eclecticscribbles
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Summary
Ever since Soap spilled the intel on his and Ghost’s special "training", Gaz has been furiously horny, jerking himself off nearly twice a day while they were away on mission. Researching porn and imagining himself in the various scenes he’d described. Perhaps picturing a dominant or two of his own in his head…
Series
- Part 2 of Up In Arms
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When a known arms dealer is visiting his favorite BDSM club, Ghost and Soap have one chance to infiltrate the exclusive club. The only problem is, Soap has zero knowledge of BDSM - good thing Ghost is a great teacher.
Series
- Part 1 of Up In Arms
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Ghost fumbles a landing when jumping out a window and breaks both his arms. The bad breaks lead to both arms being in full casts. Johnny, of course, takes it upon himself to give Ghost a hand with anything he needs, inluding brushing his teeth in the morning. What could go wrong?
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“Are ya’ sure?” Johnny calls over his shoulder, adjusting his tackle vest in the mirror, “I’ll stay here with ye. ’S not a big deal, I promise.”
“I’m positive. Go fishing with your dad,” He coughs a few times into his elbow, headache already returning despite the copious amounts of medicine the other’s forced down his gullet, “I’ll be alright.”
xXx
Ghost gets sick while on leave, refuses to let Johnny cancel the fishing trip with his dad, and his mom will be damned if she'll leave a man to suffer. -
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Ghost is just going to ask him to spar. It shouldn't be making his palms sweaty. But when he finally makes it to the room marked J. MacTavish, and raises his fist, knuckle merely millimeters from the door; a long, muffled moan erupts from inside the room.
"S-Simon!"
AKA:
Ghost can't sleep and wants to see if Johnny would like to engage in some...physical activity. What he overhears may be just what he needs.
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“Somethin’ you need, Sergeant?” He finally asks, taking another lazy drag. His hold is loose, thick fingers splayed and relaxed as they dwarf the small roll of dark paper.
Soap lets his thumbs dip inward, brushing in a fan over the burning heat of Ghost’s inner thighs. “Not particularly.”
“Then why’re you sittin’ so pretty on your knees for me?”
or: Ghost and Soap wait out a rainstorm
Bookmarked by eclecticscribbles
24 Dec 2024
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John "Soap" MacTavish has always been sensitive.
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“Christ, Sergeant, don’t you know how to keep your fuckin’ mouth shut?” Ghost glared at him, eyes sharp flints of brown. “All you do is run your mouth. Just shut the fuck up for once, would you? I cannot deal with your yapping today.”
Soap had just managed to stop himself from shrinking back. His mouth dried and throat closed at the sudden feeling of shame. Ghost was right, as was every other person in his life that told him he talked way too much. He knew he was annoying, and he knew Ghost was already irritated. He should have kept his mouth shut.
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Aka Johnny gets told to shut up and gets trapped under a building for itSeries
- Part 4 of Soap/Ghost Oneshots and Shorts <3
Bookmarked by eclecticscribbles
24 Nov 2024
Bookmarker's Notes
Beautiful angsty hurt/comfort one shot
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iunctus: connected in space, adjoining, contiguous
Series
- Part 2 of Sub!Ghost Au
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He still doesn’t look up as Soap slips in his room and is shutting the door behind himself before Ghost can even say “come in”. The Scot stands quietly just inside the room for a moment before–
“What helps?”
Standard Johnny. Straight to the point with no preamble or hesitation. The question shakes Ghost to the core. He can’t answer it, not really. He can’t answer it with a simple solution like he wishes he could because he’d waited too long to deal with this.
Series
- Part 1 of Sub!Ghost Au
Bookmarked by eclecticscribbles
22 Nov 2024
Bookmarker's Notes
AMAZING 1000/10 soft dom!Soap my love
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It was good to stand there, being close again, sharing the same space. John‘s cheeks were red from the cold, the tip of his nose, too. No matter how beautiful the falling snow was in the English countryside, Ghost couldn‘t stop looking at John.
Despite wanting to trace his features, brush over the small drops of molten snow on his cheek, over his beard, he didn‘t. They were very much out in the open, their arms just covered by the railing of the tower.
I missed you, he wanted to say, but didn‘t.
The low baritone of Simon's voice reached him like a shot of whiskey burning its way into his belly, equal parts warm, comforting and intoxicating.
The words were soft, though, not a hint of cheek in them, and wasn't that curious.
He wanted to go to Simon, push himself into his big body like a little boy pulling a thick, familiar blanket over himself. Wanted to kiss him hello, but he stood there, unsure what kind of cover the dark gave them.
Missed you, he thought to say, but didn't.