment is stretched obscenely as the bulge becomes even more pronounced. And you would be lying if this wasn’t at all arousing.

Taking pity on his tool, and not wanting to cause him any discomfort, you freed his dick through the piss hole in his slutty man briefs. The smack against your forearm by his engorged length when you let go freezes you just as Johnny makes a noise before his snores resume.

A man’s heartbeat is fluttering in motion.

Johnny is a big boy. Even somewhat hard, it’s length is more than half of your forearm. Curved slightly, for his partner’s pleasure and in a slightly darker shade above a neat bush adorning, according to Johnny, his favourite body part. Your tongue gently brushes against the bulbous head and pretty pink lips part in response to your tongue snaking all the way down to the base of his dick. You keep an eye on him throughout and noted the small twitching of his lips whenever your tongue ran over the thick throbbing vein spanning his entire dick.

Johnny has a dislike for jerking off in the military and given his last orgasm was probably two weeks ago, it’s no wonder Johnny is pent up to some degree. You taste his salty pre and the skilled tongue pulls the first of many moans from his guttural throat.

A man’s heartbeat is living in motion.

His length rests on his thigh and your nose inhales the musk of his groin—manly and reeking of ball sweat since Johnny’s a man who ran hot—and your tongue finds purchase on the plump sack below the main attraction. His soft breaths turn into a whine as a finger trace the individual testes while his fingers curl and unfurl.

Thirst.

Thirst is what you feel when you rolled his balls across your tongue to engulf his prized possessions in wet heat. His dick has risen to full mast—an angry and reddish head leaks copious amounts of pre onto his thigh and dully throbbing, it’s indicative of the stress wracking his body. As his partner, you are duty bound to … relieve him of the tension. Empty his balls so he can have a better sleep.

So you redouble your efforts on his very sensitive sack and Johnny makes all sorts of noises—whines, moan, groans, and whimpers as he twists and turns in his sleep. His head rolls over and his arms jerks in time with his lascivious thighs. You made sure to leave his dick alone and focus the assault on his scrotum. He shivers and your nose is pressed further into his bush when the seam running through the middle of his scrotum is grazed by your teeth and cushioned by drool.

A quick glance up reveals the man to be erect as two nubs poke through the tight singlet. He body seizes slightly when you roll them between your fingers. While keeping his nuts occupied, to your pleasure, he mutters more and drool seeps onto the cushion from the rolling of his head. His face reflects what he’s feeling with lips nicely parted while his body subconsciously squirms under your palm and tongue.

A man’s heartbeat is resonance in motion.

“mmrow … please … mmow …”

It’s been slightly over fifteen minutes since you began; the rippling of his toned abs accompanies the jerky flexing of his feet. Johnny is still under the influence of slumber and pure innocence on man known for military violence is a scarlet fire of temptation beckoning you to service him. You smear his pre across his balls and the ignored shaft occasionally moves with the contraction of his groin muscles and lifts strings of pre into the air. It’s a tantalizing sight to behold as his face furrows as if in deep concentration—the narrowing of his eyebrows and tightness in his cheeks even as he continues to verbalise how good he feels in his dreams.

It's time to bring him home. A man in pleasure is vulnerable man indeed—and Johnny’s about to find out why. Your tongue rolls his nuts between teeth as a hand cups his sack while another plays with his nipples. A little pain does the trick and you give his testicles a squeeze in sharp contrast together with a deep hum vibrating through his entire groin and your eyes slide over to his neglected dick.

Johnny nearly shouts; his hands fists above his chest and his knees jerks and misses your face by inches while he blearily calls your name in confusion. His abdomen contracts hard and his dick jumps slightly before white leaks out of the piss slit.

“Loue … whit's … gaun oan mmph!”

His eyes are laced with sleep in a slightly raised head. Blurry eyes spot you nestled between his legs and mouthing on his balls as his mind starts to piece together what’s happening. His hips shake in place; without a hand on his dick he is confused where the pleasure is and where to direct his hips as toes curl with how euphoric his genitals feel. More awake, much louder gasp and expletives escapes his throat as he grips your head and pulls it deeper into his pelvis.

A man’s heartbeat is satiation in motion.

A thick stream of cum runs off the side of his thighs onto the couch. You lather your fingers in them before crawling forward to shove them into his mouth. His waking mind registers your fingers and starts sucking while excess cum pools on his thighs. He chuckles and wraps an arm around your torso.

“Hell's bells that's a hell o' a wey tae wake up loue.”

“I don’t speak Scottish, shit for hair.” To be fair, that does make it easier to tug his head.

“This’ a hell of a wake up routine, love and yer said you loved mah mohawk last week!”

“Bet you had a good dream huh?” He describes a fog in his mind slowly invading his loins with heat and itch. Waking to you with a mouth stuffed by his junk was the tipping point—his eager dick packs disobedience and comes hands free. You earn a contented moan when you roughly palm his spent dick as he pulls you in for tight embrace.

“Johnny, unhand me.” You push against him arms which have come to cage you in as he shakes his head. He chuffs and nestles his dick between your thighs.

“A'm still sleepy. A bit mair, love.”

Do not edit, reupload or translate my works without prior consent || masterlist || kinktober masterlist

#fanfic #cod x reader #cod x gn!reader #gn reader #cod mw2 #x reader #cod #reader insert #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap x you #soap x y/n #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish x you #soap x gn!reader #soap fanfiction #call of duty

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luminousbeings-crudematter · 10 months

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MASTERLIST

~ Lumi, late 20s, she/her ~

~ ALL works are 18+ only, minors DNI ~ Ao3 ~

~ Currently writing for Call of Duty MW2 ~

*******

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

Thots/Drabbles/Musings (Deep-throating || Face-sitting || Sex with Simon)

Situationship-verse (Complete) Summary: What you have is undefined, and you never agreed to commit to each other. And yet…he haunts you. He resides inside you. You don't know where he ends and you begin. What you have may be undefined, and you may have never committed to him, but the day before you met him was the last day you were truly free. OR You enter into a situationship with Simon "Ghost" Riley and forget what your life was like before him. where Simon is both injured and blown || where you cook for Simon but the food’s not all he eats || where Simon makes you come before you have to go || where Simon introduces you to Ghost || where Simon teaches you a lesson || where it begins to end || where Simon grapples with futility || where you both find what was lost || DRABBLES: pissed off || gratitude || Valentine’s Day || somno || first & last

Alford Plea - Chef! Simon Riley x F! Reader Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Epilogue || Outtake

Coworker! Ghost x F! Reader Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

Other Ghost tags Reaper! Ghost - Ghost is Death Himself. Work Rival! Ghost - enemies to enemies who fuck Toxic ex boyfriend Ghost

*******

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

we go where we want to first light || matinal ||

Land Softly - Bed & Breakfast Winter AU Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

Other Ghoap tags Wedding crasher Soap - My best friend's wedding AU (kinda) (but Ghoap edition) Amnesia! Ghost - 50 first dates AU (kinda) Ghoap x Reader - PWP Ghoap x Military F! Reader Donner Party AU - Ghoap x F! Reader

*******

JOHNNY “SOAP” MACTAVISH

Thots/Drabbles/Musings (Messy eater || Baby fever || SFW Alphabet )

Entanglement - Soap MacTavish x Medic F! Reader Part 1 || Part 2 ||

Other Soap tags Feral Horny Soap Ghoap x Reader Sugar baby Johnny

#simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #ghost fanfiction #soap fanfiction #mw2 fanfic #mw2 smut #ghost x reader #ghostsoap #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #lumi writes

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ghostandsoap · 9 days

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Sitting with a Show

John "Soap" MacTavish x Fem! Reader Tags: NSFW. Smut. Cockwarming. Soap being a jerk lol. A/N: Horrible title. Will change it when I come up with something better. Word Count: 1.0k "Your odds are lookin' good."

"Hey, hey..." Soap warned, his grip on your hips tightening. "Stop it. Watchin' the game here."

"John, this is ridiculous," You hissed. "There will be a million soccer games other than this one."

"Football," He corrected, giving the side of your thigh a smack. "None of that soccer rubbish."

"It's the same thing," You gruffed, whimpering when he shifted his hips underneath you. "Every game is the same."

His tip hit the furthest part inside of you that it could, and your arms and legs were beginning to get fuzzy. Soap's cock had been stuffed inside of you for what felt like hours now - completely hard and prodding at all the right places.

He was perfectly comfortable, sunken into the mattress, propped up just enough so he could properly see the TV that was screaming with bright colors of soccer field turf and fans dressed for their team in the stands. He could see the screen over you, much to your demise.

To be completely honest, this whole ordeal did seem fun at first. It was something different, and something you hadn't tried before. It was arousing to think about Soap being buried inside of you with no promise of friction or relieving stimulation. It was supposed to drive him crazy. It was supposed to make him desperate for you...make him beg for you.

However, it seemed that your devious plan fell apart when he decided to take advantage of it and turn the tables on you.

"I don't know why you're complainin' so much," He chuckled, completely unbothered. "This was your idea, sweet stuff."

So now, you were stuck with him taunting you and torturing you with his cock by doing nothing with it - and he was too invested in his stupid soccer/football game to even think about giving in. His eyes were glued to the TV screen behind you, his gaze barely peeling away for merely a moment.

He was having fun watching you fall apart over his attention being elsewhere in a situation where you were fully naked and at his disposal. The circumstances were great for an even better lovemaking session. But Soap was having too much fun playing the game you originally intended to play.

"I might as well go home at this point," You growled, seriously considering getting up and leaving. "So fucking annoying."

At this point, it was beginning to piss you off more than anything. It was the frustration with his stubbornness and irritation for not getting what you wanted. Frankly, you were beginning to feel bad for previously wishing this upon him.

"Hey...don't be like that," He said in a tone that was demanding, but also sympathetic. "We're havin' fun, princess."

His eyes were set on you now, his irises moving back and forth as he focused on your expression to see if this was beginning to become too much for you. Soap could be a bit intentionally aggressive in the bedroom sometimes, but he never let it get to the point where you weren't enjoying yourself.

He studied carefully, looking for anything that let him know he needed to stop. You were definitely getting antsy, and every minute that passed you were growing more needy.

But you weren't at your breaking point...yet.

"You're having fun," You growled, tears beginning to form in your lower lash line. "I'm not getting-"

To shut you up, Soap gave a quick, firm thrust up into you, making a strained cry leave your throat at the feeling of finally having some kind of movement. Soap let out a low, erotic groan at the sound of your wetness getting pushed around and the sight of it smeared onto his lower stomach made his cock twitch within you. He stayed still for a moment, only moving again when your shoulders relaxed.

He watched your expression as he lifted you off of his cock just enough before sinking you back down, his hips rolling up to thrust into you. You visibly shuddered, a whimpered plea for more sounding from you.

He fucked you slow for a bit, giving you just enough to begin to satisfy you, but not enough to curb your craving for him. He saw your blown pupils and flushed skin, tell-tale signs that you were completely maxed out and ready for more.

Too bad he had a soccer game to watch.

His hip movements stopped, and you were back to square one - completely swallowing his cock between your legs, but no promise or sign of anything more. The look on your face was priceless - an overwhelming expression of disappointment, disbelief, and betrayal. Soap would've felt bad for you...except he didn't.

"You're...you're gonna fuck me, right?" You asked, words breathy and voice barely audible.

He gave a chuckle so mischievous and smug that it almost made you tear up again. He reached for one of your hands, pressing your knuckles to his lips with a smirk.

"Sure, I'll fuck you..." He gave a shit eating grin when he saw your eyes light up. "...if they win."

Against your better judgment, you turned your head to look at the TV, your stomach dropping when you saw that the game was just over halfway through the first half...and the scores were tied. Not only did you have another half to go, but there was a chance that you might make it to the end of the game and receive no end to this torture at all. Maybe if you were lucky, you could convince him during halftime.

Soap laughed again at your agitated look, giving your backside a playful squeeze.

"Cheer up, pretty girl. They've had a good year so far," He said, referring to his preferred team. "Your odds are lookin' good."

Soap wasn't showing any signs of letting up, and you didn't have a choice but to endure the rest of this game and hope for a winning game.

This was going to be the longest game of your life.

#soap #john mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap x fem! reader #soap smut #soap fanfiction #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish x fem! reader #john mactavish smut #john mactavish fanfiction #cod modern warfare fanfiction #modern warfare ii #modern warfare iii #modern warfare ii fanfiction #modern warfare iii fanfiction #ghostandsoap

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lazybutsmexy · 7 months

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To good use

John "Soap" Mactavish x teacher!Reader

Johnny's mind works at breakneck speed, and you know how to slow him down.

Warnings: none! pure fluff, Johnny has ADHD. GN!Reader.

Words: 700~

A/N: Just a thing I came up with while preparing my lesson plans.

He stands up from the couch, completely disregarding the current football match. His team wasn’t doing well and he grew restless. His bare feet thudded on the wooden floor and took him to the kitchen, from where moments later the scent of freshly made coffee waltzed to you.

You simply let out a soft puff of air, too focused on your task at hand - making sure your scissors didn’t stray a millimeter from the lines you had carefully designed on the brightly coloured craft paper.

A soft ‘thunk’ signaled the presence of a steaming, fresh cup of coffee in front of you. “Thank you, Johnny,” you smiled up at him as he leaned down to peck your cheek. Immediately after, he shuffled over to the large window overseeing the front yard.

The rain smacked heavily into the glass, as if attempting to break in. It wouldn’t - Johnny had made sure that the flimsy single-glass panels were replaced by bulletproof glass the moment you had agreed to date him all those years ago. He loved you and cherished you that much.

You peered at him out of the corner of your eye. The sports commentator shouted another goal for the rival team, but you had a sneaking suspicion he didn’t hear it.

His fingers twitched, and he clenched his hands a few times to relieve the tension. Soon, his fingers found themselves combing through his mohawk. The hair was soft, freshly conditioned after weeks.

You could see the signals. He was itching for something to do. He couldn’t go on a run to wear himself down, nor even to smoke a cigarette in his storm.

It was the part of his character that made you fall in love with him. His romantic spontaneity was born from his ever-working mind, and all the ways his thoughts zeroed in you. It was also his greatest flaw - if you could even call it that. When he lived with a mind that was always speeding at breakneck speed, left unchecked would give him - and you - whiplash.

You snipped the last bit of paper in your hand and glanced at the rest of the materials on your workspace with an idea simmering in between your eyebrows.

Forcing out a yawn and a stretch worked like a charm to bring his attention back to you.

“Tired, bonnie?” he smiled, and by God, you could watch him smile for the rest of your days and be happy. He glanced at the clock on the wall and frowned slightly. “‘s pretty late, you almost done?”

“No,” you moaned pitifully, and drove the point home with a pout and batting eyelashes, “I need help with this if I want to go to sleep before midnight.”

Immediately Johnny was dragging a chair and sitting down in front of you. “Tell me what to do, I’ll help.” Even though he tried to show a finality in his decision to help, you caught the hidden eagerness in his voice.

Your beaming smile seemed to punch all thoughts away from his head as you handed him a stack of colourful paper strips. “Use that glue to stick the tips together to make rings, please,” you instructed him, and he immediately took the tiny tub of glue, “I need them arranged into a chain, the colour order isn’t important.”

Johnny nodded once and muttered a soft “copy” before carefully getting to work. The way he delicately handled the strips showed you that your little plan had worked wonders. You turned your attention to the ornaments you had been working on - only half-made, so the kids would finish the work and get the credit, of course.

“Thank you, Johnny,” he barely glanced up at your voice, obviously fully focused on his new super important task, “you’re a life-saver.”

His little chuckle and the bump of his ankle against yours under the table filled you with warmth, “‘course, can’t leave my bonnie struggling.”

You somehow held back an eyeroll and swallowed the ‘likewise’ that almost escaped your lips. You’d let him take the credit too.

Taglist: @warenai @embers-of-alluring @queen-of-hearts-lemon-tarts

Join the taglist

#john soap mactavish #cod soap #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #civilian!reader #teacher!reader #john soap mactavish fanfiction #soap fanfiction #john soap mactavish imagine #soap imagine #john soap mactavish fluff #soap fluff #soap has adhd #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader

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deakyjoe · 1 year

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My Guiding Light

Pairing: John/Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x Reader (no pronouns used)

Category: fluff, established relationship (kind of)

Summary: You and Soap have a mutual agreement to take care of each other when returning to base after exhausting weeks out in the field.

Warnings: fluff, sexual references, kissing, talks of stressful stuff (??), hurt/comfort (I think but I don’t know), just cutesy mostly, reader takes care of tired Soap

Word Count: 1.3k (short and sweet)

A/N: Let’s pretend that reader would have their own room because it’s convenient to this story. I’m tempted to turn this into a little series that I’ll add stuff to every now and again but I’m not sure yet. For now, it’s just this. I’ll wait to see if inspiration strikes me again in the future so no promises. Title taken from the song Never Too Much by Luther Vandross.

The knock on your door was slow, sluggish. You jumped up from your bed immediately, knowing exactly who it was. Soap. The two of you had a kind of… arrangement. After long, tiring days spent in the field you’d take an hour or two together to unwind and look after yourselves. Only this time, you hadn’t gone with the team. You were recovering from a minor leg injury that, whilst not serious, would’ve just slowed you down in the field and it was best for the team that you didn’t go with them and be a distraction.

So you stayed behind, constantly pacing your room with nerves. The thought of any of them being hurt, especially Soap, had you panicked. They’d done this kind of thing hundreds of times before but without you there to oversee everything… well, it didn’t make you feel good.

When you opened the door, you were devastated by what you saw. Your favourite Scot stood there, blood splattered across his face and mud caking his clothes. You said nothing, just took his hand and pulled him into the room and shut the door quietly behind him. You didn’t need to say anything. Just knew what had to be done.

You led him into the bathroom and sat him down on the edge of the bathtub, grabbed a facecloth and wet it with warm water. Soap also stayed silent which worried you, usually he was cracking weak jokes to try and ease the tension. This meant that it hadn’t gone well.

You wiped the blood off of his face gently, not missing the utter exhaustion in his eyes when his gaze fixed on you. His eyelids were hooded, pupils blown as he looked up into your face.

“Not good?” You asked and he shook his head, not even a whisper leaving him. Very, very bad.

His cheek was cupped in your hand as you cleaned his face, small flecks of dirt being washed away as well. He leant into the touch, eyes closing as if he were struggling to stay awake. His blinking was slow like it was taking a lot of effort.

“Missed you.” It was quiet, timid. Not like your Soap at all.

“I missed you too.” You replied, throwing the dirty cloth into the sink and switching the shower on. “I’ll wash your hair, yeah?”

He just nodded and moved to sit on the floor, knowing the routine by now. You stood over him, testing the temperature of the water with your hands and choosing your nicest shampoo to use on him. He deserved it.

When you decided that the water was a good temperature, you stroked his cheek. “Head back, Soap.”

His head tilted back, eyes closing again as you ran your fingers through his hair and deposited the shampoo on him. A small groan escaped his mouth when your nails lightly scraped his scalp, the dirt and grime slowly being washed away.

"You like that, MacTavish?" You asked, trying not to laugh but smiling widely when he just hummed in satisfaction. "Your hair's getting long at the sides."

"Needs cutting." He mumbled, eyes still closed.

"I like it like this." You tugged gently at it. "Something to pull."

"Naughty." The smallest smile appeared on his lips and you were just glad that you were getting some part of him back. It was progress.

The conditioner was next and, once again, you chose your nicest one for him. His hair really needed nourishing after being covered in thick mud for whoever knows how long. You brushed it through with your fingers, careful not to be too rough.

Soap was quiet again, eyes staying closed but his face had relaxed. Not a tensed muscle in sight. Good.

Once that was done, you patted his shoulder to encourage him to sit up straight again. “Get in the shower. I’ve got pyjamas for you to wear.”

He smiled and grabbed at your hips. “Shower with me.”

You shook your head and laughed. “Nuh-uh. We all know where that will lead and you don’t need that right now.”

“Need you.” He leant forward, resting his chin on your stomach as he looked up at you.

“You need sleep, Soap.” You pulled away and got a towel for him from the shelf under the sink. “Shower and meet me back in my room. You can use the good soap.”

He grumbled something under his breath but said nothing more, taking the towel and turning to get in the shower. You went back into your bedroom and found the clothes for him, making the bed up nice in the process.

He didn’t take too long, less than ten minutes. Which was strange. Usually he spent longer in the shower after long missions, he needed it. This meant that he was very tired. You didn’t blame him, he looked fatigued.

When he came into your room, steam poured out from the bathroom and surrounded him in a humid cloud. Water dripped from his hair and down his chest before soaking into the towel wrapped around his waist.

“Good shower?” You asked and pointed to the corner of the room where he could leave his dirty clothes.

He nodded and almost ran towards you, tackling you onto the bed. The impact winded you but didn’t stop you from giggling as he planted kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

“Missed you so much.” The sentence was punctuated by a firm kiss on your lips.

You didn’t need to reply because you both knew you felt the same way. It had never been in the plan when you’d first started your little arrangement. It purely was supposed to be the two of you making sure you were okay after missions and practicing a little self-care together. But then it had… developed. It became impossible for you and Soap to function without each other. You hadn’t labelled what it was exactly. But you certainly were not strictly platonic.

“Put some clothes on, MacTavish. And dry your hair.” You whispered against his mouth, smiling when he laughed lowly.

“Hmm, okay.” He said with another quick kiss before pulling away and standing up to get dressed.

You crawled to get into the bed, leaning your elbows against the pillow so you could watch him.

He grinned at you when he saw you looking. “Like what you see?”

You pretended to think about it. “Maybe.”

He huffed and quickly put the pyjamas on, using the towel that was previously wrapped around his waist to dry his hair. He scrubbed at it and you cringed.

“Okay, that’s enough. Come here, I’ll do it for you.” Holding out your hand to him, you gestured for him to give you the towel. Which he did with a smug smile like he almost planned it so you’d offer. Knowing him, he probably did.

He dropped to sit in front of you, between your legs, with a bounce and sighed happily when you started to rub his head softly with the towel. He melted beneath your touch and you could tell he was getting sleepier, despite only being able to see the back of his head. After a couple of minutes, you’d had enough.

“You’re done. Get into bed, MacTavish.” You said against his neck, placing a kiss there.

He didn’t hesitate and bundled down next to you, dragging you into his arms straight away. You switched the lamp off and turned to face him, almost nose to nose.

“Are you okay?” You murmured against his lips, reaching up to cup his face.

“Mhmm, yeah.” He nodded shortly and kissed you again, hands clutching at you desperately. “Better with you here.”

You kissed him back happily, you were better with him here too. After a few more yearning kisses were exchanged, the two of you settled down to sleep. Soap drifted off quickly, especially with your fingers carding through his hair to relax him even more. You just watched him sleep for a while before falling into your own deep slumber with your favourite person cuddled against you.

A/N: Had a bad Christmas Day, got in my feels about Soap, wrote this.

#soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x you #soap mactavish fanfiction #soap x reader #soap x you #soap fanfiction #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ej’s fics #ej’s writing #johnny soap mactavish

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bravogonedark · 1 year

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fire that surrounds you [Ghost/Soap]

ao3 link

tw: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Summary:

The smell of burning flesh engulfed Soap, accompanied by searing heat. He screamed, lightheaded, dizzy, withering in pain between the dead soldiers. Despite that he looked on as the flames took Ghost, the mask burning first, the skull disappearing from flaking, bubbling skin. And then they devoured Simon too.

Soap dreams of another time. Unnerved and hesitant, he just wants to see Simon. . . Or: Soap dreams of 09 Ghost's death.

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dishoneykisses · 1 year

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Let’s go for a ride

Got a request for power bottom ghost and soft top soap with over stimulation, and orgasim denial. If you have any more requests let me know!

I also didn’t edit this at all sooo……..

“Wha’s got you so worked up Simon.. ohh? Is it because of the way I’m pinnin you to this wall? Is it my hand around your throat, Or is it something else?”

As soon as the door shut, Soap caught Ghost. He cherished the sensation of being squeezed up against a wall. At the whim of Soap's words, unable to move. Ghost spit in Soap's face and said,

"Shut the fuck up, and choke me." Why would he quickly cave in? That was simple thanks to soap, making it simple to make fun of him and humiliate him. And Ghost cherished the fact that he could elicit those responses from him. Each and every time.

“You're such a masochist, beggin me to squeeze your throat tighter.” Soap hummed. "Tell me Simon, who's really in charge here?" Soap got impossibly closer, making his head dizzy.

“—“ Soap was tugging on Ghost’s hair before he could say anything.

“If you're good for me. I might let you get off on my thigh.." he tugged harder. “Might.”

"I'm not getting off on your thigh, Johnny." Soap was thrown to the ground so quickly that he was oblivious to how it happened. “You're trying so hard to be mean that it makes me wanna laugh. You're too soft for that…”

Ghost pressed against Soap's chest, squeezing him and tugging down his trousers and boxers. He hasn't taken off his gloves.”Simon--”

“Ah ah… You wanted to fuck me up against a wall... If I ride you on the floor, you'll be alright." Soaps' breath caught and he slammed his head against the floor. "You're going to lay back and look pretty while I use you... okay? You can handle a little more teasing.”

"Let me help prep." Soap rubbed his hips, squeezing Ghost's ass. "I enjoy hearing the noises you make—" His hands were knocked aside and held down above his head. Ghost was too fast for Soap to catch up with.

"What did I say, Johnny?"

"Be pretty as you use me." Soap shifted his gaze to the wall. When Ghost spoke like that, it was difficult to look at him. He talks the same way on the field.

He must glance up at Ghost because of the way he is holding his jaw. "Keep your eyes forward, Sergeant."

“Fecker--”

"English Johnny... How am I supposed to have fun if I can't understand you?" After collecting a little package of lube from his back pocket, Ghost slipped his own sweats and boxers down.

“Fuck—Fuck!” Soap reached up to remove Ghost's balaclava, but when he saw Ghost's stare, he swiftly withdrew his hands back over his head.

He teased his rim after thoroughly coating his fingers in lube and slowly pushed in the tip of his finger.

"You've teased me all day... All I want to do is touch you and make you feel good. I'll fuck you good—" Soap groaned.

"How did I tease you, Johnny? Was it during training when I called you a "good boy?" Ghost inserted another finger. Groaning and scissoring. "When I cornered you in the showers afterward, you seemed to enjoy it."

"You wouldn't even let me say anything..." Soap fists were clenched. He was desperate to touch Ghost. A blush ran down his neck as he rocked back into his fingers. The gloves are still on.

"I put my hand over your mouth... I didn't want to bother the people in the showers."

"You couldn't stop telling me how good I was... and using my thigh to cum." Soap couldn't take his attention away from the gloves. Ghost never removed his gloves; he was fingering himself while wearing them. They were the same ones he wore on missions. Soap will never be able to look at them the same way again.

Ghost laughed as he finally removed his fingers. "You enjoyed it." He positioned himself, squeezing Soaps' cock. "I wanted to see if I could get you off on nothing but praise."

Soap's knuckles were getting white from resisting. "Hell, I almost did it."

"Tell me when you're about to cum"

"Wha—" With a loud groan, Ghost slammed his hips down, taking Soap all at once. "Simon, Simon, Simon..." I won't last long, so move slowly."

"You will, Johnny, or I will be disappointed." He slowly arose, slamming down and grinding his hips roughly.

"I can't, I can't, I can't— I'm going to—"

As Soap's cock was being tightened around by Ghost's fingers, he entirely pulled away from him. "You told me immediately, good boy. I'll only do it once..." He waited for Soap to calm down before pounding himself on his cock once more.

He moved his hips at a fast pace, clutching Soap's chest for support. "Simon—" Soap managed to keep up with him. “I’m..”

"Cum for me."

Ghost restrained Soap's hands once more before they could grab his hips. "Cum in me, Johnny." Soap whimpered as Ghost continued to bounce on his cock at a fast pace. "I'm not finished yet, Johnny. You should have held it for a while."

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bitbugbites-cod · 5 months

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𝙹𝙾𝙷𝙽 "𝚂𝙾𝙰𝙿" 𝙼𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙰𝚅𝙸𝚂𝙷 | 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

SCOTLAND FOREVER!!!

𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰

none, yet!

𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔱𝔰

none, yet!

𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔬𝔰

none, yet!

𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔰

Unmasking Headcanons // 5 chars. // FLUFF

characters: Alejandro Vargas, John "Soap" MacTavish, König, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Simon "Ghost" Riley

cw: gn! reader // FLUFF // unmasking

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mrssoapmactavish · 1 year

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i hope you guys are excited for a BIG ONE with flirting and a sprinkle of all the 141 men

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gloomwitchwrites · 1 month

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By the Belt (3 of 4)

Mechanic John "Soap" MacTavish x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: married couple, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

Soap needs a distraction, and you’re going to give it to him.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // by the belt masterlist

It’s Sunday. John’s shop is closed on Sunday.

Even so, he’s always working on something, his hands unable to lean into idleness for a moment. They desire something to hold, to tinker and learn and explore.

It’s the late afternoon, and you stand in John’s personal garage located at the back of your shared property. His actual shop is nearby, just a mile or so down the road. This is sacred space. The place he goes to work on all sorts of personal projects. You are off to the right of him beside his knees. John is on his back, partially submerged beneath a lifted car.

That always makes you nervous, even though you know he’s careful about his safety. You always imagine the machine keeping the car aloft breaking, sending the vehicle down to crush him. The car itself is vintage, a special project that John has been working on for months. The paint is stripped and its mostly bare bones.

Beneath the car, you hear John sigh heavily. He rolls out from under the car, the wheels on the rolling bed squeaking as he does so. When he notices you standing there, he immediately grins.

“Hello, wife,” he croons, sitting up and draping his forearms over his bent knees.

“Hello, husband,” you reply, matching his tone. His smile widens and a warmth blooms in your cheeks. “Thought you could use a break.”

Grinning, he pushes up to standing, crossing his arms over his chest. “What kind of break?”

With boldness in your blood, you reach out and slide your fingers in the belt loops of his dirty jeans. John stumbles forward, nearly knocking into you. That grin briefly transforms into surprise before settling into a sultry smirk.

“Oh, aye. I could use a break.” He leans in, your mouths meeting in a lovingly gentle kiss that warms you right down to your toes. When he breaks apart, that lovely grin is back. “But I’d hate to dirty your pretty skin with my hands.”

You tug on his belt again, smiling. “What if I want to get dirty?”

John laughs, his stained, oiled fingers hovering just shy of your skin. “You sure, love? Because I can do that.” Your answer is a brief yank on his belt. John shakes his head. “I warned you.”

You unthread your fingers and John makes a turn-around gesture. You comply, eagerness in your bones.

“Bend yourself over that table.” John points directly in front of you. It’s a workbench. There are a few tools but they’re off to the side, leaving the middle completely open.

Stepping up to it, you place your hands flat on the surface, bending forward, the angle forcing you up on your toes. John leaves you there. Lingering. Hanging. You have no idea if he’s watching you and enjoying the sight, or if he’s simply turned around and walked right out of the garage.

But you have your answer when John’s voice floats toward you.

“Lift up your dress,” he instructs, some rasp in his tone. He does not touch you, but you feel his presence. He’s close. You swear that you can feel his heat of the backs of your thighs as you reach back with both hands and lift your sundress up to your hips.

You are exposed to him. Utterly bare.

“Fuck. You dirty girl,” croons John, and you know exactly what he sees—or rather, what he doesn’t. “All bare under there. You knew what you were doing. Didn’t you?”

You did. You absolutely did.

Still, John does not touch. You hear the soft crinkle of his jeans as he goes down on his knees behind you, his warm breath brushing lightly against your pussy as he exhales.

“Spread for me a bit.” You shift your legs apart slightly. “Good,” he praises. “Like that.”

The moment you’re in position, John’s tongue parts your pussy with a slow stroke. He begins at your clit, moves upward, dipping the tip of his tongue into your sex before retreating. His hands rest on the table on either side of you, unmoving. Staying true to his word, John isn’t dirtying your pretty skin, but doesn’t mean he might not lose some control and touch you anyway.

Really, that’s what you want after all.

Using just his tongue, John traces circles, swirls up and down your sex, moves in languid motions that have you guessing. Every nerve is burning up like a sparkler. Your husband is teasing you, and fucking enjoying that he’s doing so.

He leaves nothing untouched, nothing untasted. Whimpering, John lightly kisses your clit, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. It’s not nearly enough.

“Stay still,” he chuckles, when your hips buck with wanton irritation. “Let me finish my meal.”

John’s mouth promptly returns, and you know you’re done. Utterly done. Brain dead. Air rapidly leaving a balloon. He sucks on your clit, then penetrates you with his tongue, only to do it all again. With each, he sucks just a bit harder, bordering on painful pleasure.

The next one has you nearly coming off the table.

“I’m gonna fuck you after this, love,” groans John. “Bloody hell, you’re sweet.”

He dives in and your nails dig into the tabletop, your voice cracking as you orgasm. You feel his smile against your flesh before his mouth disappears from it, only to be replaced by the familiar sound of unzipping jeans.

The head of his cock presses at your entrance but doesn’t penetrate. John lightly guides the head back and forth through your slickness, the sound of it echoing loudly in the garage.”

“Will you be a good girl and take it?”

You nod enthusiastically, strands of your hair shifting to stick against the back of your neck. “Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

With a low moan, John starts to press in, your body not resisting, only wanting him inside. You both groan loudly as he bottoms out. Adjusting, John places his hands firmly above your head, anchoring himself.

He breathes deep, and reaches for your wrists, one at a time, trapping them against the table. John rolls his hips, thrusts lightly against you. It’s the perfect angle. You feel everything.

John increases the pace. Those light, almost shallow thrusts become languid and long, hitting deep when your bodies come together. From there, his thrusts turn sharp, a smacking pace that stings your flesh. You hardly care. John’s cock inside you is heaven, the thing just to ease the lust in your bones.

Every stroke is lovely, sending shivers of pleasure through your limbs. Your little moans become breathy exhales, your words leaving your lips silently, delivered only to the quietness of the air.

John’s head dips, his lips brushes over your exposed shoulder as he continues to thrust. “Gonna come inside you, love.”

It is not a question, and you will always say yes even if he asks.

His last few thrusts shake the table, the legs scaping against the concrete just before John holds his hips flush to yours. The groan as he finishes comes from deep within his throat. It’s a primal sound.

Glancing up, you watch as his grip on your wrists shift. He’s left some of that grease behind from working on the car on your skin. He said he wouldn’t mar it, but he couldn’t resist, and that feels like a victory.

John presses a kiss to your shoulder, and you tilt your head in his direction, seeking his gaze, even as he keeps himself inside you.

“Good break?” you murmur.

John chuckles. “Oh, aye.” He shrugs, nods toward your wrists. “But we need to get clean.”

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @miaraei @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06

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ghostandsoap · 6 months

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Stay

John "Soap" MacTavish x Fem! "Viper" Reader Tags: Assassination mission. Gunfire. Snipers. A/N: I feel like this sucks. Does it suck? Let me know if it sucks. Word Count: 6.0k "You can't leave."

John MacTavish was a deadly, silent marksman.

He struck fear into the heart of any enemy that dared to cross him...if they could even figure out that he was there to begin with. As Force 141's go-to sharpshooter and sniper, he had more than enough experience and advice to go around.

It wasn't lost on Sergeant MacTavish that he was one of the best -- but even then, his ego was never swollen. In fact, he felt like he was doing a disservice if he wasn't passing his wisdom along to someone just as talented and capable as him.

So when word on the street was that Captain Price had recruited a newly trained sniper to Force 141, Soap started preparing.

He wasn't surprised in the least when Captain Price approached him with a manila folder with a "classified" stamp on it. Soap wasn't shocked in the slightest when Price asked him to take the newbie under his wing.

He was more than happy to accept. He wasn't totally thrilled about the fact that most of his free time would be taken up by this, but it was a small price to pay to have the satisfaction of spreading his knowledge to someone deserving of his time and energy.

Price gave Soap a brief rundown, which didn't amount to much at all. Any information that Soap was going to have to know about this person was going to have to come from their files or from the person themselves. However, Price did give Soap a tiny sliver of information to get him intrigued.

"She's highly respected despite the fact she's young," Price had said with a chuckle. "They call her Viper."

Viper. The name rattled down his spine and left a tingle in his feet. He could only imagine where that name came from, and he was interested to know more.

And it seemed the more that Soap read up on her, the more that curiosity grew. As he read through her file, it became exceedingly clear to him as to why she was so well known and respected by her peers and mentors.

Viper showed a talent for sharpshooting in her early days of training. With proper mentoring and guidance, she ended up attending and finishing sniper school as one of the best.

When word spread that Captain John Price was looking for another sharpshooter for his infamous Task Force 141, Viper's information file was delivered to his desk almost immediately.

Price was betting on her just after seeing her file himself and after chatting with a few colleagues that had worked directly with her. His hopes for her only tripled when he actually met her in person to get a feel for how she would do with the rest of his team.

He knew that she would fly no matter what, but under Soap's supervision and guidance? She would soar.

Price introduced Soap and Viper to one another as soon as everything was settled...and truth be told, Soap almost scared her off on the first day.

Soap might have...overestimated how strong of a personality she was going to have prior to meeting her. With a name like "Viper", there was no question in his mind that she wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. And to an extent, he was correct. However, it seemed that his calculations had deemed her as nothing but a storm of venom and hatred, which was also not quite right.

Well of course Soap couldn't risk appearing smaller and weaker than the person who was supposed to be his student, so he amped up the side of him that was more "bad guy-ish."

He maintained the coldest stare that he could manage, and he didn't crack even a hint of a smile or any expression that showed him as anything but mean. He should've known that he was making a fool of himself when her eyes went wide and (quite frankly) concerned the moment he spoke to her in a tone that was less than pleasant.

Nonetheless, he kept this charade up for the duration of their first encounter, and by the end of their first day together, she was second guessing this entire arrangement. She debated running straight to Price and begging him to transfer her somewhere else and to someone who didn't act like they wanted to kill her in her sleep.

But thankfully Soap was intelligent enough to realize that his assumptions about her were horribly incorrect. When he saw just how rattled and exhausted she looked at the end of that day, he knew he needed to clear things up.

Once the misunderstanding was discussed and a "start over" was agreed upon, things went much smoother.

The two of them took off immediately. She soaked up every bit of advice he gave, and he practiced with her every free chance they had. For the most part, he helped her get familiarized with all kinds of different sniper rifles and practiced with her.

Any long ranged weapon that he had access to, he wanted her to be comfortable working with. He never wanted her to get into a situation where she needed to take someone out from a distance and was stuck with a weapon that she had no experience with.

As far as practice, they spent at least two hours at the shooting range every day. For the first few weeks, they stayed at the range. The range was a controlled environment with no outside factors...which also meant no distractions.

Eventually, Soap started taking her to locations outside of the range so that she could practice shooting from different elevations and altitudes. He wanted her to always be able to take wind speed and direction into account. He needed to know that she could still accurately locate a target at nighttime and in bad weather.

Long story short, Soap's end goal for her was easy. He wanted her to be able to take down an enemy in any environment, at any time, and with any long ranged weapon.

He had total faith in her, because it didn't take long for him to see for himself that, yes, she was very talented.

She was a fast learner, and when she was struggling with something, she persisted until she perfected it. She was determined and motivated in a way that he had never seen. He was impressed by her. He liked her.

The days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into days. Each new day, he was getting to know her as a soldier...and eventually, he was getting to know her as a person.

They were sharing things with one another that absolutely no one else on the planet knew or would ever know. He felt like she knew him better than anyone, and he had only known her a few months.

Their practice outings began ending with them sticking around in whatever place they were in, just chatting with one another and taking a load off from a long day.

One day in particular, about four months into this, he managed to get information out of her that he had wanted to know since the moment her callsign graced his ears.

The two of them were sitting together on top of a hill out in the middle of nowhere, dusk just beginning to creep over the sky as they sat together.

"So I've gotta ask ya," He had asked, slicing the blade of his knife into the red skin of the apple he had brought with him. "Where'd you get a name like Viper?"

Viper had laughed at his question, honestly surprised that he hadn't asked sooner.

"A few reasons actually. I'm fast, but also quiet...I can be pretty aggressive," She told him. "But mainly it comes from the fact that I can track and locate a target so easily and efficiently...especially through a scope."

"Oh, that's a good one." Soap said.

That was all he said after that. She waited patiently for a few seconds, expecting him to reciprocate the obvious.

"What about you?" She asked.

"What 'bout me?" He returned.

"Your callsign. Where does 'Soap' come from?" She clarified.

A shit-eating grin spread on the Scot's face as he popped a slice of apple into his mouth.

"That's classified Information." He remarked through chewing.

"What?!" She shrilled, unable to mask her smile. "I told you mine, so you have to tell me yours!"

"Not how it works."

"That's messed up. That is so not fair, Sergeant." She laughed an airy laugh, the kind that made his heart flutter and speak for himself before his brain had a chance to object.

"John," He blurted, his cheeks growing pink. "You don't have t'call me anything formal when it's just us."

The apple in his stomach was turning now, because that was the first moment that he realized that he was pining for her in a way that was beyond what he could control.

"Okay. I can call you John," She said to him, smiling in a way that almost made him collapse down the hill that they were perched on top of. "Now will you tell me why they call you Soap?"

He grinned and offered her the rest of his apple.

"No way."

After that, Soap found any excuse he could to see her and spend time with her. It got to a point where if someone needed to find Soap, they didn't even bother asking where he was. If they knew where Viper was, then they knew where Soap was.

They were glued to one another. She was excelling and improving every day, which only made him better and stronger as a result. The more time he spent with her, the harder he fell for her.

His likeness towards her was turning into something so much more wonderful. He was appreciating the world around him in ways he never had before.

John MacTavish was in love.

"Keep your breathing steady..." Soap instructed, his voice almost at a whisper. "Hold your breath right before you fire."

Viper was in the zone. She was perched with Soap's chosen sniper rifle of the day, staring at her assigned "target" through the scope. They were back at the range today, which should've made her feel more comfortable. However, Viper felt a bit of pressure today that she usually didn't feel when practicing because today Captain Price was observing.

Nonetheless, she did everything as she normally would. She waited until she was ready, she held, and she pulled the trigger. There wasn't any loud sound of a gunshot considering the weapon she was using was a suppressed rifle, but there was no noise greater than Soap when he was excited.

"Perfect shot," He buzzed. "Couldn't have done it better myself."

Her target wasn't a real enemy, of course. It was just a dummy that they used for shooting practice. Still, Soap was beaming and she was proud.

"What do I always tell ya, Vi?" He asked, leaning his head closer waiting for his signature quote.

"Be unseen and unheard until it's too late." She said, accepting Soap's hand to guide her up from the ground.

He grinned at her, waving Captain Price over to join the conversation. Price was wearing a proud, satisfied smirk as he approached them.

Price had been watching them closely over the many, many months that Soap had been working with her. He was pleased with Soap's mentorship, and even more pleased that she was blossoming into likely the best sniper he would ever see in his lifetime.

Not to mention, it wasn't lost on Price that Soap had grown to care for her.

Soap was interested in her in a way that extended past a teacher-student arrangement. Soap didn't have to take so much time with her. Truthfully, Soap's dedication to her was far beyond what Price could've ever hoped for.

"Nice work, Viper. Everything still going alright?" He asked.

Every once in a while, Price would ask that question. And every time, he got the same answer.

"Yes sir. All is well." She smiled.

"Good. You're quite the crackshot," He said, shifting the conversation topic. "I need to steal Soap from you for a moment. You mind catching up later?"

Soap and Viper shared a brief look before she answered.

"Sure, Captain."

Viper respectfully left the captain and the sergeant to chat and talk shop, and Soap already knew what Price wanted to talk to him about.

"You move out for Russia next week," Price said, and Soap nodded. "We need to talk about Viper."

Soap had known about this trip to Russia for two weeks. There was a job that needed to be handled there, and Force 141 would be heading there shortly. The mission was critically important.

Of course Viper had been with them on missions before. She was a part of the task force after all, so she was one with the team. However, Viper hadn't been put to the test yet. And this mission, if Price decided yes, would most definitely test her.

It was an assassination mission.

It was a mission that was going to be reliant on one person to be successful. And Captain Price was trying to decide if that person was going to be Viper or Soap.

Soap knew that Price was considering letting Viper take the lead on this one. Soap hadn't told Viper about the mission yet. He didn't want her to have that pressure simmering for so long. He didn't want Viper getting into her own head.

Soap would've been the obvious choice for this job, but Price was beginning to feel as if Viper was ready for this.

Soap knew her better than Price did at this point, whatever Soap said would determine Price's decision.

"You've been working with her for over six months," Price said.

Seven months and 12 days, actually. Soap thought to himself.

"You're the best judge of her ability and readiness to do this mission," Price went on. "She needs to be able to handle the pressure."

Soap understood exactly what Price was saying. Essentially, the captain was asking if Viper was ready for this.

Soap had complete confidence in her. She was already incredibly sharp when she first joined 141, and now she was an even better version of herself. There wasn't a doubt in Soap's mind that Viper was as prepared as she could possibly be.

"What's the verdict, Sergeant?" Price asked, arms crossed over his chest. "Is she ready?"

Without hesitation or lack of confidence, Soap answered.

"Absolutely she is."

___

This part of Russia is what she could only describe as the absolute middle of nowhere.

The land was extreme, and the tundra seemed to stretch out into hundreds of miles in every single possible direction. The land was painted white with the occasional silhouette of a tree or some other natural landmark.

Yet for some reason, in the middle of this vast land of nothingness, there was a small cabin about a mile away, only visible to Viper through the crosshairs of her scope.

Viper didn't mind the snow and frost in the least, but what she didn't care for was the extreme cold temperatures that came with them. And since it was nighttime, the frigid air was much worse. The air was so crisp and clean that her lungs were stinging with every inhale of air she took.

The sky was ablaze with millions and millions of twinkling stars, and if she had the time or focus to actually look up and study them...she might've even been able to see other galaxies.

But Viper wasn't out in the wilderness of Russia to stargaze and make wishes on those stars. Viper was here on business.

So here she was, hunkered down in the snow and camouflaged with the earth beneath her. Her rifle was an extension of herself tonight, as familiar to herself as her own heartbeat.

Even though she wasn't fond of the cold, it wasn't bothering her tonight. The numbness in her fingers and toes was ignored for the time being.

Soap and Ghost were elsewhere, but relatively close by. Their tasks were different for this mission, mainly to retrieve the body and to eliminate any unwanted visitors.

"Viper, this is Ghost. How copy?" The lieutenant's voice sounded in her ear.

"I hear you, Lieutenant. How's the weather down there?" She asked, keeping her voice low.

"Cold n' bitter." Soap chimed in, and she could hear Ghost's chuckle.

"At least you aren't buried in the snow." Viper remarked

The three of them had been bantering back and forth like this for a while. Something that most people don't know about being a sniper is that you have to have some serious patience. They had been playing the waiting game, and they had to do something to pass the time and the silence.

"Johnny'll warm you up when this is over." Ghost teased.

Soap had smacked Ghost's arm for that one, not believing that his friend was trying to embarrass her.

Viper's cheeks ran warm at that comment, which would've been nice in this weather if it hadn't been under flustered circumstances. She didn't respond, and thankfully she didn't have to, because there was sudden movement through her scope.

With perfect timing, she heard Soap again.

"Do you have a visual on the target?" Soap's voice echoed in Viper's ear.

Viper didn't move a single inch.

"Affirmative." She replied.

A very simple pause followed, and then an even simpler command was given.

"Take him out."

She steadied her breathing. She placed her index finger on the trigger. She held her breath, and she fired.

Her vision tunneled for a moment after she pulled the trigger, something that sometimes happened after she made a shot. When she looked through the scope again, her target wasn't down like he should've been.

He was on the move, alarmed and fleeing the area. Where he was going to go in this kind of environment, she wasn't sure. However, with enemies like this, they always had an escape plan.

"Shit." Soap cursed.

She missed.

She couldn't have missed him by more than a couple of inches. Her bullet was just a hair too far above, which only alerted her target and completely missed him altogether.

Nobody had expected Viper to miss. Especially not Soap. He knew that she didn't have long to reload and correct her second shot before her target disappeared.

"Viper, track him and fire again," He instructed, trying not to sound too urgent and make her nervous. "You've only got a couple of seconds."

She was trying not to panic, despite the fact that she was all shaken up from the fact that she missed. She had practiced a shot like this for what felt like a million times. How could she miss now when it was the real thing?

Viper reloaded, marked her target, aimed the crosshairs, and fired again.

There was a squeeze of the trigger, a puff of smoke, and her target a mile away that crumpled to the ground in an instant.

Viper coughed out a relieved, but stunned noise. One that came from a place of knowing that her target almost got away.

"Target is down," Soap said, yet Viper still felt sick. "Beautiful shot, Vi."

Soap and Ghost moved in swiftly, getting the now dead target out before his comrades showed up. Viper pulled away from the scope, her eyes finding two little, distant figures running around that she knew to be them.

She rested her forehead against the back of her hand, her mind spinning and reeling at a million miles an hour.

She knew that Price would hear about this -- the fact that she missed the first time. He had put so much faith into her and bragged about her to everybody. How would he react to this?

Even worse than that, how was Soap going to react?

Soap had put his blood, sweat, and tears into shaping her. He spent more time and energy on her than anyone else ever had in the last seven months. He taught her everything he knew. Every tip, trick, and piece of advice he had -- she knew it by heart.

How could she repay him like this?

"Meet us down here at the cabin," Ghost's voice returned to her ear. "Need to be heading out."

She predicted that Ghost wouldn't say much to her for the rest of the night. Not because he was angry or disappointed, but because he felt like not addressing it at all was the best way to protect her feelings and her pride.

Viper knew she needed to meet up with them quickly, and they needed to get back to their base for the night. Her entire body shook as she packed up her gear, the trembling was both from the cold and the severe anxiety that she was feeling at that moment.

She felt like a complete and utter waste of Soap's time. She felt like all his attention and effort that was used on her was for nothing. She almost blew it.

Viper used everything she had to keep it together as she worked her way down the hill. The last thing she needed was to fall apart in front of them, because then she would be a failure and weak.

At this point, she was just wondering if she still had what it took.

___

She had been staring at the fire for over an hour.

The chill in her bones had faded long ago, but she couldn't bring herself to stand from where she sat -- huddled up in front of the fire, contemplating everything that she had been doing in the last several months.

She could feel the heat radiating off of it, the same heat that might've saved her from hypothermia if she had stayed out in the cold Russian wilderness for too long.

The flames burned bright orange and dark red, dancing and casting long shadows against the far wall behind her. The flames were reflected in her glassy eyes, a painted picture of disappointment and questioning of her own abilities.

She hadn't said a word to Soap or Ghost since meeting back up at the cabin. She was too embarrassed to even spare either of them a passing glance. She felt like she had failed worse than she ever had.

Soap and Ghost gave her space for a bit. They ordered her to sit in front of the fire to get warmed up after being covered in snow and ice for so long. And that was how she found herself stuck in a daze, staring into those burning flames like they were her only source of life.

Their "base" was hardly anything at all. It was a one floor structure that you might could call a house.

This house was nestled in the vast expanse of birch trees that were dusted with snow and decorated with solid icicles. It was a small three room house with a kitchen, living room, and bedroom.

It was a relic, really. Long forgotten and abandoned by someone who was long gone by now. The wooden walls were weathered by the harsh winters and summers of Russia, but the structure was firm and resilient.

As she stared into that fire, Viper wondered what sort of stories and memories this house contained. She wondered what kind of history and life this place had. At least now the house was serving a purpose.

Unlike herself. Or, at least, that was how she felt.

Viper isolated herself in the living room, sitting on the hand-woven rug and ignoring the way the creaky floors made her bottom half ache. Ghost and Soap were cornered in the kitchen, which was only separated from the living room with a singular adjacent wall.

They were crammed together at the small table in there, basically just waiting for enough time to pass before they felt it was right to talk to her.

For Soap to talk to her.

Soap wasn't planning on yelling at her. Soap wasn't sure if he could ever bring himself to yell at her for anything at all.

He thought that maybe she wasn't ready for the kind of pressure this mission put on her. Maybe he was so in love with her that everything she did seemed to be extraordinary...which in turn blinded him to the fact that she needed more time.

But Soap (as much he did love her) felt confident that if this was truly, 100% her fault -- then he would know. Besides, she technically didn't fail this mission. The assassination was successful after all...but he knew that she was hung up on the plain fact that it almost wasn't.

Soap stood from the wooden table, sighing to himself as he mentally prepped for this conversation.

"Go easy on her, Johnny." Ghost said. "She's still learning."

Soap wasn't angry at her in the slightest. If anything, he felt like she should've been angry at him.

"What do I say to her?" Soap asked his lieutenant.

"Encourage her. Reassure her that it's not the end of the world," Ghost said. "And just be you when you say it."

Soap nodded. He understood what Ghost was saying. After all, it wasn't lost on anybody how Soap felt about her.

Soap left Ghost behind, entering the living room that was bursting with warmth. His heart stung at the sight of her so down and discouraged. He needed to fix this.

Soap was silent as he approached her, his footsteps heavy against the creaking floorboards. He lowered himself to the floor, sitting next to her without a word.

She knew he was there. And now that he was there, she had a million thoughts sprinting through the track of her mind. She was scared to speak first, because she didn't know how he was feeling.

"Talk to me, Vi. I'd feel a lot better if you did." He meant to say it as a command, but it came out as more of a request.

She couldn't look at him. She only continued to look at the fireplace in front of her.

"I missed," She said, which was obvious of course, but it was different actually hearing her say it out loud. "Almost twice."

Her voice was meek and insecure. It just wasn't like her.

"Yeah, you did." Soap remarked, his tone neutral and not showing any hard emotion.

"How did I miss?" She stared down at her hands that felt like they were weighing the rest of her down. "I was so prepared..."

"You were prepared -- as prepared as you could'a been." He agreed.

In a weird way, she wanted him to be angry. She wanted him to scream in her face and shake her around until she was begging for another chance and to keep her job. She wanted to suffer for making it look like he had failed to teach her.

But he wasn't going to do any of that. Not to her.

"Then how did I miss?" She was almost scared to ask.

"Unexpected wind. You felt rushed or distracted," He listed a few possibilities. "You got nervous under pressure...I put too much pressure on you."

Viper didn't believe that, even if it was partly true.

"Real soldiers don't get nervous." She remarked, her words sharp.

"Bullshit," He scoffed. "That doesn't make you a soldier. It makes you human."

Viper didn't say anything after that. She felt as if her natural reaction (as a result of being human) to a high-stress situation is what caused her to be unsuccessful in her mission. She hadn't let just herself and Soap down, she had let her entire team down.

Soap was still struggling with how to talk to her. He knew what Ghost had said, but which approach would she react best to -- her sergeant or the guy who had grown sweet on her?

"C'mon, Vi. You took him down," Soap said. "Stop beatin' yourself up."

She shook her head at her sergeant. His sudden casualness almost made her frustrated. She didn't say anything for a few more moments, before she did say something that made Soap immediately begin to panic.

"I'm putting in my resignation when we get back."

Soap processed what she said about as fast as she said it. His heart collapsed to his feet and fired back up into his throat. She couldn't quit. He wouldn't allow it.

He wouldn't lose her like this.

"What?" He blurted, realizing that his goal now was to prevent her from doing something stupid. "You can't leave."

"I missed, John. You can't just miss shots like that."

"Everybody misses," He stated. "And you still took him down the second time. Why can't you understand that?"

A quick beat passed. The crackling of the fire sounded loudly.

"You don't." She mumbled.

"What're you talkin' about? 'Course I've missed," He remarked. "And I've missed enough t'know that everybody misses."

"Okay," She said, her words sharp and defensive. "So what am I supposed to do now?"

He ignored her harsh tone. He kept talking to her as he had been.

"Come back home with me. Keep practicing. Make a perfect technique even more perfect," Soap said. "I promise you, doll -- keep at it n' you won't even think anything of what happened tonight."

She found that hard to believe. How could she ever get over the fact that she almost lost her very first high-pressure mission? The first of many?

Soap was out of things to say. Nothing that he was saying to her seemed to be making a dent. She was stubborn for sure, and now it wasn't working in his favor.

He had to be transparent with her. It was the only way he could talk her out of leaving the team.

Out of leaving him.

"You can't leave, Vi. You just can't," His voice was steady, despite the turmoil inside of him. "I know this life isn't easy, and screwin' up in this profession sucks worse than anything else, but...

Soap felt his heartbeat begin to quicken when she rested her head against his shoulder. It pounded in his chest in a way that made breathing feel difficult, and in a way that made him have to calm himself down. His eyelashes fluttered as he closed his eyes, hues of orange and red still visible from behind his eyelids.

Such a simple, seemingly meaningless touch made his legs feel wobbly and had his stomach doing somersaults. He was so infatuated with Viper.

Her talent, her skills, her determination. Her eyes, her smile, and just...her. Soap could say without a shadow of a doubt that no one had meant this much to him in a long time...no one had meant this much to him ever.

Soap's gaze was fixed on her. Her eyes were filled with uncertainty, which was a stark contrast to the woman that he knew Viper to be. Seeing her so discouraged and so unsure of herself broke his heart.

"I want you to stay...I need you to stay." His plea hung in the air between them, a testament to the depth of his feelings for her.

She finally looked at him then. The flames of orange and red reflected in her eyes as she tuned into what he was telling her. If her day hadn't already been complicated and taxing on her emotions enough, he would've kissed her.

She wouldn't have minded that in the slightest. At first, Viper thought she was in trouble when she first noticed how she felt about Soap. She felt doomed at first because how could she ever be able to pursue him? He was supposed to be her mentor, despite the fact that he was only a few years older than her.

She was worried at first because she feared that she had fallen for someone who she could never have. How was she supposed to live like that?

But as time went on, she noticed that her affection wasn't one-sided. She caught Soap gazing at her from afar more than once. She didn't miss the way he had a feather-like touch whenever he adjusted the position of her hands on her weapon. She knew that all of Ghost's passing comments and jokes didn't come from nowhere.

And on more than one occasion, she had heard about how much he talked about her.

She knew how she felt about him, and she also knew how he felt about her. After tonight, she was pretty sure that he would have that all figured out as well.

He settled for touching her hand instead, his rough fingers brushing against her delicate hand -- skin that didn't have the hard work experience and hardships that he did. He held her hand in his, a showing of something that extended far past him seeing her as just the soldier he was supposed to train.

He was showing her that he loved her for the woman she was.

Soap knew that he sounded desperate. Mainly because he was desperate. Viper had become such a massive part of his everyday life in the last seven months. Trying to imagine not spending every day with her pained his heart.

After all, she had become the most important person to his heart.

"Okay," She said, her voice serene and smooth. "I'll stay."

Relief rushed his system because he felt like he had another chance. It would take time to rebuild her confidence and teach her to be patient with herself again. But it was a task he was more than willing to take on.

"On one condition." She added.

She cracked a small smile then, which was enough to ignite the fireworks that were ready to explode in his chest. He would do literally anything to keep her around.

"You name it." Soap grinned.

"We have to start practicing and training an extra hour every day." She said, and Soap almost laughed.

That was more than okay with him.

"Deal," He said. "If you're lucky, I might even tell ya why they call me Soap."

Her eyes lit up then, and he almost felt bad for teasing her like that.

Almost.

"Really?" She asked, shifting closer to him to where she was almost snuggled into his side.

She rested her head on his shoulder again, and this time he wrapped an arm around her to pull her closer.

"No." He smirked.

They shared a small laugh before falling into a comfortable silence, the kind that eased any kind of tension or anxiety. He was soaking in her presence, thankful that it wouldn't be last time he would ever get to enjoy it.

As soon as they were back and settled, he was asking her on a proper, real date. As much as he loved it, he figured that somewhere outside of the range was in order.

The two of them sat like that for a long time, basically until the last of the fire had burned out, and all that was left was ashes and smoke. When Soap shifted to stand, he realized that Viper didn't move.

When he craned his neck to look at her, she saw her eyes were closed and her breathing was slow and steady. She had fallen asleep on him.

He nearly exploded through the ceiling.

He had to contain himself and not wake her because he wanted her to get as much rest as she could. He was careful as he moved to scoop her up, hushing her when she stirred and made mid-slumber noises of discontent from being disturbed.

He carried her and whisked her from the living room, cutting through the kitchen to get to the bedroom to put her in bed. Ghost, who had been on watch this entire time, saw this encounter and couldn't help but smirk.

"I assume all went well?" Ghost asked, and he felt proud at the beaming smile on Soap's face.

"Yeah. You could say that."

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lazybutsmexy · 1 year

Text

Bird hunting

Ghost x fem!reader x Soap

Chapter 5: The Net.

Ch. 4 < Series masterlist > Ch. 6

Warnings: vague description of non-con recording, non-con drug use, cursing, minor character death.

Summary: Canary experiences fear, hope, and despair at the hands of her captors.

Do not read if you're under 18. This work contains mature and triggering themes.

Word count: 1900~

It was growing colder by the minute, Canary could feel it on her back, which was still pressed against the wall, and on her naked feet. She tried rubbing her feet to keep them from going numb, but a sharp pain from her soles stopped her. She curved her right foot towards herself and took a peek to find the source of the pain, finding three red, circular shaped wounds - cigarette burns. They had probably done them while she was asleep to make sure she would have a hard time running away.

Her eyes shifted her eyes back to Blondie, who had just stood from his chair and was now searching into a box. Canary ran her lips over her tongue, she had to find out what their intentions were with her. She wondered if she had been investigated by them, or if they had just picked her out by chance. Also, if they had someone else above them giving them instructions.

“...Why me?” She pried, her voice pitch a little higher than usual. She already assumed that they didn’t know she was a trained soldier, so showing them defiance wouldn’t help much, especially knowing that she could be replaced if they found her difficult to handle. Perhaps if she sounded scared enough, she wouldn’t be seen as much as a threat.

Blondie didn’t answer at first, only sent her a side-eye glare before checking the contents of the box again until he pulled out a laptop. He sat back down on his chair and placed the laptop on a small table. The laptop lit up and he typed something, perhaps the password.

“...Because you’re pretty enough.” His voice was calm, unbothered, as if he was talking about the weather. There was no hint of the aggressive tone used a few minutes before. She guessed that her little strategy worked on him, making him think she wouldn’t be a fighter. What a fool.

From where Canary was seated, she couldn’t see the screen, but only how the light illuminated Blondie’s face. Finally, he opened a video file. A series of whimpers resonated through the speakers. Then, a woman’s voice pleading to be set free. Little by little, Canary realized what kind of video he was watching, and her skin erupted in goosebumps.

“Please, no, let me go, please… I-I won’t tell anyone, I’ll-” the woman in the video cried in pain as a loud slap made contact with her face. Then, her face grew muffled, as if her face had been shoved into a pillow or a mattress. The muted pleas turned into screams that echoed in the small basement.

Canary only stared at Blondie as she felt her bile rising in her throat. She could only imagine what they were doing to the woman in the video, and the worst part was that her imagination filled in the blanks in the most unhelpful ways. She had seen videos of soldiers being tortured for intel, both in desensitization training and as part of pre-mission debriefs before a rescue. She had been coached on what to expect if she was ever captured, and even given techniques to handle the psychological and physical torture. The woman in the video was not.

“I bet you’ll look even prettier on video,” Blondie smirked at her, there was a glint in his eyes that gave away his excitement. His stare was different now, predatory. Canary swallowed down the acid and frowned at him, her mind frantically working up a plan.

If she wanted to see Simon and Johnny, and the rest of her team, her newfound family again, she would have to find a way to escape.

~~~~~~

After the third video played in a row, Canary was shivering. She wanted to think it was exclusively from the cold seeping through her bones, but she couldn’t rule out the possibility that it was the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

“Aw, are you getting excited?” Blondie cooed in a sickly sweet voice, “Don’t worry, me too.” He stood up and palmed his crotch, a dark chuckle seeping through his teeth as he saw her frown deepen. “What a defiant little kitty, I’ll have to tie you up.”

Before Canary had a chance to retort, a loud bang of a door resonated from upstairs, along with feet stomping above them. The door to the basement flew open and Baldie appeared with a frantic look on his face.

“We are in fucking deep shit!” he yelled at Blondie, who looked downright pissed at him.

“What the fuck do you-” He retorted, but Baldie ran down the basement stairs and stood in front of him, with the younger one from before hot behind his heels.

“We went to get the fucking dart, and it was crowded with cops!” Baldie’s eyes were wide open, and his forehead was shining with sweat.

“There were some soldiers there too!” the driver continued just as frantic, “A fucking unit of a dude with a fucking balaclava, like a fucking grim reaper starin’ right at us!” This perked Canary up, a small glimmer of hope warming up in her chest - they were definitely talking about Ghost. “They were definitely looking for something, right where we caught her!”

Blondie took a few seconds to process their words, and slowly turned to Canary, who felt a prickling sensation in her skin at the rage blooming in his eyes. “Why would the military look for you?”

Canary bit the inside of her lip, “...I have some friends in the military…” It was a half-truth, but she hoped they would buy it. If they knew that she was a soldier herself, she feared they would execute her right then and there to avoid more trouble. If they killed her and maintained a low profile for a while, they could easily get away.

As long as she was alive, there was a chance she could escape from them, or that her team would find her. And knowing that the 141 Task Force was in on the search as well only increased her chances of survival. They would never leave her behind.

Blondie flared his nostrils and his hands clenched into fists as he turned around to face Baldie and the driver, “Take her back to the van, I know another place where to take her,” he commanded, pointing at Canary as she mentally prepared herself to give them a difficult time. “Once we get to that place, you,” he snarled, pointing at the driver, “will get rid of the van and find another vehicle for us.”

Both men nodded and started approaching her. Canary uncurled herself to have more freedom of movement with her legs. The men noticed it, and quickly threw themselves at her. She screamed and threw a strong kick that connected to the younger’s side, but Baldie managed to grab onto her legs and pin them down. She wiggled up, trying to tug her hands free as she attempted to headbutt him. The other launched himself to her torso, ignoring the pain on his ribs as he put her neck in a chokehold and crossed one of his legs over her stomach. Her throat burned under the pressure, and the weight made it harder to breathe, but the man was inexperienced, and she managed to get the soft flesh of his forearm with a hard bite. He screamed a curse, and started tugging on her hair, trying to get her to release him, but she just locked her jaw in place, while still trying to free her legs from underneath Baldie.

An all-to-familiar metallic click called her attention, and Canary looked up to see Blondie pointing a gun straight at her face. She stilled, feeling her heartbeat loud in her ears as she slowly slacked her jaw, releasing the man’s arm. .

“Behave, bitch,” Blondie growled, before stabbing her in the neck with a loaded dart in the neck. She shouted in a mix of pain and frustration, feeling completely useless as she was so easily overpowered. The room began spinning around her again, and she lost sensation in her arms and legs. The same feeling of terror invaded her as when she first got drugged back in the trail, her last conscious thought was a memory.

~~~~~~

Canary tried hard not to pout at Johnny and Simon, who had come to see her once again before leaving for their mission. She was going to miss them greatly, as it was not often that they were separated. Simon noticed though - he always did - and leaned over her hospital bed. His balaclava was raised up to his nose to have easy access to her pouty lips with his own.

“Be a good girl and wait for us.”

~~~~~~

A catchy Latin Pop song was blasting on the radio, and Melanie’s fingers tapped along the rhythm on the wheel. She had absolutely no idea of what the words were, but the tune was contagious enough for her taste. As she drove past the campus, her tapping faltered.

She thought of the missing woman, who she only knew by her codename ‘Canary’, and her big soldier friends. Detective Hartford, who had been a mentor of hers in the police academy, had at one point mentioned that the bond of the 141 Task Force was a particularly tight one. They often faced dangerous situations of the kind she couldn’t even imagine, and so they were especially unnerved about this entire ordeal.

She didn’t consider herself an overly empathetic person, but watching Hartford pull so many hours to help them made her want to do her most as well. Hence she found herself driving home, with the intention of having a light dinner, stocking herself with midnight snacks, and having a shower before going back to the crime lab. If she pulled an all-nighter, she believed she would be able to get a time advantage that the team desperately needed.

As she stopped at an intersection, she saw a gray van drive past her. Alarm bells rang in her head as she recalled an eerily similar van speed past the search area that same afternoon, and she didn’t hesitate to change her usual route to follow it. As soon as she was at a distance she considered safe enough, she took her phone and dialed the dispatcher.

“This is Officer Kirk, plaque number-” She identified herself to the operator and gave her location, before licking her lips and willing her breathing to remain steady, “I’m following a dark gray van that matches the description of a suspicious vehicle spotted today at the forest trail.” She dictated the license plate to the operator and waited for any confirmation that her instinct hadn’t lied to her.

~~~~~~

“...Alan,” Luke called out to the man sitting on the passenger seat, who grunted back at him, “a car is following us.”

Alan stopped rubbing his temple and shot him a look, “You sure?”

“Yeah,” the driver gulped, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, “the woman’s talking on the phone.”

This caught Alan’s attention, and he looked at the side view mirror on his side of the van, cursing under his breath when he saw it was true. He turned around on his seat, locking eyes with Charlie, who had been listening intently. “Use the rifle.”

Charlie nodded and grabbed the weapon, leaving his spot next to the unconscious woman and crawling to the back door of the van. He peered through the small window, before slowly unlatching the safe and taking aim.

The young officer didn't notice the scope of the rifle until the bullet had already been fired, and her chest exploded in burning pain. It didn't last long, however. And by the time her car lost control and ran into the first line of trees, she didn't feel any of it.

A/N: I hope you haven't grown too attached to Melanie :/

Taglist: @died-in-a-field-of-flowers @rafaelacallinybbay @namenotimportant1373 @ragingbookdragon @zinfairy @scrumplump @speckel @omgitstatertot @fullmoon-94 @kalamataolivesssss @embers-of-alluring @warenai @frazie99 @kee-0-kee @littlezarp @scaredknight @tapioca-marzipan @kendahl757 @sweetybuzz25

To be added to the taglist, comment on the series masterlist you can find at the top of this post!

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neoarchipelago · 3 months

Text

On mission

Y/N: *taking out a knife* every room can become a panic room if you give just a fucking minute...

Soap: I'm scared LT... LT?

Ghost: I'm horny.

#fanfics #fanfiction #fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mw2 #ghost cod #john soap mactavish #cod incorrect quotes #incorrect call of duty quotes #incorrect cod quotes

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smutstationchoochoo · 9 months

Text

Desperate

COD Men x FemReader

Hear me out: a sex pollen fic where reader isn’t affected but he is and he is gone.

Word count: ~3.6k

A/N: It’s just the poorly written sex pollen drabble of my dreams, it’s fuck or die lads. Insert your favorite COD man here. Please forgive me for any spelling/grammar mistakes and my complete lack of knowledge regarding military things, all I know is that these men are hot and I love them.

Warnings: sex pollen, unprotected PIV (wrap it up), overstimulation, dubious consent (consent is sexy folks)

Banner credit: @cafekitsune

You all had been briefed at 0200. The flight to Berlin left at 0300 where the team would be infiltrating a terrorist hideout, a suspected manufacturing site for a new chemical agent. You were told that as long as you didn’t ingest it, you would be fine.

The fact that it had been made airborne was not in the fucking briefing.

The team had been split into pairs, you and he took the North side of the suspected warehouse. The size of it should have tipped you all off. Everything was running smoothly until 3 combatants had come from the door at the end of the corridor. He called for cover and ran ahead. You dropped two before he even got a stride in. The other he disarmed in seconds and then with a deafening crack, both men slammed through a door and into the resulting room. A brief struggle then silence. You heard him start to call the ok, his voice in the comm sounding clearer than earlier, then a noise, a pop, and the sound of air. You froze, watching a gas spill from the open door and dissipate immediately. Just when you started moving again, a growling, “Don’t,” tore through the comm. Then, the sound of ripping Velcro and something hard (his helmet you realized with a sickening drop) hitting the concrete floor echoed out to you. Soft murmurs that grew into angry outbursts of fuck fuck fuck transformed into one that became a groan of what sounded like complete and utter pain. You didn’t even have to think, the severity of the situation settled in. “It’s a gas,” you barked into the comms, “Northside hit, need medevac in 30, going dark.” You waited for confirmation, seconds after getting it and receiving news that the warehouse was almost cleared, you went to find him.

You knew what it did, you all did. Jokes had been made, smirks shared, but you all knew how bad it was. You weren’t even close to prepared. He was sitting against the far wall or rather pressed into it using it to keep his now shaking frame upright, gear strewn around the room, combatant on your immediate left with a mask (his mask, the masks you all were wearing just in fucking case) gripped in a dead hand, an empty canister mockingly sitting in the middle of the room.

You gripped the combatant by his legs and dragged him to the hall, before slamming the door shut upon reentry and grabbing a near chair to jam the door. You immediately began stripping yourself of your outer tactical gear until you both matched in only your boots, pants, and base shirts and then you turned your attention to him. Now kneeling by his side you took him in, looking for any other injuries noting nothing serious. That almost made you laugh with relief until you saw the front of his pants and him frantically palming the growing outline. You swallowed and quickly looked at his face shocked back to the reality of the current situation. The usually stoic, always larger than life, incredibly strong man in front of you was reduced to tears dripping from his now blown and hazy eyes, falling down flushed cheeks and landing on the front of his shirt that clung to his hyperventilating chest. You knew he had been shot, stabbed often, and left for dead a time or two, but this…

Shiny and new neurotoxin, you remembered the brief, attacks the nervous system, causing the mark to feel intense arousal and as if they have been lit on fire, specially formulated not only to cause pain but a complete and utter breakdown of will as victims often experience hallucinations and loss of self. If left in the system, it raises the core temperature until convulsions set in, and then heart attack occurs. Do not touch it.

No one had to ask how it was worked out of the system. Then again, they all believed they were too smart to touch the shit. Couldn’t do much about breathing it in when your mask was ripped from your face though.

Your hand pressed to his slick forehead now radiating heat, and feeling as if it could burn you like an open flame. At the touch of your blessedly cool hand, he hissed a low fuck through his gritted teeth, keening into your touch. You swallowed, hand tilting his cheek to look up at you when you asked, “Can I help?” His hair was sticking up at all angles from the helmet being hastily pulled from his head, and he looked up at you and gave one weak nod, “Please.”

Upon looking at the desperation pooling in those dark eyes (those eyes you often were caught staring at) any small reservations evaporated from your body under his burning gaze. You swiftly reached out, mercifully helping him escape from the now too-tight pants, the bite of his zipper. The moment your skin brushed against the head of him he was bucking up against it. You had to reach the other hand out to steady yourself against his shoulder, another touch that jutted his hips and had him twitching into your grip.

“Is- is this helping?” you croaked out, struggling to swallow, struggling to contain the wave of arousal that was threatening to course through you. He nodded, chin slack against his chest as he watched your hand work against him, moving up and down against the veins seemingly trying to break through his skin. No thoughts went through his mind other than the knowledge that you were jerking him off and that it felt so good that he could cry in relief. But then something shuddered within him, something loud and fast like a wildfire, burning just as much, and hot thick ropes of cum spilled over your hand. He couldn’t even cry out, it happened so fast. His breath was coming out in loud pants, when a new thought, the thought that he had just come in maybe thirty seconds flashed through his mind but it was quickly replaced with the horrible realization that the feeling of being on fire wasn’t going away. It was getting worse, out of control, containment measures failed. At this, he let out a sob as his hips moved of their own volition into your still soothing grip. It wasn’t enough, he knew, you knew, it wasn’t enough.

You stood, and he whimpered at the loss of your touch but all sound stopped in his throat when he watched you decisively unzip your pants and pull them down to your ankles underwear included, kicking off a boot, and one pant leg. When you straddled his lap he desperately pulled you down onto him, your exposed core grinding down where he wanted you, where he fucking needed you, that’s when he began to talk. Begging you to help him, saying that he’s sorry over and over, that he needs your help, incoherent babbling from a breaking mind, please it hurts so bad, I-I don’t, I can’t- fuck, I need you... All cool, calm, collectedness burnt to fucking ash. Just a man reduced to pure longing and want. A longing and want that might be what was threatening to kill him, not the toxin, just the build up over the days, weeks, months he had been around you threatening to crush him. He almost wants to die, this was never how it was supposed to be. He wanted it to be good for you, you deserve that, you deserve better, he could have given you better-

But now what was he? A heaving chest under a sweat soaked shirt beneath eyes that watch you like some feral animal. Hands wanting to claw at the clothing now so heavy, hot, and itchy against his burning skin, but instead were gripping onto your hips like it’s going to save him from burning to a crisp. The broken moans tearing their way from his throat when you line up his painfully hard cock to your entrance makes you throb, and then his choking cry as you slide down on him punches the air from your chest.

“Does this feel ok?” you panted out after a moment, struggling, trying not to drown in the pleasure of him stretching you, filling you. He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t even nod. His forehead falling to your shoulder in utter relief, mouth dropped open as he repeats your name over and over like an apology, a thanks, a goddamned prayer. How all he can do is sit there on the floor of some warehouse, back against a wall, the only thing resembling his usual strength is that ironclad hold he has on your hips as he helps you drag yourself up, then, accompanied by the tortuously obscene sounds of your wetness, back down. Brokenly pleading with you not to stop, don’t stop, fuck p-please don’t stop. You feel like molten heaven against his cock, your moans like angels (or devils, he’s too far gone to care at this point) singing through the blood rushing in his ears. One of your hands again steadies yourself on his shoulder, the other steadying him, an anchor point, with your achingly gentle hold on the nape of his damp neck (so gentle that it breaks his fucking heart, he wanted to give you more, you deserved more) as you ride him. Your hips rock once more, twice more, before his body seizes up with electricity that ricochets up his spinal cord and reverberates through his skull. His fingers dig into the soft skin of your hips, teeth grinding and eyes slamming shut, as he releases inside of you with a shattered cry. The sound of you gasping, now clutching, raking your fingers into him, has his hips continuing their rutting up into you, pushing his cum as deep as he can within your walls.

He stills for 10 seconds at most, panting breaths thunderous between you two, before pulling you into his chest, his hips slamming up into you, hard and hot as if he didn’t just fuck you until he could see every neuron firing behind his eyes. His hot open mouth finds your shocked one in a perfectly surprised “o,” more apologies pushing from his lungs and into yours between loud wet kisses as he listens (is blessed with thank you God) to you beginning to come apart. You couldn’t help it, as you ground down into his thrusts, even though you knew the threatening climax was going to be terrifying. Your breathing was ragged now as well, the air becoming harder and harder to drag into your lungs in between you cursing and moaning, and then- fucking hell- you’re at the precipice. Before you can even utter a syllable you are being flung over the edge. The pleasure rips through you, waves breaking against the rocky shore, with such intensity that it hurts, causing you to dig your nails into his skin, and bright spots to dance behind your closed eyes while the distant feeling of wetness registers from between you two. He explodes again with a gasp, feels you clench around him like a vice, his name, his real name, forcing its way from inside you and into his mouth with every pulse and it tastes so so good that he can’t stop, he never wants to stop, just filling you up until it drips from you, filling you with him because you’re his, his. Even when you both whimper and shudder with overstimulation, his arms shaking in their grip around you, he can only press his forehead to yours, rolling it desperately, as he begs for your forgiveness. I can’t stop, it won’t stop, I’ll make it good, please next time I’ll make it good.

“It is good,” you whisper to him with hitched breath from each thrust, trying to reassure him, “It’s ok, it’s ok.” You don’t know if he can hear you, his eyes are wild and don’t seem to even register that you are actually on top of him, that he’s inside of you, that he has made you yell out his name over and over and over. You don’t think he even knows what he is saying. Next time.

His own voice comes to him from somewhere far away, through the flames licking at his mind, please- fuckin’ hell please, just a little more- I just need one more, I need you, please don’t stop, I don’t want to stop nearly unrecognizable as he comes inside you again and again and again.

It isn’t until the medevac came and he was sedated that what just happened began to sink in. For a week, a fucking week, he’s in critical condition. No one talks about it, at least not in the way you all did before this. You saved him, you’re told. You don’t want to think about it, if you think about it then you think about how good it felt, how fucked it is that it felt good, and how everything is gone. If you think about all he said, you’d overthink, give meaning where there was none. He probably won’t be able to look at you anymore. You went to see him that first day. You sat next to him for mere minutes before bolting, the fear of him waking up and looking at you with disgust, telling you to get out in that icy voice you knew so well, sent you running straight to the mats to train until you wanted to scream. That’s all you did now, and that was where you decided you would stay until you died. That is until someone came and found you, told you he was awake, and that he had asked for you. The whole walk to the infirmary had adrenaline coursing through you, you wanted to run, to fight, to freeze right there in the hall and never move another fucking muscle. The thought of losing him, him being there but not wanting to be near you anymore made you feel sick. It had been so long, so long of repressing those feelings that flared in your chest when he smiled at you during sparring, the feeling of him seated next to you on a flight, his eyes catching yours just so you could stay with him. Well, you thought with dripping ire, that had literally and figuratively been fucked now hadn’t it?

You knocked, heard his gruff voice, and entered. You stopped dead in your tracks three steps into the room after mistakenly looking up and finding him staring at you from where he sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed, looking like he was about to head out on another call. You were desperately trying not to shake but your hands gave you away. You could take on a man twice your size without batting an eye but this?- you were terrified.

The moment you walked into the room, all his time that morning when he first woke thinking about what he would say to you, how he could face you, was knocked from his mind. You had saved his life. He never wanted that. He wanted to give it to you, it was yours after all. He didn’t know when it had become yours, every single part of him, but if he had to wager a guess it was the moment he found you in his life. And it might all be ruined.

The memories had started coming to him immediately after waking up, almost more clear and real now than in the moment. It jolted him awake so hard that the attending ran into the room for fear that his hammering heart had in fact given out. Once his breathing had calmed a little, he tried to sift through the fog. His recall of the smell of you, the arousal dripping from between your legs, mixed with your sweat and the familiar scent of your grapefruit and ginger shampoo, nearly pulled a groan from his chest. The soft touch of your hands, cool and strong against the fire that spread through his blood, had brought him back. The feeling of you breaking, the soft whines, the way you said his name… the things he had said, he couldn’t just shut the fuck up could he?

He had to bring his hands up to cover his eyes, willing the images to go away, just for a moment, please, he just needed some time, if only he had time- next time. Next time, he had told you. A desperate promise, a reassurance, trying to tell you that it wasn’t just the chemical coursing through him, it wasn’t just his hijacked nervous system. Did she know? Did she understand? That’s when he asked for you, without thinking, just wanting to see you, to explain. He had never been good with words unless it was biting sarcasm across comms or coolly delivering ultimatums in an interrogation. Then he remembered, the thing that sent his heart barreling through his chest for the second time, the machine next to him screaming. It is good, you had said, it’s ok, it’s ok, you had whispered.

He ripped the monitors off his chest, ignoring the doctor's protestations, found the clothes that had been brought in for him and got dressed. Now that you were standing here before him he was unsure. You looked scared, and he could count on one hand all the times he had seen you in such a state.

His staring was unnerving, more unnerving than if he had shouted, yelled, grabbed you, anything but this, this was fucking torture. You had to leave, just get off base, go somewhere, anywhere but here- the sudden sound of your name shook you from the reverie. The tone had your eyes finding his immediately.

He stayed seated, scared that if he stood, if he made his way to you, you would run, and you both knew that you were much quicker than him. If you ran, if you left, he would never catch up. Only when his knuckles began to ache did he realize how tightly he was gripping the edge of the mattress in an effort to keep himself there. It was hard to look at you and not remember the way you had looked when you pressed your hand to his forehead, when you had thrown your head back in pleasure, when you had grabbed his face when he was too exhausted to continue but thankfully no longer felt like he was burning alive. It was hard to remember and not stride across the room and hold you. He took a breath and forced his shoulders to relax in a way that he had done so many times before.

“I-,” he started, his voice cutting through the room, his normal voice, the one you recognized as him and it set you slightly at ease from sheer familiarity, “I’m so sorry.” Now he had to turn his eyes downcast.

“What?” Your response, the shock in your voice, forced him to look at you again. Your hands itched at your sides, confusion rippling across your face.

His eyes narrowed, he knew you so well. Always blaming yourself. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m sorry that happened, I’m sorry you were put in that position,” the word choice made him nearly cringe. He continued, “I never-I didn’t want it to happen that way.”

Your brain jolted, standing there in shocked silence, his words thundering through your ears accompanied by the pleading of next time.

He pressed on, desperately trying, “I know you, you’re going to think this was your fault. It wasn’t. There was nothing either of us could do, thank you for your, uh, help. Just- fuck, please just say some-,”

Shock still swept through you, the words escaped your mouth before you could think, “Did you mean it?” You figured by the way he leaned back that he knew what you were talking about. Then he held out a hand, palm up, an offering. Before you knew it, you had crossed the room, putting your hand in his and letting it gently pull you between his legs. His giant frame meant even sitting on the gurney that his gaze was level with yours, and those eyes searched your own when one word sounded through the room.

“Yes.”

This word broke you. One fucking word, one word that answered every glance between you two, every smile shared, a word you brokenly whispered into the night when you had a hand between your legs thinking about him knowing you shouldn’t. You hadn’t cried all week, but now the giant tears rolling down your cheeks felt like a release. When his free hand, warm and rough, swiped them away you couldn’t help leaning into it, just as he had done. All tension, all fear, dissipated from the room. That hand continued to just below your ear, cupping your neck, and gently pulling you forward to press his head against yours, eyes shutting, just resting there against each other in the moment.

“What the fuck are we gonna do?” you sighed.

You could feel the smirk that you knew was slipping across his mouth.

“Well, I did say next time.”

This time when you rode him with the small bed creaking beneath the movements, he stopped you any time you tried to speed up (it was your turn to beg and plead), keeping you at a languid torturous pace. That way the bastard had all the time in the world to whisper into your mouth, letting you taste each word, all the things he would do to you next time and all the times after that.

Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think! :)

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