"Can I Have Your Sweater LT?"

I HAVE AN IDEA :O

Cw: homophobia (brief), fluff, not beta read, he die like Roach.

-

Soap has a stuffed rabbit when he was child, a gift from his mother.

Growing up, the stuffed rabbit was one of Soap’s favorite things in the world. He’d take it everywhere- the park, grocery shopping or even any outings that his family went on.

He had slept with it too, kept his nightmares at bay. But as he grew older he felt ridicules for having such ties with some inanimate object- at least that’s how everyone else felt.

“Don’t you think it’s time you’ve moved passed that stupid thing John? You’re growing up to be man, you got act like one.” His father had told him one night, as Johnny cradled his stuffed bunny in his arms. He was six at the time.

He still slept with it, but he hated the glances his father would give him. He hated hearing the conversations between his parents. How his mother would always say “John’s just a boy, let him grow up on his own.” His father would always just scoff and say that it would be her fault that he would have a gay son.

John didn’t really know what that meant at the time, but he was scared of disappointing his father, so he stopped.

He stopped carrying the stuffed bunny everywhere, stopped sleeping with it. And sure, maybe the nightmares became more prevalent, but he was being more of a man now, right? He was being what his father wanted, right?

Eventually, John found himself thinking less and less about the stuffed bunny, somewhere in his closet.

Life went on. He got through school, watched his older sisters go off to college and he himself into the military.

It wasn’t until a long while later, that Soap remembered the stuffed bunny once more. He had been part of the 141 for a little longer than a year, and dating ghost for five months.

They had a gap between missions, about a months worth of down time, something incredibly rare for their line of profession. This time off landed, in a dark ironic way, perfectly as Soaps father finally kicked the bucket.

Soap would be going back to Scotland for the funeral, and with the best puppy dog eyes Ghost could muster (a sight that will never get old given it’s coming from a walk of a man) Simon would tag along.

Soap was relatively quiet about his dad, but what he did speak about made him realize he really didn’t like the guy. Growing up, Soap tried not think about his father, about the disappointment that always seems to radiate off of him, how he was never good enough for his father. And you know what, yeah he is gay, so what?!

Soap showed up for the funeral and was filled with an almost sense of joy at how neither his sisters or his mother looked distraught over the ‘loss.’

Of course, Soaps mother was over joyed to see her son and be introduced to Simon, which was a fun scenario to watch Simon maneuver around in.

The night, despite the day of the funeral, was cheerfully fun. Soaps mother made a wonderful meal, that screamed nostalgia for Soaps, and his sisters who shared every single embarrassing story about Soap’s youth to Simon.

By the time they all felt their energies zapped from them, they retired for the night. For the first time in years, Soap stepped into his childhood room. The posters are still the same, along with the bedding and the books on his bookshelf.

“Never knew you played football.” Simon says softly, his eyes carefully looking over the few medals Soap has acquired from his school years.

“Aye.” Soap started, moving their luggage into his closet to make more space.

“Was a goalie. Coach didnae lemme’ play offense, said I was ‘too rough. Wasnae all bad though, I actually-…” Soap had started with a light tone the memories flooding back to him. He hadn’t meant to create a lull in his words, and really only realized he did when Ghost called his name, now behind him.

“Johnny?”

“Ahm fine, sorry I just…” At this point Simon’s eyes drift to where Johnny’s are looking- at a worn, slightly dust covered stuffed bunny.

Soap felt like he was a kid again as he saw it. Felt that same happiness, but felt that same tension. If he picked it back up, would he still be good enough. He knows his father was a dick, but it’s hard to erase the words from his mind.

What catches Soap out of his thoughts, is when ghost carefully picks up the stuffed bunny, so gently he might as well be holding a new born baby.

Soap ready’s himself for some comment making fun of him for having a stuffed animal, but instead he’s met with Simon’s soft look. Of course Simon would never say anything like that to him, now that he thought about it.

If Soap ends up taking the stuffed bunny back with him, his mother says nothing but gives a knowing smile.

And if and when Johnny and Simon retire Johnny sleeps with the bunny hugged between the two men, that’s for him and his husband to know.

-

Lmao this was actually so wholesome. I also typed all of this out on my phone and I’m tired so please ignore typos, I’ll fix those in the morning.

jackin off nerdy!loser!college partner simon riley

his pen falls, fingers going limp as your lips press against his. he’s soft, pliable beneath your fingertips, arching into your every feathery touch, panting into your mouth messily.

your notebooks lay open and abandoned, paper ticking softly with the chill of wind that passes through the open window. and simon’s chin hitches, tongue pressing and threading around yours sloppily, inexperiencedly.

and when you’re fingertips dip beneath the thin material of his stretchy joggers, he’s gasping in a broken moan, the angry tip of his cock leaking in a pearly mess of precum.

“you’re mine, simon,” you breathe into the open shell of his mouth, tongue swiping his bottom lip, tasting him up on your tongue. your fingertips disappear into the scratchy, sandy curls that frame his pretty cock, hand fisting up around him so suddenly he chokes. “say it.”

his big brown eyes peer up at you dizzily, a haze blurring his usual intense stare. he’s panting, hair disheveled, glasses cocked crooked over the bridge of his nose. “i-i’m yours, i’m yours, yes..”

he’s whining, hips reeling up off the floor as you wrist flicks, pulling the skin of his cock taut before you’re smoothing your hand back down. you watched over him, free hand digging up into the short of his blonde hair, pulling his drooping head back to get a real look at him.

you’d must admit, he was a pretty, pretty boy. the dripping honey of his eyes encapsulated with his sparkling blonde lashes, crooked nose dented in on the sides with his glasses, his pretty pink lips lathered in a lewd mixture of your saliva. and he panted hot, open-mouthed against your face, staring up at you with some dumbed down look.

“when you ace me through this semester, baby, you’ll get the real thing, ‘kay?” you pout down at him, bringing one of his hands beneath your skirt. n when his fingertips skim over the wet fabric of your panties, your desperate pussy clenches, stomach rolling with his hesitant touches. “until then… “

nosferatu is abt to be my number 1 hear me out. man said “you are my affliction” “i cannot be sated without you” “i am an appetite, nothing more” HELLO?????

thinking about toxic!ex!simon.....

The banging on the door is relentless, a pounding that vibrates through the frame and straight into your chest. It’s raining so hard that it sounds like the sky itself is cracking open, drowning out his muffled voice on the other side. But you hear him anyway, broken and raw. “Let me in. For fuck’s sake, please let me in.”

Your stomach twists. You don’t want to see him. You shouldn’t see him. But your hand moves to the lock on instinct, and when you open the door, the sight of him makes your breath catch.

Simon is on the edge of ruin. Rain streaks down his face, plastering his hoodie to his skin, his hair curling and dripping. His mask is gone, leaving him exposed in a way you’ve never seen before. His eyes—wild, bloodshot, hollow—meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you says a word. He's on the verge of self-destruction.

Then, before you can speak, he collapses to his knees.

It’s not graceful. It’s not controlled. It’s desperate. His body hits the ground with a thud, his palms catching against the threshold like they’re the only thing holding him together. You take a step back, expecting him to get up, to say something sharp or clipped, but he doesn’t. He leans forward, and...

He crawls.

He crawls inside like a wounded mutt, breathing ragged and uneven. His massive hands dragging against the floor until they find your legs. You try to move back, but he follows, until his forehead is pressed to your stomach, his massive frame trembling as he clutches at you. His fingers dig into your hips, holding onto you like he's drowning, his head tilting back to look up at you.

You try to pull away, but his grip tightens. “Don’t,” he growls, the sound guttural, primal. The look in his eyes is feral—something broken and starving and so goddamn human it makes your heart ache.

“Y'don’t get it,” he spits, his voice trembling. “I can't be sated without ya, love, don’t y'see? You’re in me. You’re fuckin' inside me, and no matter what I do, I can’t tear y'out.”

He buries his face against you again, messily planting his lips against any ounce of skin open to worship. “I’ll fuckin' beg. I’ll get on m'knees—between y'thighs—every night if I have to. Just—don’t leave me again. Please. I’ll fuckin' die without you.”

You inhale sharply, your hands hovering at your sides as his shoulders shake. The rain drips from him, pooling on your floor, but he doesn’t care. He clutches at you tighter, his voice dropping into something dark and guttural. “I'm an appetite, nothing more. I was made to need ya, to crave ya. And I can’t—” His voice cracks, and he presses his face harder into you, his breath hot and ragged through his sobs. “I can’t fuckin' live without you, baby—please.”

You should push him away, should tell him to leave, but instead, you stand frozen, overwhelmed by the storm of him—the raw hunger, the consuming despair, the way he folds himself into you, desperate to make himself whole again. He’s feral, ruined, a shadow of himself, and all of it is for you.

How could you deny him?

mlist

Never back down never what? Cause if you thought I was joking when I said I was going to draw everything in this style…

"Si, you owe me a new couch," you half-joke, trying to ease some of the palpable tension in the air, as you sit next to your boyfriend, Simon, on your couch, cleaning the gash on his side with a face cloth.

The poor guy had shown up at your door in the middle of the night with the nastiest gash to his side. It was a superficial cut, so nothing that needed immediate medical attention, but it still bled—a lot

He wouldn't say how he acquired the laceration, but you suspected it couldn't have been good. You kept your assumptions to yourself and have been tending to them for the last five minutes or so.

"I'll buy you any kind you like," he picks his head up from its place on the back of the couch. You catch his eyes boring into the side of your head as you continue cleaning the area, finally looking up to lock eyes with him. The sincerity in his eyes has you letting out a small laugh.

"You don't have to," you murmur as your eyes shift to the gauze to your side. You carefully open a fresh piece, place it on the cut, and secure it with paper tape. You gently press the sides, securing the tape to his skin. "All done. Good boy," you jokingly say, tossing the gauze's empty packaging onto the coffee table in front of you.

You feel his hand grip your chin, pulling you towards his lips. You are slightly taken aback, even making a noise of surprise, but you quickly reciprocate the kiss.

He tasted of Nicorette gum and cigarette smoke with a hint of liquor. You would scowl at him later for the cigarette smell since he had supposedly quit, but right now, you could feel by the way he gripped your face he craved a taste of you.

You raised your hand to grip his jaw, trying to bring him closer. He senses your desire, gripping your hips and swinging you over his legs so you are now straddling him, never once disconnecting his lips from yours.

While you adjust to the new position, your knee grazes his gash, making him grunt into your mouth. You pull back slightly to speak; both of your chests are heaving. "Am I hurting you?" Your brows furrow in concern as you gently bring your hand to rest in his messy hair.

He knots his hand in your hair, lips brushing against yours. "Only if you stop,” he pants, deepening the kiss.

You smile into his lips, gripping his jaw, feeling his teeth clash against your own. One of his hands lingers over your hip once again, kneading the fat of it. The other lingers from your hair to pull down your shirt on your shoulder, revealing your collarbone.

His lips hover over your clavicle, eyes flicking to take note of a new, very small ‘s’ inked into your flesh. He brings his hand up to brush his fingertips over the tattoo.

“You got this for me?” He enunciates the ‘me,’ like it was just so unable to believe you would ever want to taint your skin for him.

“You like it?” You chew on your bottom lip, giddy with anticipation. He leans back against the back of the chair, shifting his torso a little. You let out a slight moan when you feel how hard he is.

“Do you feel that?” He gruffs, gripping your waist and grinding you against his clothed hard-on. You grip his shoulders with each of your hands tightly, hissing through your teeth, “How could I not?”

He leans forward, lips hovering over the shell of your ear so you can feel his hot breath against your skin. “I fuckin’ love it.”

a/n: a little fic just bc it's been a hot sec<3 divider!

While cleaning out my room I found a paper that my therapist gave me some time ago to deal with obsessive and intrusive thoughts. Sorry the paper is a little crinkled and stained, but I figured I’d post it in hopes that it will help someone like it helped me.

How do you think the secret baby trope would go with Nik or Price? Maybe reader either never got a number or a name. Maybe she was worried about being asked to get rid it and so she just kept it a secret and let the man leave cause he was just passing through

With Nikolai like. We don’t even know his last name. He probably didn’t even tell you his first name. If he did, it was just “Nik”. And of course, that meant no number. He has a rather… irregular schedule. Not the most conducive for a relationship, and he doesn’t care to lead women on. Maybe he even meets you on a visit to England — so it checks out that he wouldn’t see you until he was in the same area. (And he can’t just visit England without going to Tisbury to load up on fudge to bring home).

So when he sees you with a baby, one with inky black hair and the same nose as you, he’s obviously a little taken aback. But as harsh as it sounds, he was raised to believe that real men remember their bastards. So of course he’s not letting you get away when your eyes catch his in recognition. Besides… as much as he loves it on Price, he doesn’t want his baby to grow up and have a British accent. C’mon.

With Price— I think it’s you who let him go. Why burden a man with fatherhood over a one night stand on his military leave? It’s your choice to keep the baby, you don’t think to trouble him with it. To make him feel like he has to say. To be honest… you wouldn’t mind him as the father. But you can’t stand to see him start to hate you for saddling him with the job.

Of course, when Price finds out about this, he’s just gathering it as evidence that you need him. You’re so silly, trying to do this all on your own when there’s a capable man here who’s basically gagging for the chance. By the way— it’s one of his men that rats you out. Points and says hey, ain’t that the bird you shagged when we were at that pub in Teffont? Very classy.

Missionary with your fav military man, but his dog tags keep tapping you in the face, causing you to giggle. He scoffs and nips at you playfully before taking the chain in his teeth and thrusting even harder, fucking you up the bed in punishment

In my sights

Gaz is drowning with bitches, and Johnny is envious of it coz he can't pull.

So when you came out of Gaz's quarters crying, Johnny grinned as he preened before approaching you.

Because stealing Gaz's favorite bird is a hell of a way to one up the casanova.