Soap X Reader - Blog Posts

You moving slightly only to meet ghosts ribs with the bridge of your nose smelling his body wash as soap chin rested on your back,you hum and move your hand over his body fingertips moving over his firm built, feeling him flex as he looks over. You open an eye and smile seeing him Leaning against the headboard with whatever book in hand. He gently brought his hand down to stroke your cheek and smiles “ sleep well” you smile nodding and turn your head to see soap still sleeping soundly. You turn having his head rest on your chest, ghost places his book down turning to wrap his arms around you and soap pulling you both close as his lips connected with your neck he groans moving his hand to your breast moving his fingers lightly. You giggled leaning your head back “ needy this early” his crystal orbs move to your face just filled with admiration, soap lightly moves signaling he’s awake opening his eyes he smiles seeing ghost and you . He moves up smirking as he kisses the other side of his neck. You playfully groan “not you too” they both chuckle. Soap Intertwines our fingers as his lips linger on your bare shoulder, ghosts hand moves to your stomach gently moving his thumb in circles as he kisses your jaw moving towards the side of your face near your ear playfully leaving wet kisses along your face as you feel soap kisses turn nippy, you only sigh as your body becomes jello under them both. Ghost moves to remove your shirt, revealing your breast as soap moves your shorts, you only hum with their movements most are Hesitant as they are looking for your objection but only meet with consenting eyes and noises. The movement’s weren’t sexual or rushing just two men who loved their women deeply. Ghosts moves lower bring his lips to you breasts as soap does the same each man doing their own thing, it was passionate kisses and sloppy nips as each of their hands moved down your body, ghost cupping your butt as soap cupped your breast, both moving slowly as ghosts hand Continued to wonder your body soon soaps hand did the same, ghost gently moved your leg up as he moved down kissing your ribs lazily moving his tongue over your stomach kissing/nipping your bare hip seeing the scars and bruises moving to your thighs gently leaving sloppy kisses, soap moved up to your lips fingers running through your hair as he kissed your lips. Humming into your mouth as you wrapped an arm around him, the bed shifted next to you as ghost moved back up, nearing both your faces. As you pulled away turning to meet ghosts lips as soaps hand held ur jaw trying to move ya back possessively. Times like this made them wish they never choose to share you, each man feeling jealousy rise only to see the love the other holds for you. You hum into ghosts lips as your face moves back to soap, their eyes meet both dark primal like. You look between them and smile seeing how greedy both are “ ooo guys come on play nice” they hum as soap kisses ya again, ghost grabs his loose hair moving his forward moving over you to kiss soap roughly slightly pinning him to the other side as ghosts chests hovers over you, you bite your lip and smile, something about them being intimate always made your gut bubble. Their own chemistry was so fascinating to you, both men of equal strength brought together just by little you still amazed you. You smile moving to kiss ghosts neck as he still hungrily kissed soap, ghost only did this when he felt like soap forgot his place or when he missed him, everyone knew ghost was the dom nobody dared challenged him,not even you. His presence alone made ya a dumb bimbo for him, from his words to just him. You and soap would gladly admit to being wiped for him. He knew it too seeing how he would grab your throat if you were being bratty and grabbing the back of soaps neck. It was his form of warning to us both. You glance over seeing soaps face become completely red as his brows knitted together, his submission to ghost made him so cute to you, ghost pulled away as they both breathed heavily. You playfully kiss the side of soaps mouth.

Ghost eyes are soft but yet so dark as he watches your action. “ fuck off doll” you giggle moving to sit up, soap rests his arm over his eyes as you still see big chest rise and fall rapidly catching his breath, you move on top of him as his hand moved over your bare back, ghost leans over kissing your back nipping your should as he cups your butt. Gently grabbing and feeling how it fills his hands. Ghost was an ass guy and soap a boob guy. Ghost lays by soap as your head rests on soaps chest and smile at ghost, he pulls the blanket up cover you both and hums an I love you as you three enjoy the sun heat and calmness in the room.

IDEA

What about a ftm Ghost, ftm Soap, and ftm reader? Ghost being the top because of course, Soap being the switch, and reader being the bottom? I either saw this somewhere and if I did I can’t remember, or I had a very nice dream. Can someone please right this? Because I can’t get it out my head and I do not have the capabilities to write something like this and make it even remotely good.

I be they wife in heartbeat if they cause who gonna fat them up when they come home (✿ ♥‿♥)(✿ ♥‿♥)( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡\(^ヮ^)/\(^ヮ^)/

(more of poly 141 x roommate reader bc i got enabled: surprising them when they return home)

The aroma of roasted garlic and thyme filled the apartment, and along with it your voice as you fluttered about the kitchen while music played from your phone. You placed plates of perfectly golden roast chicken, mashed potatoes and roasted vegetables on the dining table beside bowls of creamy mushroom soup and a fresh salad and freshly baked bread.

You would never regret that cooking course you picked up. Everything just looked so… perfect. And that was without mentioning the apple pie and chocolate cake you’d also made, set aside on cute little cake pedestals you’d recently bought.

You smoothed the fabric of your skirt, picking up your phone to check on the time; they’d arrive home any moment now and you couldn’t wait to see their reactions. You’d been planning this dinner since yesterday, when Kate Laswell had called to let you know your roommates would be home today after months of being away on a mission so you could prepare this surprise for them.

You’d promised to send her and her lovely wife a big, big portion just for helping you like that. You always get worried when they take this long, but Kate tried her best to keep you up to date about them whenever they had to be no-contact with you.

The sound of the front door unlocking made your pulse quicken, and you hurried to the entryway, a bright smile on your face. You’d made sure even the candles you and Gaz like to collect were lit up, bathing the apartment in a soft golden light.

“Surprise!” you called, spreading your arms as they stepped inside, grin wide and proud.

For a moment, they stood frozen, tired eyes sweeping over the sight of you and the glowing apartment and the lovely smell of a big, warm dinner. Price was the first to move, dropping his bag and crossing the room in several long strides. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a firm embrace, and you melted against him right away, breathing in the familiar scent of him- smoke, leather, and something uniquely John.

“Hi!” You chirped again, patting his back.

“You’ve outdone yourself, love.” he murmured instead of a proper greeting, voice thick with gratitude.

Soap was next, scooping you into a hug so enthusiastic it lifted you off your feet right after John let you go. “Missed ya, lass,” he said, his grin bright despite the weariness in his eyes. “Look at ya, a sight fo’ sore eyes!”

“Put me down, MacTavish!”

Gaz kissed your cheek the second Johnny obeyed, his hand lingering on your shoulder. “You didn’t have to do all this, darling.” he said softly, though the way he looked at you made it clear he appreciated every bit of it.

Ghost, towering behind them, stood silently for a moment. His eyes roamed over you, taking in the nervous smile tugging at your lips. Without a word, he stepped forward and pulled you into his chest, one large hand cradling the back of your head.

“Perfect girl, thank you.” he muttered, so low you barely heard it. But you did feel it rumble through his body.

You laughed, stepping back and gesturing toward the table. You had to know what they thought of it. “Go wash up. Dinner’s ready.”.

Johnny piled his plate high, moaning exaggeratedly at every bite and making you laugh until your sides hurt. Gaz teased him about his lack of table manners while sneaking extra bread rolls for himself. Price, ever the gentleman, made sure your plate was full before his own, and Simon quietly made his way through two full helpings even, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest smile when you nudged him to try the mushroom sauce.

Oh yes, you cooked. In more ways than one. You were so very proud of yourself, felt like you’d blow up like a balloon if they complimented you any more.

“This is the best meal I’ve had in months,” Johnny declared at last, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh and patting his stomach. He turned to you, gently caressing his knuckles across your full cheeks. “Thank ya, lass. Truly an angel.”

“You’ve ruined me for army food forever,” Kyle added, humming as he bit into another spoonful, smiling at your giggles. “Whatever next mission we’ll have is so going to suck, by the way. I mean it.”

Price reached over, covering your hand with his. “You didn’t have to do all this, love, but I’m damn glad you did,” he said, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. His mustache twitched, and he smiled at you. “Kyle’s right, though.”

Simon didn’t speak much, but the way his gaze lingered on you, warm and heavy, spoke volumes. You’d already learned how to decipher his little looks, anyways.

As the evening wound down and they cleaned the kicthen, then went to rest in the living room, you brought out the second surprises: the chocolate cake and apple pie, earning a round of groans and cheers. They insisted on helping with the second round of dishes, but you waved them off, laughing.

“Go relax,” you said, shooing them toward the living room. “This is my treat for you. You were supposed to be relaxing today!”

Though you didn’t notice the way they watched you as you moved about the kitchen.

When you finally joined them, changing into something more comfortable, you curl up on the couch tucked against Simon’s warm side and his arm drape around your shoulders almost instinctively. Soap stretched out across the floor, his head resting on a pillow near your feet, while Kyle sat on the other side of you, casually brushing his hand against yours.

It didn’t take much before you were dozing off, their quiet congestion washing over you as a soothing ambiance. You relaxed even further when you were shifted to lay fully against Simon while Kyle put your feet on his lap and began massaging your calves.

John stood by the balcony, his cigar glowing faintly in the dim light. He looked at you, surrounded by them, and something in his chest loosened.

You were too good for them, truly. Such a lovely, perfect sweetheart. But he also just- couldn’t stand the idea of you being with anyone else. Never.

So he wouldn’t entertain that thought. You were perfect as you were now; just a bit more time, and they’d tell you right out how much they want you in every possible way.

Though he didn’t imagine it’d be that hard, anyways. You already acted like their perfect little wife.

They can do more than that if they want (≧◡≦)

i gotta go and think about golfer! john price and his buddies who frequent the country club you work at and they tip extra nice, and sometimes they like to slip it in the waistband of your skirt!!

❥ What i think y/n would have on her phone (as a coquette)

❥ Her wallpaper

❥ her notes

❥ her phonecase and her instagram

likes n reblogs r appreciated !! 💗

Simon Ghost Riley links !

I lowkey haven’t been working on the suguru story, so why not give some Simon Ghost Riley links??🍓

- you guys should definitely join my discord server, I’ll be updating about my stories and giving spoilers on there, and I’ll make bots based off my stories n shit on character ai if the majority of yall use it(i know yall do don't play). PLEASE YALL, I NEED TO PROMOTE MY DISCORD SO BADLY.

click the link or no more stories😙 (Im so deadass.) also everyone (me and two other people aside from the bots) are harmless as shit, i promise

bouncing on his dick while he’s gaming.

letting Johnny finally fuck you after finding out he had a crush on you, on one condition, he can’t have your pussy but he can take your ass.

watching you tease Johnny because he wanted to cum, though Johnny knows your Simon’s girl.

putting you in a mating press to show you whose girl you are.

putting Johnny on a leash as he fucks you while he goes to handle some business.

him fucking up into you while you're riding him

him and soap taking turns (m reader)

mdni

i saw a post talking about soap being an actual loser who’s never got any action in his life. growing up catholic and then serving in the military he’s never had any actual experience. he compensates by chatting up birds and lying about how experienced he is. he radiates arrogance when he’s actually desperate to be in between a pretty birds thighs for once.

so when he meets you at the pub and you fall for his lies and the both of you end up on your couch. your on top of him rutting against his jeans, whimpering against his kisses, and he feels like his on cloud nine. and then he feels himself getting close already and he wants to shoot himself in the leg right there.

“bonnie.. ‘old on—“ and then his hands are gripping your hips so tight and the most guttural groan leaves his lips, head thrown back against the back of the couch, and he’s panting like a dog. and then you have the nerve to giggle which makes his neck heat up in embarrassment.

“tsk, naughty boy.” you purred, hand going to curl at the base of his neck, gripping his hair and pushing his lips to yours again. that’s when johnny felt a wire switch inside his brain and he felt himself chubbing up again.

NEEDED this

Soap is the last person anyone would expect to want a wife as desperately as he does but oh. Does that boy think about marriage more than anything else.

that's the main thing 🙂‍↕️🥰

Today in the shower I was thinking about how absolutely insane soap would be in a sleeping beauty scenario

Meeting you at the celebration of your birth, when he’s just a little boy himself. Markedly unimpressed. And yet, when you’re spirited away to live with your fairies— he feels strangely robbed.

He chases a fulfillment that cannot come to pass. A soldier in many battles, many quests under his belt, all in pursuit of purpose. A stray arrow tucks itself into his skull, and the emptiness grows more cavernous and hungry.

Then, to see a gorgeous thing like you dancing with his cloak, reflected crisp and clear in the pond water of the glen… he’s just a man. Maybe something less, actually. But even if he is a beast, doesn’t he deserve to live?

He delights in how you nearly scream when he pulls you against him.

“Ah’m no stranger, bonnie. Ye said yerself, nae? We met before— jus’ in yer dreams, hen.”

He has half a mind (in more ways than one) to pin you to the forest floor against your precious wildflowers and ravage you senseless, but he’s able to restrain himself when you say you want to see him again. Tomorrow, in the same place. He likes this little game of courting— the wait is bitter, but the fruit is sweet, isn’t it?

And he felt it, when he was with you. The pinpricks of a doll maker’s needle gliding between his ribs. Suturing the tear left in his chest. He’s done being rearranged inside. He’s ready to be put back together.

Thus, the lengths to which he goes to find you. The thorns that bruise and tear, the dracofire scorching his shield.

He’s going to kiss the sleeping princess if it’s the last thing he does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re awake now, though. 

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

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

That’s what had awoken you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Call of Duty Masterlist

☔ = Angst

🌦️ = Angst to Fluff

💥 = Crack

☀️ = Fluff

💋 = Smut

🖤 = Yandere

🔔 = Request

🟪Imagines🟪

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

■  What's in a Virtue ☀️

Series (Complete)

Gaz wants you, but the hotel bar you work at has rules; when a bartender calls dibs, all others have to back off. It’s how the peace is kept, and as the new girl just trying to rack up some savings, you’re not willing to rock the boat.

But Gaz doesn’t take kindly to you avoiding him, and he’s never been one to beat around the bush. From confessing his love on the first night you met to shouting your name seven times from across the bar, he’s not letting you off the hook that easy. Not when he’s seen the proof that you’ve fallen just as hard for him.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🟪Drabbles🟪

Soap x Shadow Company Medic!Reader ☀️

Soap x Reader Body Swap AU 💋

Soap's feelin' a bit peckish 💥

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

!Trigger warnings: dubcon

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

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

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

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

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

Soap who knows you liked what you saw.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

COD Masterlist

Masterlist Key:

Smut:💦

Fluff:🩵

Angst: 💔

SIMON RILEY BLURB MASTERLIST

Simon Ghost Riley-

Late Nights 💦

Ghost soft moment with his baby girl 🩵

Simon telling you he loves you for the first time 🩵

Soap, The Matchmaker🩵

We All Have Our Demons🩵💔

You're Mine 💦

You Can't Leave Me💔

You're a Minx, You Know That?💦

Dreams💔

"I Do"🩵

I'll Take the Big Blue One!🩵

I've Got You, Kid💔🩵

Simon's Bundle of Joy 🩵

Before He Was "Ghost," He was Simon. 💔🩵

What's Your Favorite Color? 💦🩵

Words of Wisdom🩵

Date With Your Lieutenant🩵💦

Teach Me How To Ride?🩵

Innate Desire to Protect Part 2💔🩵

Innate Desire to Protect💔

Piece of me when I'm away🩵

Konig-

I Never Got to Propose 💔

To Always Having Each Other's Backs🩵💔

141 + Konig & Others Scenarios:

141 + König & Alejandro With Reader Surprising Them With Lingerie 🩵💦

141 With Reader Who Uses Their Callsign in Emergency Situation 💔🩵

141 + König With Reader Who is a Major Cuddlebug 🩵

141 + LV & König x Reader, Where You Don't Say I Love You Back 🩵

141 + König x Fem! Reader Going Down On Them 💦

141+ Alejandro, Rudy, and Konig w/ Pregnant Reader Headcannons 🩵

141 + König & Alejandro Eating Their Fem! Partner Out 💦

141 + König Breaking their GN! Partners Bed 💦

141 + König With Fem!Reader Riding Them💦

141 + König x Reader's First Kiss 🩵

141 + König x GN Reader When You Slap/Grab Their Ass Playfully 🩵💦

Ghost/Soap/König's Reaction to Reader Pouring Salt in Their Coffee 🩵

How the 141 Boys + König react to the reader getting an epidural 🩵

141 + König with a Reader Who Sneezes are Loud as Shit🩵

141 + König + LV Cumming Too Quick 💦

141 + Konig Telling the Reader They Love Them for The First Time 🩵

141 + König & Alejandro With A GN! Reader Who Dodges a Kiss 🩵

141 + König Where Reader Asks Them For A Baby 💦🩵

141 + König Where Fem! Reader Gets Jealous/Insecure 💔🩵

141 + König Where They Hurt The Reader During Sex 💔💦🩵

141 + König Where The Reader Finds Out She's Having Twins🩵

141 + König Where The Reader Wipes Off Their Kiss 🩵💦

141 + König Where The Reader Squirts For The First Time 💦

141 + Königs Favorite Positions / How They Enjoy Sex HC's 💦🩵

141 + König Where Reader Accidentally Calls Them Daddy In Bed 💦

141 + König Reacting To Reader Having A Breakdown From Past Trauma 💔🩵

141 + König Rejecting Reader, Then Regretting It 💔🩵

Losing Your Virginity To 141 + König 💦🩵

141 + LV & König Begging Fem! Reader to Sit On Their Face 💦

Giving 141 Boys Roadhead 💦

Catching 141 + König By Surprise With A Kiss 🩵

141 + König Telling Reader They Hate Them In An Arguement 💔🩵

141 + König Fluff Headcannons 🩵

141 + König Crying In Front Of Reader For First Time 💔🩵

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Paws and Effect Blurb

Read the full thing on: AO3

Paws and Effect - A Ghost/Reader/Soap Hyrbid AU fic.

Blurb - 4k words, Full on AO3 - 16k words (18+)

Summary: Soap was convinced that Ghost was hiding something. He was dead set on a secret missus tucked away in some flat in London. Nothing could have prepared him for the truth. A cozy little farmhouse, far removed from the chaos of their world, and a… fluffy cat? The biggest shock yet? The cat’s true identity.

Soap was certain that Ghost had a missus back home. His first clue? Ghost’s uniforms. They were always crisp and well-pressed. Don’t get him wrong, he was sure the big man knew how to use an iron, but there was something suspiciously meticulous about the way his clothes looked when he would come back from leave. Pressed to perfection, not a single wrinkle in sight.

Not only were they clean-pressed, but there was that scent that drove Soap’s nose crazy. It wasn’t just your standard laundry detergent, there was something warmer, floral, something… homey. Soap had sniffed every brand of detergent he could get his nose on, but nothing quite matched the lingering fragrance that was on Ghost’s clothes.

He tried asking once, tossing out the question casually. “So, you got a missus waiting for you back home, Ghost?”

The man barely spared him a glance, shaking his head. “Just a cat,” he said. His tone was even, but Soap swears he could see just the faintest twitch of a smile under his mask. 

What really got under his skin was how the rest of the 141 played along. When he pressed Gaz about it, all he got was a shrug. “He’s not lying, mate. He’s got a cat.”

Price wasn’t any better. “Sounds about right,” he said, offering nothing more. Soap wasn’t buying it though, because every so often he’d get another clue. 

Like when he overheard Ghost chatting with someone on base. He kept mentioning how she was doing, whether she was planning to visit soon and no matter how hard he tried, Soap couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t a cat. It was always just vague enough to be brushed off, yet it gnawed at Soap’s curiosity. 

The final clue was the phone calls. Ghost wasn’t the type to waste time on mindless chatter, but every now and then, he’d slip away with his phone, voice low and private. One night, Soap happened to walk down the hallway towards the rec room at the right time. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop… kind of. It just so happened that he could hear Ghost’s voice from where he so happened to be standing.

“Yeah… I miss you too.”

Soap nearly fell out of his pants. He finally caught him, but he couldn’t let him know. He needed something more solid and he had to find out just who this girl was.

Going back to square one, he decided to take another swing at asking questions. “So Ghost, what’s your cat’s name?”

Ghost barely looked up from his cards. Soap had figured the team’s weekly poker game was the perfect time to catch him off guard. It seemed like a solid plan so far, but Ghost was just as unreadable as ever.

“Callie,” Ghost answered simply.

Soap narrowed his eyes. “What kind of name is that for a cat?”

Price leaned back in his chair, gaze darting between Soap and Ghost. “Why do you care so much, Johnny?” he asked his tone a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“I don’t, I just-,” he huffed. “Look, I just know he’s full of shite, alright? There’s no way all he’s got at home is a bloody cat. And what’s worse is it that you lot seem to know it too.”

Across the table, Gaz snorted. “You sound jealous.”

Soap scowled. “I am not jealous. I just find it hard to believe.”

Before he could finish, Ghost’s phone buzzed.

The whole room went still.

Ghost barely reacted, checking the screen with his usual impassive air before typing out a quick response. Then, just as casually, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and placed his cards down with a satisfying ‘plap’.

“That was the cat,” he said flatly, revealing a full house. “Gotta make a call.”

Gaz nearly chokes on his drink, bursting out laughing. Price just sighed, leaning over to pat Soap on the shoulder. “Just give it up, mate.”

A month later, the task force was on the road, making their way back to base after a grueling week-long mission a few hours away. It was far too late for them to be out and exhaustion was starting to settle in. They had pushed to get back, desperate for their own beds, but the further they drove, the harder it was for everyone to stay awake.

“Why don’t we just crash at my place for the night,” Ghost offers, calm but firm. From behind the wheel, Price glances over, considering it for a second before nodding. 

“Sounds like a plan,” he says, speeding on into the night. 

Soap perks up immediately, practically bouncing forward to stick his head between the front seats. “Wait, we’re going to L.T.’s place?”

Ghost sighs, already regretting his offer. “On second thought…”

Soap playfully shoves his shoulder. “Aw, don’t be like that,” he grins. 

“It’s been a while,” Price cuts in, his voice carrying a note of familiarity. “It’ll be nice to visit again. Bet a lot’s changed since I was there last.”

Ghost doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he turns his gaze toward the dark scenery outside. “You have no idea…” he murmurs.

Soap blinks. “Wait, ye’ve been before, Captain?” 

Price nods. “A few times.”

From the back seat, Gaz casually raises a hand. “As have I.”

Soap reels back, scandilized “What?” he whines. “How come everyone else has got an invitation ‘cept me L.T.?”

Ghost cocks his head to the side, sizing up the Scotsman with an air of amusement. “You’re too rowdy. You’ll scare the cat.” 

Price and Ghost exchange a knowing glance, only adding fuel to the fire in Soap’s burning curiosity.

Soap huffs, flopping back into his seat with exaggerated indignation. “Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath.

He turns his attention to the window, watching as the darkness of the countryside stretches endlessly around them. The road was essentially empty with vast, open fields on either side. Every so often, a streetlamp would flicker by, offering the briefest glimpse of the world outside before swallowing it back into the shadows.

Yet, despite the tranquil scenery around them, Soap’s mind was far from resting. If everyone had been to Ghost’s place before, that meant that there was definitely something worth seeing, something he was hiding. He was determined to be right. Ghost had a bird.

Further into the drive, Soap catches glimpses of distant lights moving across the fields. They bobbed and weaved in a uniform rhythm, eerily synchronized for lights, flickering through the darkness.

“Farmer’s dogs are out,” Ghost comments, his voice low and unreadable. “Must be chasin’ something.”

Before Soap could get a proper look at whatever something was, the car veered onto a narrow side road, cutting off his view.

“You live near a farm?” he asks, watching as the scenery shifts.

Ghost grunts an affirmative, offering nothing more. Before he could press any further, Price turns onto a long, gravel driveway, the tires crunching softly against the stones. 

Soap leans forward again as a modest yet charming farmhouse comes into view. A small porch light bathes the front of the house in a warm glow. It looked, cozy. Not how he would think one would describe Ghost’s home.

“That’s yer place?” he asks, heavy skepticism coating his tone.

Once again, Ghost merely grunts an affirmative. Then, with a slight edge to his voice, he adds, “Make sure you mind your manners.”

Soap smirks. “What, ye worried I’ll scare the cat?” Soap teases. 

The joke earns him a hard glare from the masked man, the kind that makes it very clear that he is treading on thin ice. Price parks up close to the house before anyone can say anything further. 

After stepping out, Soap takes a chance to look at his surroundings. The house was wrapped in lush greenery, flowers spilling over from well-kept garden beds and climbing trellises. It was once again a stark contrast to the man who owned it, comfy. And yet, it only fueled Soap’s suspicions.

They had barely grabbed their bags when a blood-curdling screech tore through the quiet night.

Soap froze, immediately on edge. “What the hell was that?”

A deep, guttural meowl followed and it felt long, drawn-out, and wrong. It echoes from somewhere near the tree line, making Soap’s pulse quicken.

Ghost barely reacts, simply glancing towards the forest. “Cat must’ve got out,” he mutters before heading toward the house.

Soap hesitates. That didn’t sound like any cat he’d ever heard.

Something about how Ghost said it so casually and dismissive sends a shiver down his spine. With a quick glance toward the others, he hurries after Ghost, not keen on lingering outside any longer than necessary.

Stepping inside, Soap was immediately hit with a wave of warmth and comfort. The living room was the exact opposite of what he had expected. Big, inviting couches piled high with plush pillows and blankets, soft lighting that cast a golden glow across the walls. Nearly every surface was adorned with plants, their vines spilling over shelves and trailing toward the floor in lazy curls.

And then there was the pet bed. It was huge, nestled in the corner like a throne. Soap stared at it, utterly surprised. “Just how big is your cat?”

Ghost’s answer dies on his tongue as another ungodly screech echoed from outside, this time followed by the unmistakable snap of jaws and a furious chorus of barking dogs.

Soap flinched, whipping toward the window in time to see three of the distant lights streaking past, tearing towards the forest with breakneck speed.

“Sounds like they caught whatever they were after,” Ghost says flatly, completely unfazed. 

Soap turns to him, concern plastered on his face. Slowly, Soap takes a step away from the window.

“Right,” Ghost continues as if nothing had happened. “One of you will need to take the couch. Guest bed’s not big enough for three.” 

Just as the words leave his mouth, a sudden noise comes from the kitchen. A faint but distinct shuffle, the sound of movement where there shouldn’t be any. Every head snaps toward the doorway. The team had faced enemy fire, brutal missions, and near-death situations. But after the week they’d had, their nerves were still wound tight, instincts sharp.

Suddenly, soft, quick footfalls break the silence, followed by a chorus of eager meows barreling into the living room. The team exhales, shoulders loosening as the true source of the “intruder” revealed itself.

“There she is,” Ghost says, his voice uncharacteristically warm as he kneels down.

A fluffy black cat, with a mosaic of white and orange splotches, practically launches into Ghost’s arms. Immediately a cacophony of loud, rumbling purrs fill the room as the cat chirps and rubs their head all over the masked man.

“There's my girl,” Ghost coos as he rubs a finger under the cat's chin. 

Soap swears he can see the damn cat smile, purrs growing even louder as it presses into the touch, completely and utterly smitten with the masked man.

“She's looking nice and healthy,” Price comments, watching the affectionate display.

At the sound of his voice, the cat perks up, ears twitching as it twists out of Ghost’s hold and trots over to rub against Price and Gaz’s legs. Both men reach down to scratch at its soft fur, their hands easily finding familiar spots.

“I forgot how soft you were,” Gaz chuckles as it twirls between them, soaking up the attention. Then, as if suddenly noticing the extra presence in the room, the cat pauses. Its bright green eyes land on Soap, studying him with a quiet curiosity. It tilts its head slightly, ears twitching as it takes a hesitant step forward. 

Soap freezes, glancing at Ghost who gives him a small nod.

“Let her sniff your hand,” Ghost instructs. 

Frowning slightly, Soap peels off his glove and extends his hand, palm up. The cat looks to Ghost first, as if waiting for some kind of confirmation. Ghost turns his attention to the cat, cocking his head to Soap. “That’s Soap,” he tells it, low and steady.

At that, its ears perk, and its tail flicks before it closes the distance, giving his hand a few, careful sniffs. Then, as if making its final judgment, it presses its head into his palm, purring into the touch.

“Soap, this is Callie,” Ghost says simply. “Seems she likes you.”

Soap blinks down at her as she gazes up at him with wide, trusting green eyes. Any lingering suspicions, theories, or conspiracies vanish in an instant. Ghost was telling the truth. There was no secret missus waiting back at home.

Just this cat. 

Callie.

“She’s a beaut,” Soap admits, scratching gently behind her ear.

Ghost gives a short nod. “Yeah.”

After another moment, Callie stretches lazily and trots back over to Ghost. She lets out a long, dramatic yawn before hopping effortlessly into his waiting arms, nesting into the crook of his elbow with a satisfied purr.

“Looks like she’s had a long night,” Ghost remarks, stroking her soft fur. “We’re gonna turn in, regroup in the morning.”

A murmur of sleepy agreements passes through the team. Ghost gave one last nod before retreating toward the downstairs bedroom with Callie still draped in his arms like a queen.

There was some lighthearted bickering over who got the couch, but Soap eventually ends up being the one collapsing onto the plush sofa. The second his head hits the pile of soft pillows and blankets, sleep takes him. For the first time in a long, long time, everything feels strangely peaceful.

The next morning, Soap stirred awake to the low murmur of voices drifting from the kitchen. The warmth of the blankets still clung to him, and for a moment, he considered rolling over and slipping back into his peaceful sleep. The tempting scent of fresh coffee ends up winning out and he stretches with a groggy yawn. He pushes himself upright, blinking blearily at the cozy living room around him before making his way toward the voices.

As he stepped into the kitchen, he was immediately met with two pairs of eyes watching him. Ghost and Price sit at a small dining table, mugs in hand, their conversation cutting off when they see him enter. There was something unreadable in their expressions, as if they were waiting for something. 

Soap narrowed his eyes, suspicious. Then, movement out of the corner of his eye has him whipping his head towards the other side of the kitchen. When his head turns, his thoughts grind to a screeching halt.

A woman.

A stunning woman.

She turns toward him and for a moment, all he can do is stare, slack-jawed. She has warm, sun-kissed skin and striking green eyes that seem to glow under the soft kitchen light. Long, dark black hair cascades down her back, streaked with vibrant patches of orange and white. But that wasn’t what had him frozen.

It was the ears.

Perched atop her head were two pointed, fur-covered ears, flicking slightly as they registered his presence. Behind her, a long, bushy tail stood proudly, curling slightly at the tip. His eyes dared to dart lower. 

She was dressed casually, wearing an old tank top that effortlessly hugged her figure paired with sweatpants with a cutout for her tail. But it was her feet that made his brain short-circuit. At first, he thought she was wearing oddly realistic slippers, but no, those were definitely not slippers. 

They were actual cat paws.

Soap’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. His brain finally clicked everything into place and suddenly, it all made way too much sense. His expression lit up in triumph as he spun on his heel, jabbing a finger towards Ghost.

“A-ha!”

Ghost let out a long, exhausted sigh, bringing a hand up to rub his temples. “Please don’t yell.”

Soap ignored him, grinning like a madman. “You said you didn’t have a bird!”

“He’s not wrong,” Price mused, smirking behind his coffee mug. “She’s definitely not a bird.”

Callie grins wickedly. “I eat birds.”

Soap crossed his arms, doubling down. “You also said you didn’t have a missus.”

The woman let out an amused hum, raising a delicate hand. “Not a missus either,” she purred, lips curling into a sharp smirk as she turned to Ghost. “You were right, master. This one is funny.”

Soap’s brain screeches to a second halt.

“Master?!” he gawks, whipping around to face Ghost like he had just grown a second head.

Ghost exhales through his nose, reaching for his tea like this entire conversation was already giving him a headache.

Soap took another second to let things sit in, completely stunned. Of all the things he had expected to find at Ghost’s house, this was not on the list. “Right. Okay. Just, hold on a minute.” Soap pinches the bridge of his nose like that would somehow help process the absolute madness in front of him. “So, let me get this straight. Ye’ve been lying to me this whole time? Playin’ me for a fool while I went on and on about you havin’ a secret missus?”

Ghost gives him a look over his mug, eyes flat and unimpressed. “Never lied to you, Johnny.”

Soap’s jaw drops. “Oh, bollocks ye didn’t!” He waves a hand at the woman, who was now watching him with an amused gleam in her eyes. “What’s all this then?”

Ghost takes another slow sip of tea, dragging it out just to piss him off, Soap is sure of it. “Told you I had a cat.”

Soap gawks at him. He turns to Price, who is doing a terrible job of hiding his smirk. Turning to the woman, her tail flicks lazily behind her as she sips from her own cup, utterly unbothered by his existential crisis.

Finally, his eyes settle on Gaz, who walks into the kitchen. He takes one look at the situation before sighing.

“Finally found out, huh?” He turned to the woman with an easy nod. “Morning, Callie.”

“Morning, Kyle,” she responds happily.

Soap whirls on him. “You knew too?!”

Gaz snorts, grabbing a cup from the counter and starting to pour himself some coffee. “Mate, everyone knew.”

Soap threw his hands in the air. “What the hell is wrong with all of you? How is this normal? This is not normal.”

A soft chuckle draws his attention back to Callie. “Relax, Johnny,” she teases, stepping closer. “You’re acting like you’ve never seen a shifter before.”

Soap takes a step back, bumping into the counter. “A what now?”

She arches a brow. “A shifter?” At his blank stare, she sighs, setting her cup down before gesturing to herself. “You know… a hybrid. A morph. I think in Japan I’m known as a nekomata.” She flicks her tail for emphasis. “Any of this ringing a bell?”

Soap blinks. Looks at Ghost. Back at her. Looks at her tail. Then back to Ghost.

“That's what all that racket was last night,” she says with a huff. “Sorry about that, by the way, I hope I didn’t scare you. Had to shift into my bigger form to deal with this nasty fox that's been causing issues and eating my chickens. Finally caught the fucker, so I called the neighbor's dogs for some assistance.”

Price chuckles at Soap's pale face. “Starting to make sense now, isn’t it?”

Soap once again jabs a finger at Ghost. “You… yer dating a bloody cat girl and just didn’t think to mention it?”

Ghost shrugged. “Not my fault you wouldn’t drop it.”

Callie grins, stepping even closer to Soap, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Would it make you feel better if I purred for you?”

Soap blanches. “Do not.”

Ghost sighs and stands up to put a steadying hand on her head. “Stop winding him up, love.”

She huffs playfully, ears and tail flicking in satisfaction. “Fine, fine.” Then she leans up on her toes and gives Ghost a quick peck on the cheek, right over the mask. “But you do make it too easy, Johnny.”

Soap slumps against the counter, dragging a hand over his face. He needed a drink or a nap. Probably both.

Price stands up, clapping him on the back with a chuckle. “You’ll get used to it.”

Soap peeks through his fingers at Ghost. The same Ghost who could make hardened men freeze with a single look was letting Callie nuzzle into him.

The contrast was striking. His harsh demeanor softened as he ran a gloved hand down Callie’s back. The sight pulled something deep into Soap’s chest, something warm and unfamiliar. His initial resistance crumbled instantly, and the fight left him like air from a punctured tire.

And yet, what he’s most surprised to realize, isn’t his surrender. Rather, it’s the quiet tug of longing that settled in its place.

Despite how comforting the kitchen now felt, reality was quick to settle back in. Price was the one to break up the moment, clearing his throat to grab the boy's attention. 

“Sorry to break this up, but we're going to be needed back at base today to give a debrief. Why don't we finish our drinks and be wheels up in 10?”

Soap pushes off the counter, glancing at Gaz, who is now determined to finish his coffee before they return to work mode. “I'll go grab my stuff.”

Callie, still tucked against Ghost's side, gives a small pout. “So soon? You boys just got here.”

Soap scoffs. “Aye, and I'm sure you’d love to keep watchin’ me lose my mind, but we do have jobs to get back to, lass.”  

She smirks. “Fair enough. But don’t be a stranger, Johnny.” 

Something in the way she says his name is light, a little teasing, but oddly warm. It makes his ears burn, and he quickly turns on his heel before anyone notices.

“It was really good to see you boys,” Soap can hear her say with a purr as he leaves the kitchen. “Promise you'll stay longer next time? Give me a chance to properly host you all?”

He hears the captain respond, but Price’s voice is too low to make out. A few minutes later, the team has their gear piled up in the living room, ready to head out. Ghost disappears into the downstairs bedroom while the others get things sorted.

Soap takes another slow look around the cozy space, trying to shake the weird sense of homeyness it leaves in his chest. He hadn't expected any of this, and he sure as hell didn't expect to feel… jealous? No, that couldn't be right. Whatever it is, it settles heavily in his stomach as he watches Ghost reappear, Callie trailing behind him with an easy grace.  

As they step outside, the crisp morning air cuts through the lingering warmth of the house, jolting Soap back into reality. Ghost pulls the door shut behind them, lingering there for a moment. Callie takes the opportunity to lean up on her feet, brushing a kiss against the side of his mask. He murmurs something to her, too low for Soap to hear, before stepping back and heading towards the car.  

Callie waves lazily as they load into the vehicle. “Safe travels, boys.”  

Soap leans his head against the window as Price pulls away, watching as Callie stands in the driveway, tail flicking. She stays there until they disappear down the road.  

Only then does he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.  

Gaz nudges him with a knowing smirk. “What’s got you all quiet?”  

Soap scowls. “Nothin’.”  

Price chuckles from the front seat. “Give it time.”  

Soap had no idea what he meant by that. But as he watches the road stretch ahead of them, the warmth of Ghost’s home fading into the distance, he has a sinking feeling he’s going to be thinking about this for a long time.

A/N: Thought I would post a little snippet of this story here on Tumblr since I've noticed that's where I'm finding a lot of other hybrid things. I think the full story might be too long to post here so I've got the full thing linked below! Thank you for reading! 💜

Completed story on: AO3 (18+)

Quick little 500 word New Year Soap blurb that was on my mind. Not the usual guy I write about, but I feel like he'd fit best in this scenario. Best wishes to everyone in the new year! ✨

~

This year had been a relentless storm of chaos. You cycled through two different apartments, three different jobs, and four heartbreaks with boyfriends who seemed to fit your life about as well as shoes two sizes too small. The year ended in a crescendo of disaster with a holiday shouting match between you and your parents. They lectured you about responsibility, stability, and your future, while you barely resisted the urge to scream back that life wasn’t a neat little checklist.

Needing an escape, you found yourself at a dimly lit, slightly sketchy bar for New Year's Eve. It wasn’t fancy, but at least it wasn’t crowded. The bartenders were surprisingly pleasant for people stuck working on a holiday, and their strong pours had done an admirable job numbing your frustration. 

You perched on a creaky barstool, your gaze drifting to the overhead TV broadcasting the glitzy Times Square celebration. The screen showed bundled-up couples and families huddling together, their faces glowing with excitement as the clock ticked down. "60 seconds to midnight," one of the anchors chirped.

Your stomach churned, not just from the booze but from the creeping melancholy that always seemed to hit when you least wanted it. A year of missteps and failed connections had left you longing for something, anything, to cut through the static of loneliness. Your eyes wandered down the bar, scanning the room like a radar looking for a friendly signal.

That’s when you saw him. A broad-shouldered man with a charmingly confident grin and a slightly rebellious mohawk slid into the seat next to yours. His presence had an almost magnetic pull, and when he turned to meet your gaze, his smile was warm enough to melt a little of the ice inside you.

“Happy New Year,” you offered, your voice light but tinged with hope.

“Same to you,” he replied with a playful edge, the kind that promised an interesting story.

As the bar filled with the sound of the countdown, the bartender appeared with two glasses of champagne, sliding one in front of you and the stranger. “On the house,” he said with a wink.

“You got a New Year’s kiss lined up?” the man asked, his grin widening.

You felt your cheeks flush, a mix of embarrassment and excitement bubbling up. “Not yet,” you admitted, glancing down as the countdown hit 10 seconds.

Something bold and reckless surged through you, the kind of courage that only a New Year’s Eve countdown and a few too many drinks could summon. You turned to him, caught his gaze, and leaned in. 5 seconds.

Your lips met his just as the bar erupted in cheers and shouts of “Happy New Year!” The kiss was electric, a jolt of warmth that cut through the haze of the year gone by.

When you pulled back, he looked momentarily stunned, but a snarky grin quickly spread across his face. He raised a hand toward you, palm up. Sitting in his open hand was a single Hershey’s Kiss.

"dinnae act innocent bonnie, we all know where your wee lil' mouth was 10 minutes ago"

you hear johnny's smug voice through that damn walkie talkie along with a muffled chuckle from gaz.

fuck! you forgot to turn off your damn mic before sucking what might be the biggest cock you've ever seen, and also enjoying the hottest blowjob that you've given. no amount of excuses is gonna save you now, everyone knows that you like being face fucked by your superior commanding officer, lieutenant ghost.

but who were you to deny that anyways, you did love sucking his hung cock so much, suckling the tip, peppering the shaft with small kisses, letting the precum drool down your cheek before you actually start taking him fully while he has his hand behind your head guiding his sweetheart through the blowie. Although he's a pinnacle of patience, determination and resilience, it all breaks when he has your soft plump lips wrapped at the base of his cock, the thrusts get sloppy, uneven as he chases his release. And mutters a "swallow it, yea pum'kin jus' like that, All of it" as you drink on his cum, its bitter sweet as per the taste, but its a bit easier now since you're used to it.

it had been noticed by everyone around the base how much the atmosphere charged when ever you and him made even the slightest of contacts, the veterans seemed to ignore it, having had their fair share of flings in their prime, the rookies enjoyed it, but it was soap who enjoyed it the most.

johnny doesn't knows when the lieutenant will share his bird with him. But he's certain that he will one day and its not that far away.

"ya really thought I wouldn't know anything aye?"

your lieutenant's words rang in your ears, these 8 words would've sounded different in any other given situation, but it was definitely something to hear it from ghost when your legs wrapped around his waist squeezing and squelching around him. "sir -hng I -ah" a tight taunting smack was provided to your ass, 'n't allowed to speak sergeant", truth be told after all you had previously secretly whispered here and there into the blue eyed, mohawk pretty bastard about his lieutenant, there was nothing left to say. Maybe you could've avoided this situation if you had kept your thoughts to your own self, all the snide, lewd remarks 'he can have me anywhere', 'i'd slut him out' or was it your sneaky peeks on his biceps when the team worked out together, or how your gaze lingered too long when he did anything remotely suggestive. "next time, if ye wanna say s'mthing say it to my face, not johnny"

"My lil' slag to ruin."

and hopefully now, you don't have to take sneak peeks of his body, hoping to see more, you've seen all of it already.

peristalsis - ii.

selkie!soap x reader. depression. suicidal ideation. strangers to "lovers." 4.9k. . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

previous

You sleep long enough that, when you wake up, you have enough energy to cry.

It’s a big one. The kind of cry that threatens to turn your throat out, with how hard you sob. Alone in the cottage, far away from anything resembling civilization, you wail like wounded animal, choking on your own tears and mucus, losing track of your body buried underneath the covers—

But it happens at a remove. You watch yourself implode from someplace deep inside, not entirely sure why it’s happening at all—but long past trying to figure it out.

This is how it’s been for a while. There’s nothing special about it anymore. Nothing urgent. Most of the time, you are a blank space of a person, a vacuum where joy or rage or fear should be, but occasionally some maelstrom or another kicks up to fill it in, and your only course of action is to ride it out until it ends.

You’ve stopped trying to fix it. And you’ve stopped hoping anyone else can, either.

So you cry, until at last, you’re empty again. Or you’re too tired to continue. The difference is negligible, but functionally irrelevant. Once it’s done, you get out of bed.

The pressure in the shower is as weak as Johnny reported, but the water is indeed warm when you turn it on; you stand naked under the flow, arms hanging at your sides.

The day stretches itself out before you with nothing to occupying it, just as you’d planned. Nothing to work towards; no effort to put forward. Nothing, thanks to your choice of locale, to feel guilty about not seeking out.

A day of peace and utter quiet.

Suddenly—violent banging, somewhere in the cottage. It startles you; you jump so sharply at the noise that you smack your wrist on the soap caddy attached to the shower wall. The banging comes again—annoyed, you realize with no little bemusement that someone is at the front door.

You wrap yourself in a towel and hobble out of the bathroom to answer it, a piece of your mind on your tongue, dart-shaped and ready to fly—

Of course it’s Johnny.

Johnny, big and burly in a sweater, kilt, and pelt once again, two paper cups balanced in one large hand and a grocery bag hanging from the other. Whose dark brows shoot up his forehead as his eyes travel with surprise, and blatant appreciation, down the dripping length your body.

“Well, good mornin’, bonnie,” he purrs.

“What,” you grunt. A cold breath of wind chooses that moment to force its way through the door, gasping across the shower water still running in rivulets from your hair to the rolled edge of your towel. Goosebumps erupt from your bare skin in millions of simultaneous pinpricks—you flinch bodily at the chill.

“Ah, hell’s bells, don’t just stand there,” Johnny says, following the wind. “It’s freezin,’ go on, let me get in, hurry.”

You let him step inside, for some reason, and he shuts the door behind him with the heel of his boot. He wastes no time after that, heading to the kitchen to set down his things.

“Brought breakfast!” he says cheerfully. “There’s this bakery on Barra I thought you’d like, fresh doughnuts and coffee. Dunno how you take yours, but there’s sugar in the pantry and cream in the fridge.”

“I don’t want breakfast,” you say.

“What? ‘Course you do. I’m no’ takin’ you seal-watchin’ on an empty stomach.”

He starts unpacking the grocery bag and setting things on the counter while your jaw hangs open. Several things occur to you to say—I never agreed to that and what the hell is wrong with you, for starters—but your stomach growls at him before you can. The aroma of fresh-baked pastry wafts through the kitchen when he opens one box, and he turns to grin at you, cheeks dimpling.

“Do you get dressed, bonnie,” he says. “It’ll still be here when y’get back.”

It is less polite than he perhaps intends it to be, given that his gaze travels appreciatively across your bare shoulders. You cross your arms fruitlessly over your chest and, nothing else for it, retreat to the bedroom, feeling his eyes on you the whole way.

You return to the kitchen after having pulled on wool leggings and the same fleecy sweater from the day before. Johnny, one hip set against the counter, has a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and a half-eaten cruller in the other, crumbs at the corner of his mouth.

“Got anythin’ heavier?” he asks around a chewed-up mouthful. “Gets cold out there.”

You look down at his bare calves, broad and taut and covered in a down of dark hair. “You seem alright.”

“I’m used to it,” he says, shrugging—the muscles flexing under your gaze.

You purse your lips. “I don’t have anything.” You hadn’t intended to leave the cottage overmuch.

You approach the counter. Johnny does not move a centimeter, forcing you to stand close as you pick through the two boxes of doughnuts and feel the body heat radiating off of him, displacing the scent of fried dough with his musk.

“That’s all right,” he says. You’re close enough to hear the way his voice hums deep in his chest. “I can keep you warm.”

You snatch a plain glazed from the box and take two very large steps away from him. The hair on the back of your neck lifts as you press against the sink behind you. If he notices your reaction, it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest—he lifts the cup to his lips and drinks, eyes sliding closed with simple, obvious pleasure, dark lashes curling against his cheek.

You take the brief respite from his gaze to stare at him. In the morning light, on a full night of sleep, you can almost believe that whatever you’d seen in him yesterday had been nothing more than a misfire of exhausted synapses. An overlay of a dream; a circadian prompt to rectify nearly seventeen hours of sleeplessness. You’d been cold, and tired, and hungry. That was all.

You bite down on your doughnut, not really tasting it. The nerves along your spine twitch and contract around the memory of his flashing gaze.

His eyes open again, and he smiles at you. “Good?” He flicks a look at the single bite you’ve taken, looks at your mouth, and then waits for your reply.

“It’s fine,” you grumble. Then, “How did you get here? I didn’t hear the truck drive up. Do you live close by?”

“Sometimes,” he says. He looks pleased that you’ve asked, that you’re interested at all, and you immediately regret inquiring. “Live on a boat, me. Moored in the cove right now.”

“A…boat,” you say.

“Aye.” A wisp of dark hair, something he must have missed when he gelled his mohawk this morning, flutters as he nods. “Nice and cozy. Not as grand as all this, mind.” He gestures around with coffee and doughnut at the less than five hundred square feet of the cottage. “But it’s still a sight nicer than some other places I’ve slept.”

He’s likely hinting at his military service. “Okay,” is all you say, unwilling to entertain it.

He smirk—undeterred. “We’ll take her out once you’re ready.”

“I never said I was going.”

Dark brows lift. “Got somethin’ else planned for today?” he asks, incredulous, as if he never imagined you wouldn’t want to hang out with him.

“No, I—”

You wrack your brain. You have no intention of explaining to this complete stranger that the last thing you’d wanted to do, when you booked this trip, was really anything at all—and in fact, you hadn’t even considered that that might be something anyone else would care much about.

Much less proactively address.

“No,” you repeat, sulking.

Johnny considers you, chewing. His eyes do not stray, this time, to places they don’t belong; but there’s an insight to them. A sharp awareness. A perception in his gaze that is just as undressing, as if whatever is going on with you is visible to the naked eye.

“I figure,” he says, slowly, as if to coax, “you put your wee shoes on, an’ I’ll pack this back up, and we take it along.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you grouse. “I don’t need you to, like—be my tour guide.”

“Aye, but that doesnae mean I don’t wanna,” he retorts, smiling.

He shoves the last bite of cruller in his mouth and gazes patiently at you as he works it with his jaw, the muscles flexing along his temples as he chews.

Exhaustion, your constant companion, stares you down alongside him. It would take so much more energy to fight him than to go along with whatever he has planned. Energy you just don’t have anymore. And going along doesn’t mean you have to pretend to enjoy yourself—it’s not like you care enough about Johnny’s self-esteem to conjure up a happy face to show him.

You can go, and be a bitch about it, and once you do maybe he’ll realize you’re not at all worth the effort he’s making, and then finally leave you alone.

“Fine,” you say, which is how you end up on a fishing trawler headed south toward, ostensibly, a colony of breeding seals.

It’s an old vessel—that much is obvious. Its edges and corners are dull with the passage of time and constant maintenance, scuffed by innumerable passes-over with cleaner and cloth. Mildew competes with the aroma of fresh varnish as Johnny leads you onto the bridge, which is mercifully closed in from the ocean wind.

The interior is mostly wood of a warm, orangish variety—you can’t tell if that’s a decision made with aesthetics or function in mind. The space comprises a kitchen, surprisingly well-appointed with a stove, sink, countertop, and fridge, and a small sitting area with both couch and booth seating. Surrounding windows allow in the grey light of the morning.

“Bought it off an old bloke on Lewis,” Johnny says, taking his place at the wheel, which is in a little alcove off the kitchen.

If you’d thought steering a boat would have curtailed his chatting, you’d have been wrong—he seems to have no trouble with that and talking, incessantly, at the same time, as he pulls the vessel away from the cove and into the open water.

“All his family moved to the mainland, he told me, an’ this is after generations fishin’ these islands, even makin’ it through the Clearances! No money in it anymore, he said, not like you could make in some office somewhere countin’ someone else’s money.” He checks something on the dashboard in front of him, but it doesn’t distract him for long. “Held on for a while, but people just kept leavin,’ an’ he was gettin’ too old to go out on his own. Got such a good price on it, I think he was just happy someone else was gonna take up the tradition.”

“Did he sell you the cottage too?” you ask, and then dig your nails into your wrist for encouraging him.

“Yup,” he says. “No one else wanted it, but me? I saw somethin’ special about it.”

He turns to smile at you—no doubt pleased you made the connection. You avert your gaze.

“Imagine someday I’ll have my own family here,” he continues. “Good place for it. Nice and slow, not like city living. Can hear yourself think out here. Perfect place to have a few wee ones.”

“If people stop leaving,” you mutter.

He turns to you again. “I’m no’ worried about that,” he replies. He’s still smiling. “You came here, after all.”

You have nothing to say to that.

The trip is a short one—Johnny brings the trawler alongside an island he informs you is called Mingulay, a square mile smaller than Vatersay’s tiny dot in the North Atlantic. Unlike the latter, he says, this island has not been inhabited since 1912, and has been completely reclaimed by the ocean and its wildlife.

After he drops anchor offshore, Johnny disappears down a steep flight of stairs below deck, which he had not offered a tour of, and emerges a short time later with a large, bulky coat.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he says proudly, holding it out by the shoulders. “Here, turn ‘round.”

You pause in the middle of reaching for it. You don’t know exactly why you comply—it occurs to you that if you grabbed for the jacket, he could simply not let go of it, and you would end up exactly where he wants you anyway. So you lower your arm and, resigned, give him your back.

He steps up behind you. Warmth pours off of him, more than you think any human body should be able to generate.

You hear him inhale, deeply, as he brings the jacket to your back. As you slide your arms into the sleeves, you feel his exhale on the nape of your neck, teasing through individual follicles of hair.

“There w’go,” he murmurs, much closer than you expected.

You can hear the low hum of his voice in his chest; his hands linger on your shoulders far longer than they need to, heavy, big enough that his index fingers brush along your collarbones.

When his hands make to slide down your back you step away from him and fumble to zip the jacket up; he chuckles lightly behind you. When you turn to face him, his lips are curled—smug.

“Alright then,” he says. “Let’s get out there.”

He rows the two of you to shore in a small kayak, two pairs of binoculars in your lap as you huddle away from the wind. You’ll be walking to the haul-out, he says—getting too close to the breeding grounds, which he calls a rookery, would spook them, possibly causing a stampede.

“It’s grey seals we’re gonna see,” he explains as the two of you pick your way across the rocky landscape. “Not the biggest haul-out you could see, some colonies get into the thousands, but we’ll have it all to ourselves.”

He insists on taking your elbow every time the two of you cross particularly uneven terrain, even though you don’t need it. You think he takes your attempts to shake him off as proof of your lack of balance, because he grasps you all the tighter every time.

“I’m not a child, Johnny, I can walk on my own,” you finally snap at him.

“Just bein’ a gentleman, bonnie,” he replies nonchalantly. He does not let you go.

As you get closer, you hear the seals before you see them, and when their voices reach you across the open island, you stop dead.

Groaning, grunting, hissing in a cacophonous chorus. Some part of your hindbrain double-takes, reshuffles itself—some ancestral instinct always on the lookout for predation. If you’d been given a chance to guess what a colony of mating seals might have sounded like, you’re not sure you could have guessed what they sounded like.

Certainly not like what you hear now—

Like people.

Johnny grins at you when he notices. “Aye, it’s a right ruckus, innit?”

He leads you up a small rise, where he has the two of you settle belly-down over the machair to overlook the wedge of rocky coast that the colony has claimed for its own.

And when you finally see it—it’s underwhelming.

Perhaps two hundred long, fat bodies, in varying shades of brown and grey, lay indolently along the rocks, in groups of three or four, some heavily galumphing from one place to another while others roll occasionally from side to side. The shifting winds catch their scent and blow it uncaringly into your face; you nearly gag at the admixture of dead fish and ammonia.

It doesn’t escape you that this is a rare thing to witness; you are not wholly immune to the fact that you are only a hundred meters away from something most people only encounter on a screen. It’s just that without a swell of awed music in the backdrop, or a narrator’s breathless wonder at the miracle of pinniped life, what’s left for you to observe is a population of wet, stinking animals, shitting where they lay, vocalizing without cease while they laze about doing basically nothing.

Johnny does not seem to notice your disillusionment; he hands you one pair of binoculars, and directs your attention to activity along the shoreline. You follow to where he’s pointing; one larger seal is hassling a smaller one, which snarls at the aggressor as it thrashes around with its substantial bulk.

“Little one there—” Johnny says, “that’s a female, probably obvious. Big one knows she’s ready to mate, can smell it on her.”

The female bares her teeth and lunges at the bigger male, which flinches back but holds his ground.

“Doesn’t look like she agrees,” you mutter.

“She’s just givin’ him a hard time. She’s all in heat, see? Just makes her cranky,” Johnny says. You feel his eyes on you, and lower your binoculars to look at him. “She’s got to fuss to feel all in control.”

You flush. “Right.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No,” you say. “He’s—he’s just bothering her.”

He gazes at you for a moment, contemplative. Corners of his mouth quirking upward. He does not reply for a long moment, long enough that you have to avert your gaze from his.

“Nah,” he finally says, and you don’t think you’re imagining the low, sultry note in his voice. “She wants it bad as he does.”

You scowl, uncomfortably perceived, and return your binoculars—the pair is still facing off, gurgling and growling at each other. The female is slim, almost sleek, unlike most of the other seals populating the rookery.

“Is she sick?” you ask.

“Hm? Oh, no, she’s alright. The mums lose a lot of weight when they nurse. Takes three weeks, and they don’t eat in the meantime.”

“Jesus.”

“Be nice if the dads ever brought ‘em a bite, aye?” Johnny agrees. “Deadbeats, the lot of them.”

The two of you survey the colony in silence for a moment. As the morning wears on, the cloud covering thins overhead, allowing cool sunlight to filter through. The temperature doesn’t rise in response; begrudgingly, you tug Johnny’s jacket a little tighter around you.

Then, suddenly, his hand lands on your back, between your shoulder blades.

“Got some pups over there,” he says. “Look, by the kelp.”

You find them; smaller bodies, white dinged with wet sand and dirt, lounge near their mothers or wriggle with aimless difficulty. They’re fluffy and round as plush toys, with shining black eyes and noses, and once Johnny’s pointed them out you can differentiate the higher, sweeter pitch of their cries from the overall cacophony.

“Sometimes,” Johnny murmurs, “search and rescue’ll get called out because someone thought they heard a baby crying. Some kid stranded or lost, right? Turns out to be a baby seal.”

“That’s kind of scary,” you say.

“Aye,” says Johnny. “Always makes me think that’s where the old legends come from, about seal people or mermaids.”

A small ways away, some of the mothers lay with their pups far into the surf, letting the waves break over them. You watch as one mother thunks her large head overtop of her pup’s as the water rushes toward them; the pup wriggles, and then, as the wave engulfs them, it begins to thrash, whipping up a panicked froth.

“Time for swimming lessons already?” Johnny muses. “Seems early.”

You’re horrified. “She’s going to drown it!”

The hand still on your back pats you consolingly. “Just watch,” says Johnny.

The wave reaches as far up the shore as gravity allows, and then begins to recede. The pup’s thrashing calms as the air meets its face once again; the cow allows the pup to lift its head, and after a few sputters, the pup seems no worse for wear.

“They’re hardier than they look, bonnie,” Johnny says.

His hand, heavy and warm even over his borrowed jacket, slides down from your shoulders to your lower back, and then he rubs, slowly, side to side, as if to comfort you—but the knobs of your spine contract at his touch.

“Last of the births this season, looks like,” he says. “Mum’s getting ready to leave—probably not the only one.”

Something hard drops into your stomach.

“They leave their babies?” you ask.

“Aye. Once they’re done nursing, they mate, and then they go.”

You look back at the other cows with their pups. One baby has its muzzle to its mother’s belly, quivering and suckling, while she lays with her head on a patch of grass. She looks uninterested—more, she looks disinterested. As if how voraciously her pup is nursing has nothing much to do with her, and she’s bored of even having to think about it.

Bored—and already looking forward to the next part of her life without a baby in it.

“That’s horrible,” you say.

“They’re solitary animals, bonnie,” Johnny says, not ungently. “The only time they’re really all together is for this.”

A line tightens between your stomach and throat, and you feel it start to build between your ribs. A tremor—foreshocks. The wind picks up, bringing a sharp chill off the ocean and up the rise that cuts into your stinging eyes, abrades the naked skin of your hands and the exposed part of your neck.

When you look through your binoculars again, you wonder how many of the pups you see have already been abandoned.

“Aw, bonnie,” Johnny says. There’s a kind of pity in his voice that has your hackles raising.

“I want to leave,” you say, yanking away from his touch and shuffling down the incline. “Take me back to the cottage.”

“Bonnie, it’s okay!” Johnny protests, rolling to his back to look at you as you stand. “The pups make it, they figure out how to fend for themselves.”

You glare at him, vision blurring. “All of them?”

Some part of you knows you’re being irrational—knows that nature is a cruel home, and that many children face worse fates than the seal pups. Abandoning the young, the needy, is no aberration; it is, in fact, far more the standard than the human practice, which lingers for decades—

Most of the time.

Johnny has no response. He holds your angry gaze, brows drawn low, mouth pressed into a thin line. It’s the first time that cocky aura, which seems to rest in every fine line on his face and every angle at which he holds his body, is completely absent.

He isn’t reflecting your anger back at you, though—he’s internalizing it. Letting it hit him, you think, and trying to use it to figure you out.

You do not want to be figured out.

You scoff again. “Take me back,” you repeat, and then you start walking in the direction you came, without waiting for him to follow.

Johnny drops you off in the cove, and thankfully does not linger this time before he departs—he bids you farewell after rowing you to shore, contemplation on his face, and then leaves you to yourself.

You retreat, seeking the cottage’s empty quiet.

As you perch on the couch you listen to the radiator hum—the wind blow over the reeds in the thatch roof—your own heart beating a drum in the arteries of your neck.

Percussive. Quick and hard. Like heavy knockers on a door. Pounding as if to burst through.

You realize you’re still wearing Johnny’s jacket, and you throw it off, disgusted with yourself. You get up and pace, and try to ignore it lying in a heap on the floor.

You do something you swore you wouldn’t do the moment you set foot on the island—you turn your phone back on.

True to Johnny’s word, there’s no signal. You picked this island, this part of the world, for a reason; for the past several years, a slow exodus from the British isles has vacated the need for dedicated cell towers or satellite or internet access, especially given that the only ones who remain are too old now to want it or need it or know how to use it.

It’s isolated. Cut off. Left behind by anyone with better options, and only clung to by those trying to preserve the only way of life they know.

Some kinder part of you belongs with that demographic; the part that was telling your mother the truth, before getting on the plane.

The rest of you holds your phone up and starts walking around.

In the furthest corner in the bedroom, you find a single bar of signal. A tiny chip of connectivity—a thin, frayed thread. Something you lied to yourself about cutting.

It’s a weak connection. Unstable. It could take a while—you stand there, waiting.

The screen dims. You tap it again.

Blank.

You unlock it, look through your apps. Wonder if maybe your notifications are bugged by your new SIM card.

Nothing—

No one.

You whip around and, with a cry, pitch the thing at the far wall—it hits the stone with a crunch, falling to the floor in pieces.

You’re out of the cottage then in a mad dash, door slamming behind you, driving yourself back into the wind. Far away—you want to be far away, far from everything, so far that nothing could possibly reach you. You trudge down the path toward the beach, banding your arms across your chest, shivering in the cold, and yet you hardly feel it.

Not worth it. No point. Waste of your time. Energy. All of it. Stop trying. Stop wanting. Nothing. Nothing. You want nothing.

You’re halfway down to the shore, not really knowing what you’re going to do when you get there, when you catch sight of a body on the sand.

You gasp, a sharp breath down your larynx, and freeze in a dead halt.

The body is completely still.

A swimmer? A diver? It’s dark, like it just pulled itself out of the ocean—or washed up—

Then, it moves. A twitch, a ripple across its bulk, and your chest rapidly decompresses.

A seal. It’s a large seal, lounging alone on the beach.

You stand motionless. You’re very close—much closer than you and Johnny had been at the rookery. You hadn’t contended with the sheer size of the animals, tucked safely up and away from them, but there is no illusion of distance now.

It’s the biggest one you’ve seen today, you’re sure of it. Bigger, you think, than most adult men. Its pelt is a riot of every shade of grey, splashy, like liquid paint thrown across a canvas. Black speckles scatter overtop of marbled white and cool slate, and down the center of its back is a broad, dark line, soft at the edges, which reaches all the way up to the top of the seal’s head.

The bull—it must be male—turns over. It lifts its head, and opens its eyes—

Fear suddenly zips up your spine as it looks right at you.

You stumble backward and trip on your own feet, landing hard on your ass. Johnny’s care with keeping enough distance from the colony rushes back to you, along with the warring couple’s bared teeth.

They can’t move that fast on land, right? They aren’t interested in people, right?

You scramble backward. It’s so much bigger than you ever would have imagined. If it got to you—threw itself over you—it could crush you with its weight alone—

The bull watches you placidly. Unperturbed.

You pause.

Its small eyes are dark and glossy—watchful and focused. The whiskers on its muzzle twitch a little as it takes you in. It breathes, deeply and evenly, huge body expanding and contracting at a slow, calm tempo. Its—his—nostrils flex, widening and narrowing, as he blinks docilely.

Unafraid.

If anything—curious.

Then he snorts, and wriggles in place. It startles a laugh out of you, more reaction than humor. Still watching you, the bull lowers his head back down, resting it again on the sand.

Your heartbeat abates. He doesn’t move again—nor does his attention leave you. Slowly, you sit up.

Wary. No sudden movements.

He doesn’t react; only continues to watch you.

You draw your knees up. Wrap your arms around your shins, and dust a bit of sand from your leggings. Rest your chin in the crevice between your knees.

There’s an intelligence in the bull’s eyes that is fathoms deep. There is a massive gulf between his experience of the world and yours, millennia of evolution separating your species from his—and yet…as you hold his gaze, you recognize the look in it.

Him, seeing you. And seeing you see him. The pendulum swinging between awareness of each other, and recognition of that shared awareness.

An empty space in the cloud cover passes overhead; sunlight touches the earth, warms it briefly before disappearing again. You wonder a little why this bull isn’t with the other seals.

Johnny would probably know.

“I didn’t come for you, you know,” you grumble at him.

The seal blinks. Awareness notwithstanding, you don’t share any language.

You sigh. “I guess you didn’t come to see me either,” you say.

But you don’t move away.

And you stay like that for a long while, you and he—regarding each other as the wind breathes out across the shore.

next chapter early access

a/n: follow for more seal facts™

Also huge thanks to Lev for trawler listings/info. Didn't explore it much this chapter but Soap's boat will show up more soon :)