Book Summary: John "Soap" MacTavish has hated you since the very first day you arrived on base and joined their Task Force. You argue all the time, and one day, it pushes Captain Price to his absolute limit. He sends you both away to an isolated cabin in the woods for a week in hopes you can put aside your differences and bond. Will it work? Or will you two just end up hating each other even more?
This is a slow burn enemies to lovers fan fiction featuring Soap and you, the reader.
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Soap is mean, like really mean, smut, rough smut, nice smut, slightly non-consensual, lots of swearing, violence, descriptive, blood, angst, fluff, slow burn, PTSD, past trauma, comfort, suggestive language, loss of a loved one, changing family dynamics, depression, funerals, car crash death, loss of a parent, unhealthy coping, child abuse, child neglect, mental/emotional/physical child abuse, neglectful parents, (more to come as I write)
Other Places to Find This Fic:
~ Wattpad
Chapter 1: The Mission
Chapter 2: The Heat of Battle
Chapter 3: The Debrief
Chapter 4: The Cabin: Day 1 (pt. 1)
Chapter 5: The Cabin: Day 1 (pt. 2)
Chapter 6: The Cabin: Day 2
Chapter 7: The Cabin: Day 3 (smut)
Chapter 8: The Cabin: Day 4 (pt. 1)
Chapter 9: The Cabin: Day 4 (pt. 2)
Chapter 10: The Cabin: Day 5 (pt. 1)
Chapter 11: The Cabin: Day 5 (pt. 2)
Chapter 12: The Cabin: Day 5 (pt. 3)
Chapter 13: The Cabin: Day 5 (pt. 4)
Chapter 14: The Cabin: Day 5 (pt. 5)
Chapter 15: The Cabin: Day 5 (pt. 6) (smut)
Chapter 16: Annette (pt. 1)
Chapter 17: Annette (pt. 2)
Chapter 18: Annette (pt. 3)
Chapter 19: The Cabin: Day 6 (pending)
• To the best of my ability, will have weekly updates
• Please do not post my works on any other platforms or use my storyline for AI purposes. If someone finds this to be the case, please let me know
Spitfire Spinoff of Author Reader Comfort Character (RL! GN Reader x SGR)
Comfort Character Pt 1, Part 2, part 3
On The Same Page! (American, Author Reader x SGR)
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15
Beasts of the Deep (SGR x Reader Au)
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Wolf! Simon
One and The Same
Part 1
One Shots!
a moment
Misc Posts!
Library AU idea!
Compromising Position ft Soap!
Hypnogogic (Angst)
Saving Johnny! (Slight Angst) Look for parts 1 and 2!
Soft! Simon Headcannons
Johnny "Soap" Mactavish
Letters from Nowhere (CBF! Soap x reader x Simon)
Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5
Poly 141!
Jewel of the Abyss (or a labyrinth x cod fic)
Part 1
Our Shattered Heart (GN! 'Heart' Reader x Taskforce 141)
Part 1, Part 2, Part 2.25, Part 2.50, Part 2.75, Part 3.00, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
Headcanons! (just extra content for the universe!)
Part 1,
Assorted one shot (141 + others x reader)
Patch-up, Dance, Electric
Labyrinth (1986)
Jareth the Goblin King
Out From Twisting Pages
After finding a beautifully bound book titled “Journey into the Labyrinth” in your university library and being told to keep it, you take the uncatalogued book home over the seasonal break. However when school is suddenly shifted online, you start finding marbles everywhere you go, mysterious hijinks occur, and a large white owl suddenly decides to nest in the tree out your little house’s window, you begin to wonder if something may be up with the mysterious book…
Summary: John recalls the night that his entire life changed forever. The night the torment of living with Annette finally ends.
Word Count: 13,756
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, swearing, strong language, domestic violence, child abuse, blood and gore, unhealthy family dynamics, medical descriptions, neglect, emotional manipulation.
A/N: Sorry this took so long to post! A mix of writers block, wanting to get the pacing just right, and personal issues got in the way. But I finally have a new chapter for you guys, and I hope you enjoy it :)
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Bitter Allies • Part 18
John was thirteen years old when his father accepted that new job. What was supposed to be a temporary job certainly didn't feel only temporary. He'd have that job for the next four years. And those four years marked some of the darkest memories of John's life. Darker than anything he had ever faced being in the military. And he'd seen some pretty fucked things during his time in the service.
In the beginning, his father was only gone for a week or so at a time, but slowly those stretches of him being gone got longer and longer. Sometimes he'd be gone for a month, be back a few days, and then leave again for another month.
He seemed to enjoy his new job. He always seemed eager to leave for another work trip. When he came home he'd bring gifts and go on and on about how much money he was making and how good it was going to be for them. Always the promise of more family time, but there was always an excuse.
He couldn't quit because he wanted to give them all a college fund, the job market was bad and he couldn't find anything else that paid as good, he wanted to wait until after the big Christmas party and the bonus check, he couldn't just quit in the middle of a project. The list was endless.
It was only much later in life that John realized his father wasn't just working to support them, he was escaping. Escaping Annette, escaping the weight of raising four kids, escaping the chaos of a home that was crumbling. It wasn't a sacrifice, he'd abandoned them.
With his father gone, the thin thread of protection that had once dulled Annette's temper snapped completely. There was no shield now, no buffer. The house became hers. They lived under her rules.
Looking back, Annette probably knew what his father was doing, and it'd made her angry. She couldn't divorce him cause she had nothing else, nowhere to go. She was forced to raise John and his sisters, and she resented them. Those last four years of living in that house were a nightmare.
John still remembers the day it all started. He hadn't been there when it happened, but one evening, standing shoulder to shoulder with Eilidh at the sink as they scrubbed dishes, he'd noticed something. The sleeve of her shirt had been rolled back slightly, and just below her elbow, dark bruises bloomed against her pale skin.
Before he even thought, his hand shot out and caught her arm, making Eilidh gasp.
"John! What are you-" she tried to pull her arm free, but John was already shoving her sleeve higher. His breath caught in his throat. Finger-shaped bruises dug deep into her flesh, ugly purples and yellows, and they kept traveling further up her arm. Her bicep was littered with dark splotches and stopped at about her shoulder, or at least that was as far John could move her sleeve to see.
"What happened." His voice came out sharp, trembling with anger he couldn't swallow down.
Eilidh yanked her arm back, tugging her sleeve down in one motion. "It's nothing." She muttered, her voice tight.
"It's not nothing." John's jaw clenched so tight it hurt. His stomach churned. Annette had gotten a little physical with them in the past. She'd grabbed them plenty of times, but she'd never left any marks behind.
Eilidh wouldn't meet his eyes. She just turned back to the sink, scrubbing harder.
"Eilidh, what did she do to you?" He asked again, his voice breaking. The sound made her flinch, and tears filled her eyes.
"She just—she was mad, okay?" Eilidh whispered. "I forgot to fold the laundry, and she... she grabbed me too hard. That's all."
"That's all?" John hissed. "She bruised your whole arm. That's not nothing, Eilidh." He throws his dish rag back into the sink and turns to leave, but he's quickly stopped by Eilidh grabbing him.
"What are you doing?" She hisses. "Don't make it worse, John. Just let it go, please."
"I'm not going to let her keep doing this." He says.
"And what are you going to do? There's nothing you can do. Anything you do will just make it worse." She was pleading with him.
"And if I don't do anything it'll keep happening." He argues. "So I'm going to go and confront that bitch and tell her that-"
Eilidh stiffens suddenly, her eyes widening and her face going pale. She looked like she was trying to say something but no words came out.
John instinctively looks behind him, only to be met with a sharp stinging slap across the face. It knocks him back to facing Eilidh, and he stumbles into her a little bit. Eilidh screams, and she tries to grab John to steady him. In her fear, she ends up clinging to him, accidentally making it harder for John to get his footing back.
"Who do you think you're calling a bitch?" Annette growls.
John gasps for air a moment. The slap had knocked the wind out of him. "...you." He manages to choke out as he cradles his cheek in his hand.
That earns him a sharp tug to his hair. He hisses, stumbling forward as Annette starts to drag him out of the kitchen. Eilidh is hysterical behind him, pleading for Annette to let him go.
She takes him up stairs, and John stumbles as he tries to keep up with her quick pace. Every time he misses a step and falls, she pulls him back up by his hair, making him hiss in pain. She only lets go once they're in his room. He's thrown into the middle of his room, and John rubs his head where Annette had been gripping his hair.
She's stood in the doorway, arms crossed, breathing hard through her nose. "You really have some nerve, John." She said coldly. "Calling me a bitch in my own house. I think having some reflect on your words will do you some good."
John almost didn't hear her due to the blood rushing through his ears. He looks up at her through blurry eyes. "W-what?" He asks, watching as she turned away and shut his door. That couldn't be it. Annette never gave up so easily. Then John heard a clicking sound. The doorknob rattled a few times.
John was back on his feet immediately, running towards the door and grabbing the knob. He gave it a twist, but the door didn't budge. It was locked.
John twisted it again, harder this time, panic clawing up his throat. "Hey! Let me out!" His voice cracked, raw and too loud in the small space. He slammed his palm against the door. "Open the door!"
From the other side came hurried footsteps. "Johnny." Eilidh's voice, thin and breaking.
And then Annette's in the background, barely heard over Eilidh's sobbing. "Get away from that door."
"John, I'm here..."
John leaned into the door, his voice frantic. "Eilidh. Go call dad. Tell him what she did-"
"Get away from that door!" Annette's voice cuts through sharper his time.
Eilidh is still sobbing. "Please, please let him out! We'll be good! I promise!"
The sound that followed was unmistakable. A sharp crack. Flesh on flesh.
Eilidh screamed.
John felt sick. "NO!" He threw his shoulder into the door, rattling it in its frame. "Please leave her alone! Don't hurt her! Please!" He begs. Him getting hurt by Annette for his own actions was one thing. But he didn't want to see his siblings getting hurt because of him.
Another sound. Eilidh gasping, choking back sobs.
"I warned you." Annette said coldly. "I warned you not to go near his door. Now you listen carefully. If you so much as stand outside his door again, you'll be punished. And next time?" A pause. "Next time will be worse."
"Stop..." Eilidh cried. John wasn't sure what was happening. "Please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
"Go finish the dishes."
"Yes, ma'am." John can hear Eilidh running off then. Tears stream down his face as he stares at the oak door. Annette's cold voice cuts through the wood.
"I'll decide when you're ready to come out, John. You pound on this door again, actually you so much as make a peep, and it's gonna be your sisters who pay for it. You understand?"
John fights back a sob. "Y-yes."
There was a pause. Then her footsteps moved away.
The house fell silent.
John stayed on the floor for a long time, staring at nothing, listening to every creak and breath the house took, waiting for the lock to turn. It never did. Night bled into morning, and morning into night again. The sun rose and set beyond his window, marking time in thin strips of light on the wall.
By the time the door finally opened, two whole days had passed. He'd been let out only twice to use the bathroom, and he didn't get to attend any meals. His stomach hurt from the hunger.
His father came home about two weeks later.
It was loud when he did. Boots thumping down the halls, bags being dropped, his voice filling the house like it always did when he'd been gone. John watched him laugh with Annette, watched the way she leaned into him, soft and pleasant and perfectly normal.
He was only home for two days. Something about a huge conference in Australia. Another opportunity. Another excuse to leave.
John waited for the perfect opportunity. For Annette to step out of the room before he made his move. His heart pounded so hard it hurt.
"Dad." He said quietly. "Can I talk to you?"
His father barely looked up from his phone. "Make it quick, Johnny. I'm exhausted."
The words came out tangled and rushed. About the bruises on Eilidh's arm. About how Annette had dragged him upstairs by his hair. About how she'd locked him in his room and left him alone for days.
His father sighed, finally looking at him. "Your stepmom's under a lot of stress." He said. "You kids push her buttons, you know that. She doesn't always mean to be rough."
John's heart dropped. "She locked me in my room." John said, his voice cracking. "She didn't feed me."
"You're exaggerating." His father replied immediately. "Johnny, I know you don't like Annette, but you can't be saying stuff like that." He stood, grabbing his jacket. "Look, I'm not getting in the middle of this. Please just try to get along, yeah? It'll make things easier for everyone.”
That was it. John had never felt more betrayed in his life. It didn't matter. A day later, and his father was gone again.
***
Almost two years later, John was nearing his fifteenth birthday. He, as well as his sisters, had gotten used to hiding any bruises left by Annette.
On that particular day, John remembers waiting outside the school for Eilidh, Rowan, and Kristen. It was their last day of school before spring break. Kids spilled out of the building laughing, shouting about trips and sleepovers, and whatever else.
Eilidh found him first. Quietly standing beside him as they waited for the other two to join them. Rowan followed a moment later, chewing on the strap of her backpack.
"Where's Kristen?" John asked, eyes scanning the crowd of kids. It was beginning to thin out now.
They both shrugged.
Five minutes stretched into ten. John was about to go back into the school to look for her, but then Kristen finally appeared, walking fast, her head down.
"Finally." John says as she joins them. "What took you so long?"
"Nothing." She says. "Just asking a teacher about an assignment."
John shrugged it off, not even questioning her having an assignment over spring break. Their normal banter assumed as they walked home. It was only broken up by Eilidh.
"Kristen." She asked softly. "Are you okay?"
John glances over at his sister, noticing now that she not fully engaging with them.
"Yeah." She said quickly. "I'm fine."
Eilidh studied her for a second longer, then nodded. "Okay."
Kristen stayed quiet, trailing almost half a step behind them. John didn't think too much about it really. She'd gotten in trouble with Annette the night before, so he assumed that had something to do with it. She'd even been quiet that morning.
At home, they scattered almost immediately into their respective rooms. An hour passed. Maybe two. He wasn't sure really.
The sound of a car engine pulled him out of his thoughts and towards his window. There was a grey car pulling up to their house, and a middle aged woman stepped out. John instantly recognized her as one of the teachers from school. It wasn't one he'd had before, but he still recognized her.
She walked up their front porch and knocked on the door. John was up in an instant. Eilidh was also up and joined him as they quietly rushed to the top of the stairs to listen down.
"Why is Mrs Fraser here?" She asks him quietly.
"I don't know."
Annette opened the door, all warm and smiley, her voice pleasant. It was hard to hear them, but John caught a few fragments.
"Hi... from the school... I'm just stopping by... noticed some bruising on Kristen's side today..."
Rowan came and crouched next to them then. "What's going on?"
"Shhh." John and Eilidh hush her at the same time.
Annette laughed softly, her voice a lot louder than the teachers. "Oh, that. She's always climbing trees after her siblings. Took a nasty fall the other day. I keep telling her not to do it, but she simply doesn't listen."
There was a pause. John imagined the teacher hesitating, looking past Annette into the house, but he couldn't see anything.
"Oh, well ...a very lively girl." The teacher says. "...just ... sure she was alright... seemed down today..."
"I know. Their father left this morning for a business trip. I think she's just upset about that. I'll make sure she can call him tonight." Annette says. "Thank you for your concern about her."
Lie after lie.
The teacher seemed to accept it though. There were a few more muffled words exchanged and then the door was being gently shut. For a heartbeat, the house was dead silent.
Then Annette's voice cut through it. "Kristen." The sound of her name was sharp, edged.
"Kristen!" Annette called again, louder this time. "Get down here. Now."
No answer.
John felt Eilidh tense beside him. Rowan's fingers curled into the fabric of Eilidh's sleeve.
"Don't make me come looking for you!" She warned.
Still nothing.
That was when Annette's footsteps started to move across living room, heading towards the stairs. They were quick.
"Go." John whispered urgently. He's up in seconds, pulling Rowan to her feet and pushing her along ahead of him as he went, Eilidh traveling just inches behind him.
They run back down the hall as quietly as they can, turning to retreat back into John's room. They just barely all slip inside and pull the door shut to just a crack as Annette makes it to the top of the stairs.
John pressed his ear to the door as Annette walks past. It sounds like she's going right to Kristen's room. His heart is pounding so hard he was sure it could be heard. Eilidh stood behind him, Rowan tucked against her side.
"Kristen, last chance. Where are you?" There's more silence. "Are you under the bed? Get out from under there now."
There's a sound of shuffling. John can't hear much of what Kristen is saying. She's taking too softly at first, while Annette is shouting.
"Why was there a teacher at my door?!"
"What did you do?!"
"What lies did you tell her?!"
Kristen's voice is getting louder now. She's exclaiming her innocence. Swearing she didn't say anything. Promising it was accident. That it'll never happen again. Her voice is panicked. Pleading.
Then there was a sharp crack.
Kristen screamed.
It made all three siblings jump. Rowan starts to sob immediately. Eilidh spun, pulling her close, pressing Rowan's head into her chest and clamping her hands over Rowan's ears.
John is frozen in place at first, his hands instinctively covering Eilidh's ears, his palms firm against the sides of her head. He's trying to stay out of it. He knows him getting involved only makes it worse.
There's another sharp cracking sound, another scream, and John can't stand it. He bolts to Kristen's room despite Eilidh calling his name. He barrels into her room, shoulder slamming against the door and making it bang against the wall.
"Stop!" He shouts.
Kristen is on the floor, curled in on herself, arms over her head, her whole body shaking. Annette stands over her, a belt clenched in her fist, her arm already drawn back again.
"Please!" He begs, the word tearing out of him. "Please, stop! She didn't do anything. She didn't-"
Annette turns on him slowly, her eyes bright with fury. "Get out."
"Hit me instead." John blurts. "Please. I'll take it. Just don't-don't hurt her."
Annette ignores him completely. She raises the belt back above her head, and John moves in. He grabs her wrist before she can strike Kristen again.
"Stop, please! Please, please stop!" He yells. Everything goes very still. Annette is looking at him now. She yanks her arm free from his grip, and the next pain, pain explodes across John's side.
He cries out, his knees buckling and his arm instantly holding his side. Then the belt comes down on his back, sharp and blinding pain. It steals all the air in lungs, knocking the wind out of him entirely. Before he was catch his breath, it comes again.
He can only choke out a few yells with each hit. Tears run freely down his cheeks. He curls in on himself instinctively, but he doesn't move away from Kristen. He stays between them.
His ears are ringing loudly, but he can still hear Kristen sobbing. She's backed herself into the corner of her room, knees tucked up to her chest and staring anywhere but at John.
Annette cracks the belt against his back one more time. John feels like he's about to pass out. The corners of his vision are darkening, but he never loses consciousness. Luckily, Annette stops before he can.
Her breathing is heavy, uneven. "Do you know what happens if anyone ever finds out? They'll take you away. You'll never get to see each other again. You'll never get to see your father again. You'll have nothing. I'm trying to keep us together. But you always have to make it so fucking difficult."
She turns and leaves the room then, the belt still in her hand. John is breathing hard, the pain still very sharp on his back. He isn't sure if he's bleeding or not.
Kristen scoots over to him then, trying to hug him, but when she places her hands on his back, it hurts. "I-I'm sorry, Johnny. I'm sorry." She babbles the words over and over.
John sits up despite how much it hurts to move. He hugs Kristen, trying not to touch the red welts on her arms from where the belt hit her. "It's alright. It's alright." He keeps saying.
***
A year later, John was sixteen.
The house hadn't changed. Not really. Same walls, same doors, same Annette. Him and his siblings had gotten smarter. Sneakier. They'd all learned how to climb out of the windows. How to sneak food to each other. They'd learned when to speak and when not to, how to keep their faces blank. They learned how to survive.
Life changed for John at the age of sixteen. He was out running errands for Annette. Nothing too complicated. He'd been sent to pick up lightbulbs and a new extension cord. She'd even given him extra money to get something to eat while he was out, which was rare. John planned on just pocketing it though. He was trying to save up to leave.
He cut through the strip of shops, lost in his own thoughts as he pushed open the door to the hardware store. He stopped short though and took a step back. The windows were papered over, the sign stripped down to bare metal. There was a piece of paper tapped to the door.
ARMY RECRUITING STATION
The door chimed softly when he stepped inside. A man behind the desk looked up and smiled, easy and practiced. "Hey there. Can I help you with something?" He had a strong Glaswegian accent.
John hesitated. His pulse thudded in his ears. "I-uh. I was looking for the hardware store." He says.
"Oh, they moved down to the next block over." He says. "Over on Gail Street."
"Alright. Thank you, sir." John nods, turning to leave, but the recruiter stops him.
"You interested in the military, lad?"
John pauses. "I don't know. I guess I've never thought about it before." He says truthfully.
"Well there's lots of opportunity. You could join up with the Royal Regiment of Scotland, the Royal Marines Reserve. You'd get to travel the world, serve your country."
"I'm only sixteen."
The recruiter nodded, unfazed. "That's okay. You can still enlist with parental permission."
John blinked. "I can?"
"Yep. You wouldn't be shipping out to any war zones, but we could put you through basics, get the paperwork started. Gives you options. If you have a moment, we can go over it a little more."
They talked for a few minutes. About basic training. Housing. Schooling. Leaving home. Traveling.
Finally, the man reached into a drawer and pulled out a form, sliding it across the desk. "Here lad, take this home. Look it over. Talk to your parents about it. We always leave over the summer so it doesn't interfere with school."
John picked it up. It was a permission slip. "Thanks." There was no way Annette would sign it, and his dad was never home. Not that he'd sign it either though. John still folds up the paper and puts it in his pocket.
Later that night, once everyone had gone to sleep, he got the slip out and flattened it out on his desk. He read it over probably ten times.
This could be his chance. He could forge his dad's signature, join up with the army. They'd provide housing and food at least for a few months until he could find something else. And then he'd never have to come back here. He could have a fresh start. He could leave all of this behind. Leave Annette, his father, this life.
His sisters...
That made him hesitate. Without him there to act as a buffer, they'd be completely at Annette's mercy. Could he just leave them behind with her?
He wanted to. Well, he didn't want to leave them, but he wanted to leave. He wanted out. He wanted to be selfish.
He picks up a pen and starts to fill the forms out, faking his dad's signature in all the places he needed a parent or guardian to sign. If anything it was fun just to pretend like he was going to turn them in. Like he'd be leaving.
But then John started planning without meaning to. He couldn't stop thinking about it. Every time something happened at home, he found himself daydreaming of it. Picturing what it'd be like. He didn't touch the form again for days, but when he finally did, he noticed the deadline printed at the bottom. Three weeks.
Plenty of time to decide, he told himself.
One afternoon, he'd just finished up his chores and was heading up to his room to rest for a bit. When he stepped inside his room, Eilidh was in there and sitting on his bed.
"What are you doing in my room?" He asks immediately, his eyes then snapping down to what she was holding. There was a piece of paper in her hands.
For a second, neither of them moved.
"Johnny." She said quietly. "What is this?" She flipped it to show him. His stomach drops.
"Give it here." He snaps, stepping closer to her, holding out his hand.
"No." She stood up and move a step away from him, gripping the page. Her eyes scanned it again and then snapped back up to him. "Is this... are you trying to join the army?"
"It's nothing." He said too quickly. "It's just information."
"This is a permission form." Her voice rose. "You need a parent's signature."
"I know that."
"So what, you were just going to ask dad to sign this?" Her mouth twisted. "Or Annette?"
"The recruiters don't know what dad's signature looks like."
Her face hardened. "You can't do this. You can't just leave."
"I-I'm not." He said. He didn't have the heart to tell her. "I didn't plan to actually turn it in.”
She stared at him, searching his face like she was trying to decide if he was lying. "You swear?"
"Yes." He said, and this time the lie came easier. "I swear. I won't do it."
Her shoulders dropped a fraction, but she still looked furious. She shoved the paper back into his chest. "Get rid of it."
"Alright."
She left without another word.
John sat on the edge of his bed for a long time after she was gone, the form crumpled in his fist.
The deadline kept creeping closer. Two weeks passed. Then another.
The night before the deadline, John was listening to Annette screaming downstairs at Rowan. He had tears in his eyes, his cheek was burning. He couldn't even fully remember what happened. Rowan did something, he stepped in, Annette slapped him. He'd been sent off.
That night, he pulled the form out from where he'd hidden it, reading it again.
The deadline was tomorrow.
"I'm sorry." He whispered. "I can't do it anymore."
The next morning, he skipped school. Halfway there, he'd made up some excuse to have to go back home. He told his sisters to go on ahead. Instead of going home though, he walked to the recruiting office.
It all felt unreal. He felt like at any moment Annette would find him and stop him. When he got to the office, he pushed the door open, and the same chime rang out.
The recruiter looked up and smiled. "Hello there young laddie. What can I do for you?"
It was a different man this time, but it didn't matter. John slid the form across the desk. "I have this form."
The man scanned it and lets out a hum. "Shouldn't you be in school, John?" He asks, glancing back up at him.
John felt tense. "I'm going there next. I just wanted to make sure I got the form in before the deadline."
The man glances back down at the form, nods, and tucks it away. "Looks like you just barely made it. We'll just get some basics done, yeah?" He gets up and motions for John to follow him.
"This is Staff Sergeant McKay. He's just going to give you a quick physical and ask you a few questions."
They took his height and weight, checked his vision, ran through a short list of questions. No medical conditions. No medications. No injuries worth noting. He'd passed everything so far.
"Still in school?" McKay asked, seemingly making small talk as he clicks around on his computer.
"Yes, sir."
"What year?"
"Fifth."
McKay nodded. "Good age to be thinking about your future."
John said nothing. Just hummed. There's a pause before McKay continues.
"Anyone here with you today?"
"No, sir."
"All right." He said. "Next step is just a quick verification call."
John frowns. "A what?"
"Standard procedure." McKay said easily. "Just a quick call to mom or dad to get verbal confirmation."
John swallowed. His palms were slick. "Is that... is that really necessary?"
McKay looked up at him.
"It's just-" John starts quickly. "My dad works a lot. He doesn't like being bothered. And he already signed it."
McKay's expression didn't change. "Well lad, most kids' parents come along with them. We do the phone call confirmation when kids come alone. Safeguarding rules for minors."
John's mouth went dry.
McKay leaned back slightly, studying him now. "You seem nervous."
"I'm not." John said too fast. "I just..."
"John," McKay interrupted, voice still even, "did your father sign this form?"
The room fell very quiet.
"Yes." John mutters.
McKay didn't respond right away. He turned the form around and tapped the signature line with his pen. "Are you sure? Listen, forging a parent or guardian's signature is a serious offense. It can carry legal consequences. Not just for you, but for us if we knowingly accept it. So I'm gonna ask you again before we give your dad a ring. Did he sign this form?"
His hands curled into fists in his lap. "No." He whispered, gaze dropping to his lap.
McKay exhaled slowly. "All right. Thank you for telling the truth. Who signed it then?"
"I... I did..." Before McKay can say anything, John continues. "Am I in trouble? I won't do it again. I swear."
"Why do you want to join the army, John?" He asks, and John is silent. "Look, you're not in any trouble. I just want to understand what's going on."
John's throat burned. "I don't know... I just... thought it'd be cool to join the army."
There's another beat of silence before McKay answers. "John we have a duty to flag concerns when a minor shows up faking their intake forms."
John's chest tightened. "What does that mean?"
"It means," McKay said gently, "that if there's something going on at home, you don't feel safe, anything like that, then we can help you."
John keeps his gaze down. He wanted to tell him everything, but he was so scared. His fingers buzzed with adrenaline, his vision felt narrow. The words burned his throat, but fear pushed them down. What was the point? Annette always won. If there was one thing he'd learned, getting help just made things worse.
"Nothing like that." He finally says. "My parents just would never let me."
McKay sighs heavily. John wasn't sure if he believed him or not. "Alright. But lad, I'm still gonna have to call home and let them know about this, alright? We can't have you doing this."
Fuck. There it was.
John felt sick. His face was burning up. He wished he'd just went to school. Torn up the form and thrown it out like Eilidh had wanted. Annette was going to be furious when she found out...
"Yes, sir..." He manages to say.
John didn't go back to school after he left the Army Recruiting Office. Luckily the house was empty when he got there. Annette was out. He went straight to his room, shut the door, and sunk down into the bed.
Hours later, he heard the door downstairs open, voices, and the sound of shoes being kicked off. His sisters were home. A minute later and they were all going up the stairs and then there was a knock on his door.
He didn't answer, but the door opened anyway. "John?" Eilidh's voice was soft. "My God, there you are. We waited forever for you. Why didn't you wait for us like you normally do?"
His chest tightened. "I didn't go to school today."
"Why?"
John dragged a hand down his face. "Because I went to the army recruiting office instead."
The words landed heavy between them. He couldn't see her face, he was still laying flat on his bed not having moved since he got home earlier, but he could hear her expression shift.
"You what?!" She hisses. "John, you promised! You promised... you're leaving us?" She was whisper shouting, but her words trail off as she starts to cry.
"I know, I know. I'm sorry." He said quickly, sitting up now. "And no, I'm not. They figured out that I faked dad's signature."
"But you would have left us if they hadn't?" She spits out. She was angry.
John's jaw tightens. "Yes. I would have. Forgive me, Eilidh, for wanting out of this hellhole." He's a lot meaner than he intended to be.
Eilidh glares at him, her lip trembling. "And what would you have done? They would have found out eventually. Then what?"
"I don't know!" John growls, louder than he intended. He quickly lowers his voice back down. "I don't know... but it doesn't matter anyway. Cause I'm not going. So just drop it and leave me alone."
Eilidh huffs, but she does leave then. John was ready to just put all of this behind him, but of course it was never that simple.
Later that night at dinner time, their father was home. No one had been expecting him. It seemed Annette might have known he was coming cause she was dressed up a little more than usual. But she never told them when he was coming around.
He'd gotten home about an hour before dinner time, cheerful as ever. John couldn't even pretend to be happy to see him though. Both because he was anticipating his father to find out about the military thing and because he just genuinely wasn't happy to see him anymore.
Later that night, they all sat and ate quietly as their father went on with story after story about work. John mostly picked at his food, only half listening, but then his father said something that caught his attention.
"So how was school today? You guys getting good grades still?"
There was a collection of "yes, sir." and "it was good/alright."
Then Annette spoke up. "Oh, was school good today? That's odd, cause they actually called today." She said, her eyes trained on John. "They said John wasn't there."
His father's gaze shifted immediately into confusion. "Is that right?" He asked.
John kept his eyes on his plate. "Yeah."
"Well?" His father pressed. "Why not?"
John swallowed. "I wasn't feeling good. I just... came home."
Annette let out a soft, humorless laugh. "Oh please, John. That is the oldest excuse in the book."
John's jaw tightened, but he didn't look up. "I didn't feel good." He repeated.
Annette crossed her arms. "I didn't see you come home." She points out. "You were probably out getting into trouble."
"I wasn't-" John started, then stopped himself. "No."
His father leaned forward slightly. "So you expect me to believe you just walked out of school and came home?"
John nodded once. "Yeah."
Silence stretched.
Then Annette turned her head toward the others. "Well, did any of you see him when you got home?" She asked. There was a pause. Eilidh spoke first, quiet but steady.
"Yeah. He was there."
Kristen gave a confirming nod, and Rowan nodded after a second. "He told us he didn't feel good."
Annette watched them, eyes narrowing slightly. Then she looked back at John "Funny. You look perfectly fine now."
John forced himself to shrug. "I feel better."
His father leaned back in his chair, studying him in a way that made John's skin crawl. Before he could say anything else, his phone rang. It chimed loudly, cutting through the tension a little.
"Oh! Gotta take this. Might be work." He says, standing quickly and excusing himself. He almost seemed happy to have his work call to distract him.
No one spoke as he walked out into the hall. The moment he was gone, the room seemed to hold its breath. Annette didn't move. Her eyes stayed on John.
"Where did you go, John?" She asks again, cold and sharp this time.
"I told you. Home. I didn't feel good today." John kept his gaze fixed downward, every muscle in his body tight. From the hallway, his father's voice murmured. Low, indistinct.
It was silent for a while. Only the sound silverware clinking against plates and his father's muffled voice in the other room.
The call wasn't very long though. A minute later, footsteps came back toward the dining room.
His father reappeared in the doorway, though his expression had changed.
"Girls." He said, voice firm. "Upstairs. Now."
That made John look up. His sisters hesitated a moment, confusion on their faces, but they all slowly start to stand. The chairs scraped as they stood, one by one, filing out quickly and quietly. Eilidh hesitated for half a second, glancing at John, before following the others.
The room fell silent again. John didn't move.
"Look at me." His father says.
He didn't want to.
"Look at me, John."
Slowly, he lifted his head.
His father was staring at him.
"What were you doing at an Army recruitment office today?"
John's blood ran cold. He said nothing.
Annette's head snapped toward him. "You what?" She demanded.
His father took a step closer to the table. "They just called." He said. "Said he showed up with paperwork. Tried to enlist."
Annette let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, turning fully toward John now. "Are you out of your mind?"
"I-" John started, but the words got stuck in his throat.
"What the hell were you thinking?" His father cut in, voice rising. "You think you can just forge signatures and walk into something like that?"
John's hands curled into fists under the table. "I wasn't-"
"You weren't what?" Annette snapped. "Planning on leaving? Just disappearing? Is that it?"
"I didn't-"
"Don't lie." His father said sharply. "You telling me the got the wrong John MacTavish?"
The room felt too small. John's chest was tight, his pulse pounding in his ears.
"I just-" He stopped, jaw clenching. "I wanted out. I wanted to leave."
The words hung there. For a second, no one spoke. His father shook his head, anger simmering just under the surface.
"What? We aren't good enough for you? You can't appreciate all the hard work I do to put clothes on your back and food on the table? Is that it?"
John stared back at him, breathing hard, but said nothing.
"You've got a real problem, John." He said. "You act out all the time. You're disrespectful to Annette. You lie to our faces. And now you're skipping school and trying to forge my signature on government documents?! What do you have to say for yourself?"
John lowered his gaze back to the table. There was nothing left to say. He closes his eyes. "Sorry. It won't happen again."
There was some big lecture that came after that, but John can't remember it. He just remembers not being hungry that night.
***
As hopeless as it seemed after his failed attempt to escape to the military, John would only spent one more year in that house. This is the night that still replays in his head like it happened yesterday. The one he has nightmares about. The day everything changed.
John was seventeen, about to turn eighteen in roughly a month, and it was Christmas break. Annette stayed the same, but him and his siblings had changed quite a bit over the years. Rowan had changed the most in the past year though.
She was a teenager now and was becoming more rebellious. She tested the limits with Annette a lot more now and, as a result, got in trouble a lot more. But it wasn't just Annette. She tested things with them too. There were many nights where she'd sneak out of the house to go to parties, hangout with friends, or whatever else.
None of them were strangers to sneaking out. John had left on quite a few occasions to go party with some friends, go out drinking in the woods, or even once to hook up with a girl. Even Eilidh, as motherly as she'd become over the years, did as well from time to time.
The only one who didn't sneak out was Kristen, but she was still quite young. Even then she'd been once before to tag along with them to go to some festival in town. Where they'd all sneak out maybe once every two or three weeks, Rowan was doing it sometimes three times a week.
Most nights she'd come back around 2:00 am, but sometimes it'd be much earlier in the morning than that. That always stressed Eilidh out, but John didn't care as much as long as she came back before Annette was up.
There was only night where she hadn't come home, and Eilidh had woken him up over it. He'd had to go looking for Rowan in the wee hours of the morning only to find her passed out drunk at a house party. John actually knew the guy who was hosting it, and he gave him a ton of shit about letting his little sister drink. It'd ended in a very heated argument that led to a physical fight. John won very easily since the guy was pretty intoxicated. He passed out after a single punch. He probably would have continued to hit the guy too if it weren't for the other party goers separating them, and a group of girls reminding John he should get his sister home.
He had to carry Rowan home and ended up having to sneak her in through the front door. She was far too gone to get up onto the roof and go through their bedroom window like how they usually did. Going through the front door was always extremely risky, but somehow they managed to get her inside, upstairs, and back into bed without waking anyone up. Then they'd had to cover for Rowan all morning to keep Annette from finding her hungover.
Once Rowan stopped puking and sobered up a bit, she'd gotten the lecture of a lifetime from her older siblings. John was probably too mean about it. There had been some cussing, name calling, and things said that shouldn't have been said. But in the end, the message had gotten across, and Rowan didn't drink again. Or at least John never had to go get her.
She still continued to sneak out though, but it'd been without incident since that night. That all changed one morning, on the first day of Christmas break.
John had woken up the sound of someone walking past his door. It didn't take much to wake him up anymore. He was simply going to ignore it and go back sleep, but then the sound of hushed voices made him open his eyes. He listens for a little while, unable to pick out exactly what's being said, but he hears the tone.
Rushed. Urgent. And then a hissing sound. Water running.
He sighs, deciding to go and investigate. He pushes himself up slowly, the mattress creaking under his weight as he swings his legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold under his feet as he made his to the hallway. Peaking down the hall, he could see the bathroom door was shut, though there was light shining from the bottom crack.
He slowly makes his way to the door, the voices becoming a little more clear the closer to got.
"...wash the fuck out." It was Eilidh.
"It will! Stop worrying!" Rowan.
John's brows furrow a little, and he gently taps on the door. "Hey," he whispers. "It's John. What the fuck is going on in there?"
There's a pause and then silence. A few seconds pass by and then the door opens. Eilidh is the one who opens it, and she stands aside, motioning him in.
"Come see for yourself." She says as John steps into the bathroom.
The first thing his eyes land on is Rowan. Specifically her hair. Rowan had always had really pretty long straight blonde hair, but it was no longer entirely blonde. A very bright streak of purple now colored a section of her hair.
John just stared at it for a moment, his mind struggling to catch up.
"What the hell is that?" He asked finally, his voice low as he steps closer and runs his fingers through the purple strains. "You dyed your hair?"
Annette was very against them coloring their hair. She said it was unnatural and trashy. Rowan had asked their father if she could a few months back, but he and Annette had both said no. Absolutely not.
Rowan rolled her eyes and gave him a defensive look as she swats his hand away. "Relax." She muttered. "It's temporary."
"It better fucking be." John hisses.
"It is! It washes out." She snaps, irritation in her tone. "It's supposed to come out after a couple rinses. It's fine."
"Well, it's not coming out." Eilidh says. "It's hardly even faded."
John then notices that they had been trying to rinse it out. Rowan's hair is wet, and there was purple tinted water droplets all over the countertop. By the looks of it, they'd rinsed it a couple times already as there were a few towels scattered about to mop up the water.
"What did you use to dye it?" He asks, looking down at his hand now and seeing his fingertips were stained purple from where he'd touched her hair earlier.
"I don't know! Everyone at the party was doing it. The girl who did it told me that it washes it." Rowan says, turning the sink back on and holding her hair under the water again.
"Yeah, but you're a fucking blonde!" Eilidh whisper shouts. "Your hair stains so easily."
"Fuck, Rowan. Annette is going to kill you." John tries to wipe his fingers on the towel to get the staining off. It kind of works. "What were you thinking?"
Rowan was getting pissed off. "God John! You don't think I know that?! Just help me fix it!"
John glares at her, but he tries to keep his cool. He's mad that she put herself in this situation though. "I don't know what to tell you, Ro! Why are we always having to clean up your fucking mess?!"
Eilidh steps in then, sending John a look that said to stop escalating. "Can you two stop arguing! We need to get this out before Annette wakes up."
John rolls his eyes, but he tries to dial it back in. "Why are you doing this in the sink? Get in the shower and wash it." He suggests, watching lightly tinted purple water swirl down the drain.
"We're trying to be quiet." Rowan answers him. "If Annette hears the shower running this early she's going to come investigate."
She had a point there. It was far too early to be taking a shower, and the running water pumps would have woken Annette up.
John stands there a second longer before sighing. He knew nothing about hair. This wasn't something he could fix.
"Look, I can't do much here." He muttered, keeping his voice low. "Just... try to get as much out as you can now, and then take a proper shower first thing. Like around seven or eight. That's normal enough she won't question it."
Eilidh nodded quickly. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
Rowan didn't say anything, just hunched a little further over the sink, jaw tight as Eilidh worked at the streak again.
John hesitated for half a second longer, then stepped back toward the door. "Wake me if it gets worse." He added under his breath.
Neither of them answered.
He slipped out into the hallway and closed the door softly behind him, the muted sound of running water immediately dulling again. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the floor, listening. Then he shook his head and went back to his room.
He wasn't sure how much time passed when he woke up next, but the sun was just starting to rise as light poured into his room.
He swung his legs out of bed and he got up, running a hand through his hair. He needed to go check on the purple hair situation. As he steps into the hallway, he glances towards the bathroom. The door was still closed, the light was on, and he could hear the shower running now.
He moved past it and toward the girls' room, pushing the door open just enough to slip inside.
Eilidh was there, pacing. She turned the second she heard him, relief flashing across her face for just a moment before it was replaced with worry.
"Well?" John asked quietly, closing the door behind him. "Did it come out?"
Eilidh shook her head. "Nope." Her voice was tight. "It's still purple. I mean it faded a little, but you can still see it."
John exhaled slowly. "Fuck."
For a long moment, they just both stood there in silence. Trying to think.
"Could she cover it?" He asked finally. "Tie it back or something? Wear a head band?"
Eilidh shook her head again. "Not really. It's too close to the front. You'd still see it."
"A hat?"
"A bit odd to wear a winter hat inside, isn't it?" She shot back.
"Doesn't have to be a winter hat."
"Rowan doesn't wear hats though. And still why would she wear one inside?"
John shrugs. "I mean first time for anything right? She could just say-"
Before he can finish his thought, there's the sound of footsteps running up to the door. A second later, Rowan bursts through.
She was wrapped in a towel, her hair dripping wet still, and she looked-
John's stomach dropped.
The purple was somehow worse. It definitely wasn't as vibrant as when he last saw her, but it had spread. It was no longer just a single strip of hair, the entire left side of her head was purple.
"What the hell-" He blurts out.
"It didn't come out!" Rowan's voice cracked, panic bleeding through as she pushed the door shut behind her. "The shower made it worse! The shampoo it made it worse!"
She was becoming hysterical. Hyperventilating and shaking. "It was supposed to wash out, I did exactly what she said. It wasn't suppose to be permanent. It wasn't-"
"Hey, hey-" Eilidh stepped in quickly, grabbing her wrists. "Stop. Stop, you're making it worse."
"I can't fix it!" Rowan's breathing was too fast now, her voice breaking as tears started to spill over. "I can't fix it, she's going to see it, she's going to-"
"Rowan," Eilidh said firmly. "Look at me. Breathe."
"What's going on? Why are you- oh my God. What happened?" John look over as Kristen walks into the room, shutting the door behind her and staring at Rowan.
"Rowan thought it was a good idea to dye her hair." John explains. "Now we can't get it out."
Eilidh glares at him. "Not helping, John."
"What? She asked." He argues.
Rowan starts shaking her head and then clutches it, beginning to spiral even more. "No, no, no... this isn't- th-this isn't- this is so bad. She's gonna kill me." Her voice was shaky.
John sighs, trying to calm her down now too. "Ro, seriously. Calm down. We're gonna figure it out. It's gonna be alright."
"Come on." Eilidh said, softer now, guiding her back toward the door. "Johnny's right. We'll keep trying. It's ok. We'll figure something out."
"It's not ok. It's not ok though." Rowan whispered, but she let herself be led away anyway.
They moved into the hallway, Eilidh guiding Rowan back to the bathroom. Kristen trailed behind them, wanting to see if she could help somehow. But then...
"Girls?”
Annette.
John's entire body went rigid. He immediately turns to Kristen. "Kris, go to your room." She gave John a scared look, but did as she was told.
"What's going on up there? Why are you making so much noise this early?"
Rowan made a small, panicked sound. She was full on panicking now. Breathing heavily and bouncing on her feet.
"I-it's nothing!" Eilidh calls out, all while trying to keep Rowan quiet. But then, the stairs start creaking like Annette was walking up them.
"Shit." John muttered under his breath. He grabs his sisters and practically shoves them towards the bathroom. "Get in the bathroom. Both of you. Try to figure it out, I'll cover for as long as I can."
The door barely had time to click shut before the footsteps reached the top of the stairs.
John stepped back from it quickly, forcing himself to look normal, like he hadn't just shoved both of his sisters into the bathroom in a panic. His heart was pounding so hard though, but he kept his shoulders loose and his expression blank.
Annette rounded the corner a second later.
Her eyes went straight to him.
"What's going on?" She asked immediately, her voice sharp with suspicion. "Why are you up?”
John didn't answer right away. Not because he didn't have something ready, he was pretty quick with making up stories on the spot, but he just knew better than to rush it.
He glanced back at the door, trying to appear hesitant. Then, lowering his voice slightly, and said, "Rowan... uh.. she got her first period."
Annette is silent, and it takes everything for John to keep his gaze down and not check her expression.
"She woke up and freaked out a bit." He continues, rubbing the back of his neck like it was awkward to even say out loud. "Didn't really know what was going on. Eilidh's in there helping her."
There was a beat of silence. Then Annette stepped forward. She knocked on the bathroom door, firm and controlled. "Rowan?"
There was a pause. No answer from Rowan. So Annette continues. "Did you bleed on the bedding?"
Another pause. And then Eilidh answers.
"...She's not sure."
Annette stood there for a second longer, then nodded once to herself. "I'll check." She said simply. "Do you need a pad or anything?"
"No, we're ok." Eilidh answers again.
"Alright. Let me know if you need something." And then she began to walk towards Eilidh and Rowan's bedroom.
John watches Annette go into their room and then looks back at the door. "You'll be alright, Ro. Just let Eilidh help you. I'll be in my room."
John goes into his room and sits on the bed. About a minute or two later, Annette comes back down the hall, and he hears her knocking on the door again.
"I didn't see any blood on the bed." Annette says, her tone even. "Breakfast will be ready in thirty minutes."
John heard a muffled reply from who he assumes was Eilidh. There's a knock on his door next, and Annette pokes her head in.
"John, get up, go get Kristen up, and you two start making breakfast." She tells him, leaving his door open as she leaves.
John mumbles an "alright" and slides off his bed. He steps into the hallway just in time to watch Annette turn the corner to head back down the stairs. He waits a few seconds and then opens the bathroom door a crack.
"I gotta go down and start breakfast." He tells his sisters. Rowan is sitting on the closed toilet seat, and Eilidh is drying her hair with a towel.
"Alright. Stall for as long as you can." Eilidh tells him.
John nods and then shuts the door. As he does, Kristen pops back out of her room and slowly makes her way over to him.
"Johnny... what's going on?" She asks softly. "What's gonna happen to Rowan?"
He takes a deep breath, putting on his older brother mask. "Nothing is gonna happen to Rowan. They'll get the color out." He says. "But we gotta buy them some time. Come on."
He motions with his head as he starts down the hallway to go to the kitchen. Once there, he really does try to move as slowly as he can. The heat on the pan was super lower so that the eggs cooked slower, he took his time putting the toast in the toaster, and he made Kristen squeeze some oranges instead of serving milk.
Well after thirty minutes had gone by, Annette was starting to get impatient with them. She'd already checked in on them two times, and was now down there for a third time.
"John, Kristen, what is taking so long? Can we hurry it up? Your father is gonna be home later today and I want everyone to get to cleaning after you eat. So let's go." She says, clapping her hands and then leaves again.
John nods quickly, pretending to move faster, though he keeps same speed the second she's gone, trying to buy a few more minutes.
"I didn't know dad was coming home today." Kristen says, slowly collecting a stack of plates and bringing them over for John to dish out the scrambled eggs.
"When do we ever?" He comments, dumping some eggs onto the plate Kristen was holding. She doesn't reply.
He's in the middle of dumping the last bit of scrambled eggs from the pan when he freezes.
"Johnny? What-"
"Shh.." John quiets Kristen, listening harder. By the time it registers what he's hearing, it's too late. There were voices coming from upstairs.
"Fuck, fuck." He curses, setting the pan back down and then racing towards the stairs. He takes them two at a time, Annette's angry voice and Rowan's cries getting louder the closer he gets.
He reaches the top in time to find Rowan stumbling out of her room, her back pressing against the opposing wall as Annette followed her out. She was sobbing, face red and blotchy, and Eilidh was trying to grab Annette's arms, only to get shoved off.
"It'll wash out! We just need to give it a few days! It's gonna go away! It's not permanent!" Rowan was shouting, voice shaking.
"Who dyed her hair?! If it wasn't you, who did it?!" Annette snaps, pointing at Eilidh and then looking back to Rowan. "Your hair wasn't purple last night, so who did it?!"
"Just a friend!" Rowan cries.
"When?! You have people in here last night?!" Annette shouts, getting right into Rowan's face and making her shrink down.
"No!"
"Then what?! You been sneaking out at night?!"
"I-I don't know!" Rowan cries, unable to think straight.
"I fucking knew it!" Annette seethes, and then she grabs a fist full of Rowan's hair and starts marching down the hall, pulling Rowan along with her.
Rowan screams in pain, and John runs down the hall before he can even think.
"Stop! What are you going to do?! Let her go!" He yells, trying to block the hallway, only to get shoved to the side. His back hits a door that wasn't latched all the way and he falls back into the room, landing on his butt.
By the time he's on his feet again and stumbling back into the hallway, Annette is dragging Rowan down the stairs, and Eilidh is hot on their heels, screaming, begging, grabbing Annette's wrist to try and pry her fingers out of Rowan's hair.
Annette stops midway down the stairs, turns, and smacks Eilidh across the face, causing her to fall back on the stairs. John runs over, almost falling down the stairs himself as he kneels next to his sister.
"Eilidh! Are you ok?!" He shouts, cradling her head as Eilidh curls up into a ball on the steps. She holding her cheek with her hand and crying, and when John pulls her hand back a little to check her face, her cheek is already red and swelling up a bit.
He wants to help her, but Rowan's terrified screams in the kitchen pull his attention back to her. He leaves Eilidh curled up on the stairs and bolts for the kitchen, arriving just in time to see Annette force Rowan down into one of the dining chairs. Rowan is sobbing so hard she can barely breathe, twisting violently as Annette fists a hand in her hair and yanks her head back.
Then John sees the scissors. Annette snaps them open and immediately starts hacking unevenly at Rowan's hair.
Rowan screams. "Stop! Stop, please!" She cries, grabbing desperately at Annette's wrists while trying to kick at her with her legs. "Don't cut it! I'm sorry!"
But Annette keeps going, sawing through the strands while cursing at her. Chunks of blonde and purple hair begin falling onto Rowan's lap and the kitchen floor.
Something in John snaps. He rushes forward without thinking and grabs Annette around the shoulders, wrenching her backward away from Rowan. Rowan stumbles sideways out of the chair as Annette screams in rage, still clutching the scissors.
"The fuck is wrong with you?!" John shouts.
Annette twists immediately, trying to jab at him with the scissors still in her hand. John grabs her wrist on instinct, panic surging through him as they struggle violently in the middle of the kitchen. She's screaming and cussing at him while he desperately tries to force the scissors away from her.
They struggle for a few seconds before he finally manages to wrench the scissors loose. The second they leave Annette's hand, she starts hitting him with closed fists instead. John shoves her away hard out of pure instinct.
Annette stumbles backward into the kitchen counter, knocking over several glass bottles before falling to the floor.
"Stay the fuck away from my sister!" John yells, breathing hard. His hands are shaking violently as he grips the scissors like a knife. "You touch her again, and I swear to God I'll stab you!"
Annette stares at him from the floor for a second in complete shock, like she can't believe he actually pushed her back. Then her expression twists into fury.
"John MacTavish, you give me those fucking scissors!" She screams, scrambling back to her feet.
"No!" John shouts back immediately, scissors still raised up like a weapon. "Back the fuck up! I mean it! Stay back!"
He's terrified. And despite being the person he is now, the person who wouldn't ever hesitate, he's still just a kid. He can't bring himself to actually try and stab her.
Annette rises slowly, one hand braced against the counter. Her fingers close around the neck of one of the fallen glass bottles.
"Give. Me. The fucking. Scissors." She snarls, and then she suddenly she lunges.
Before John could react, he feels a sharp stinging on his face, couples with the crisp sound of glass shattering. He crashes hard onto the floor, the scissors clattering from his hand. When he lifts his head, there's a puddle of blood pooling on the floor and a metallic taste in his mouth.
John could barely hear anything over the ringing in his ears. Everything felt distant and warped, like the whole kitchen had dropped underwater.
His head was spinning violently. Warm blood poured over his mouth and chin faster than he could process, dripping from his jaw onto the floor in thick, dark drops. When he tried to breathe through his mouth, pain ripped through the lower half of his face so sharply it made him gag.
Rowan was screaming. Just screaming. Eilidh stumbled into the kitchen a second later, one hand still pressed to her swelling cheek, and the second she saw the blood she let out a horrified sob.
"John!"
Kristen was crying hysterically near the doorway, frozen in place with both hands over her mouth.
John pushed himself upright slowly, dazed, one hand braced against the floor while the other clamped instinctively over his mouth.
Blood immediately seeped through his fingers.
It hurt. God, it hurt.
His vision blurred as another wave of dizziness hit him.
Across from him, Annette still stood near the counter holding the jagged neck of the broken bottle. Her chest was rising and falling hard. For the first time since this started, she looked stunned and pale. Like she was shocked at what she'd done.
John could feel something wasn't right with his lip. It felt completely cut in half, and the cut stretched all the way down his chin. He could feel the separated, loose, floppy skin with his fingers. And there was so much blood. It just continued to pour from his lip.
Then the front door opened.
"Hello?" Then rapid footsteps. "What's going on? I heard scream..." The second his father rounded the corner and saw the scene, his expression dropped completely.
Silence. His father took it all in.
John on the floor covered in blood. Glass everywhere. Rowan hysterically crying with chunks of uneven hair hanging around her face. Eilidh shaking. Kristen sobbing. And Annette standing there holding broken glass.
"What the fuck happened?!" His father shouted.
He crossed the kitchen immediately and dropped to his knees beside John. "Jesus Christ! Johnny!!"
John flinched hard when his father tried to touch his face.
"Easy, easy, lad..." His dad said quickly, grabbing his wrist gently instead. "Let me see."
John lowered his shaking hand just enough. His father's face went pale.
"Annette!" He barked, snapping his head up at her. "Get a towel! Now!"
Annette startled slightly, like she'd been pulled back into herself. She dropped the broken bottle neck into the sink with a clatter and hurried for a towel.
John's father turned back toward him, gripping the back of his neck carefully to keep him upright. "You're gonna be ok, Johnny. It's gonna be alright, lad. Just keep your hand right there. Annette! Hurry!"
John nodded weakly, flinching as he presses his hand back on his face. It hurt so badly.
Annette returned with a dish towel, and his father snatched it from her before pressing it firmly against John's mouth.
Pain exploded through him again.
John cried out despite himself, curling forward slightly as fresh blood soaked through the fabric almost instantly. He yelled, crying as his father shushed him softly.
"Fuck!" His father yells as he pulls the towel back to find it completely soaked. He looked back at Annette. "What happened?"
Annette opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first.
"What happened?!" His father yells louder this time, making everyone flinch.
"He threatened me." She said weakly. "He had scissors-he shoved me-and I-I..."
"You hit him with a bottle?" His father snapped. "On his fucking face?!"
"I didn't mean to do that!" She shouted, voice cracking. "He got between me and Rowan and he grabbed me and he was threatening me with scissors-"
"Because you were cutting her hair!" Eilidh screamed through her sobs.
"Shut up!" Annette shot back automatically.
"Johnny was protecting me!" Rowan shouted through tears. "You were hurting me!"
"Everybody stop!" John's father roared.
The kitchen fell silent again, except for John's pained sounds and the continued hyperventilating from his sisters.
His father looked back down at John again, eyes scanning the amount of blood still pouring through the towel.
"We need to take him to the hospital." He said immediately.
Annette's face changed instantly. "No! We can't-"
His father looked up sharply. "What?!"
"We can't bring him to a hospital!"
"What the hell do you mean we can't bring him to a hospital?" He snapped.
Annette was shaking. John had never seen her this freaked out. "Look at him! Look at the girls. Look at this house right now." She gestured wildly around the kitchen. "If we take him in there like this, they're going to ask questions."
His father stared at her, his chest heaving.
"They'll report it." She continued rapidly. "They'll take them. They'll take the children."
"Well what the fuck do you want me to do then?! He's bleeding out! He needs stitches! He needs a doctor!" His father shouts, looking back down at his son.
"You think they won't call someone? You think they'll just stitch him up and send him home?" Annette shot back. "Hmm? They're going to ask questions. You will never see him again after this! Any of them! They'll declare you an unfit father."
John closed his eyes. His lip throbbed violently with every heartbeat. His head hurt from all the shouting. He just wanted it to all be over.
His father's jaw clenched hard.
"They'll separate them." Annette continues, her voice trembling now. "They'll take the girls. They'll take him. They'll put them in foster care, and we'll never get them back."
John groaned quietly beneath the towel, another pulse of pain ripping through his face. His father looked down at him again. The towel was soaked through.
"Fuck..." His father whispered shakily. Then finally, "Alright... Help me get him to the bathroom."
"No!" Eilidh shouted instantly. "Dad, he needs a hospital!"
"We are not taking him to a fucking hospital!" Annette snapped back immediately.
"He could die!" She argues.
"He's not going to die!" Annette yells back.
John wished they would all stop yelling. Every raised voice made his skull pound harder.
His father crouched again and slid an arm carefully around John's back. "Come on, son." He muttered. "Up."
Pain tore through John's face as soon as he moved. He cried out despite himself, body curling instinctively.
"I know, I know." His father said quickly, tightening his grip. "I know. I've got you."
The kitchen tilted sickeningly as John was hauled to his feet. Blood dripped steadily from the towel onto the floorboards. He felt the urge to vomit, but he never did.
He was in a bathroom after that, sitting on the closed toilet lid, dizzy and pale, while his father rummaged frantically through cabinets for supplies. Annette stood nearby holding towels to John's face with shaking hands while Eilidh hovered in the doorway refusing to leave.
"What are you doing?" She asked again, horrified.
"What does it look like?" His father muttered, pushing past her to leave the bathroom for a moment and coming back holding a sewing needle and black thread.
John's stomach dropped immediately. "No..." He whispered weakly.
His father didn't say anything. He poured vodka over the needle and thread and then onto another towel.
"We need to close it." He said quietly, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. "Otherwise it won't stop bleeding."
John shook his head immediately. "No, no-please- dad please..."
"It'll be quick."
"No!" Panic surged through him suddenly. "Please don't- please just take me to a hospital-"
"We can't." Annette cut in sharply from behind him. "We can take him once it heals a little."
John looked at his father desperately instead. His father wouldn't meet his eyes.
"It's gonna be alright. Johnny, it's gonna be alright." He repeats, his hands shaking as he grabbed his son's jaw.
John jerked violently the second the needle pierced his skin. Agony exploded through his face. He screamed, eyes squeezing shut, his body horribly tense as he tried to sit still. Each prick from the needle hurt so badly and the drag of the thread through his lip felt like fire.
"It hurts!" John sobbed, grabbing at his father's wrists. "Stop! Ow!"
"We're almost done! Just a little more... it's gonna be ok!"
John cried until his throat hurt, tears streaming uncontrollably down his face while his father forced the needle through torn flesh over and over again with trembling hands. At some point Annette had to help hold his shoulders still.
By the end, John was shaking so badly he could barely stay upright.
His father finally tied off the thread and stepped back breathing hard. Tears were streaming down his face.
"There..." He whispered weakly, sniffling and wiping his eyes.
John slumped forward immediately, dizzy and exhausted, blood and tears soaking the towel in his lap. His father held him upright while John struggled not to pass out.
"Get him some ice and some pain killers..."
That was the last thing he heard before he blacked out.
The next two days were absolute hell.
John drifted in and out of sleep constantly. Every time he woke up, his face was in so much pain. It had swelled horribly, the wound burned, and it was bruising dark beneath the stitches.
Sometimes he woke to Eilidh sitting beside him changing cold cloths on his forehead. Sometimes it was Rowan sat there, crying quietly and holding his hand. His father checked the stitches obsessively. Annette never came around, but he sometimes woke up and heard them yelling and arguing with each other.
By the second night, the fever started. At first it was mild. Then it wasn't.
John woke up shivering violently and sweating through his blankets. His skin burned so hot. He cried out, begging for someone. Calling for help.
Eilidh rushed into his room. "Johnny?! Are you ok?" She asks, touching his face and immediately retracting her hand with a gasp.
"Dad... dad!" She shouts immediately, panic rising into her voice. "Something's wrong! Come quick!" She ran out of the room, but in a few seconds, his father was rushing back in.
The lights turned on, blinding John, and he cried out in discomfort. He could barely open his eyes anymore. Everything hurt. Even breathing.
The second he saw John properly, his face drained of color. The stitched wound had turned an angry red color. It was swollen so much and leaking yellow around the edges.
"Johnny has a fever." His father says. It's silent for a second and then his father snaps. "Fuck this!"
He yanked the blankets off John, making him whine, and slid both arms under him. John groans weakly as he was lifted up.
"We're taking him to the goddamn hospital."
Annette grabbed his arm instantly. "Wait-"
"No!" His father growls at her with a fury John had never seen before. "If we wait any longer he's going to fucking die! Stay out of my fucking way! I'm taking my son to the hospital like we should have done when you first smashed that bottle in his fucking face!"
His father carried John downstairs. The cold winter air hit John's burning skin like ice water. It made his entire body shake violently. His head lolled weakly against his father's shoulder while every hurried step, every jostle, sent fresh pain tearing through his face. He could hear his father talking to him the entire way to the car, voice frantic and uneven.
"Stay awake for me, son. Come on. Stay with me."
John tried to answer, but his mouth hurt too badly. His lip throbbed with every heartbeat. Everything felt blurry and distant now. The porch light smeared into long streaks across his vision, and he kept drifting in and out.
He barely registered being lowered into the backseat. The leather felt freezing beneath him. His father buckled him in with shaking hands before slamming the door shut and rushing around to the driver's seat.
Then the car was moving. At some point he vaguely felt his father reach back and squeeze his arm.
"Almost there, Johnny. Just hang in there, lad."
John tried. But the pain was everywhere now. His face. His head. His throat. His stomach rolled sickeningly, but he couldn't throw up. He didn't have anything in his stomach. The metallic taste in his mouth only got stronger, mixing with the taste of infection. Then everything disappeared into darkness again.
The next time he surfaced, there were voices all around him.
Bright lights burned against his eyelids. Something beeped steadily nearby. Hands touched him carefully, moving his arms, adjusting things attached to his skin.
"John? John? Can you hear me?"
A light flashed directly into his eyes and he groaned weakly, trying to turn his head away.
"That's good. Stay with us, sweetheart."
"Can you tell me your last name?"
His throat barely worked. "Mac..." He mumbled thickly.
More voices. More movement. He lift his hand to touch his face. It felt ten times heavier than normal.
"Easy. Don't touch the stitches."
Stitches.
The word cut through the fog for a moment, and memory came crashing back all at once. Rowan. Annette screaming. Glass shattering across his face. His father forcing a needle through his lip while he begged him to stop...
John made a weak, broken sound.
"You're ok." Someone said quickly. "You're ok, sweetheart. You're safe."
Safe.
The word barely registered before exhaustion dragged him under again.
When John woke the next time, the room was much quieter. Soft daylight filtered through partially opened blinds beside the bed, pale and gray against the walls. His body felt heavy and slow, but the burning fever from before had dulled into a deep ache. His face still hurt horribly though. Tight. Swollen.
He tried to swallow, his throat is so dry. It makes him cough, and then a straw is being poked in his mouth.
"Gentle sips, lad." Someone says, and John takes a sip. Cool water coats his mouth and throat, and he starts to chug the water, making the person pull the cup away.
"Easy. I know you're thirsty, but you can't down the whole cup."
He then notices that there was someone sitting beside the bed. Not a nurse. A man in plain clothes with a notebook resting on his knee.
John blinks at him, still coming around, and the man offers him a small, careful smile.
"Hey there." He says softly. "How're you feeling?" John licks his lips before answering.
"...Hurts."
"I bet." The man's voice stayed gentle. "My name's Daniel Harris. I'm a social worker here at the hospital."
John's stomach tightened immediately at the words social worker, and Daniel must have noticed because his expression softened a little more.
"You're not in trouble." He assured him quietly. "I just want to talk for a bit, alright?"
John swallowed painfully and gave the faintest nod.
Daniel leaned back slightly in his chair. "You had the doctors pretty worried there when you first got here. You had a very high fever and the wound to your lip was badly infected. It's under control now though."
John frowned weakly, trying to process the words through the fog still clouding his head.
"The stitches that were originally put in had to come out." Daniel continued carefully. "The doctors cleaned your wound properly, drained the infection, and stitched it back together. You ended up needing forty-three stitches altogether. Inside and outside your lip."
John stared at him. Forty-three... The number sounded unreal.
Daniel continued softly, "You've been unconscious or heavily sedated for most of the last twelve days.”
"Twelve...?" John croaked.
"Almost two weeks." Daniel confirmed gently.
John blinked slowly at the ceiling. It didn't feel possible. The last thing he really remembered clearly was the car ride in.
Daniel gave him a moment before speaking again.
"John," he said carefully, "can you tell me what happened to you? What caused the injury to your face?"
The question made John tense automatically. Daniel noticed immediately, but he didn't push. He just waited quietly. And after a long silence, John started talking.
At first his voice barely worked. The words came out rough and broken from disuse, but once he started, it all just kept spilling out. He told him about Rowan's hair. About Annette finding out. About the yelling, and Rowan crying while Eilidh tried to protect her. He explained how Annette dragged Rowan downstairs and tried to cut her hair off with scissors. He told him about stepping in. About the fight in the kitchen. About Annette smashing the bottle in his face. About his father stitching his face up at home because they were too afraid to take him to the hospital. And then everything else in between. Every horror. Every last detail over the past eight years.
Daniel listened to every word without interrupting except for small questions here and there. Mostly he just wrote things down quietly while John talked.
John only stopped talking once his voice went out. Once he physically couldn't speak anymore. Then he just laid there in silence.
Daniel closed the notebook slowly. "Your sisters already talked to us." He said gently. "They told us the same things you did." John's chest tightened.
"They're okay?" He asked quickly.
"They're safe." Daniel assured him. "All three of them."
John let out a shaky breath he hadn't realized he was holding. “Where are they?”
“They were all placed in emergency foster care. But we were able to keep all three of them together. They’re with a very lovely couple, and they’ve been doing really well.” He tells John softly.
John nods a little bit, trying to take comfort in knowing his sisters were safe and away from…
His parents. John quickly looks back at Daniel.
“What about my dad? And Annette?” He asks hurriedly. If his sisters were in foster care… did that mean?
Daniel hesitated briefly before continuing. "Your father and Annette are both currently in jail while the investigation is ongoing."
The words hit John harder than he expected. He looked down immediately, eyes burning.
His dad was in jail. Because of him. Because he talked.
A horrible knot twisted in his chest, sharp and painful and confusing. Relief crashed into guilt so hard it made him feel sick. Before he realized it, tears were spilling down his face.
Daniel's expression softened immediately. He moved the notebook aside and leaned forward slightly.
"Hey." He said quietly. "It's ok."
John covered his eyes weakly with one hand, shoulders shaking.
"I didn't..." His voice broke badly. "I didn't want..."
"I know." Daniel said gently. "I know..."
John cried harder then. Not loud or dramatic. Just an exhausted, painful cry that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him. Relief. Fear. Guilt. Anger.
Everything tangled together after years of holding it in.
Daniel stayed right there beside the bed while he cried.
"You're safe now." He said quietly after a while. "And so are your sisters."
John shook violently for a second trying to catch his breath. Daniel handed him a tissue before continuing softly. "You don't have to hold it together anymore, John. You can cry. You are safe. It's all over."
And for the first time in years John finally let his shoulders relax, and he sobbed.
Summary: You finally catch a fish. Afterwards, you have a nice dinner with Soap and then do a little stargazing after, which turns into anything but stargazing.
Word Count: 14,875
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, swearing, strong language, animal death, smut, p in v, fluff, slightly rough smut, unprotected sex, sexual language, slight male masturbation, developing feels
A/N: Look at that word count… this is a long one. Lots of good stuff though! Also the drawing in this chapter is one that I did! Anyone, sorry for the wait, and please enjoy!!
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Bitter Allies • Part 15
Your options for clothing is beginning to really run thin. With Soap having destroyed one pair, and the bear shitting on the other, you only had two left. One was hanging out on the porch to dry, and the other wasn't the best for wading into the water. They didn't roll up very well, so you opt to wear the shorts you sleep in instead.
The sleep shorts weren't ideal either, but at least the shortened length would keep them out of the water, and they were dry. And now that you're back into some dry clothing, you can continue your fishing.
While you're back out in the water, watching carefully for what will hopefully be the last fish you try to catch, Soap is back on short making a fire. Every now and then, your gaze drifts from watching the water to check on the progress he's made. At least that's what you tell yourself you're checking on. You're not looking at him just because you want to look at him.
Though you have to admit, your moment from early was still fresh in your mind. As was the dream, your kiss from last night, and your little hookup a few nights back.
Thinking about each encounter made you angry with yourself but also made your heart leap in your chest. You liked it far more than you should, and with this last moment of weakness between you, you found that you didn't want to stop. Even now, after clearing your head, you almost regret listening to him. Part of you wishes you ignored him and kept going. Consequences be damned. It was almost like you were starting to fall for...
No! Absolutely not!
You physically recoil at that thought. You could not be falling for Soap MacTavish. You could not be starting to have feelings for this man. This guy who's caused you nothing but anguish during your entire time with the 141. That could not be what was happening.
But then what else could explain it? Soap seemed to think the whole reason that you slept with each other in the first place was because of stress. Stress couldn't be causing the continued make out sessions though. You didn't really feel stressed anymore. At least not because of Soap. Things had been great within the past twenty four hours.
So then were you really starting to fall for the Scot?
Sighing softly to yourself, you try to force those thoughts out of your head. Just tonight and then two more days. Maybe once you got out of the woods those feelings were go away.
"Oi! Lass! Catch anything yet?!"
You jolt a bit as Soap's voice reaches your ears, heart hammering in your chest now. You take a deep breath to settle your poor heart and then turn to look back at him, trying to act like he hadn't just startled you.
"No! And I won't with all your shouting!" You yell back.
There was no fish around anyway. Not big ones worth catching at least. You turn back to look at the water, debating if you should move and try somewhere else or keeping trying where you were.
"You want some help?" Soap asks, and when you look back at him, he's walked closer to the shoreline.
Huffing softly, you drop your stance and putting a hand on your hip. "I think I'm alright for now."
Soap shrugs a bit, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll be right back then. Gonna run inside and get something."
You watch as he retreats back towards the cabin, only looking away once he's up the steps. Sighing softly, you turn back to the water, continuing to play the waiting game.
Not a minute later, you hear the cabin door open back up and can make out the sounds of him getting close once again. You don't think too much of it when you can no longer hear him, but after about ten seconds, you begin to feel as though you're being watched.
Frowning, you turn back around to try and figure out why you're feeling that way, only to find Soap seated at a tree close to where you were. He was still a good few feet away, but he's close enough for you to notice the black journal in his lap and a pencil in his hand.
"What are you doing?" You ask curiously, brows furrowing.
"Drawing." He says simply, not taking his eyes off the page.
It makes you shift nervously. You try to ignore him, turning your attention back to the water. After only a few seconds though, you quickly figure out you can't just ignore him, and you turn back to look at him.
"Why?" You venture further, catching him at a moment where he's looking up and out towards whatever it is he's drawing. It seems to just be the lake, but you can't really tell.
"Why not?" Soap shrugs, his eyes staying up a second longer before going back to his sketch. "I'm done making the fire. Just trying to pass the time while I wait on your ass to catch a fish so we can start cooking."
You glare a little at him for that.
"Shouldn't you be watching the fire?" You glance towards where the little blaze is going. "You know so we don't set the woods and our housing on fire?"
Soap waves his hand in a dismissive gesture, still not looking up at you. "It's not gonna escape that pit. Besides it's like five meters away. I can keep an eye on it and draw." He argues.
You keep watching him, lips pursed together nervously. It crossed your mind he might be drawing you, but you didn't want to ask him if he was. He probably wasn't anyway. Why on earth would he draw you? It wasn't like he...
"You gonna just stand there staring at me or are you gonna catch a fish?" Soap asks, making you snap out of your daze instantly.
Your face flushes hot, heart skipping a beat as your eyes meet his. Oh god. You'd just been standing there... staring at him.
"I—I wasn't staring." You stammer, trying to will the heat in your cheeks away. The corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk, and your fluster only deepens. "I wasn't!" You insist a bit too quickly, your voice pitching higher in embarrassment. "I just... got lost in thought, that's all."
"Thinking about what?" He asks, raising a brow, which makes your face burn hotter if that was even possible. You quickly turn to try and hide your blush, but you're sure he's already noticed.
"Nothing." You answer shortly. Why did you care if he was drawing you? It was keeping him quiet and away from you, so it didn't really matter.
Soap laughs softly from his spot. He doesn't add anything else, and after a moment of silence, you assume he's gone back to his sketching, though you stubbornly refuse to glance back and confirm. Your attention returns fully to the water, focusing on the little ripples on the surface as you steady yourself.
Now that you're standing still, the fish begin to reappear, swimming cautiously around your legs. You keep your breathing shallow, body unmoving as you wait. After what feels like an eternity, one of a decent size glides lazily toward you. Your heart skips in excitement, but you keep your composure, not daring to move just yet and risk scaring it off.
The fish swims closer, and the closer it gets, the more your heart hammers in your chest. You hold your breath, raising your spear ever so slightly. Remembering Soap's advice, you adjust your aim—just a little lower than your instinct tells you.
Then, in a swift motion, you snap the spear down, piercing the water's calm surface. At first, you can't tell if you've gotten anything, but then your spear starts to jerk, making you hold it tighter. The fish wriggles and thrashes against the spear, but you've got it.
"Oh my God! Soap! I got one! I did it!" You shout, your voice breaking with excitement. "Quick! Come here! I got one!"
You press down harder on the spear, driving it deeper into the mud beneath the water to ensure the fish won't escape. From behind, you hear a splash as Soap jumps in and charges through the water, closing the distance between you in seconds. His hand instinctively finds its place at the small of your back as he comes up beside you.
"You finally got one?" He asks, a little breathless from the sprint over.
You nod eagerly, feeling the fish tug and jerk at the end of your spear. "Yes! I got one! Hurry, grab it before it gets away!"
Soap chuckles, and you feel a playful pinch at your hip. You're so focused on not losing the fish though you hardly even notice it. "I don't think it's going anywhere, hen." He reassures you as he bends down to reach into the water to get it. His hand wraps around the flailing fish, the other grasping your spear shaft.
"Let up on the spear. I got 'em. He's not going anywhere." He tells you. As he holds onto the fish with one hand, his other hand helps guide the spear up, lifting it just enough to pull it out of the water.
"Are you sure you got it?" You ask, resisting just a little bit at first. You wanted to be absolutely sure he had your fish.
Soap glances up at you from his crouched down position, and instead of answering you with words, he stands, hauling the fish up out of the water with him. You gasp a little in surprise, watching it thrashing around a little before settling. It was a pretty impressive fish, or at least you thought so. To a fisherman it probably wasn't anything too excited or even that big. But for your first time catching a fish, you were thrilled.
"Oh my God! I caught that?!" You were grinning so wide your cheeks hurt just slightly.
Soap's grinning too, chuckling softly as he glances between the fish and your beaming face. "Yeah, you did. Not too bad for a first timer." He praises, turning the fish a little to inspect it. The movement makes the fish squirm, its scales flashing under the sunlight as it struggles.
"It's huge! It looked smaller in the water." You say, looking it over as Soap turns it. You can't help but admire how the scales shimmer with iridescent greens and silvers, the white underbelly glistening in contrast. It looks similar to the others you'd been catching earlier.
Soap scoffs playfully. "Huge? Let's not get too carried away now." He chuckles, and you shoot him a glare, which only widens his grin. "But hey, for a first timer, I'd say it's a pretty decent catch." He adds, forearm flexing as the fish gives a sudden, powerful thrash. It's almost as if the fish is protesting his words and proving you were right.
You smirk, folding your arms across your chest as Soap regains control of the fish. "Don't ruin this for me, MacTavish. I'm allowed to be excited—I've been out here for hours."
Soap chuckles lightly and gives you a half smirk. "Alright, I'll shut up." He concedes, still chuckling softly as he turns and starts making his way back towards the shoreline.
You follow after him with a smile, still silently celebrating to yourself. It was going to be so much more satisfying to eat all the fish later knowing you were going to be eating one you caught yourself. You couldn't wait to get them over the fire.
"Hey States." Soap calls back to you after a few seconds, pulling you out of your thoughts and making you glance up at him. He still walking, only glancing over his shoulder slightly. "You did good. This is a really nice catch."
You pause for just a second, his praise taking a moment to process. When it does though, a warm feeling settles over you. "Thanks." You say softly, surprised that him saying something like that meant so much to you. Maybe it was because Soap never gave you compliments.
"So do you wanna kill it?" Soap asks as you walk onto the slightly sandy shore, pulling you rather abruptly from the high you'd been on.
"What?" You ask, looking back at him in surprise. "Do.. do I have to?" You frown. You'd been hoping, since he'd killed all the other fish, he'd just finish off this one off too. For whatever reason, it made you squeamish to think about killing it.
"Well, no." Soap says, immediately easing your anxiety about that. "I'll kill it if you don't want to. Just thought since you'd caught it and everything, you'd want to finish the job." He shrugs, looking back over at you again, almost like he waiting to see if you'd to change your mind.
You shake your head though. "No. I can't. I'm gonna feel so bad." Sure, you were responsible for catching it, and you were going to eat it, but for whatever reason, it was hard for you to kill innocent animals.
Soap gives you a look, but he quickly gets to work on getting his knife out to end the fish. "So you can kill people for a living but not a fish?" He questions, poking the knife through the gills and making a quick and clean cut. You have to look away when he does it. It still makes you uneasy.
"It's different when it's animals." You frown, risking a glance back to see if he was done. He was, and he was just tucking his knife back into his pocket. The fish was now still, blood dripping out of it where Soap made the cut.
"Don't go on missions with Ghost then." He mutters, tipping the fish upside down to let the fish bleed out better. It wouldn't take that long or at least the others didn't.
Soap's words pique your interest. You're well aware of how Ghost is. He's a very "do whatever it takes to get the job done" kind of guy. The way Soap says it though makes you think he's got a story.
"Why not?" You venture, tilting your head slightly. It's a gesture that makes Soap want to spare you, and you can see the slight hesitation in his eyes.
"Let's just say... he has no problem with shooting anything that might compromise him."
As vague as he's being, you understand pretty well. You know Price has given you the advice to shoot a dog if it was going to bark and alert others to your presence. Ghost most definitely stood by that principle. Honestly he was probably the one who told Price that in the first place.
You can't help but make a face at the thought of having to shoot an animal. "That... that sounds like him." You nod, leaving the conversation at that. You were just going to be sad if you kept talking about it.
"So... When can we get cooking?" You change the topic to something more appealing.
The second your mind goes back to food, you instantly get hungry. Your stomach makes this a well known fact too as it lets out a low and long rumble. It's been at least two hours since you decided to go fishing, and you're starving at this point.
Soap laughs as your stomach growls, his eyes flicking down as if he expected to see if rolling like it did in the cartoons. "We can start right now. Sounds like you won't make it much longer if we don't." He teases, an almost playful smirk tugging at his lips as he pinches your side lightly.
You swat his hand away as he pinches you and glare at him, which only makes him chuckle. "You gotta learn how to keep your hands to yourself." You huff as you follow behind him.
"Says the woman who can't seem to keep her hands off me." He laughs, glancing over his shoulder at you and raising a brow.
Your eyes widen at his words, and your cheeks start to burn a little. "Oh shut the fuck up. You act like you aren't equally as bad. If not worse!"
Soap huffs softly at your accusation as he places now the now fully bled out fish one of the logs in the stack of wood he's collected. "So you're not denying it?"
You freeze for just a moment, realizing in horror that you aren't. Has your whole dynamic with Soap really changed that much? Your mind struggles to come up with something to say back. You can't just deny it now that he's pointed it out.
So you deflect. You let out a groan and roll your eyes. "You're impossible, you know that?" You grumble, trying to sound indifferent, though the heat in your cheeks gives you away.
Soap just keeps smirking at you. "Aye, but I'm starting to think you like it." He answers cheekily as he wipes his hands off on his pants.
"Absolutely not." You shoot that down fast. "I'm only trying to be nice to you so you don't burn my fish."
"What makes you think I'm cooking your fish for you?" Soap huffs. "I caught most of them. Hell I even prepped all them while you were out there splashing around in the water. You can at least cook your own damn fish."
He picks up his fishing spear from the ground as he talks and works one of the fish onto the stick. It was the biggest fish too, but you weren't going to argue. He did technically catch it, and he ate a lot more than you did anyway.
"Fine. I can probably cook a fish better than you anyway." You shrug, walking over to grab one of the pre-prepped fish from the little pan Soap has placed them in.
"You wanna cook them all then?" He asks, offering the stick with his fish on it over to you.
You roll your eyes and push his hand away before taking your own fish and working it gently onto the your stick. "Just cook your own damn fish, Soap." You sigh, moving to the opposite side of the fire to cook your own fish.
You don't look back up at him, your eyes focused on making sure your fish doesn't burn to a crisp, but Soap smiles over at you through the fire.
***
You watch as the flames gently lick up over the fish, cooking the outsides to a slightly browned colored. It shouldn't take too long for the fish to cook, maybe only about ten minutes. It's already dripping juice down onto the burning logs though and the smell is incredible. It's the best thing you've smelled in years, and it's making your mouth water.
Time is passing by so slowly though. The longer you watch the fish cook, the more your stomach seems to feel like it's cramping up. You're about ready to just take it off the fire and risk eating it raw, but the last thing you want to do is give yourself food poisoning and have to wait it out for the rest of the few days you're here.
You watch as another drop leaves the fish and sizzles on some of the coals. In response, stomach lets off a particularly loud and long growl, one that makes Soap peak up over the fire at you.
"You hanging in there, States?" He asks, a slight chuckle in his voice.
You let out a low grunt in response, eyes fixed hungrily on the fish that's still not ready. "Barely," you mutter, frustration lacing your voice. Soap chuckles again, only adding to your annoyance. "It's taking forever." You grumble, and with a sigh, you flip the fish over, to cook the other side a little more.
"Mine's done."
Your head snaps up at that, disbelief etched across your face. Across the fire, Soap's wearing a smug grin as he pulls his fish off the flames and inspects it. You squint, trying to get a better look, but from where you're sitting, you can't tell if it's actually cooked or if he's just messing with you.
"How the hell is yours done already? We started at the same time!" You pout, unable to hide the hint of envy in your voice.
Soap huffs, that irritatingly self-satisfied grin never leaving his face. "Because I know what I'm doing." He replies matter-of-factly.
He glances down at his fish with a contented sigh. "Oh, this is gonna taste so good." He mumbles, and you watch as he begins blowing on it to cool it off.
You roll your eyes and slump back down, watching as your stubborn fish continues to sizzle over the flames. "Shut up, Soap." You mumble, the words almost drowned out by the grumbling of your empty stomach.
"Need some help?" He offers, that same infuriatingly amused tone coloring his voice. It only makes you bristle further.
"No." You snap, sharper than you intended. "Stop being an ass."
Soap's brows lift slightly, taken aback by your sudden outburst. A few minutes ago, you'd been lighthearted and playful, but now— He sighs softly, shoulders relaxing. "Alright, alright." The teasing drops from his voice, replaced by something gentler. "I was just messin'. No need to get all hangry on me."
You shoot him a half-hearted glare before dropping your gaze back to the fish, your irritation simmering low. "I'm not hangry."
"Uh-huh. Sure sounds like it." He murmurs, but his tone has shifted—more genuine, less needling. "C'mere, States. I've got hot coals over here. They'll cook your fish faster."
You hesitate, glancing over at him. You're still not happy with him, but you're also so hungry. You'd do almost anything to get your damn fish to cook faster so you can eat. Reluctantly, you sigh and stand up, walking over to where he's sitting.
When you settle beside him, Soap shifts slightly, carefully laying his own stick with the cooked fish against a log. Once it's balanced, he scoots closer to you, his thigh brushing against yours. The feeling makes your heart jump despite the previous frustration you were feeling towards him just a moment prior.
"Here, put the fish right above these coals." Soap instructs, his voice low. He points with one hand and gently adjusts your stick with the other. His fingers curl over yours as he guides it into place. Instead of focusing on where your fish is being placed by the coals, your eyes stay glued to where his hand lays over yours.
"There. It'll be done in no time." He says softly, his hand dropping away and resting back in his lap.
You shift your gaze back to your fish, noticing how much more intense the fire feels over here. The heat that radiates off the coals feels hotter and almost makes your cheeks burn.
While you're focused on your fish, you feel Soap shift back away from you for a second. When you look, you can see he's reached back over to get his fish. The sight of it, browned, charred, ready to eat, instantly makes your stomach growl again, and you catch Soap glance over at you, a little frown creasing his forehead.
Then, without a word, he nudges you gently. "Here." He says, holding out his perfectly cooked fish to you. "Eat this."
You blink, surprised. "What? But... you already—"
"I'll eat yours when it's done." He interrupts, his voice unusually gentle. "Go on, take it. You're starving, and I don't want you passing out on me or anything."
You look between him and the fish, a small frown forming on your lips. It was such a sweet gesture, and so uncharacteristic of him. You glance up to meet his eyes, finding they were already looking back at you, his gaze tender and warm.
When you still don't make a move to take the fish from him, his features soften even more. "States, either take the damn fish, or I'm gonna make you take it." He warns lightly, and you can tell he's not mad, but he's being serious.
His threat puts you at ease, and you smile. That was more like the Soap you knew. "Thanks." You murmur quietly, accepting the stick as he reaches over to grab yours in exchange.
The second the fish is in your hands, saliva starts to pool in your mouth. You don't waste any time, bringing it to your lips and taking a big, eager bite. The moment the warm, flaky fish hits your tongue, it's as if every sense lights up at once. It's not perfectly seasoned or delicately prepared—it's slightly charred on the edges and a little tough to bite off and chew. But after a week of bland MREs and tasteless food, this is the best thing you've eaten in your entire life.
A slight smoky flavor from the fire lingers on your tongue, and the little bit of salt you added before is just barely noticeable. You take a second bit and hum quietly in appreciation, barely able to suppress the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth.
Soap watches you for a moment, a soft and pleasant expression on his face. "Better?" He asks quietly.
You nod, still in the middle of chewing, eyes closed as you savor your current bite. "Yeah... thanks, Soap." You say mutter after a bit, feeling your earlier anger melt instantly. Maybe you were just hangry.
"No problem, hen." He murmurs sweetly, his gaze returning to the fish cooking on the coals and turning it over.
You glance back over at him, watching the side of his face. The flames cast an orangish glow to his cheeks and shadows to his jawline. It's strange how different he looks in this moment—maybe it's the firelight, or maybe it's just how at ease he seems, sitting beside you.
An unfamiliar warmth settles deeper in your chest, wrapping around your heart, filling you with a lightness you haven't felt in... you don't even know how long. It radiates through you, down to your fingertips and the tips of your toes, making you feel almost weightless.
You blink, suddenly aware of how much you enjoy being around Soap—how much you've come to look forward to these moments. The banter, the teasing, the soft simple moments like this one. The way he looks at you sometimes with something unspoken that you can't quite put your finger on.
You take a shaky breath to try and steady yourself, to shake off the warmth spreading through you, but it's no use. Being around Soap just... feels good. Better than you expected. Better than you'd let yourself admit until now.
He glances over, catching your gaze for a second, and a small smile tugs at his lips. "You alright, hen?" He asks, his tone light but laced with a quiet concern.
You nod quickly, looking away as your heart skips a beat. "Yeah, I'm good." You manage to say, though your voice sounds breathy.
Soap watches you a moment longer before going back to tending to the fish, seemingly unaware of the shift happening inside you. But you're aware. So painfully aware of how close he's sitting, of the warmth of his leg brushing against yours, of the subtle comfort that his presence brings. You can't shake the feeling that something's changed between you—you know something has. Something you can't quite name, but it's there, and it's only growing.
"There!" Soap's voice pulls your attention back to him. "All done. Told ya they'd cook faster over here." He smiles, blowing gently on the fish. He glances back to you as he does, noticing the barely touched fish, only sporting two bites, on the stick in your lap.
"How's the fish, lass? It looks like you've hardly touched it." He frowns. Knowing how hungry you were a moment before, he's a little surprised the entire thing wasn't completely gone by now.
You look back down at your fish, smiling a little. "It's really good. I'm just trying to make it last." You lift it back up to your lips to take another bite then, which makes Soap relax a bit.
"I hope it tastes as good as it smells." He says softly, turning his over to look for a good place to dig in. He tries to take a small bite but immediately withdrawals, making a face. "Ah, way too fucking hot yet. Just burnt my tongue."
Without thinking, you hold out the fish you'd been eating to him. "Wanna take a bite?" You ask, it taking you a moment to realize what you were doing. By the time you do, it's far too late to take it back.
Soap looks at you with an amused sparkle in his eye and he laughs. "Nah, I don't wanna get your cooties." He teases lightly, making you roll your eyes at him despite the smile making your cheeks burn.
"Soap we've had sex and you've kissed me how many times now? You definitely have my cooties already. More aren't gonna hurt you." You tease right back. It makes him laugh harder, and he even throws his head back a little as he does.
"I guess I can't argue with that." He says as he comes down from his laughter. "Alright, give it here then."
He motions for you to hand the fish over, so you hold it out for him to take. Instead of just taking it from you though, he grabs around your hand and brings the fish up to his lips.
As he takes a bite, his eyes flick up to meet yours, locking as his teeth slowly sink in. Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch him, eyes widened just the slightest. And Soap knows what it's doing to you. You see the corner of his lips twitch up into a smirk as he leans back, chewing slowly.
Your mind is scrambling for something to say to break this new tension that's formed. A tension that's not helping you sort through your newly discovered feelings.
"You.. you like it?" You find yourself saying, watching as he swipes his thumb across his bottom lip and sucks the juices off.
"Not a five star meal, but the best bloody thing I've had in a while." He chuckles. "We should have done this day one."
That makes you giggle a bit, and you relax slightly as you go back to eating peacefully. "I think I probably would have drown you in the lake if we went near it day one." You point out, remembering how absolutely angry he'd made you during the flight over and the walk to the cabin.
Soap laughs softly, attempting once more to eat his own fish and taking a tentative bite out of it. "I could see you trying." He says as he takes a small bite, making you narrow your eyes at him.
"Try? I totally could." You huff. You've never been allowed to spar each other before, Price wouldn't let you since he was worried you two would end up seriously hurting each other, but you feel like you can take him.
Soap huffs back and shakes his head. "States, you weigh nothing to me. I'm practically double your weight. Plus I'm taller than you. In water, I'm gonna win." He shrugs, taking another bite of his fish.
You scoff at him, wanting to argue, but he made a decent point. He'd have the advantage in water. "So you're saying on land I'd kick your ass then?" You raise your brow at him.
Soap gives you a side glance, then huffs through his nose and shakes his head, dismissing you easily. "Hell no. I'd beat you on land too. Without a doubt."
You roll your eyes. "You underestimate me. I could so pin you if we sparred." You say, with maybe a little too much confidence.
Soap pauses a moment, as if thinking, and then shrugs. "Alright. Let's spar then." He says, quickly catching your attention.
"What? Like right now?" You frown.
"Yeah, right now. Let's settle it."
"Oh..." You purse your lips together. Sure you were confident that you could take Soap in a sparring match, but maybe not in the middle of the woods. Or without mats. And definitely not with all the sexual tension between you lately.
"Maybe not right now." You say slowly. "We're eating, and I'm hungry. And tired." You shift a little where you're sitting, giving a half-hearted shrug. "It just wouldn't be a fair match."
You notice Soap beginning to grin as soon as the excuse leaves your lips. "Yeah, sure. Alright." He chuckles softly, leaving it at that as he settles back down to finish his fish.
***
The rest of the evening is spent cooking and eating the fish you caught. It was the most satisfying meal you've had since arriving to the cabin. It was going to be hard to go back to eating the MREs for the remaining few days, but there was also the potential to go out fishing again tomorrow. And hopefully you'd be quicker at catching them then.
By the time you're both done eating, the sun has almost set completely over the horizon. It's getting dark out, the only light coming from the moon and the fire that was still burning bright but slowly turning into only embers.
You sigh softly, your stomach feeling like it was ready to burst. "I ate way too much." You chuckle, resting a hand on your now protruding belly. "That was the best meal ever though."
Soap laughs softly as he finishes piling up all your scraps and utensils off to the side to be cleaned up later. "You ready to turn in for the night then, lass?" He asks, standing by the fire and looking down at you.
You hum softly in thought but then shake your head. "No. I think I want to stay out here a little longer. Disgust a bit before bed."
You really hadn't gotten the chance to enjoy the night air since you arrived. There was always something that kept you inside almost as soon as the sun began to set. It was such a peaceful night tonight too. You want to enjoy it and the bonfire a while longer.
Soap nods a little, and you watch as he goes back to the wood pile. "I'll put another log on for you then." He says, looking over the few pieces of wood that remained.
"Thanks." You smile, watching as he picks out a log and carries it over to the fire. He tries to place it gently as not to make the entire log pile collapse, but it's a vein effort since the second he sets it down, everything falls over, causing a bunch of sparks to flare up into the air.
You follow the trail of sparks up a little ways, far enough that your attention gets pulled to the sky. Above you, the stars are just starting to come out, and they're already so much brighter than what you'd ever see on base.
"Wow..." You breathe softly. "I never noticed all the stars you can see out here."
Soap looks up towards the sky as well, humming pleasantly. "It's pretty." He mumbles, and there's a brief of moment of silence that falls between you as you both admire the twinkling lights.
You almost forget where you are for a moment until Soap breaks the silence. "I can go grab a blanket and lay it out. That way you can lay down and not have to crane your neck to see." He offers.
You look back at him, warmth filling your chest at the sweet offer. You're starting to get used to this side of Soap.
"Yeah." You smile. "That'd be nice."
"Alright. I'll be back in a second." With that, he's off, walking back towards the cabin.
You watch his figure retreat until he disappears inside. Once he's out of sight, your gaze drops to watching the fire, a soft sigh leaving your lips. You find yourself hoping that he'll want to stay and star gaze with you for bit.
Before you can overthink too much about that thought, you hear the cabin door open and slam shut as Soap makes his way back over to you. In his arms, he carries the blanket from his sleeping roll. It was really the only blanket you had, but the fact he was willing to use it just so you could stargaze was a sweet concept.
"Where do you want it?" He asks once he's within ear shot from you. You're a little unprepared for his question and quickly start to glance around for an open spot to lay the blanket out.
"Oh.. uh.. maybe just right over here by the fire?" You motion to a somewhat cleared off area that's just a little ways away from the fire. You know the second you move away from the flames that you're gonna start getting cold, but hopefully you'll still be close enough to stay warm.
Soap gets right to work on laying out the blanket where you've requested it to go, unfolding it and making sure it lays flat. When he's done, he stands up and motions down at it.
"There you go." He says simply as you get up and move to blanket. Kicking your shoes off, you step onto it and sit down.
"Thanks." You hum softly, moving around a bit to get comfortable.
Soap watches you a moment, still standing off to the side of the blanket. "It's not a problem, lass." He shrugs dismissively. "Just bring the blanket in when you're done. And put the fire out." He adds, making you instantly look back up at him.
"You're not staying?" You frown, disappointment settling heavily in your chest.
Soap pauses, almost like he was surprised you'd ask that. "Uh.. yeah. I was just gonna go in..." He says slowly. "Did... did you want me to stay?" He asks hesitantly, uncertain.
"Well... yeah." You answer him softly. Your voice sounds so much more vulnerable than you expected it to be. "I want you to stay. Or I wouldn't mind the company at least. You know in case the bear comes back or something."
You're rambling a little, which just makes Soap smile. He looks down towards his feet as he does and then starts kick his shoes off too.
"Alright. I guess I can watch the sky with you for a little while." He agrees, instantly making any nerves you had die off.
"Great." You sigh softly, smiling as he settles onto the blanket beside you, leaving a modest space as he lays back.
You lay back on the blanket too, already able to feel the cool ground quickly seeping through the blanket and into your backside. If you had the thermal liner, it'd be much better, but you don't feel like getting up to get it.
A silence settles between you as both your gazes fixate on the stars above you. Even though the stars were the whole reason you were out here still in the first place, you find your attention is more focused on the man next to you.
"Did you ever stargaze back in Scotland?" You find yourself asking, keeping your eyes on the sky.
"Maybe a bit?" Soap replies, and you can hear the rustle of his shoulders moving against the blanket as he shrugs. "I mean the stars in Scotland are beautiful. But I don't think I ever did something like this." He explains. "What about you?"
"Not really." You chuckle. "It's impossible to really get stars like this in the city. Even out in the country they aren't too bright. But I dated a guy once who took me stargazing before. Really it was just to make out though. I don't think he really intended on looking for constellations."
Soap hums softly. "I can't believe you had a guy who wanted to date you." He mutters.
You shoot him a glare and wack his chest, which makes Soap laugh. "Ass." You grumble, though you're smiling too. "I'll have you know I had a lot of suitors back in America."
"What was wrong with them?" He adds, making you wind up to hit his chest again. He flinches and holds his hands up defensively. "I'm only kidding!" He says through his laughter. "I don't doubt you had a lot of guys lined up to date you."
"I can't tell if you're being serious or not." You huff despite the smile on your face. You settle back down into your spot, listening as Soap does the same. It seems like he's closer now.
"I'm being serious." He confirms. "You're an attractive woman, States. Lots of guys like you. Hell, there's a lot of idiots back on base who have crushes on you."
You raise your brows in surprise. "Really?" You've never paid much attention to things like that before, or at least no one's ever made it obvious.
"Yeah, really. Gets annoying, honestly. You know how many guys outside our task force have asked me if you're single or if I can set them up with you?" He scoffs at the end, almost like just thinking about it was as annoying as the real thing.
"Do I even want to know what you've told them?" No guy had ever asked you out, so you're sure the things he said weren't very nice. There was no way Soap had played the knight in shining armor trying to protect you.
"Told 'em you were a bitch. That you were psychotic, smelled bad, snored in your sleep. Lots of stuff." He shrugs, as if saying those things wasn't a big deal. You have to admit though that it hurt to hear him admit that.
"No wonder I had no idea anyone was interested." You mutter, the hurt coming through in your tone a little despite you trying to hide it. You hear Soap's head shift as he looks over at you, but you keep your gaze on the sky.
"You wouldn't have wanted to date those men anyway, States. All of them just wanted in your pants. I wasn't gonna just let them use you like that."
You pause, taking in what he said. "Why would you do that? I thought you didn't like me."
Soap scoffs softly. "I didn't. But I'm not a total asshole. You're still part of my team, and I'm not about to let some horny pricks hurt you. That's my job." He tries to say it jokingly, trying to lighten the mood a little.
You roll your eyes, but there was something sweet about the whole thing. You couldn't really be upset with him for scaring off men like that, but still. It still hurt he said those things.
"Lucky me." You sigh, trying to push past it. It makes Soap chuckle softly, but he can still tell you're unhappy.
Soap looks back up at the sky, a brief silence settling before you. After a few seconds, he breaks it.
"You know, now I'm gonna have to start telling them other things to ward them off." He says, making you glance over at him.
"Why's that?" You venture curiously.
Soap seems to hesitant a second before he answers. "Well... cause you're really not that half bad. I mean you're still kinda annoying, but you're not too bad either."
As back handed as it sounded, it was one of the nicest things Soap has ever said to you. You find yourself smiling and almost swooning over those words.
"You're not so bad either, Soap." You mumble back, watching as a smile settles on his face too. Your gaze returns to the stars then, and you feel a sense of peace and contentment settle over you.
You lay there in silence for maybe a minute longer before you turn to look at Soap once more. "Did you finish your drawing from earlier?" You ask.
"Ehh, mostly. I didn't have time to finish the scenery." He says, his gaze staying fixed on the sky.
You hum softly, trying to work up the courage to ask to see it. You're not sure why, but it feels so personal to ask about seeing his artwork.
"Can I see it?" You finally ask in a soft voice, glancing back over to Soap. He looks back at you, almost seeming hesitant.
"You really want to?" He asks slowly, and you nod, chewing the inside of your cheek nervously. "Ok. Yeah, sure." He nods.
Sitting up, he leans over towards where he last placed the book last, balanced on the wooden log he'd been sitting at earlier. "I'm not sure how well you'll be able to see it." He adds as he grabs it.
He makes a good point, it's now almost completely dark aside from the fire and a little light from the moon. You're hoping though that you're close enough to the fire to see most of the picture.
"That's alright. I still wanna see it." You tell him, sitting up and watching as he flips through a few pages to look for it. You wonder what else he's drawn since being here.
As soon as he finds it, he starts to scoot closer to you. "Here. This is what I was able to get done."
He hands the book over to you, and you take it from him. You have to angle the book a certain way towards the fire to see it, but the image slowly becomes illuminated.
It was a drawing of you. Out in the middle of the lake, spear in hand. The background isn't finished at all or even sketched out. The main focus of the drawing was you. And given the amount of time Soap had, which you assume hadn't been long, there was an impressive amount of detail.
Your heart skips in your chest as you study the image. Your cheeks are burning a little, but you can't help but smile. So he had been drawing you after all.
"You drew me?" You ask softly, eyes not leaving the page.
Next to you, Soap smiles a little. If you'd looked, you would have seen that his own cheeks were slightly pink. Though it could have just been the orange glow from the fire.
"Yeah. You were such a good model cause you were standing out there for so long." He jokes.
You huff softly and glare over at him. "I had a feeling you were drawing me." You grumble, turning your attention back to the drawing and studying more of the image. "It's really nice though. You must have sketched this in like five minutes."
Soap shrugs a little. "This took me longer than five minutes. I was working on it earlier. It's a little sloppy compared to some of my other drawings."
You glance back over at him. "Can I see the others?" You ask, and he chuckles a little before shrugging.
"Go ahead." He nods, and you start to slowly flip through his sketch book, looking over all the sketches he's done in the past five days.
A lot of them are sketches of the cabin and the lake. Some are half finished, others are very detailed. He's also drawn a few animals and a few things from inside of the cabin, like the wood stove and a half finished sketch of what looks like your dining area.
As you look them over, a little breeze picks up, making you shiver. It was starting to get very cold out, and despite the fire being close by still, you were getting a little chilly.
Soap hears you shiver and looks up from watching you flip through the book. "Cold?" He asks, and you nod.
"Just a little." You admit, trying to shrug it off.
His eyes drift down to your practically bare legs, hardly covered by the pajama shorts you were wearing. "You know, pants would help." He teases, making you shake your head.
"You mean the pants that are damp still because you tackled me in the water earlier?" You raise an eyebrow at him, which makes him laugh.
"Ah. Right. Well, come here then." He says softly, his voice dipping lower as he shifts closer to you.
Before you can even react, his arm slides around your back, guiding you firmly into his side. You feel the warmth of his body almost immediately, seeping through the fabric of your shirt, and you stiffen for just a second as he adjusts his hold. His hand settles at the curve of your waist, fingers pressing gently into your side, not pulling you in too tight, but enough that your back is now pressed to his chest and side a bit.
You can feel his every breath and every flex of his muscles with every subtle movement he makes. You glance up at him, wide-eyed, but Soap's already looking back down at you.
"Better?" He murmurs, his voice a soft rumble that seems to vibrate right through you. His leg shifts then, brushing lightly against yours, and you're hyper-aware of how solid and strong his body feels beside you. Every point of contact—his arm around you, the slight pressure of his thigh against your knee, the way his breath is practically on you neck—sends a subtle shiver through you that has nothing to do with the cold air.
"Uh..." You can't seem to form a coherent thought, let alone a response. All you can focus on is how close he is. The heat radiating off him, his scent— it's all making your head spin just a little.
Your heart hammers harder in your chest, the steady thump-thump-thump of it so loud you're sure he can hear it. You swallow, trying to clear the sudden dryness in your throat. "Yeah. Better." You finally manage to say, the words coming out quieter than you intend.
He gives you a small, almost satisfied smile, the corners of his mouth curving up just slightly. "Good."
You try to focus your attention back on the book, but it's pointless. You can't concentrate on the thing to save your life. You're doing everything you can to calm your heart down before it beats out of your chest. Just to play along, you absentmindedly turn to the next page of the sketch book, but you have no idea what's actually on the page.
Then his thumb starts to brush against your hip, and the simple motion sends a jolt of electricity through you, making your breath catch. Your heart pounds so loudly in your ears, and you're struggling to keep your breathing from increasing.
Soap shifts again, his thigh now fully against yours. He's so warm, like a living heater, though at this point it's hard to tell if you're warm from his body heat or something else.
Then you notice it. The fast thumps against your back. His heart hammering away in his own chest at the same rate that yours is. He's having the same reaction as you are. If you listen, you can hear him trying to control his breathing too. The sound is too choppy to be natural.
Knowing he's feeling the same way calms your own nerves immensely. Slowly, your body relaxes against his, and you begin to cuddle in closer to him. You tilt your head towards his just the slightest bit, and Soap presses his cheek down onto the top of your head.
You hear Soap exhale softly, like he's releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding, and his arm tightens around you just a fraction more, the motion sending a fresh wave of warmth through your entire body. His fingers splay out across your side, the tips brushing lightly against your ribs, making your pulse flutter wildly.
Your eyes slowly close, the sketch book forgotten in your lap. You let yourself fully relax into Soap and soak up this feeling. You know it's attraction, or at least part of it is. You've felt this before with other men, but there's still something more there. Your body feels electric when he holds you like this. You've never felt that way before.
"States.."
Your name leaves Soap's lips, making your heart flutter up into your throat. You carefully tilt your head up, eyes meeting Soap's slowly. Once they do, it feels like you can't breathe. His eyes are so heavy with emotion you can't even think.
His hand, cold but gentle, touches your cheek. It's such a shocking contrast that it reminds you to breathe. He cups your jaw, keeping your head tilted up towards him, though you weren't planning on looking away.
"Oh, fuck it..."
He mumbles it so softly you're sure you wouldn't have heard him if you'd been a fraction of an inch further from him. Even if you hadn't, his actions spoke for him.
He closes whatever distance was between you fast. The first brush of his lips against yours is tentative, almost testing. They're soft, warmer than his hands, and the touch is light enough that you barely feel it at first.
Your lips make a soft, almost inaudible popping sound as they part. You're left with just a ghostly feeling of where his lips were and his warm breath against them from his labored breathing as he gages your reaction.
You feel numb almost. Definitely like you're floating. Then a rush of emotion surges through you—excitement, confusion, desire, everything all at once. You feel a flush spread across your cheeks, a warmth that has nothing to do with the fire crackling nearby. You don't know what to say, don't know how to put into words what's racing through your head. So instead, you take a deep breath, steady yourself, and lean in.
This time, you're the one to close the distance. You bring your hand to the back of his neck, and your lips press against his, firmer than his first kiss, your eyes sliding shut as the world tilts on its axis. Soap stiffens for a heartbeat, a small, almost inaudible gasp escaping him. But then you feel him relax, his whole body seeming to melt against yours as he returns the kiss, his mouth moving slowly, carefully, against yours. There's still a hint of that same hesitation, but it's fading with every second.
You pull back an inch, just enough to catch your breath, and when you open your eyes, you find Soap staring down at you. His pupils are blown wide, dark with an intensity that takes your breath away. His lips are slightly parted, his breathing ragged, and the way he's looking at you sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.
"This ok?" He asks breathily, his hand still gripping your jaw. He's nervous, you realize.
You give him a smile and gently move your fingers to the base of his hairline. His eyes struggle to not roll back as you play with the short hairs there.
"More than ok." You assure him, putting a light pressure on the back of his head and pulling his lips back down to yours. When they meet this time, Soap is smiling, and he almost seems to sigh against your lips.
You exchange a few more tender kisses but then something shifts. His hand on your waist starts to tighten, pulling you closer, and his lips press more firmly against yours, drawing in a quiet gasp from you.
The sound seems to spur him on. Soap's hand leaves your cheek to slip back into your hair, his fingers threading through it as he tilts your head just enough to deepen the kiss. Your own hands move to his shoulders, going between gripping them and cupping the sides of his neck. It's like every nerve ending in your body lights up the moment your lips touch, the sensation so intense it's almost dizzying.
You can feel the roughness of his stubble scrape lightly against your skin as his lips part against yours, coaxing your mouth open. The first slide of his tongue is a shock—a gentle, seeking motion that sends a thrill racing down your spine. You make a small sound, something between a whimper and a sigh, and Soap responds instantly. His tongue slips into your mouth, the taste of him invading your senses, and you find yourself pressing closer, desperate to feel more of him.
There's a soft, wet sound as his tongue tangles with yours, a quiet pop as he pulls back only to kiss you again, harder this time. His fingers tighten in your hair, his other hand moving from your waist to grip your hip, pulling you up into his lap. The motion sends a wave of heat crashing through you, your body arching slightly into his, and you gasp again, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he kisses you deeper.
Your hands move without thinking, sliding down to feel the hard muscle of his chest. From there, one hand slides up to the back of his neck again, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips, the tension in his muscles. Your other hand fists his shirt, knuckles brushing against the hard plane of his chest as you try to anchor yourself. It's overwhelming, the way he's kissing you—so intense, so utterly consuming. Every time you think you've caught your breath, he shifts, tilts his head, and the kiss changes, becomes something even deeper, more insistent.
You shift your hips slightly, wiggling down more into his lap. You slide right down onto a hard lump, and the feeling of it against your thigh and pelvis is unmistakable.
Soap makes a low sound deep in his throat, almost a growl, and the vibration of it against your lips sends another shudder through you. His hands move again, one sliding down your back, pressing you even closer against him, the other cupping the back of your head, holding you in place as if he can't bear the thought of you pulling away. You're not sure if you even could if you tried.
You feel his teeth graze your lower lip, a light nip that has you gasping into his mouth. He pulls back just enough to murmur something, the words lost, and then he's kissing you again, harder, fiercer, like he's trying to pour every unsaid word, every hidden feeling into the press of his lips.
It's not just a kiss. It's like a release of something that's been building for so long, something you've both been holding back without even realizing it. And now that the dam's broken, there's no stopping it. Soap's kisses are relentless, almost desperate, and you can feel your heart pounding so hard it's a wonder it hasn't burst right out of your chest.
You can't help it—you let out a small, breathless moan, and Soap freezes for just a second. His lips hover over yours, his breath mingling with yours as he stares up at you, eyes dark and filled with something that makes your stomach flip.
"States..." He whispers, voice rough and thick. He swallows, his gaze flicking down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. "You—"
Whatever he was going to say is lost as you lean up, capturing his mouth again. This time, you're the one pushing, deepening the kiss, your tongue sliding against his, tasting and teasing, drawing out another one of those low, rumbling sounds from deep in his chest. Soap's hand tightens in your hair, his arm wrapping fully around your waist, holding you so close you can feel the steady thud of his heart against your chest.
And then he's kissing you back with renewed intensity, the hand on your waist sliding down to your hip, fingers digging into your ass and making you gasp. He uses the leverage to pull you down harder against his bulge, and you're not sure if it's him or you, but your hips start rocking against him, bring a delicious friction to both of you.
It's dizzying, overwhelming, and yet you can't get enough. Your fingers slip up into his hair, tugging gently, and Soap groans softly against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you. You can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles coil and flex, the restraint in the way his hands hold you, as if he's struggling to keep himself in check.
When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm and ragged against your lips. He's staring at you, eyes wide and almost wild, his chest heaving with every breath.
"Fuck, States..." He whispers, voice hoarse and raw, and the sound of it sends another shiver through you and a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly.
The way he's looking at you—like he's on the verge of losing control—makes your pulse skip, the intensity of it stealing your breath. His chest rises and falls rapidly, every breath a visible struggle to calm himself. But you can tell he's not calm. Not even close.
You can feel the tremor in his hands where they still hold you, the way his fingers dig in a little too tightly, like he's trying to ground himself.
"Soap..." You murmur his name softly, almost in a daze, watching as his eyes trail your body. He's barely holding back. You want him. Desperately. Every nerve in your body is singing for him to touch you, to keep going.
Soap's gaze flickers back up to yours. "I want this," he breathes, his voice low, strained. "I want you. So damn bad, States." He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing with the motion.
You carefully bring your hand up to cup his cheek and brush your thumb against his rough stubble. His eyes flutter shut at the tough, and he leans into your hand.
"I want you too..." You breathe.
Soap's eyes open slowly, and when he looks at you, there's something vulnerable in his gaze. He swallows thickly, opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but hesitates. Whatever it is, he decides against it, his brow furrowing slightly before he just leans forward and captures your lips in a fierce kiss. It's almost like he's pouring all his unspoken words into it, the intensity of his grip on you saying everything he can't.
You mirror his sudden urgency for a moment, but then your hand comes up to gently cup his face, thumb brushing his cheek to slow him down. "Soap... wait..."
He pauses immediately, pulling back just enough to look up at you, confusion and concern flickering in his eyes. His chest is still heaving, breaths mingling with yours, but he stays still, waiting for you to continue.
"If we keep going, I want to do it slow. Not like the first time." You say gently, making his concern gaze soften quickly.
He leans in again, placing a few delicate kisses along your jaw, making his way to your ear. "Then let me take my time, aye?" He whispers, deep voice sending a shiver down your spine.
You nod weakly, eyes fluttering shut as he dips his head, mouth hovering just over the sensitive skin beneath your ear. His lips brush softly against your pulse, his wet tongue darting out and licking a small strip. "I want to feel every inch of you." He whispers, his voice deep and husky, making you whimper.
He starts to kiss at your pulse point, teeth dragging against the sensitive skin. "Wanna hear every sound you make... every little gasp and moan..." He trails off, his tone almost ragged now, as if he's struggling to keep himself in check. "Want to know exactly what makes you lose your mind, hen."
A breathless whine escapes you at his words, and you moan out his name. Not his callsign, his name.
"John..." You breathe, and his mouth stills, his lips hovering just over your skin. You feel his gaze on you, intense and searing, and when you force your eyes open, you find his face so close.
"S-sorry... just sli-"
"Say it again." He cuts you off.
"What?" You ask slowly, brows furrowed just a little.
"Say my name again." He elaborates, eyes growing heavy as he stares at you.
Hesitantly, you do as he asks. "John." You whisper.
His breath stutters, and for a moment, he just looks at you, something intense and almost awed flickering in his gaze. Then, with a soft groan, he dips his head, capturing your lips again in a slow, languid kiss that's completely different from the ones before. This isn't rushed or frantic; it's deliberate, controlled, as if he's savoring every second, every slide of his mouth against yours.
You sigh into the kiss, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close. The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding along the seam of your lips once more, and you part for him instantly, welcoming him in. He explores your mouth with a tenderness that has your heart skipping, each caress of his tongue sending pleasure zipping through you.
Your hips start to find a natural rhythm by themselves, rubbing against the warm hard lump that's been pressing up into you this entire time. Every gentle grind draws a soft but heavy, muffled sound from him, a deep, throaty hum from deep in his chest.
"God, States..." He breathes, pulling back just enough to press his forehead against yours, his chest heaving. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire, and the sight sends another wave of heat crashing through you. "I want to take my time, but fuck... you're making it so hard."
"I thought that was the whole point." You joke, a little grin forming on your lips. Soap looks confused for a moment but then a look of understanding crosses his face.
"You know what I'm talking about." He chuckles, shaking his head. His lips return to your neck, placing wet open mouthed kisses along your pulse point.
Your eyes flutter shut and you giggle softly, hands moving down to grip his shoulders. As amazing as his lips felt on your neck, you push him away. Soap looks up at you with heavy eyes, and you slide your hands down to his chest and gently start pushing him back to lay down. He stiffens up a little as you try, unsure of what you were doing.
"Let me, okay? Just... let me." You tell him softly, and you swear you can see his pupils dilate slightly. His muscles starts to relax under your fingertips, and he lets you push him back against the blanket. His eyes are fixated on yours the whole way down, hands sliding down your sides to settle on your hips and thighs.
Your heart is pounding as you stare down at him. He looks so good under you. You never believed in a million years that Soap would ever be nice to you let along let you be on top of him like this. You always imagined the only time he'd ever be under you was if you beat him in sparring. And he wouldn't be looking at you the way he is now.
There's something intoxicating about the way he watches you—like you're the only thing that exists for him right now. You shift your hips a little, adjusting your position just slightly so that you're more centered on his bulge. That movement alone makes his grip on your hips tighten significantly, and once you start grinding, he's a goner. The contact draws a low, rough sound from him, something between a growl and a groan, his head tipping back against the blanket.
"Fuck..." He breathes, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. His grip flexes, a barely restrained tremor running through his fingers. When his eyes open again, they're trained on where your hips meet. "Christ, States. You're killing me here." He growls out, his accent much thicker now.
You giggle softly, relishing in this power you have over him. "You're very impatient."
Soap rolls his eyes, his hands roaming your thighs a little as he continues to watch. "You would be too if a bonnie lass was grindin' on your dick." His hands drift to the hem of your shorts, giving them a gentle tug. "Now, how about we get these off you, hen."
You swallow hard, heart pounding in your chest, but you nod and rise up on your knees, letting him peel them down. His knuckles brushing against you as he goes, the sensation making heat pool between your legs.
He only manages to get them down to your mid thigh before he stops abruptly. "Oh hell's fucking bells..." He groans, his voice is little more than a husky rasp. "You just had to wear those, huh?"
You glance down at yourself, forgetting what you were even wearing. When your eyes settle on the delicate red lace of your underwear, heat rushes to your cheeks. It's the same pair Soap had grabbed when you'd been forced to repack your things. This wasn't something you picked out for him—hadn't even thought for a second you'd be here with him right now.
"I-I didn't plan this." You stutter, embarrassment creeping into your voice. "I just grabbed whatever was clean."
Soap hums softly, almost like he wasn't even fully listening to you. His gaze was on the red lacy pattern, thumbs tracing the hemline. "Doesn't matter." He mumbles. "These are staying on though. Gonna ruin 'em."
You can't help but scoff at him for that. "What's up with you and wanting to ruin my clothes?" You huff, stumbling forward just a little as Soap reaches around you to start undoing his pants. You hear the sound of the button and zipper coming undone and then feel Soap shuffling under you to pull them down.
"Less clothes you have, the better." He replies cheekily, his hands moving to your hips now that his pants are down. You know he's taken his underwear down too because you can feel his member's tip on your butt cheek, painting it with precum. "Hop off a second and get those shorts off. Leave the underwear on."
He gives your hip a little pat, and you do as he asks, swinging your leg off him and working them down your legs. "I like these, so play nice with them." You tell him, meaning to look at his face, but the some movement draws your focus.
You gasp softly, eyes focusing on where his hand is slowly stroking himself. He's completely hard, his shaft glistening from where his hand has smeared the precum. You feel dizzy from the sudden rush of arousal that hits you.
Soap grins as he watches your face, his stokes getting a little quicker and making a lewd wet sound with each stroke. "If I ruin them I'll buy you more." He promises, a smirk in his tone as he releases his member. "Now come here." He motions with his head for you to straddle him once more.
"You better." You grumble half heartedly, feeling dazed still from the image of him stroking himself. It only makes Soap chuckle.
Moving back over to him, you place your hands on his chest to help yourself balance as you swing your leg back over him. Soap takes your hips, guiding you back to hover over his member. You move your underwear aside for him, and he does the rest, his own hand guiding his member to your entrance.
He rubs it against you a little bit, trying to find your opening. Once it catches, he pushes up, and you wince a little as his bulbous tip starts to penetrate you. You hum a little when he suddenly pops inside, and Soap pauses, his thumb rubbing against your hip to try and sooth you.
"You alright?" He asks, his eyes struggling to look up at you instead of where his member is disappearing into you.
"Yeah." You nod. "I'm good. Just gotta go slow."
Soap hums softly, relaxing his hips to let you take over. "Take your time, hen. We've got all the time in the world right now." Even despite his sweet words, his gaze is heavy.
You sit up a little bit more to get a better angle to help him slide in. The new angle works wonders, and as you lift and lower yourself onto him, you take him a little deeper each time.
Every time you sink lower, Soap's breathing starts to pick up. His eyes are focused on where you're connected, his jaw tense and his hands beginning to grip your hips. By the time you're fully seated on him, he looks like he's barely hanging on.
"Fuck..." He groans, his head falling back as you pause to adjust to him. "You're squeezin' me so tight, States. Gonna make me blow before we even get started." He chuckles breathily.
You smile down at him. "Want me to climb off for a moment so you can gather yourself?" You ask, teasing attempting to lift your hips.
You don't make it an inch up before Soap slams you back down. "Do you fucking dare." He all but growls, making you giggle again. "Start moving. Otherwise I'm flipping us." He threatens.
You roll your eyes, but his threat gets you moving. You start grinding your hips, setting a slow and smooth rhythm. It feels nice, and Soap seems to be enjoying it too. His eyes fall shut after the first few rocks, and he a soft groan leaves his lips.
After a little while, you switch up the angle, leaning forward a bit and placing your hands on Soap's chest once more. This angle makes him brush against a whole different spot inside you, pulling a moan from your lips.
Soap's eyes snap open instantly as the sound leaves your lips, and your eyes lock together. You keep rocking gently, his hands pushing and pulling at your hips to help with the motion. His gaze is so intense, and the feeling of his member and rough pubic hairs against your clit are pushing you towards the edge already.
Your body starts to shake and you squeeze your eyes shut as the burning in your clit intensifies. "Fuck... Soap..." You whisper, panting softly as your gentle rocks turn a little more desperate.
"You gonna come for me?" He asks, his voice deep and accent thick. "Almost there States, just keep rocking those pretty hips."
He coaxes you, his hips now moving under yours, thrusting along with each movement you make.
You moan again, arms growing weak, which forces you to lean down onto your elbows, closer to Soap. His lips on your throat the second you're within reach, kissing and nipping at the tender skin, hands still digging into the flesh of your hips.
"Come on, lass. You can do it. Give me one. I'm right behind ya." He groans against your throat, his hips starting to snap up.
That's all it takes. You grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as the coil of pleasure tightens almost painfully low in your belly. Your entire body tenses, each thrust from Soap pushing you closer and closer until you can't hold it anymore. Your entire body tenses and then relaxes as a wave of pleasure washes over you.
A choked cry tears from your throat as you shatter around him, your body arching against his as an orgasm rips through you.
"Ahhh! John—! I'm.. I'm-" His name spills from your lips in a broken sob as your whole body pulses with pleasure. At the same time, Soap starts to snap up into you a little hard, drawing even more cries out of your lips.
It's overwhelming, mind-numbing, and all you can do is gasp and writhe atop him, every nerve ending alight as his hips continue to ram up into you.
You can hear Soap panting under you, his breath hitching every time your walls convulse around him. "Fucking hell. That's it States... that's it..." Soap pants, his eyes squeezing shut as your walls clench and flutter around him.
"Fuck! I'm gonna come!" His voice is strangled, almost hoarse. His thrusts turn into stuttering jerks as he nears his own release. "Don't stop, States! Fuck I'm so close..."
You take over, hips grinding almost wildly against him. You're starting to get overstimulated, but you don't care. You want to get him off.
"Come on, Johnny... come for me." You say through gasps, gripping his shoulders tightly as you watch his face twist into pleasure.
Soap groans loudly, his hips jerking up suddenly. He buries himself as deep as he can go, your name leaving your lips in a strangled groan. "Fuck! (Y/n)! I-I gonna.. I-"
His whole body tenses beneath you, a low, guttural groan rumbling in his chest as he spills inside you. You can feel each thick of rope shoot up into you, his length twitching and throbbing as he empties himself.
Then his hips fall back down against the blanket, and you collapse on top of him, burying your face into the side of his neck. He throws an arm around you, and for a moment, neither of you move, both caught in the aftershocks, riding out the last shivers of pleasure together.
"God, States..." He murmurs breathlessly, his fingers lazily tracing soothing patterns on your lower back. His chest heaves beneath yours, both of you still panting, bodies slick with sweat and utterly spent. He presses a lingering kiss to your temple, his lips soft and tender against your flushed skin. "Y'alright, hen?" He asks gently, voice hoarse with exhaustion.
You manage a weak nod, smiling against his neck. "Yeah... I'm good." You whisper, voice still trembling a little. "Really good."
He huffs a small, breathless laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest. "Glad you enjoyed yourself." He sighs, sounding content.
You hum gently in response, a small smile on your lips. The two of you stay like that for a while, legs tangled and wrapped up in each other's arms. His thumb continues its lazy circles along your spine, and you let out a contented sigh, relishing in the warmth and feeling of his heart beat becoming steady under your fingers.
Then he shifts slightly, and you hear him huff a breathy chuckle. "So much for stargazin', huh?" He teases softly, his voice laced with a playful warmth.
You snort. "Yeah, you're just as bad as the last guy who wanted to go stargazing with me." You can't help but grin, remembering your story from earlier. "Guess I'll never to be able to stargaze."
"Eh, we'll just have to make sure you're on the bottom next time." He replies cheekily, a grin spreading across his face.
You roll your eyes at him, but you can't help but pause. "Next time?" You echo, face turning a little more serious.
Soap gazes up at you, a soft chuckle leaving his lips. "Well let's be honest, there's been a lot of sexual tension between us lately. And with the history we have of having tension with each other, I'm sure there will be more."
You huff softly. "Almost sounds like you're hoping there will be more tension."
Soap grins at you. "I wouldn't mind it if it meant a pretty lass like you will bounce on my lap." He teases, reaching down to pinch your butt.
You blush a little at his words and then jolt in surprise as he pinches you, a little squeak leaving your lips. The movement makes both of you moan in discomfort, bodies still very sensitive. Once the overstimulation settles, you look back down at him.
"So... you would want to do this again?" You ask slowly, curiously.
Soap's grin softens, and he shrugs one shoulder. "Aye... I, uh, wouldn't mind it," he mutters, gaze dropping. "This. Us." He swallows, hesitating. "It's... nice. I wouldn't mind spending more time with you."
His voice is quiet, almost tentative, and you find yourself staring at him, caught off guard by the sudden vulnerability in his words. It's rare to see him like this, so unsure and a little shy.
"Yeah... I wouldn't mind that either." You smile down at him, your words seeming to make him relax.
Soap smiles back at up you, his mouth opening to say something, but a shiver from you makes him pause. Now that you've come down from the high of having sex, the cool night air is beginning to bite at your sweat slicked skin. His brows furrow a bit, and he takes in the feeling of the goose pimpled skin of your thighs.
"Getting cold, lass?" He murmurs.
"Yeah... just a little." You admit, your shaky voice betraying you.
He hums thoughtfully and gives your hip a gentle squeeze. "Let's head inside then, yeah? Don't want you freezin' out here." He chuckles, rubbing your legs softly to try and warm you up a little.
"Yeah, that's probably a good idea." You chuckle, only now realizing that it's pitch black out. The fire has died down significantly, leaving only the moonlight.
You place your hands on Soap's chest and sit up, entire body feeling heavy. Your legs especially feel weak as you move them under you to lift yourself off him.
Your slow movements make Soap chuckle softly, his hands moving to your hips to help you up. "Legs feeling a little weak there?" He grins, helping to lift you off his cock.
There's a soft pop as his cock slips out of you, and you wince at the odd sensation. Your entire space between your legs was sticky and sore.
"Maybe." You huff softly, even as you rely on Soap to help move you off him. He just rolls his eyes and hands you your shorts.
Once you're seated beside him, you try to clean yourself up best you can before moving your underwear back into place. Meanwhile, Soap is fixing himself up too. He's tucked himself back into his underwear, pulled his pants back up, and stood up.
He looks down at you, watching as you put your shorts back on. "Head on in, lass." He tells you softly once they're on. "I'll clean up out here, put the fire out. You head inside and clean up."
"I can help." You offer, making him smile as he holds out a hand to help you up. You take it gratefully, letting him pull you to your feet. "I can get the water to put out the fire."
Soap watches you take two wobbly steps and then laughs softly. "No, it's alright, hen." He insists, grabbing your wrist to stop you. "Besides, by the time I'm done here you might have just made it to the steps." He teases, noticing your slowed pace.
He's greatly exaggerating your speed. You're not that slow, but you get the feeling he's not gonna let you help. You're afraid his next move was gonna be carrying you inside, so you cave.
"Alright." You sigh. "I'll head in. See you in a bit." You chuckle, making your way back to the cabin.
Soap watching you leave, a grin on his face as he takes a moment to admire your little post sex waddle. "Be in in a minute!" He calls after you before getting to work.
It doesn't take you nearly as long to get to the cabin as Soap seemed to imply. Once inside, the first thing you do is change out of your soiled red panties and try to freshen up a little better. Then you get a fire going in the wood stove and peak out the window to see how Soap was doing. By the time you look, the fire is out, and he's on his way back.
Moving to your bed, which is still right next to his, you wait for him come in. A second or so later, the door opens and slams shut, and his heavy footfalls come to the bedroom.
He steps into the room and shuts the door, glancing over at you and smiling a bit. The blanket you were laying on earlier is rolled up and under his arm.
"Surprised to see you made it into bed." He jokes, dropping the roll onto your cot before moving back to the door to kick his shoes off.
You huff softly, taking the roll from him as he drops it off. "We're gonna have to go a lot more rounds if the goal is to paralyze me." You mumble, unfolding the blanket and trying to spreading it out over the cots.
Soap hums deeply from the door way, glancing back at you. "Don't tempt me, States. I'll take you again right now."
Your heart jumps in your chest. His words excite you way too much. "I just put on fresh underwear. You can wait till morning." You joke, which makes him laugh.
"First thing it is then." He chuckles, starting to get himself ready for bed. Which really just involved him stripping down to nothing but his underwear. You watch as he pulls his shirt off over his head.
"You waiting on me?" He asks, glancing back over as you once it was off. He noticed that you hadn't laid down yet.
You shrug a little. "Yeah, pretty much. I've gotten used to hearing you snore at night. Can't sleep without it now."
That makes Soap scoff as he tosses his shirt on the floor. "I don't snore." He claims, undoing his pants, stepping out of them, and kicking them aside. "You're the one who snores."
You roll your eyes, watching as he walks over to you. "I'll ask Ghost when we get back. He'll agree with me that you snore." You shoot back, shrinking away just a touch as he hovers over you a bit.
There's an amused grin on his face as he takes your chin gently. "Brat." He mutters, surprising you by placing a quick peck to your lips. You hadn't been expecting that at all.
Feeling flustered, your gaze drops as you try to collect yourself, though you quickly become distracted. You've never noticed it before, but Soap's chest is littered with scars. It makes sense given his profession, but the red firelight from the stove seems to accent them more.
"Wow..." You breathe, absentmindedly reaching out to trace one. "You've got so many." You whisper, making Soap drop his hand from your chin and look down at where your fingertips traced along a long white scar on his ribs.
"Yeah." He mutters. "My job is... pretty dangerous I guess." He shrugs, continuing to watch your fingers roam without stopping them.
"Are they all from your time in the service?" You ask, looking back up at him. You've only collected a few from your time in the army. Your only non-service related scar was one on your knee from falling off your bike as a kid.
Soap shrugs a little. "Most of them. Not all of them though." He answers you, stepping away from your touch to crawl over you and onto his cod. Your bed squeaks its horrid melody as he does, and you wince at the grading sound.
Once he's settled on his cot, and once it's silent, you look back at him. The firelight illuminates just one section of his face, showing off the long jagged scar on his chin. Gently, you reach out and touch it, making Soap quickly meet your gaze.
"How'd you get this one?" You ask softly, thumb tracing the faded silver-white line.
Soap seems to tense the second you touch it, his gaze locked onto your face. When the question leaves your lips, he sighs and takes your hand, moving it away from his face.
"It's a long story, hen." He sighs, his hand holding yours in his lap. He stares down at it instead of looking at you.
"We've got all night." You reason, which makes his lips twitch the slightest bit into a smile.
"It's also a sad one." He adds, his deep voice just above a whisper. It makes you pause, and you quickly notice the slumped posture he has suddenly.
"I'm a very empathetic person." You add softly, which makes him laugh softly. "But we also don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." You add.
Soap is silent for a moment, almost as if he's debating if he wants to talk or not. After a few minute long seconds, he finally sighs. "My... my childhood wasn't the best, States..."
Summary: Soap gets to you just in time. Now he needs to make sure you’re ok.
Word Count: 6,900
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, swearing, angst, strong language, slightly smutty but it’s mostly fluff, mentions of sex,
A/N: I got a puppy this past week and let me tell you, it’s made finding time to write soooo hard. But I’m still going to try with weekly updates! Please enjoy! Like, comment, and reblog if you’d like :)
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Bitter Allies • Part 9
"States?! States!!!"
Words really could not express how happy you are to hear his voice. You are sobbing, so relieved yet still so scared.
"Soap!!! Soap, please help!!! I need you! Please!!!" You're yelling as loud as you possibly can, voice straining as you continue to splash at the bear and hit the water with your fists. The black bear wasn't even reacting to Soap's voice. Its focus was solely on you.
"States?! Where the fuck are you?!" His voice is closer now but still so distant.
"In the lake!! There's a bear! Please hurry!" You cry out.
The bear then decides it's had enough playing around. It seems to splash water right back at you, making you hold your hands up to shield your eyes from the onslaught of water. You scream as you're temporarily blinded, opening your eyes just in time to see you're almost face to face with the bear. Its mouth is open, teeth bared like it's going to bite. You scream again, your body feeling a big rush of adrenaline flood your system. You swing at the animal, punching it as hard you possibly can right in the nose.
Holy fuck you just punched a bear.
Your hand stings from it making contact with the hard bone of the bear's muzzle, but the hit did buy you some time. While it's stunned, sneezing and pawing at its nose, you try to move to the side. If you went back anymore, your feet wouldn't be able to touch the bottom of the lake. You knew if that happened, you wouldn't be able to get away. The bear would quickly overpower you if that happened.
You want to get around it and book it for the shore. Even then, you knew bears were fast, and you wouldn't be able to outrun it. But maybe, just maybe, you could make it to the cabin. You can't even get around the bear though. The second you being to move, it's tracking your movements again. It pounces to the side, blocking you from getting away. It felt like you were being cornered. Stuck between a drop off into deeper water and the animal.
"Soap! Where are you?!" You yell, pleading with him to hurry up.
"States!" You hear Soap's voice closer now, and you can hear the sound of heavy foot falls. Glancing past the bear and toward the shoreline, you see him barreling through the foliage.
"Soap!!" His widened eyes connect with yours for just a second before he's looking at the bear swimming towards you. Instantly, his whole demeanor shifts.
"Hey!" He shouts, voice deep and harsh. A growl that matched the intensity of the bear's. "Fuck off, you wee bastard! Dumb bear! Over here!!" He yells at the bear, picking up a rock and throwing it towards the animal, striking it on its flank.
It brings the bear's attention over to Soap, shifting its angry gaze from you to him. Then without hesitation, ignoring the cold water or the fact his boots and clothes are going to be soaked, Soap charges into the water, keeping his eyes locked on the bear's. With its attention off you, you start to move away slowly.
"Go on, get out of here! Fuck off!!" Soap keeps shouting, splashing up water as he strides towards the bear.
The bear is looking between you, now further away, and Soap, who has an angry snarl on his face and looks intimidating as hell as he charges. It seems to decide it's not worth the trouble anymore. You're going to be too hard to get now. It starts to back off, making its way to the shore and watching Soap the whole time. It seems to have forgotten about you entirely.
"That's right!! Get the fuck out of here, you ugly bastard! I'll turn you into a fucking rug if you come back here, you piece of shite!!" Soap continues to yell, storming after the bear as it backs away. He even manages to find another rock and hurl it at the bear again. All you can do is watch, feeling helpless and useless as he chases it off.
Once the bear's feet hit close to dry land, it turns and bolts back to the woods. Soap chases it a short distance, making sure that it gets the message.
"Yeah, that's right! Run to the woods and fucking stay there!!" Soap shouts one last time, waiting as he watches the bear disappear into the green brush. Once he's sure it's gone, he quickly turns to look for you. You're still huddled in the water, in roughly the same place you'd been when he got there.
"States!" He shouts, running back into the water to you. "States! Come here, swim to me! Are you alright, lass?" He asks hurriedly, not stopping until he gets to you. When he's close enough, he reaches out and grabs your forearm that's crossed over your bare chest, pulling you to him. It doesn't even fully occur to him that you're naked. It's the least of his concerns right now.
"Are you hurt? Did it get you?" He asks frantically, his eyes wide with panic. His hands run over your shoulders and down your arms a little, checking for injuries while trying to be mindful that you are naked.
"N-no... just got really close..." You wrap your arms tightly around your chest, trying to cover your breasts as you shake uncontrollably. The bone-chilling cold of the water and the overwhelming surge of adrenaline coursing through you are both to blame for that.
"Oh, lass, you're shaking like a leaf. Come on, it's ok now. Let's get you inside and warm you up, alright?"
Soap's voice is just as shaky as your body, but you don't notice it in that moment. All you can focus on is the way he wraps an arm around you, keeping you pulled close to his side, while his other hand rubs your arm to try and sooth you. He's so warm compared to the water. He feels so safe. You don't care about anything that was said before, you're just happy he's here with you.
Now that it's over, now that the immediate threat is gone, you feel yourself starting to break down. It starts with a little hitch in your breath and then you just start crying. Your head drops towards Soap, and he seems to hold you a little tighter as he walks you out of the water. The whole way, he is mumbling soothing things to you.
"Shhh.. it's alright, lass. You're safe. It's not coming back. I got you, ok? I'm right here. You're safe."
"I froze up." You begin to babble. "It was coming at me- and I just- I didn't- so I just froze." You're not even really sure Soap can understand a thing you're saying. Your voice is shaky, you're sobbing uncontrollably, hiccuping, and shivering.
"Hush, it's alright. Let's just get you inside." He tells you softly, walking you to shore.
You hug yourself tightly as the breeze hits your wet skin, causing your body to shiver more violently and making more goosebumps raise up. The only part of your naked body you can cover is your chest, but you're far from feeling embarrassed about your nudity right now.
"Hang on, lass. Let me get your towel." Soap gives your arms a squeeze and then leaves your side for a moment. He runs over to your now unfolded towel while you slowly walk towards him. "Here we go. Let's get your cover-" He's quick to pick it off the ground and hold it open for you, but he stops upon noticing a brown stain along one edge. Making a face, he tosses it back to the ground.
"Fucking bear took a shite right on it." He grumbles, looking around for anything else he can use to cover you up. He can't seem to find anything though, but he knows he can't leave you naked. You were already feeling vulnerable and scared. He wanted something to put around you.
"Ah hell, here." He sighs, starting to pull his own shirt up over his head. He wrings it out before putting your head through the hole and pulling it down your body. "I know my shirt's wet but it'll cover you up until we can get you inside. Come on, lass."
"My clothes..." You try to protest as he wraps his arms back around you.
Soap looks back as he starts walking you away. "You don't want them right now. They're all muddy. And I'm not sure if it's shite or mud. Come on."
He rubs your back as he escorts you to the cabin, your wet feet collecting dirt and grass along the way. You're still a shivering, shaky, and sobbing mess once you're inside. He walks you all the way to the bedroom, and you'd probably be shocked (if you weren't already in shock) as he sits you down on his bed.
"Hang on, hen." He says softly as he goes to get you his towel. The term of endearment is lost on you as he wraps it around your still wet body, rubbing a little here and there to dry you off.
Once you're somewhat dry, he goes to your clothing draw and picks out some underwear, socks, and your pajama top and shorts. He wanted to prioritize comfort over warmth since he could just wrap you in his sleeping roll or make you some soup to warm you up.
"Here, got you some nice dry comfy clothes. Can you put them on for me?" He's kneeling in front of you, hands rubbing your towel covered arms to try and warm you up. He's placed the folded up clothes off to your side.
You start to break down again. You can't help it. You'd already been horribly stressed before the whole bear thing, and then you'd been so vulnerable and thought for sure you were going to die. Plus your adrenaline levels were still super high.
"I'm a horrible solider..." You sob. "I froze up- I didn't know what to do! I always know, and my head went blank!"
"Hey, hey look at me." Soap says softly, cupping your cheek in his warm hand. "You're not a horrible solider. You're just upset from last night, and from this morning, and you were completely exposed. It's understandable. Any solider would have freaked out under the same circumstances. It's alright, you're not a bad solider. Just get dressed. We gotta warm you up and calm you down, ok?"
"But I am! What fucking SAS soldier gets scared by a bear!" You're stilling sobbing while Soap tries his best to console you.
"Stop it, you're not. Alright? You are a good fucking solider, States. Hell, I would have been shitting myself too if I was butt ass naked trying to take on a black bear by myself. Then again that bear probably would have went running as soon as he saw me naked. You can vouch for how horrifying that is, aye lass?"
Despite still being an absolute wreck, you laugh a little at his comment. It doesn't fix everything, but it brings a smile to your face, and that's good enough for Soap. He smiles back at you, taking a moment to move some of the wet strands of hair that are plastered to the side of your face behind your ear.
"I knew that'd make you smile." He chuckles. "Now, please get out of my wet shirt and put something dry on. I'm going to go get some soup on the stove. Something to warm you up."
You weren't exactly hungry at the moment, but Soap is up before you can even protest. He grabs a shirt on his way out and shuts the door to the bedroom to give you some privacy to get dressed, but he leaves it open a crack.
Slowly, you start to drop the towel from around your shoulders and take off Soap's shirt. It's way too big for you, but it did a good job at covering you up in the mean time. It's damp as you peel it off over your head, and you start to feel exposed again. Even if you are all alone, the feeling remains. You quickly begin to dress yourself in the clothes he laid out.
The whole time you redress yourself, you find your hands are still shaking. The scene plays over and over in your head. The bear growling at you, the fear that you were going to be eaten alive, the relief when Soap showed up. Thank God he'd been close enough to hear you. Who knows what would have happened if he hadn't been there. You can't even bring yourself to care about what happened before. You are certain you are alive because of Soap.
Once you're fully dressed, you slowly slide off Soap's bed. You don't want to be alone with your thoughts right now... thinking about what could have happened. Silently, you make your way out of the bedroom, pull the door open, and step into the kitchen. Soap is at the stove, stirring a pot of what is most likely chicken soup.
When he hears the bedroom door open, he glances over his shoulder to you. "Go lay down, lass. Soup will be ready in a moment." He tells you gently, but you stay put.
"I... I don't wanna be alone.." You admit softly, wrapping your arms around yourself and looking to the ground. You can't bring yourself to look at him right now.
Soap looks over his shoulder again, frowning as he notices how small you look. He'd be lying if he said it didn't make his heart clench in his chest. This wasn't the States he was used to seeing. Something had changed when he'd heard you screaming for him. Seeing you cower before that black bear, pulling your shaking body to his, and hearing you sob.
He's never seen you like that. Vulnerable. Scared. The bear incident had rattled you, but it'd also scared him too. He couldn't help but feel a surge of protectiveness. A desire to protect you. He'd always seen you as a thorn in his side, not someone he needed to protect. Not as someone he was afraid to lose.
"I'm here. Everything is ok now." He reminds you.
"If you hadn't been... I would have died..." You see your vision getting blurry again and hold your breath, not wanting to cry again. You've cried more in the last few days than you have in years.
"Don't think like that." Soap tells you firmly, his voice almost harsh.
You don't know what to say to him, but it's not like you could speak anyway; you're on the verge of tears again. Your body speaks for you, because soon, you can't hold your breath any longer. A shaky, uneven breath escapes you, the sound telling Soap more than enough.
"States, come here." Soap sighs softly.
You hesitate a moment before slowly making your way to him. By the time you reach him, the soup is beginning to steam. Soap moves it off from the directed heat before he turns to you.
"Look at me, lass." Soap says softly, grabbing your chin and pulling your gaze to his. "Don't even be thinking about what else could have happened. It didn't. I was here, you're alive. There is no point in imaging different outcomes. You hear me? Don't do that to yourself."
His voice was rough. You can't tell if he's mad or not, but you don't want him to be mad. The thought of another fight between you, especially now, is enough to break you.
"Are you mad at me?" You find yourself asking before you can stop yourself. Your voice cracks and a single tear runs down your cheek.
Soap's face changes instantly. His features soften up, especially his eyes. He lets go of your chin and brushes the tear away before looking away.
"No, hell... I'm not mad." Soap says carefully. "If anything, I'm mad at that bear for threatening your life. I don't... I don't want you dead, States."
You blink at him for a second as you take in what he's said. Soap's words weren't a declaration of undying love, but they had a similar impact on you. He wasn't saying he loved you—it was Soap, after all, he didn't like you—but his words carried a weight akin to a heartfelt confession. He didn't want you dead, and that was pretty special in its own way.
You struggle to find something to say. Of course, you know he wouldn't want you dead, but hearing him say it out loud felt strange, almost surreal. His concern felt genuine, and it left you with trying to figure out yet another emotion. You open your mouth, searching for something to say before the silence gets awkward.
"I would have been if-"
"Stop!" Soap immediately cuts you off, closing his eyes a moment as if he's trying to keep his cool. "I'm gonna be mad if you keep talking like that." He finishes, voice calmer now.
You frown at him. "But it's true! I was fucking useless. Everything I did to make it go away didn't work. I yelled at it, I tried to back away slowly, I splashed water at it. Nothing work, it just kept getting closer and closer."
"You just need to know the right things to do."
"What are the right things?”
Soap sighs softly. "We can talk about that later. Right now-"
"No, I need to know now!" You normally wouldn't beg Soap for any kind of help, which tells him just how terrified you'd been.
"States-"
"What if it comes back..." Your eyes are beginning to filled with tears at the thought alone of being in that position again.
"Hey, no more tears, alright?" Soap tells you softly, hands coming up to cup your cheek again and catching a salty tear as it rolls down your face. You sniffle and nod, trying to look away, but Soap moves his hand to your jaw to keep you looking into his eyes.
"Listen hen, that bear isn't going to be coming back anytime soon. Even if it did, I'm gonna be right here to chase it off again. I'm not going anywhere. You're safe."
You've never seen Soap's eyes so soft before. They're beautiful when they aren't glaring at you, a rich blue you could drown in. His voice is like velvet -soothing, heavy, and warm- wrapping around you like a soft embrace.
"You promise?" You ask as Soap drops his hand from your cheek.
"Yeah, I promise." He agrees, glancing away from you and to the pot of soup. It may have been off the heat, but it's bubbling now. "Soup is ready. Go wrap yourself up in my blanket, you still look cold. I'll be in shortly with the soup."
You look down to yours arms, which were covered in goosebumps. You weren't cold though. It was Soap's words that made them appear. You don't correct him on this though and just nod your head, padding off to the bedroom again. You sink back down onto his cot, tucking your knees to your chest. A second or two later, Soap is stepping into the bedroom, two mugs in his hands.
"Feeling better?" He asks you, pushing a mug of warm soup into your hands and then slowly sitting down by his pillow.
"Yeah. Still a bit shaken up, but I'm feeling better now." Your voice wasn't shaky anymore, and you think most of the adrenaline is gone now. You look down into your cup of soup, watching the steam come off it.
"Are you sure you're ok?" He asks, taking a sip from his cup and wincing when he discovers it's still too hot to drink.
"Yeah... I mean it didn't get to me. Just got really close and messed with me a little mentally." You frown, going to take a sip yourself and wincing. You hadn't seen Soap do the same thing a second before.
"Yeah, sorry. I made it too hot." Soap frowns when he sees you wince. You end up putting your cup down on the floor to let it cool off. Even the handle was getting kind hot. The cups you were using were the crappy military ones people used while out in the field.
"I'm sure it'll cool off quick." You say dismissively. You were just touched he'd made soup for you in the first place. Soap is also placing his mug on the ground a moment later.
"Do you... do you want to talk about it?" He asks slowly, unsure. "Otherwise we can talk about something else." He offers.
You sigh softly, picking at a string on your shorts. "I don't even know where to start really. It all happened so fast. I'm in the military, and I don't think I've ever been so scared in my life." You can't help but let out a dry chuckle at that realization. "I felt so helpless. I mean at least in the field I have my gear, and my training, but... I had nothing."
"That's not true." Soap shakes his head. "You have your voice. That's probably your best defense against something like a black bear."
"Bear didn't listen to me. I screamed and shouted at it. It did absolutely nothing." Your voice shakes just slightly as you recall it. Your throat still feels a little raw from all the shouting.
"Got my attention, didn't it?" Soap counters, his tone softening a bit as he meets your gaze. "I wouldn't call that nothing."
"Well it's a good thing you were close enough to hear me. Otherwise it would have been worthless. Bear ran off when you shouted at it. I don't get why it worked for you."
"Walk me through everything that happened. Did you start screaming at it instantly?"
You sigh softly and try to think back about the entire event. "Well... no, I guess not..." You frown, taking yourself back into the lake. "I was kinda in shock for the first few moments, and I think we just stared at each other. I couldn't remember if I needed to play dead or what, but then it just charged into the water after me. Tried to back away, I shouted at it, which didn't work. I tried looking for something to defend myself with, and it..." You pause to take a shaky breath, "it lunged at me the second I looked away. I splashed water at it, I screamed, I even fucking punched it when it got close to me- God it'd been so close to me... I was able to touch it... I saw its teeth. I could practically feel its breath on me..."
You trail off when you feel a warm hand gently grab yours. You were unaware that you were breathing heavily and clenching your hands into fists in your lap. Looking over, you see Soap has moved to your side, his eyes studying you and his brows pinched together in worry.
"Deep breath, aye?" Soap says softly.
"Sorry..." You breath out shakily. Slowly you relax your hand, opening it and letting Soap hold it better. He doesn't interlace your fingers or anything romantic, he just gives it a squeeze and then lets go.
“You punched that bear?” Soap asks, staying close to you instead of leaning back again.
You hum softly. “Yeah… yeah, I guess I did. I didn’t know what else to do. It was going to bite me if I didn’t.”
“That’s pretty bad ass.” Soap says, almost like he’s trying to make you feel better about yourself. “How many people can say they punched a bear?”
“I think it just made it more mad. I tried to run the second it was distracted, but it just jumped back in front of me.”
“Punching it was the right thing to do.” Soap assured you. “Most bears would have ran away if you did that. I think this one was too convinced that you were an easy target. So it wasn’t going to give up easily.”
You frown, hating to think you’d made yourself an easy target. You prided yourself on being able to handle yourself out in the field. It felt like your skills were slipping.
“How the hell do I make myself not an easy target? I did everything I could. I even fucking punched the damn thing. Nothing worked… I just don’t get it.” You’re getting upset again. You feel so frustrated, upset, and angry at yourself.
Soap grabs your leg and spins you to face him. You gasp as you find yourself suddenly face to face with him.
"Your first mistake was that you didn't stand your ground." He starts, face just inches from yours. On instinct, you try to back away from him towards the edge of the bed, but he just follows after you.
"You don't play dead or back away from a black bear. You can't show it you're scared or it's over. You gotta get big immediately, make your presence known, and don't back down."
You find yourself at the edge of the bed with nowhere else to go. You feel cornered as Soap cages you in, placing his hands on either side of you on the mattress. He looks intimidating as he towers over you, demonstrating the effects his instructions have.
"That should be second nature to you, yeah States?" He mumbles, as you watch him.
"Second,” he continues. “You get loud immediately. Your voice needs to be strong and confident. Just like in the field, you can't show fear and then expect the enemy to take you seriously when you get loud. I know you've got quite the vocals. That won't be an issue for you."
You look away, feeling vulnerable under his intense gaze. He instantly grabs your chin, making your eyes lock onto his.
"And you never, ever, look away from a black bear. Or any animal for that matter. You keep your eyes locked on, no matter what. Just like with me when we argue. You never look away from me first. You always hold your ground like the damn stubborn solider you are. Drives me fucking crazy when you do that."
His voice is deep and gravelly as he says that last part, and your thoughts instantly go to last night. How you’d refused to look away until he finally broke.
You find yourself locking eyes with him now. His hand remains firmly on your chin, his eyes staring dominantly into yours.
“Yeah, just like that.” He mumbles. The energy rolling off Soap feels similar to yesterday, but it's still different. It's a different intensity, one that makes you feel like you can't breathe.
He's towering over you, trapping you in like he's the bear that won't let you escape. Except it's not a bear, and it's just Soap. If you can stand your ground against Soap, you can stand your ground against a black bear. Soap was probably just about as dangerous as one, if not more.
The fear melts away, replaced by the warmth of Soap's proximity. He's close enough you can feel his breath against your lips. You can feel the heat coming off his body as he leans over you. Your eyes still haven't left his, and how could you look away when his start to soften slightly. You don't want to fight anymore. You just want to get lost in the peace that his non-glaring eyes bring.
Then his hand slides from your chin to the side of your face, his thumb gently tracing along your jaw. The touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you can feel your heartbeat quickening. Soap's eyes are intense as they lock on yours, his pupils dilating slightly. The tension in the room shifts to something far more intense and intimate.
Your lips part, as if to speak, but no words come out. You're not even sure what you would have wanted to say anyway. Instead, your body seems to move on its own. You tilt your head slightly and then quickly close the distance, meeting his lips in a tentative kiss. The little voice in the back of your head is screaming at you, asking what the hell you’re doing, but his lips are so warm and soft, so different from how you remembered them feeling. The gentle pressure of his lips against yours makes that voice fade into the background until it vanishes entirely.
Soap is still at first, you hear him inhale through his nose when you first press your lips against his. As soon as you try to pull away though, his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you back in as he deepens the kiss. He kisses you back firmly, quickly dominating the kiss. A fire instantly ignites within you, and you melt into him. Your arms wrap loosely around his neck as you lose yourself in the sensation.
The kiss grows more feverant, yet your lips move against his at a deliberate, slow pace, resisting his attempts to quicken it. The wet, gentle sound of lips meeting and parting fills the air, mingling with the sound of your gradually quickening breaths.
You're starting to tremble slightly as your heart rate increases, yet Soap remains as composed as ever. You need to know he feels the same way, that you're not the only one affected by this. You slip a hand from around his neck down to his chest, placing it over his heart. His heartbeat thumps heavily against your fingertips, its rapid pace mirroring your own.
Soap gently takes your hand and pulls it away from his chest, guiding it back around his neck as he rocks back, settling you into his lap. His hands rest on your hips, pulling you down against him, positioning you right over the bulge in his pants. Feeling the firm press of his member between your legs has heat pooling there fast. Meanwhile, Soap's hands travel from your hips, his fingertips ticking along the sides and backs of your thighs, only adding to that sensation.
You move your hands to cup his cheeks, tracing them along his jawline and feeling the prickly stubble beneath your fingers. When you brush your fingers against the sensitive skin behind his ear, a soft, low moan escapes him. His hands shift from your thighs to your lower back, just above your butt. He presses you down against his bulge, grinding you against him and encouraging you to move.
The thinnish material of your shorts does not do much to separate you from the tough denim of Soap's pants. The seam of his pants is rubbing deliciously against you and you start to grind gently to keep that sensation going.
You moan softly at the contact, your lips breaking free from his as you do. Your eyes flutter open, and you find that Soap is already looking at you. His lips are parted, and his breathing is a little labored, but you hardly pay any attention to those things. His eyes are filled with emotions that you've never seen before. The only discernible one you can pick out in your haze is confusion.
"We need to stop." He whispers, and you blink at him in surprise. It takes a few seconds before you fully realize what he's said, but once you do, your heart drops a little.
You weren't expecting him to say that. Of all the emotions in his eyes, wanting to stop hadn't been one you'd picked out. He'd seemed so into it just a moment ago.
"But-" you begin to protest, but he cuts you off.
"If it was a mistake the first time, it's going to be a mistake the second time. And you're not in the right mindset." He moves his hands to your hips and starts to lift you off his lap. He sets you back down on his cot, and you notice him trying to subtly adjust the bulge in his pants, evidence he’d been enjoying it.
As initially sad as you are about stopping, you know he’s right. Having sex again really wasn’t a good idea. You’re not even really sure what you’d been thinking. Now that Soap had put an end to it, you felt embarrassed.
“I’m sorry...” You mutter, feeling your cheeks heat up.
Soap sighs softly. “Don’t be. It’s not like I didn’t kiss you back. Just forget it happened.”
You look down at your lap, a frown making its way to your face. Soap's words echo in your mind, pulling you back to the conversation you had earlier that day. To just forget it, move on, and act like it didn’t happen. Go back to the ways things were before.
"I… I don't want to go back to how things were." You find yourself blurting out, the words slipping past your lips before you can fully process them.
The thought of falling into the same old routine with him, arguing and bickering constantly, is unbearable. You wanted things to be different. You liked this. The soft touches, the gentle looks, his deep soothing voice and not the rough angry one. You don't want to give that up.
“What?” Soap says, confusion evident in his tone. “States, we can't keep fucking each other. It's only complicating things." He argues.
"No, that's-that’s not entirely what I meant. I mean like, I'm tired of us constantly fighting. I like this. I want things to be like how they've been today. Or at least the last few hours. Feeling like I can rely on you, not fighting, being civil. I want that for us, not what we had before. I don't care about sex. I just want… I want to connect with you. For us to connect with each other.”
You feel like you're opening your heart up to Soap, which is surprising. You've never felt this emotionally vulnerable around him before. The only thing that comes close is your first day together when you cried in front of him. Even sex with him had felt more physical rather than any emotional connection.
You wait with bated breath for his response as Soap looks away, his lips pursing together. You can tell he's uncomfortable with this topic.
"Soap... can't we just start over?"
Soap sighs heavily, leaning his head back against the wall and looking straight up. "I don't know if we can just start over." He mutters, making you frown.
"Can't we try?" You ask him softly, trying to look for any changes in his body language that you were pushing too much. You didn't want to ruin the somewhat peaceful atmosphere.
"I just don't see how-"
"Please." You push, and he turns his gaze back to you. He looks just slightly irritated, and you know you're pushing it too much. He’s getting annoyed.
"Keep in mind, I did almost get eaten by a bear today. So you know..." You add, using the near death experience to guilt him into agreeing while also trying to lighten things up a little. It seems to work as the irritated look leaves Soap's face.
"Steaming Jesus..." He mutters under his breath, clearly not happy with you using that against him. He wanted to say no so badly, but he found that the words wouldn’t leave his lips. Whether it was because of what you said, that you almost had died, or because deep down he really did want to start over, he wasn’t sure.
Finally, after a few seconds, he sighs. “Gonna hate making Price think he's right." He grumbles, his resolve cracking slowly. "Fine lass. But I'm not making any promises."
You’re honestly shocked he agrees to having a fresh start. You expected him to just close himself off and say no, but you definitely aren’t going to complain. Any tension you had instantly leaves your body, excited by the idea of starting over. Of you and Soap being nice to each other. Giving him a smile, you extend your hand out to him and clear your throat.
"Hi, I'm (y/n) (y/l/n) but people around here call me States. I've been with Task Force 141 for about six months now, but I don't think we've met yet." You reintroduce yourself to Soap, but he's making a face at you.
"Get out of here with that shite." He grumbles, swatting your hand away, but his voice is light, not angry.
Pouting at him, you hold your hand out again. "Aww, come on. Is that really how you want our first introduction to each other to be like?"
"You're fucking mad, woman."
"I almost gotten eaten by a bear today! The least you can do is play along." You argue, making Soap narrow his eyes at you.
"You're really going to play that card again?"
"Yep." You stick your hand back out, giving him an expectant look.
Soap looks between you and your hand a few times before rolling his eyes and groaning. "You can't use that for everything you know." He reluctantly puts his hand into yours.
You give him a smug smile and a little shrug. "If it works, it works. Now..." You clear your throat and nod towards him, hinting at him to continue playing along.
He gives you a glare before sighing deeply. “Ughh, hey, lass... I'm, uh, I'm Sergeant John MacTavish. Everyone expect Ghost calls me Soap. I'm the incredibly handsome and daring hero who saved you from getting eaten by a bear today."
You roll your eyes at him. "What you want a metal or something?" You grumble, but he's already said so much more than you expected that you can't really complain.
"Would be fine if you offered to do my laundry for the next month as a thank you." He shrugs, and you withdraw your hand from his.
"Just put me back in the lake."
"Alright." Soap shrugs, surprising you by reaching out for you. His hands grip your waist, and before you can react, he's attempting to hoist you up.
You gasp and start to squirm immediately. "Don't you fucking dare, MacTavish!" You warn, pushing at his hands and trying to wiggle away. You almost manage to get to the end of his cot, but he just gets up and pulls you back to him. He pins you down on your back as he stands over you.
"You going to do my laundry for the next month?" He asks, pausing and keeping you pinned while he gives you once last chance to agree.
"No! Fuck you!"
"Alright, guess I'm putting you back then." You squeal then as Soap hoists you up, practically throwing you over his shoulder.
"Put me down! I swear Soap!" You shout at him, pounding your fists against his back.
"I'll put you down in the lake." He tells you, turning to head towards the door, but then he kicks over your mug of soup, sending it clattering a few feet in front of him and spilling cold soup everywhere. "Ops." He mumbles, looking down at it.
You stop struggling when you hear the metal clanging, and Soap puts you down on your feet. You look down at the mug with Soap for a long second. Normally fighting would ensure, with either you cussing Soap out for picking you up or Soap getting pissed for you setting it somewhere he could kick it.
Instead, you take a deep breath and start to laugh. Soap shifts his gaze from the mug to you, seeming surprised by hearing you laugh. He must have been expecting some kind of fight too. You don’t notice it, but a small smile makes its way to his face.
“That's karma for trying to put me back in the lake." You shove him lightly, in a playful way, and step over the puddle to go into the kitchen to get some paper towel. You hear Soap scoff behind you.
"Says the one who's about to clean it up." He throws back, watching you grab the paper towels.
You chuckle softly as you walk back over, slapping them to his chest. "Nah, I was just getting them for you. You kicked it over, you clean.”
"You put it down there." He throws back, just like you knew he would.
"But I almost got-"
"Ahh!! No! You can't use that anymore! I already did what you wanted and did that cheesy introduction bit. Just go sit on your bed. Steaming Jesus." He gripes, but he goes to mop up the mess anyway.
You feel another laugh bubble in your chest, and you smile as you watch Soap squat down to lay the paper towel over the liquid. Even though it sort of felt like you were still arguing a bit, it was much lighter now. You knew things could flip and tomorrow he could be a total dick all over again, but for now, you wanted to enjoy this.
As you laugh, Soap finds himself smiling again. Perhaps you weren’t as bad as he thought. Maybe letting you in wouldn’t be so bad…
Summary: Soap being gone for so long has you extremely worried. When he finally shows, you have an exchange of words, and Soap learns that you are human after all.
Word Count: 4,000
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, swearing, strong language, angst, slight panic attack, Soap is still mean?, suggestive language, partial nudity 
A/N: I’m ahead in writing by two characters, but expect weekly updates! Let me know how you’re liking it so far! Also comment some possible scenes you might want to see, sometimes I include them! Enjoy ~
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Bitter Allies • Part 5
The cabin, which had no electricity, was dark now. The sun was setting over the lake, which was beautiful, but you didn't have it in you to enjoy it right now. All you could was pace in the kitchen, the only light and source of heat coming from the embers in the wood stove from when you made food.
Soap was gone. He'd been gone all day. You didn't know what time it was when he left, but the sun had been high in the sky and now it was setting. Your mine was racing.
What if he had gotten hurt and couldn't get back? What if a bear or something killed him? Were there even bears where you are? What if-
There was a groaning sound as the cabin door opened. You gazed snapped over to the door right as Soap was walking through it. He looked tired, but that was to be expected. You don't know where he went or what he did, but you know he hasn't eaten. Unless he ate some berries or something during his time in the woods, but you doubted it.
A mix of emotions hit you as you look at him. Anger at him for being gone for so long, relief that he was back, and conflicted feelings when you feel your eye start to burn with tears. Truth was, you did care about Soap to some extent, and him not coming back after an hour or two scared the hell out of you.
Despite your current state, and after everything that happened this morning, you wanted to keep your voice calm when speaking to him. You didn't want to yell, start another fight, or add more stress. However, the moment you open your mouth, anger burns in your chest like lit gasoline. Knowing you'll combust if you try to speak, you pause, hoping he'll speak first, and stay in your spot in the middle of the kitchen.
Soap's eyes were down as he walks in, not even acknowledging you. His lips were tightly pursed shut, and his body language was tense. He doesn't even spare you a single glance as he makes his way to the where you'd carefully placed all your food rations.
Taking a deep breath, you try to swallow the anger and address him.
"Where have you been?" Your voice shook the slightest bit, but you managed to keep it fairly steady.
Soap doesn't respond. You hear a faint annoyed sigh from him, but that's it. Your anger is boiling over at this point. You tried to ask nice, tried to be calm, but he was going to give you the silent treatment? Act like nothing had happened and like he hadn't made you worried sick for at least the last four hours?
"Soap, where the hell have you been?!" You were shouting now, and your raised voice finally makes Soap's gaze shift over to you. He looks you over a bit before rolling his eyes, returning to flipping through MREs packets to find a meal he wants.
"Don't fucking ignore me, Soap! You can't just leave and be gone for hours like that!"
"Fuck off, States." He grumbles, continuing his search for food. You stare at his back for a long moment, a bit taken back by his response. He really thought it was fine to go out into the woods for hours? To just leave you alone in the middle of the woods wondering if he was ok? Could he really not see how much distress he'd caused you by being gone? Or did he just not care?
You'd been worried about him.
Your chest tightens a bit, hands clenching into fists at your sides. You hated Soap with every fiber of your being, yet you worried when he was gone. You hated that you felt this way about him. You hated that he made you feel this way and now he was acting like it wasn't a big deal.
"Fuck off, States..."
"Don't tell me to fuck off! What gives you the right to leave like that? I didn't know if you were coming back or not." He just keeps ignoring you, his shoulders tense, and you snap. "John! Fucking turn around and answer me!"
That finally gets his attention. He looks back at you, jaw clenched tightly. "What have I told you about calling me that!?" He shouts at you, but you ignore him.
"Can you just listen to me!? I was worried about you, you stupid fucking idiot!" You shout at him, feeling your breath hitch a bit as a sob boils in your throat. You couldn't stop it. Tears started to run down your cheeks. You tried to brush them away, but they just kept coming.
"I sat here for hours! I didn't know where you were. I went outside, and I looked, and looked for you, and I couldn't find you. I thought you got hurt, or-or killed, or a bear got you, or you-you got lost. I didn't know if you were coming back, and I was scared that you weren't going to, and I didn't know what to do!"
You're sobbing by the end of your outburst, giving up on wiping tears away or keeping the sobs down. The stress of the day had gotten to you, and Soap leaving had been the final thing to make you break down. Now you just stood in front of this man that you hated, feeling scared that he'd died while he was gone, and sobbing uncontrollably into your hands.
Soap stood there frozen as he watches you. He'd never seen you cry before. No matter how bad the fights got, you never cried. Or at least not in front of him. He didn't really know what to do, but you were really upset. You're starting to hyperventilate, and he had to admit, he was getting a little worried.
"States, just calm down, lass." He says in the most gentle voice he's ever used when talking to you. "Stop crying, you're fucking up your breathing." His voice is still gentle, and there's a tinge of worry behind his words as he stays frozen in place.
You try to stop, you really do, cause crying in front of Soap isn't something you like doing, but you can't stop. Now that the wall has been busted down, the water wasn't going to stop until the pressure had been released.
Soap finally moves when you can't seem to stop and turns to one of the shelves behind him to grab a cantina. He unscrews the top and takes your hands, wrapping them around the bottle and then brings it up to your lips. "Here, lass, drink some water. Take some deep breaths for me too, aye?" His hand pressed into your upper back, just steadily remaining there for support.
You do as he says, trying to take a few small sips and wiping at your eyes again. It helps a little, enough to settle you down a bit. You meet Soap's eyes, still sniffling and hiccuping softly. He still had his hand on your back, but he removes it to take the cantina back when you're done.
"I was worried about you..." You repeat, this time in more of a whisper as he puts the bottle back on the shelf.
Soap sighs softly and looks away, down towards the floor. You start to sniffle again, which makes him look at you once more. "Hey now, don't start that again."
"I'm not trying to. I can't help it. I was scared." You defend yourself, breath stuttering slightly.
"Look States, I... I'm sorry. Ok? I didn't mean to make you worry."
You're shocked. Absolutely in pure shock that this man is apologizing to you. He's never apologized to you for anything, and the thing is, he looks genuinely sorry. You stare at him for a long moment, making him uncomfortable.
"Don't look at me like that." He shifts nervously in place, a frown on his features.
You shake your head a bit, snapping yourself out of your state of shock. "Sorry, I've just never... I-I'm glad you're back." You rub your arm nervously. "Please don't.. please don't ever do something like that again."
"I won't." He says simply. "Stop all your crying now, aye? Go wash your face."
Normally you would have snapped at him for telling you what to do, but he's still talking to you softly. Like he's telling you to do something to make you feel better, not just to belittle you. So you nod and make to grab the flashlight to walk out to the pond. Before you get to the door though, he's calling out to you.
"Aye, States. Are you hungry? I'm going to make some food. You want some?"
You look back to him, surprised that he offered. You'd eaten a few hours ago, but you hardly had anything all day. Plus all that worrying you'd done had worked up quite an appetite. "Yeah... That'd be nice." You agree, getting a nod from him as he turns back to picking something from the cabinet.
"Alright. Go wash up. I'll get started." He says, his back to you now. You hesitate a moment more before stepping outside into the cool air.
It's quiet outside, aside from some frogs and an owl. The fresh air feels nice and helps to settle any remaining stress you had. You hear Soap inside, putting more wood onto the fire to get the oven going. It didn't seem real what just happened. You weren't quite sure what to make of any of it.
Sighing softly, trying to push everything that happened today behind you for now, you click on the flashlight and head towards the water. The sun has gone down and the moon is casting a soft light on the water's surface. Once you reach the edge, you scoop some water into your hands and splash it over your face, letting the icy water soothe your puffy cheeks. It feels nice despite the bite it has from the cold. It's just what you need.
Realizing you don't have a towel or anything to dry your face with, you end up just gently patting your face dry with your shirt. You'd be changing for bed soon anyway. You were regretting, however, packing your shorts and an oversized teeshirt to wear as pajamas. They weren't going to be very warm, and despite what you hoped was a new development in your relationship with Soap, you still were not fond of him seeing you in something like that.
The thought of your pajamas made you remember your lack of a bedroll. Maybe you should apologize to Soap for getting so upset with him earlier. It was technically your responsibility to keep track of it, and you doubted Soap would purposely do something like that to you. He was mean, but you didn't think he was that mean. Plus he had just apologized to you. Maybe you should return the favor. Extend the olive branch.
That was going to be hard though...
You sigh softly and get up, heading back into the cabin. Soap managed to get the fire going and now had a pot of what looked to be beans on the stovetop. He'd also laid out two pieces of bread on your plates. You stayed by the door, trying to warm your hands a bit as you watched him stir the pot. After a few seconds, he breaks the silence.
"Feeling better?" He asks, eyes focused on the food he was preparing.
"Yeah." You answer, yelling at yourself to just get the apology out. It was stuck though. Apologizes weren't really your strong suit. Plus making them to someone you had a bad rivalry with made it all that much harder. Instead, you find yourself clearing your throat and changing the topic.
"Uh... So I was thinking maybe we should make a few rules. For both of us to follow." You watch him for his reaction, not sure what you were going to get.
Soap surprisingly nods. "Sure. What were you thinking?" He asks, still not looking at you.
"Well... Maybe rule one should be that we can't go off into the woods alone for more than an hour? Just for safety." You start, which is met with silence. "If we need to go somewhere to cool down, maybe we go to the lake. Or somewhere else close by. I just don't want to have to go looking for you if I need you."
"Sure." Soap finally answers. "I can do that. Anything else?"
You think for a moment, not fully prepared to come up with all the rules by yourself at that very second. "Maybe just small things. Like we can alternate who cooks every night. Let me know before you go bathe. Don't leave dirty clothes or food lying around. Stuff like that." You shrug, watching as steam begins to rise off the pot of beans.
Soap stops stirring them and bangs the spoon on the side of the pan a few times. "That sounds reasonable." He agrees, surprising you by how accepting of this he was. "Come get what you want. I'll eat the rest." He tells you, standing out of the way so you can scoop the beans onto your plate.
You pick up your plate that he'd laid out for you and get your spoon, looking at him before looking down at the beans in the pot. You must have hesitated too long because he's rolling his eyes at you a moment later.
"Come on, I didn't poison them or anything." He grumbles, bits of the old Soap coming back.
"Well, I wasn't thinking that until you said something." You attempt to joke, though you aren't sure if Soap thought it was funny or not. He let out a huff, which might have been a laugh, but you're not sure.
"Just get your beans. I'm starving." He mumbles.
"Yes, sir." You say, getting reminded that he hadn't eaten all day. You didn't want a hangry Soap on your hands.
As you scoop up what you wanted, a very small portion so that he can have more, you hear him actually laugh. It's not a full belly laugh, but he does let out a small, single, chuckle.
"Now that's something I could get used to you saying." He mutters, making you roll your eyes this time. Though for once you aren't really annoyed.
"Yeah, well, don't get used to it." You tell him, setting your plate on the small table in the kitchen and sitting down.
You wait as he dumps the rest out onto his plate. You fully plan on sitting and eating with him. Sure, it still felt like you were walking on eggshells a bit around him, but this was by far the most civil you'd ever been with him. Once he's done scooping everything out onto his plate though, he's heading towards the bedroom without another word.
"Where are you eating?" You ask him when he walks past the available chair.
"On my cot." He answers, pushing the door open and shutting it behind him without another word.
You feel stupid now thinking that Soap was going to sit and eat with you. You don't know why you'd been expecting him to, but, now that he wasn't, it hurt a little bit...
Things probably hadn't actually changed. He was just being a littler nicer because he saw you cry. You stare down at your food, feeling a lot less hungry now, but you eat anyway. No point in wasting it.
Once your plate had been cleaned off the best you could, you set it on one of the shelves, planning on cleaning it tomorrow morning. You then make your way to the bedroom door and knock softly. You don't get a response, and if you listen really closely, you can hear gentle snores.
Opening the door carefully, you see that Soap had fallen asleep. His plate was on the floor next to his cot, scrapped clean. So much for your rule of keeping a tidy space. But you'd let it pass this time since it had been a long day.
Running a hand over your face, you step inside and pick his plate up, carrying it out to the kitchen. You set it alongside yours on the shelf and then you go back to the bedroom to grab your pajamas. You opted to change in the kitchen, just in case Soap woke up, and did so in record time. He was still asleep though when you came back in. However, the second you sat on your cot, making it squeak loudly, he woke up.
"Ah, that damned bed of yours." He grumbles, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
"You were the one who stuck me with this bed." You remind him, making him grumble as he sat up. He places his feet on the floor, looking to the ground.
"Where's my-" he starts, but you already know what he's going to ask about.
"I already put it on the shelf for tomorrow." You tell him.
"Oh. Alright then." He mutters, standing up. He starts to take his shirt off, which had you blushing and raising your brows at him. Then he's taking his pants off, which instantly makes you cover your eyes.
"Oh my God! Don't change in here! I don't want to see you naked!" You yell at him, which has him rolling his eyes at you.
"Oh haud yer wheesht! I'm not getting naked! I sleep in my underwear."
You can hear the sound of his pants being pulled down, and you press your hands more firmly against your eyes. "I don't want to see you in your underwear either!"
"Well I didn't think we'd be sharing a room! I didn't pack pajamas!" He exclaims. "Besides, you're not even wearing pants!"
That made you uncover your eyes, your cheeks burning. "I'm wearing shorts!" You pull your shirt up enough for him to see the shorts you had underneath, and also get an eyeful of Soap in nothing but his underwear. He's in army green boxer briefs, which made his ass and what he was packing in the front look... Not too bad.
"That's practically underwear you're wearing." He claims. "Just think of these as shorts!" He balls his clothes up and tosses them into the suitcase with his clean and still unpacked clothes.
"Those are not shorts! I can see every..."
You trail off, not really wanting to admit that you can see the outline of his dick. You don’t want him to know that you looked. In your defense, it was pretty prominent and obvious feature. You know he isn't even... worked up... yet you can still clearly see it. You didn’t have to stare directly at it to see it.
"Just fucking get into your bed." You say instead, but by the look on Soap's face, he knew exactly what you were going to say.
"No, no, go on. Out with it." He crosses his arms over his chest and stares down at you expectantly.
"Soap, I swear!" You're looking straight ahead, holding up your hand to shield your peripheral vision from him.
"If you like something you see, you can just tell me." He continues to egg you on, making you all the more frustrated with him.
"I'm gonna punch you in the thing I see if you don't get it over to your cot!" You threaten, making him finally leave you alone. He holds his hands up in mock surrender as he goes to his cot.
"Alright fine. Just do me a favor and don't squeak that damn cot of yours all night." He grumbles, getting onto his cot and into his sleeping roll. He rolls onto his side, back facing you.
You finally look over at him once he's laying down and then settle onto your own cot. You lay down on your back, staring up the ceiling and feeling thankful for the chilly air as it cools down your reddened cheeks.
Very quickly though, despite the wood furnace next to you, your arms and legs start to get cold. You tuck up into a ball, cot squeaking while you move, but it's not a position you were going to be able to maintain all night. After only five minutes your legs were cramping up, and you wanted to stretch out again, which caused more obnoxious squeaking.
You keep shifting like this, trying to find the best position to keep yourself warm. It doesn't take long for Soap to let out an annoyed groan.
"States, I swear." He grumbles.
"Sorry, I'm cold." You grumble right back, tucking your legs back up again.
It's silent for a little bit as you try to keep from moving around. You're shivering just slightly, but it wasn't a violent shiver by any means. Sleep was going to be difficult though. You sigh softly, your exhale a little shaky.
"Fucking hell." You hear Soap curse, followed by the sounds of him rustling around.
You'd been lying with your back to him, so you look over your shoulder as he gets up. It was hard to see exactly what he was doing. Despite his bed only being a few feet away from yours, it was dark over in his little corner, and his back was to you. The distinct sound of him unzipping his sleeping roll can be heard though.
"Here." He says after a moment and throws something over at you.
You jump slightly, sitting up to grab at whatever he's just thrown. Feeling it over, you quickly realized it was the thermal liner of his sleeping roll. It wasn't as comfortable as a blanket would be, but it was meant to hold in heat. It would keep you warm.
You look over to Soap, watching him flop back down onto his cot, his back to you once more. You're too stunned to move at first. You never expected Soap to do something so... nice. Especially for you.
"Thanks.." You mutter, getting up slowly to better lay out the lining on your bed.
"If it makes you stop squeaking that damn bed." He grumbles back.
You weren't going to argue with him. Whether he was only giving it to you to keep you from moving around or if he really felt bad you were cold, you didn't care. You were just happy to have some warmth.
The inside of the liner is warm already due to Soap having used it right before. It even sort of smells like him a little bit but, surprisingly, not in a bad way. It smells faintly like cologne, but you can't pick out the specific fragrances.
You lay on your side, facing him this time. The apology you wanted to give him earlier is on the tip of your tongue. It was the least you could do since he'd give you the warmest part of his sleeping roll.
"Hey, Soap?" You call out softly, biting the inside of your cheek as you wait for a confirmation he was listening. He grunts a bit. "I... I'm sorry for what happened earlier." Soap doesn't say anything, and you're not sure what he's thinking. It begins to feel awkward after a moment, so you continue, feeling the need to fill the silence. "...I shouldn't have yelled at you like I did."
"It's fine, States. Just go to bed." He mumbles, making you bite the inside of your cheek again.
"Ok." You mumble back. "Goodnight."
"Night, States."
Silence falls over the room then, and you close your eyes. Soap's liner, while not the most comfortable thing, keeps you warm. The day had been long and stressful, and you weren't sure how things would be tomorrow. You just hoped the days would go by quick.
Summary: What starts out as a peaceful morning quickly turns steamy after an argument.
Word Count: 9,565
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, swearing, angst, strong language, arguing, smut, p in v, rough sex, hate sex, unprotected sex, fingering
A/N: Yeah, you read the warnings right. It’s time. When I tell you this chapter took days to write 😭 different parts got rewritten like four times. The final product is nothing like the drafts. Even editing it there was stuff added, and I got to the point where I just needed to stop and post it. Please enjoy!
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Bitter Allies • Part 7
The storm settled down about thirty minutes after you and Soap ate. It still continued to rain, but the thunder was moving off into the distance, and the wind had stopped completely. You were still forced to stay inside, but at least the worst of the storm had passed. You could look for the damages done tomorrow.
Soap laid down after he finished eating and just rested. You didn't say anything more to each other about his episode, and you didn't expect him to open up. It was a little different for everyone, but sometimes talking about it made it worse. With nothing better to do, you also laid down. The sound of the rain falling softly outside was eventually enough to lull you into sleep.
The next morning, you'd gotten up super earlier. Given the fact you probably went to sleep around 1900 (or 7 pm) that made sense. Soap was still asleep when you got up. He was sleeping on his back, an opened black journal balanced on his chest, and a pencil still in his hand. His arms were bare, meaning sometime last night he'd probably stripped down to his underwear again.
Leaving him be, you got up and decide to see what the damages were from last night's storm. You moved both rocks away from the doors then went out the back door, closer to the lake.
There were tiny sticks everywhere in the back. Once they dried out, they'd be great for the wood stove inside. A few larger branches were also scattered about. The one that caused the loud scrapping noise last night had just barely missed the outhouse, and its limbs were propped right up against the side of the cabin. If it'd fallen a few inches closer, it would have hit the roof. You hate to think about what would have happened if it had.
Hopefully this was the last of the rain for a while. You weren't sure if you could take another storm, and shockingly, not because of Soap. Honestly it hadn't been the absolute worst thing to be trapped inside with the Scot. It'd mostly just been boring. But then again Soap had been out of it most of the night because of the episode he had. You had feeling things would have ended in a shouting contest if he hadn't. Regardless, you didn't want that or for him to get triggered by another thunderstorm.
Luckily, the sun was out, birds were singing, and there wasn't a raincloud in sight. It was beautiful out, and you wanted to enjoy the morning. You hadn't had the chance to go on a walk or a run yet. It would be nice to start off your morning positive for once, unlike the last few days.
To be expected after a storm, it was fairly muddy, puddles of water everywhere. The lake had also risen quite a bit with the new water level came right up to the tree where Soap had been sitting yesterday. So a walk along the shore wasn't going to be possible, but you could handle a little mud in the woods. Heading back inside to the bedroom, you make the decision to go on a nice walk around the woods.
Soap is still asleep on his cot, his brows pinched together slightly, and his book still balanced on his chest. The pencil had slipped from his hand though and now just lay beside him. You move around the room as silently as you can, grabbing the things you need and trying not to wake him in the process. He'd make a sound every now and then, but he never woke up.
Once you were ready, you pause at the bedroom door and look over to his sleeping form. You were debating if you should wake him up to let him know you were going. He hadn't given you that courtesy before. Maybe it was time for a little payback. Time for him to wake up and not know where you are. Odds are though, you'd be back before he's even up. Or he simply wouldn't care.
With that in mind, you gently shut the bedroom door, and head off for your walk.
***
For the first time since arriving to the cabin with Soap, you finally feel some of the stress melting away as you walk through nature. It smells like dirt and rain, and it's absolutely perfect. Even the tension is your shoulders seems to be easing up a bit as well.
You're not sure how long you've been gone. There was no way to keep track of time. At some point though, you decide to turn around and start head back the way you came. You didn't want to go too far from the cabin in case you got lost.
As you're stepping over a fallen tree you used as a landmark to let you know you are heading in the right direction, you hear some rustling coming from some densely packed foliage behind you. You pause for a moment, watching the now still bush. Just as you're about to brush it off as nothing, you swear you hear a growl or a grunt. Adrenaline floods your system, triggering your fight or flight instincts. In this case, you go with the ladder reflex.
Jumping off the falling tree trunk, you start to walk with a quicker pace, trying to distance yourself from whatever you heard. The thought of it being a bear or a mountain lion crossing your mind, making a new fear run down your spine. Sure, you were highly trained in stuff like hand-to-hand, but your expertise was in protecting yourself against humans and maybe dogs, not wild animals. If you had a gun, then yes, you could absolutely take on a wild animal, but you didn't even so much as have a knife on your person to defend yourself with.
As you walk, you keep looking back over your shoulder, though you never see anything. While you are distracted and not looking where you're going, you suddenly step in something squishy. Stopping and looking down, you discover you've stepped in what is probably bear poop. A big fresh pile.
You gag a bit and remove your foot, trying to desperately kick and wipe it off on the foliage and nearby trees. The shit on your shoe distracts you momentarily from the thing you'd been trying to get away from. It's when you hear more of the rustling and sniffing sounds that your blood runs cold.
You look around again, still not seeing anything. The greenery around you is far too dense to get a good view. You know you have to get away, but not knowing what the threat was is really beginning to freak you out.
Forgetting about your soiled shoe, you start to walk again, trying to fight the urge to run. Rationally, you knew that could cause whatever it is that's following you to start chasing you. You just want to be back in the safety of the cabin with Soap. Why didn't you bring one of the flares or the knife? It was just a pocket knife, but it would have been better than nothing.
Once some distance has been made, you pause and listen to see if you're safe. You can still hear the soft low rumbles and the shuffling of leaves like something is tracking you. Soon enough, you can't help it anymore; you start to run. You've got to be almost back by now. Surely you can just outrun whatever it is.
It's hard to listen for anything chasing you while you're running, but every time you look behind you, you don't see anything. The bushes are moving, but you can't tell if it's cause you just slammed through them or if you're really being chased. Not wanting to know the answer, you don't dare to stop until you see the cabin.
Relief floods your system when you see the clearing that houses the cabin. The moment you cross the thresh hold, you expect to feel safe. However you don't. You look back towards where you just came from and watch for any signs that the mystery animal is still following you. There isn't any movement or sounds, only the labored sounds of your breath from running. Slowly, you start to back up towards the cabin, senses heightened.
When your back hits something solid, hands grabbing you, you don't process immediately that it's just Soap. Your mind is still in survival mode. You scream and start trying to fight, getting a few angry and surprised sounds out of the Scot.
"Oof-! Steaming fucking Jesus, States!"
Soap had gotten up shortly after you left. When he couldn't find you, he'd assumed you were out in the woods somewhere and just went about his morning. He also surveyed the damages and decided to pick up sticks until you came back.
When he heard a ton of rustling on one side of the cabin, he went to check it out, and there you were. Your back was to him and you were taking slow steps towards him. You'd been about to run into him, and all he did was put his hands up to stop you, and then you started attacking him.
"What the fuck has gotten into you!?" He grabs your wrists, and you're quick to stop trying to hit him once you come to your senses. You look into his eyes, then hear the sound of the leafs rustle again. Your gaze snaps back to the tree line.
"Something was following me. I-I think it was a bear. I ran all the way back." You find yourself pressing back into Soap. His hands move from your gripping your wrists to holding your sides by your ribs once you turn.
You don't notice it, but Soap stares down at you for a second as you huddle against him. His eyes are softened and filled with concern before turning hard as he scans the woods, looking for this bear. He keeps holding you, keeping your smaller frame close to him. You can feel his hold on you tighten a bit, almost protectively.
As he does, without even fully realizing it yourself, you're starting to relax into his hold. Your body is naturally pulling towards him. He's warm and feels like safety. It's when the fear in the pit of your stomach is replaced with butterflies that you notice all these feelings. You try to tell yourself it's just remnants of adrenaline.
When there's a little more rustling, Soap starts to wordlessly move. His hands drift to your hips, and he moves around you. "Stay here." He mutters to you, walking to the tree line, picking up a big stick along the way for protection.
"Soap, wait! What are you doing?" You really don't want to see him get mauled by a wild animal, but there's not much you can do to stop him aside from pick up a stick for yourself and try to help.
Soap pauses to listen carefully for any movement or signs of danger before poking the stick into the green shrubs in an attempt to startle whatever is in there. You tense up as he does, hands gripping your stick tightly, prepared to fight whatever it is he startles.
A little squeak comes from the bush, and Soap watches as a two squirrels dart back into the woods and up a tree. It causes a laugh to bubble in his chest, one he tries to stop, but soon, his hands are on his knees, and he is laughing at you. All you can do is stand there and glare at him, dropping your stick. It makes a dull thump as it hits the ground.
"It was just a few wee fucking cons! You were running from a squirrel!" He laughs, making your cheeks turn a deep shade of red. You're were not too fond of being laughed at.
"I wasn't running from a squirrel!! I heard growling and-"
Soap is still laughing at you. Any "butterflies" you might have had when he held you were crushed immediately. You hadn't been running from a squirrel. Whatever it was had been big and had a deep growl.
"It was a bear! I swear. I even stepped in its shit!" You motion down to your boot, which just looked muddy, but you knew better. "There was at least one nearby!" This just makes Soap laugh even harder.
"You stepped in bear shite too? Oh, that's too fucking good. I bet that fucking sucks." You don't feel like he's sympathizing with you at all. "Have fun cleaning that mess up. Let me know if you need me to scare off anymore angry, growling squirrels, eh lass?"
Your face is getting red with anger and embarrassment more and more by the second. "Stop laughing at me, you fucking dick! I know what I heard!" You shout at him. It had to have been a bear.
Soap sighs as he finally calms down a little, wiping his eyes like he's wiping away tears. His amused express is at restarting to grow a little irritated with your continued claims about the bear. "Oh quit your fussing! There's no bear here, so just pull that stick from out of your ass and calm down."
"How about you stop acting like I'm stupid! Like I'm making it all up, or I'm some paranoid idiot! Even if it was nothing, it still felt like I was being chased."
Soap rolls his eyes, huffing a little. "States, seriously, you're fine so let it go. Stop acting like a wee little girl and start acting like you're a grown ass woman in the military. Go inside, calm down a bit, and come help me pick up sticks."
You roll your eyes at him. You know what you heard. You know how you felt. He could say you got scared by squirrels, but you knew better.
"Go fuck yourself, Soap. I'm not helping you with shit. I'm hungry. I'm going to make food." You grumble, leaving him and stomping towards the cabin.
"Make me some too, aye?!" He calls after you. He was insufferable. You still have four more days of this. The third wasn't even close to being over.
"No!" You shout back, getting a scoff from him.
"Brat." He mutters under his breath as he watches you disappear around the side of the cabin.
You retreat to the cabin, kicking your poop covered shoe off by the door outside before you went in. You'd had enough of being in the woods for today. Outside for that matter. You were certain there was a bear out there somewhere, and you weren't looking to run into it again. If possible, you were content to stay inside and read the rest of the day.
You search around a little bit for something good to eat, eventually settling on making some eggs. Putting a log and a few sticks in the stove, you get a fire going. You set the only frying pan you had on the stove top and wait for it to heat up. Once it does, you take out the eggs and flip the carton open.
Before you can grab one, a scratching sound near the front door makes you jump. You're tense for only a few seconds before huffing and relaxing. It had to just be Soap messing with you.
"Fuck off, MacTavish!" You shout, trying to go back to your cooking, but it keeps happening. Sighing in annoyance, you storm over to the front door. "Soap, I swear, I'm going to kill you if you keep it up!" You shout angrily, pushing the door open, but not seeing any sign on the Scot.
You venture outside a little more, but you don't see him anywhere. What if he wasn't the one messing with you? What if it was the animal from earlier? An uneasy feeling settles over you.
"Soap?" You call out softly, but you get no reply. You even try to peak around the cabin to see if he was hiding by the sides. When you don't spot him, you begin to feel more on edge. Groaning in frustration, telling yourself not to worry, you head back inside.
You pick up the egg carton and try to resume your cooking, though you're still tense and on edge. You'd just managed to pop the lid on the eggs open when Soap comes bolting out of the bedroom. He's making a big scene, growling and snarling, almost like he's pretending to be a bear.
The second he does, your heart is leaping into your throat and you scream. Adrenaline surges through you as you instinctively use the thing in your hand as a weapon. Soap is pretty much right behind you by then, and your muscles react faster than your mind can process. You smash the small paper carton into his chest with all your might, the impact causing most of eggs to burst out of their shells, yolks splattering across his shirt and dripping onto the floor.
Soap stumbles back a step, a mixture of surprise, shock, and anger prominent on his features as he looks down at his shirt. As he does, the box falls to the ground. Any eggs that hadn't broken certainly did as it hit the hard wooden floor.
Your body is buzzing, and your heart is hammering in your chest as you look down at the carton, equally shocked. All of your eggs are gone. Meanwhile, Soap is standing there mirroring your expression. His jaw is dropped, and his clean shirt is splattered with a generous dose of raw eggs. You both stand in stunned silence, until all hell breaks loose.
"Jesus, States!" Soap exclaims, wiping the yolky mess off his chest and onto the floor. "Why the fuck would you do that?! Why did you toss the whole damn carton at me!? That's literally the best fucking thing we have to eat!"
You're in shock. He's really going to get mad at you?
"You're joking right now?" You inquire, raising your eyebrows at him. "Tell me you are joking! You're gonna get mad at me when you're the one who fucking just scared the shit out of me!?"
"I didn't think you'd freak the fuck out and throw all our fucking eggs at me!"
"I didn't think you'd be acting like a child and trying to pull a pathetic prank on me! You scared me for no fucking reason!"
"Oh for the love of God, woman," he growls. "Get a sense of humor! It'd do you some good. Now we have no eggs and my shirt is fucking ruined! I only brought four pairs! I don't have a washing machine or an endless supply of shirts at my disposal!"
"You'd still have a clean shirt if you weren't such a jerk!" You shout back, hands clenching into fists at your sides.
"It was a bloody joke! What about you? Thought you were supposed to be a field specialist. Couldn't hear me coming? Didn't know something was up? Are you that fucking bad at your job?" Soap was pissed at this point to be taking jabs at your line of work.
You laugh, the sound lacking any amusement. All that was there was pure rage and spite. "The hell did you say? I'm not good at my job?" You ask lowly. "I reacted like anyone would when they're scared out of their mind! Forgive me for assuming I wouldn't have to be on guard around someone who is on the same team as me!"
"Ah, don't start with that shite again." He grumbles, rolling his eyes and beginning to walk away.
"Don't you dare fucking walk away from me, MacTavish! I'm not done with you!" You follow after him, moving to block his path. He's trying to head into the bedroom.
Soap glares down at you as you stand in his way. His chest was rising and falling in heavy breaths. "I'd fucking like to get a clean shirt," he growls, gesturing to his chest, still smeared with the remnants of the eggs. "So move."
He doesn't give you a chance to move on your own. He pushes you back into the bedroom and off to the right side of the room where your cot is, simmering in anger.
God, he was so livid. He just wanted to get his shirt and get out of this cabin before he did something he'd regret. Tension had been building rapidly between you since day one. Ghost's words had been haunting him for the last three days, and it was all he'd been able to think about.
You two just need to fuck and get it out of your system.
"Don't push me!" You growl, shoving Soap's hands off you even as he's retracing them.
"Then get the fuck away from me! Leave!" Soap shouts, ripping his shirt off over his head and throwing it to the ground.
"Really? You're telling me to leave when you're the one who started this?!"
"Yeah, I am! So fuck off!" He seethes, storming over to your shared dresser and pulling out a clean shirt for himself.
He doesn't wait to put the shirt on, instead just making a break for the door. You're far too upset to just let him leave though. Moving fast, you block the doorway again, a hand on each side of the frame, trapping Soap inside. Though he could easily plow right through you if he wanted, he just glares down at you.
"Get out of the way, States."
"You know, maybe if you were a better teammate we wouldn't be in this mess! It's your fault we're in this damn cabin anyway!" You point a finger at him, poking him in the chest and adding to his annoyance.
The second you poke him, he snaps. He was so fucking done with this. His patience was hanging by a thin thread, and you just cut it with a knife. In a flash, he grabs your wrist, twisting it so that your finger is pulled away from his chest. His grip was firm, but not painful as he forces you to walk backwards into the kitchen. He glares at you, his blue eyes icy and filled with anger.
"You know what, States?!" He barks, his voice deep and filled with venom. "You think you're so bloody perfect, don't you? Well, let me tell you something, you're not! You mess up all the fucking time! Just like how you messed up in Naryn!"
He moves closer, his face inches from yours. You could feel his hot breath against your skin, see the fury burning in his eyes. Your chest as heaving as you stare up at him.
"Why do hate me so damn much! Tell me, Soap. What did I ever do, that from day one, I became the one person you're ever an asshole to?!" You shout back at him, making him groan and roll his eyes.
"I'm not doing this right now." He growls, releasing your wrist and turning to retreat, but you want answers. You follow right after him and block his exit yet again, making his fists clench as his sides.
"No! You're going to answer me!"
"States."
"Why do you hate me?!"
"Move."
"Or what?" You challenge, not aware how close Soap is to snapping. Your eyes are locked on each other, each refusing to look away.
You're both breathing heavily, and the tension in the cabin is building to a very unstable level the longer you hold eye contact. The very thin string that's been keeping you apart is slowly breaking, snapping slowly until there's just the most fragile thread holding everything together.
Then Soap looks down at your lips, his eyes the knife that makes it all come shattering apart. Before he could think twice, before he can rationalize it, he grabs your face, leans down, and captures your lips with his in a rough, angry kiss. It was spontaneous, impulsive, and probably a terrible idea. But in that moment, he didn't give a damn.
You stand there in shock.
He's kissing you.... Soap MacTavish was kissing you....
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was rough. All teeth and tongue and force.
It was confusing. It made your head spin, making you feel instantly dizzy. But you didn't want to pull away.
You hesitate only for a moment before grabbing his head in both of your hands and pulling his lips harder against yours. Your body presses right up against his as you meet each of his kisses with a fury of your own.
Soap is taken aback by your response. He fully expected you to pull back, slap him, yell at him. But instead, your hands are tangling in his short hair, pulling him in closer.
Well, fuck.
He deepens the kiss, his hands slipping down to circle your waist, pulling you flush against him, your arms circling his neck, keeping his lips on yours. You could feel the heat radiating off him, your chest pressed against his, your nails digging into his scalp. It was intoxicating, maddening, and thrilling.
Your mind was a whirlwind of confusion, anger, and desire. You bite down on his lip and barely register the small, primal sound of satisfaction that rumbles in Soap's throat as you do. His hands move from pressing you against him to gripping your hips. With a grunt, Soap is pushing you back against the closest wall he can find. Your lips pop apart for just a second before he's smashing his back against yours.
He pins you against the wall with his body while your hands eagerly run down his chest and torso. Every time he moves, his muscle flex under his skin. You can’t take your hands off him.
His hands can’t seem to help exploring either. They restlessly roam every inch of you he can touch. Eventually, his hands find the hem of your shirt, and he wastes no time in getting the chance to feel the soft skin of your torso.
The thin fabric of your shirt offers little resistance as he slips his hands underneath it. You feel his roughened fingertips trace up your sides, moving until he reaches your breasts. He cups both of your breasts through your bra, giving them a firm squeeze before gently kneading them. You gasp against his lips, a soft, needy whine leaving you.
Oh hell...
Soap is in deep now. He doesn't care about the consequences, about what this might mean for you both. At this moment, all he wants is you.
"States," he murmurs against your lips, his voice hoarse with desire. It sends a shiver down your spine, and you open your eyes as your lips part a little.
He's still so close to you, his breath coming out in hot huffs against your lips and mixing with your own. His eyes are locked onto yours, his gaze darkened and pupils blown. Like he’s a starved man staring down an animal he wants to devour. It’s almost too intense. Your eyes leave his, flicking down to his lips for a second. They’re red and glossy from your intense make out. You’re sure yours look the same to him.
You don’t get to admire his swollen lips for long. The moment you break eye contact, he strikes. His lips are back on yours, a deep groan leaving him when you instantly return his kiss.
His hands have left your breasts, quickly trailing down your body to grope your plump round ass. He gives both cheeks a firm squeeze, pulling you away from the wall just a bit. One hand moves up to the curve of your spine, the other staying on your butt cheek. He then grinds his hips against you, pulling you tight against him as he does.
You moan at the friction, able to feel him through his pants. He's getting hard right against your thigh as he shamelessly squishes you into his growing erection. His hips are gently humping into you, and you want to move too, but he’s holding you far too tightly.
You didn't think you'd ever be in this position. Kissing, let alone dry humping, on Soap MacTavish. Yet here you are, locking lips with him in some kind of sick, hate filled dance.
Not able to move much, you move a hand to the back of Soap’s neck and gently, but firmly, dragging your nails from the base of his skull to the side of his neck. It pulls a shuddery moan from him and makes his hips lose their rhythm.
Soap suddenly pulls away a little, slamming you back against the wall once more. You grunt as he does, pain radiating up your back. With how much he was slamming you around, you were gonna be so bruised tomorrow.
"You fucker." You growl, hands moving to grab his hips as he presses them back into you. He starts to grind once more, a deep chuckle emitting from him.
"You deserved that one." He says, voice almost shaky with lust.
"The hell did I do?" You ask breathily as he leans back in, kissing at the side of your throat. He trails the wet sloppy kisses right up to your ear, his breath hot and voice husky as he offers up an answer.
"You've been driving me fucking mad for six months." He growls lowly, his teeth nipping at your earlobe.
You moan softly, his words making the throbbing between your legs so much worse. You press them together, but it doesn’t little to stop the ache.
Soap starts to trail his kisses urgently back down your knee, teeth dragging and lips making delicate popping sounds as he sucks a few marks here and there. You moan quietly into his ear, placing a hand on the back of his head as your eyes flutter shut.
Suddenly, he bites down, rather hard, making you gasp and wince. It hurt like hell, but also ignited some hidden pleasure you hadn’t known existed.
“Ahhh, fuck!” You moan, legs buckling, nails digging into Soap’s shoulder to keep yourself from falling.
Soap grabs your hips before you can fall, slotting one of his own thighs between yours. He begins to gently rock you against him, soothing that ache with each rub against his flexed muscle. It pulls a satisfied moan from your lips as he grins at you.
"Oh, there you go, lass." He mumbles, leaning in to kiss at the spot he’d bitten. "That feel better? You like that?"
"Ass." You sigh, gripping his arms as you shamelessly start grind on his thigh to get some relief.
He chuckles at your remark, his teeth nipping at your jawline. "Such a brat. You drive me fucking mad, States, you know that?" He growls, his voice low and lustful.
"Yeah, you don't exactly make me sane either." You growl right back at him, making him laugh deeply.
He removes his thigh completely then, making you whimper at the loss. Your legs instantly buckle again, hands holding onto Soap to keep yourself upright. His hands move to your hips almost instantly, steading you and pressing you back against the wall.
"I can't wait to fuck that sense back into you." His lips collide with yours once more in a bruising kiss. It's dizzying the way he kisses you. And when he bites your lip, making you hiss, and he grins about it. Oh you hated him. Cocky bastard.
His hands move from pinning your hips to the wall, to tracing alone the hemline of your pants. As he is kissing you, he starts to unbutton your pants and yank them down. They only make it to your mid thigh before getting stuck. He growls against your lips, muttering something about you, "always being so fucking difficult."
Your mind is too fuzzy to realize what Soap is doing until he's doing it. Your body jerks, and you gasp when you hear the sound of your pants ripping. Your eyes fly open, and you give him a rough shove to view the damage he's done. The seam right between your legs has been torn almost completely in half.
Your jaw drops as you stare down at your pants in shock. You don’t even realize that his arms are snaking around behind you to finish the job. When he gives it another forcible rip, you snap.
"Oh my God! Soap! Are you serious right now?!" You shout at him, the brain fog of sex clearing up quickly. You can't believe he's just destroyed your pants.
"You ruin my shirt, I ruin your pants. Maybe you can use these as rags when you clean up those eggs."
"Like hell I'm not! You're out of your mind if you think I'm going to be the one cleaning that up. They wouldn't be there in the first place if you hadn't scared me!"
"Yeah, but you're still the one who threw them."
"I can't help it if my fucking reflexes are triggered! If I clean it up, I'm cleaning it with your clothes, you bast- ahh~" You try to threaten him, but your words are cut short when his fingers find your clit. His thumb has slipped under your panties and is rubbing quick little circled right onto the sensitive thing.
Soap laughs as your words trail off, slowly backing you against the wall as you turn to putty under his touch.
"Oh, steaming Jesus... you're already fucking soaked for me." He growls out, eyes training on where his thumb is moving in your underwear before turning his attention back to you. "You that desperate to get your hands on my clothes, sweetheart?"
You huff at his accusation. "That's not what I said, and you know it." You say through clenched teeth, mind melting. "Your clothes smell like shit anyway. Little egg wouldn't hurt."
His hand shifts slightly then, and his middle finger prodding around just slightly before finding your slick entrance. It takes nothing for his finger to push into your velvety walls. He doesn't even give you a second to adjust to the feeling of his finger inside you. He's thrusting it in and out of you, using his palm to keep a steady pressure on your clit.
"N... nah..." you try to talk but couldn't get the words out. The pleasure is so sudden, and when Soap hits that one spot, you don't even want to try to argue with him anymore.
"This all it take to get you to shut up?" Soap growls, his free hand gripping your hips tightly to keep you from moving. "Huh, States? Just needed someone to finger you real good? To fuck some manners into you?"
"Fuck. You..."
Your nails are digging into his forearms as his hand picks up speed, palm now slapping against your clit with each thrust of his fingers. You can feel the pleasure inside you, building and building. Like a faucet dripping into a bucket where the water is beading up at the rim, so close to breaking and pouring over the edge.
And you might have let yourself come if it weren't Soap who was the one trying to make you go over the edge. You don't want to give him the satisfaction of coming so soon, so easily on his just his fingers. Squeezing your eyes shut, you let out a long moan, trying desperately to hold on.
"Fuck, States," Soap growls, able to see just how close you are to giving in. He slows down enough to allow his thumb to find your clit once more, rubbing it in slow, hard circles to change up the pace. He wants to hear you moan, to see you lose control.
"Still think you won't clean it up?" He asked, smirking as your glare turns into your rolling your eyes back as he presses his finger right into the place he knew had been making you squeeze down on his finger. Your hips instantly buck against his hand when he does, telling him he had the right spot.
Shifting slightly so his hip is pinning your leg, he brings his now free hand to your throat, which makes you tense a bit. Your breath hitches, expecting him to squeeze and close your airway, but he's holding it gently, not squeezing. Leaning in, he starts to kiss at your lips again, slower this time, but still just as rough and mean.
His finger has stilled now, buried as deep as he can go. He starts to slowly stroke at the spongy tissue, curling his finger against the same spot over and over. He swallows every moan that leaves your lips, pressing himself harder against you when you fight for control by bucking your hips.
"If you promise to be a good girl," he speaks against your lips between harsh slow kisses. "And clean up the mess you made, then I'll let you come." He gives you a few more kisses, not letting you answer immediately. "You gonna be a good girl for me, States? You gonna shut the fuck up, listen, and do what I tell you to?"
He's looking right into your eyes, his hand still on your neck to keep your gaze on him. You were so tired of Soap having all the control. Tired of not being able to get a word in because he had his hands all over you. You growl at him, which just makes him grin.
In an attempt to level the playing field, you reach down to the now very prominent tent in his pants and grip him hard. Needless to say, you're very happy you'd been making eye contact with him when you do. It wipes the grin right off his face.
"Ahh, fuck!" Soap lips part as he lets out a strangled groan, eyes rolling back ever so slightly. His hips buck hard against your hand as you grip him, and he curses.
He feels a lot bigger than what you'd seen when you accidentally walked in on him naked. Then again, he also hadn't been fully erect then. His cock felt hot, heavy, and throbbing now.
His hand leaves your neck to grab at your wrist, gripping it, but not moving it, as you start to rub your palm against his bulge. He watches the action for a little bit, panting heavily, before turning his focus back on you. His hand starts to move again, thrusting into you in time with your rubbing.
Not one to let Soap of all people win, you start to unbutton his pants and reach down into his underwear to pull his rock hard cock free. Soap hisses as you do, and you can tell why the second he springs free. The tip of his cock is an angry red color. It shimmers slightly from the puddle of precum it's been sitting in while in his underwear, and another bead of it was already forming on the slit, getting ready to form into a little droplet and drip down.
Wasting no time, you get to work, stoking up and down his length, working the precum down his entire shaft. Once he's more slick, you start pumping him furiously, stopping every now and then to let your thumb focus on rubbing the sensitive skin under his tip.
And Soap is fucking loving it. He groans heavily, leaning forward and resting his forehead against your shoulder. "Oh fucking hell, lass. That's it..." He breathes, his hand now slamming back into your pussy in quick thrusts.
"I'm not cleaning up shit." You seethe, voice just above a whisper. Your disobedience earns yourself a stinging bit to the junction where your neck meets your shoulder. Soap's teeth dig into the soft flesh, and you moan out, a mix of pleasure and pain, right into Soap's ear.
The moans sets something off in Soap. He has to have you. Right here, right now. Nothing else mattered. He needed to feel you clamping down on him. He wanted to rid himself of all the tension from the past three days, clear his mind from the anger, burn it off by fucking you. He wants to make you feel good, feel pain, make you scream his name. And he will.
"You don't want to play nice?" He asks, pulling his hand free from your underwear and yanking your hand away from his cock. "Don't want to take responsibility still? Well that's fucking fine, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you so stupid you won't be able to form a single thought let along clean."
You have a retort, but you yelp before you can get it out. You're not sure how he does it, but in a quick movement, Soap has grabbed your legs, wrapped them around his hips, and has you up off the floor. His cock is now resting right in the crease of your ass, your back is still pinned against the wall, and your arms quickly circle his neck for support. The last thing he does is adjust his grip on you, both hands moving to support your ass.
"Doubtful." You egg him on, making him pause to look at you. "You couldn't even make me come on your fingers. What makes you think your cock will be any better?"
Soap glares at you, a snarl forming on his face. "I could've made you come on my fingers, but I'd rather feel you come around my cock."
You rolls your eyes at him. "Bet you'll come before I do."
The glare on his face morphed into a grin that spread slowly onto his face. His member twitches against your ass, and you almost wish you hadn't said what you just said. It was a challenge now, and Soap loved proving you wrong.
"Really?" He snarled, a dangerous glint in his eyes. He shifts you around in his arms, cock dragging along your ass as he pulls his hips back. His tip leaves a cool wet trail. "Let's see if you still think that when you're coming around my cock." You feel the push of his velvety, hot tip as it drags through your folds, lining himself up. "You better brace yourself." He warns, his tone dark and dangerous.
"You better not-”
He pushes into you then. A single, quick thrust of his hips, and his thick length is splitting you in half, filling you completely. You throw your head back against the wall, your breath getting caught in your lungs. Even as slick as you are, it's by no means painless. The sudden intrusion makes your entire body tense as it tries to accommodate him.
"Breathe, States." He instructs, thumbs rubbing circles onto your thighs. At least has the decency to pause for a moment and slowly work his cock the rest of the way into you instead of just ramming you again. By simply lifting your legs a little further up on his hips, you finish sliding down onto him.
His hips are flush with yours, your clit just kissing his hair covered pelvis. You sigh and gasp when your clit meets up with him, the bud still very sensitive. Soap takes a moment to rock you against him, giving your clit a little more stimulation.
"There bonnie. That's better isn't it?" He moans, the gentle rocking feeling good for him too. "Ohh fuck.." He sighs, pressing his forehead to the side of your neck. "You’re so tight."
"That fucking hurt, you fucking ass." You curse him when your breathing finally evens out a bit. That's Soap cue you're ready for more.
"Oh, you're fine. It'll feel good." He readjusts his grip, moving his hands to your thighs, preparing for the harsh fuck he's about to give you.
He wastes no time, dragging his hips back, only leaving his tip inside you, before snapping up into you, starting a brutal pace. You groan loudly, throwing your head back as he slams into you. Each thrust creates a smacking sound as his hips collide with yours. You grip his shoulders tightly, nails digging into his shoulders and clenching your teeth as you wait for the drag of his cock to feel good.
Soap is already enjoying himself, moaning and panting against your neck. "I'm going to ruin you, States.." He breathes against your skin, his voice a low growl. "Feels so fucking good..."
Then it's like a switch has been flipped. The drag of his cock goes from a dull ache to feeling incredible. He's hitting something in you that's taking your breath away in the best possible way. Once the pleasure starts, there is no more holding back.
A moan tore through your vocal cords, head falling back against the wood behind you. Your walls burn as they stretch and flutter, seeming to form perfectly around his cock. The second Soap has you moaning, he goes harder. His hips piston up into you, making your back slam against the wall. It's probably going to make you so sore later, but fuck you don’t care right now.
Soap is starting to sweat already from his efforts. It's also hot in the cabin. Normally he props the doors open during the day for air flow, but he's not about to stop to do that now. He doesn't want to stop. He doesn't want to look away from you. His eyes stay locked on your face the whole time. Your eyes are shut, your mouth hanging out as moan after moan pour from your lips.
He was out of his mind. Fuck Ghost for always being right. Fuck him for putting this idea in his head.
"Ahhh.. Soap!" You moaning his name is almost his undoing. His hips stutter, and he has to focus on not finishing right then and there. His needs to get you off. Now.
Moving his fingers back your clit, he starts to frantically rub your little nub, making you cry out. Fire is coursing through you, everything is wound too tight.
"Come on, States,” he pants, “That's it. I know you're close, lass. I can feel you fucking trying to milk me. Just let go for me. I know you want to." He coaxes, his voice a low growl.
"Fuck!" You curse, his dirty talk really starting to drive you towards the edge. Your legs are shaking as they lock around him, your clit is burning as he continues to rub it. Harsh slaps filled the cabin as Soap's hips continue to met yours, squishing sounds echoing as his cock penetrates you over and over and over again.
"Come for me lass." Soap commands, his voice firm and leaving no room for argument. “Come for me right now.”
"I... fucking.. hate you. So damn much." You growl, tears gathering in your eyes from the intense orgasm about your hit. And then you come, relief flooding your veins. All the tension eases up, all your stress is gone. Melting away as each pump of Soap's cock drags out the waves of pleasure.
"Yeah, scream it louder!” Soap pants, pushing harder, slamming you down on him. “There you fucking go. That's it! That's fucking.. Fuck, States!"
Soap feels your walls act like a vice around his member. One squeeze from you is all it takes to drag him towards his own finish. He needed to feel his own release, to feel himself come undone inside you.
As you start to come off your high, Soap is desperately chasing his own, ignoring how your body is starting to relax. He thrusts harder, faster, fingers digging into your flesh as he holds you up.
All you can do is grab his shoulders and hold on for dear life as he buries his face into your shoulder, his stubble ticking you. Your walls are still fluttering in aftershocks, moans and heavy breaths still pouring your lips as Soap fucks you.
Soap is close, you can tell. His breath hitches, his body tensing as he nears his own climax. His thrusts became more erratic, more desperate. He could feel it building, the pleasure coiling in his stomach, ready to explode. With one last hard thrust, he comes, shooting his load deep inside you.
He groans heavily into your ear, his cock twitching as the hot ropes of his come paint your insides. He’s finished after three more thrusts, his body shuddering as he pushes into overstimulation. He keeps his forehead against your shoulder, panting heavily while he recovers. He can still feel your walls fluttering around him, could still feel the aftershocks of your orgasm.
You cling to him, his hold on you just as tight as the waves of pleasure start to fade for you both. Now that your mind is no longer foggy with lust, something heavy settles in your gut.
What the hell you've just done…
"Fuck," Soap curses, his voice raspy and hoarse.
You feel him shift his hips, allowing his softening member to slip out of you, making you wince. He all but drops your legs, letting them fall from around his waist. You wobble as you try to find your footing, and he pushes you to lean against the wall before taking a step back himself.
You cling to the wall as your shared release begins to drip out of you, running down your thighs and splattering onto the floor. You're panting, as is Soap, as you both try to rationalize what's just happened. Dread and regret settle in the pit of your stomach.
Soap tucks himself back into his pants and runs a hand over his face, looking anywhere but at you. You feel so fragile in this moment as you watch him, waiting for his next move.
"Soap?" You whisper, desperate for him to say something. To talk about what just happened, to tell you what this means. But as Soap looks at you, his eyes harden.
"Go clean yourself up. And all that too while you're at it." He points to the eggs and to the floor under you, his voice cold and distance. He turns to leave, shoving the cabin door open and going God knows where.
Your voice catches in your throat, hurt by his words. You want to stop him, run after him, but you can't. You're in shock, your legs are weak, and you're starting to realize just how much you fucked up.
One second you're in an intense argument with Soap, the next you're fucking each other raw. And now you’re all alone, wondering what hell you just did.
***
Soap needed air. Now. He just made the biggest mistake of his life, and you're looking at him with the most scared and confused eyes. Wondering so many things, things he doesn't have answers for.
"Go clean yourself up. And all that too while you're at it." He tells you. He knows there's no reason to treat you this way. Especially since he's the one who initiated sex with you, but he's so mad at himself right now. Mad for letting himself give in. And even worse, now you look hurt.
He needs air.
Soap rushes outside, shoving the door firmly like it purposely got in his way. He stands on the porch, running his hands over his face. Trying to calm down. He just needs to breathe for a minute.
Ghost was right about one thing. The orgasm you just pulled from him did release all his tension. Like it was as simple as cutting a single thread. The thing he neglected to tell him was that after all that tension and stress was released, a different kind of tense would creep in.
Actually Soap supposed he was 100% right. Ghost never did say a thing about what it would be like after.
Fuck Ghost…
Soap wants to run. To leave and never come back. But as much as he can't stand you, Soap can't bring himself to leave. Not after your first night together, not after seeing how scared you got. No, as much as he wants to, you are still his squadmate. No man left behind. He can't leave anyone else behind...
However, he is equally aware that he needs time to himself to process everything. Work through some stuff in his head before you talks to you. He should at least help you clean up though. What kind of a guy would he be if he just fucked a girl and left her to clean up the mess. He was already planning on leaving for a few hours to clear his head, he might as well make sure you're somewhat ok before he goes. So you won’t be so stressed.
Sighing, hoping this will just blow over, that somehow you'll never to talk about it, he turns to go back into the cabin.
***
After about a minute of clinging onto the wall, you find enough strength to move. The first thing you do is wiggle out of your destroyed pants and use them to wipe between your legs. Your underwear was still on, but you want to change into a fresh pair. A lot of your arousal had stained them and some of Soap's come had gotten on them when he pulled out.
Once you're clothed again, you make your way back into the kitchen and look down at the white and clear stains on the floor. You want to clean up that stain before anything else. Wipe away the evidence of your coupling. However, you know it's not going to do much. The soreness between your legs is a constant reminder of what happened.
You kneel down, and right as you're about to grab your pants and use them to mop up the mixture of your and Soap's release, the door opens again. You're frozen as Soap walks through, his eyes on you at first. An awkward tension fills the space, and you look away from him, picking at one of the loose strings on your destroyed pants.
Soap finally moves, stepping past you to get to the bedroom and coming out a second later with his egg covered shirt. He kneels down in front of you and uses the sleeve of his shirt to start wiping up the cum stain. Once it's mostly gone, aside from the dampness causing the wood to be two different shades, he moves on to pick the eggs box up and takes it outside.
You get up and start to clean up the eggs while he's gone, knowing you're going to have to talk about what happened sooner or later. You couldn't just fuck each other and act like nothing happened. Especially with the history you and Soap had.
When Soap comes back, you find yourself tensing up once more, the awkward air returning. He pauses in the doorway, but you can't bring yourself to look up him. Eventually, he joins you on the floor, helping you mop up the eggs.
Once the area is clean, or mostly clean (the eggs left a residue), you finally look up at Soap. You open your mouth, wanting to talk to him about everything, but he speaks first.
"I'm gonna head out for a bit. Few hours." He says, moving to stand up.
You want to run after him, tell him to stay so you can talk things out, but a part of you is too ashamed to go after him. You felt like you'd already lost your dignity and running after him would just make you feel even more pathetic.
“Ok…”
You let him leave, the creak of the front door sealing the decision. The moment the door closes, a wave of anguish crashes over you. Now that he's gone, you can finally let the tears fall. The confusion, the anger at yourself, the regret, the shame—all of it eats at you until you're exhausted. You bury your face in your hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
Soap is gone for hours again. It's getting dark, but you can't bring yourself to care as much as you did the first time. Having some time away from him to cry and work out the emotions was actually kind of nice. But the loneliness creeps in, wrapping around you like a cold, suffocating blanket. You curl up on your cot, hugging your knees to your chest, trying to find some semblance of comfort.
By the time Soap does come back, you're already in your cot, eyes shut but not sleeping. You hear the front door open and close, hear his footsteps come to the bedroom door and wait outside, hear the door slowly push open, and you can image him peeking inside.
"States?" He asks in a really soft voice. You don't answer him.
He comes into the room, and you feel like he's looking at your sleeping form, but you don't dare open your eyes to check. You hear him sigh, and then he starts to quietly move about the room, getting himself ready for bed.
When he finally crawls into his cot, the silence settles heavily over the room. And once it's silent again, you have to bite your lip to keep from crying.
A/N: I added almost 1,000 more words while editing. Story is about to get realllyyyy good! Enjoy :)
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Bitter Allies • Part 6
You wake up the next morning with sunlight pouring through the windows. The air inside the cabin is still a little chilly, but the inside of the liner Soap gave you last night is now too warm. You stretch your arms, pushing the liner down in the process, and look over to Soap's cot. It's already empty and neatly remade.
You're not sure what time it is, but after last night, you're sure you've slept in more than you normally would. Slowly sitting up, you rub your face a bit, thoughts going to yesterday. You still couldn't believe Soap had apologized to you and that he'd given you his liner. It didn't seem real. You would have thought it was all a dream if it hadn't been for you waking up in said liner.
You wonder if things will be different today or if it'll be like nothing happened.
Not bothering to get dressed just yet until you know exactly where Soap is, you head to the kitchen. He's not in there. The pot and your plates from last night are still sitting in the same spots, and you make a note to yourself to wash them later.
The next place you check is outside by the lake. Soap might have just been on the porch or out by the water. You step outside, wrapping your arms around you slightly, and walk down the two steps. Looking around though, you still don't see him anywhere. The fear that he's left again begins to simmer in the pit of your stomach, but he could just be in the bathroom. You're not going to go check there though.
Instead you just wait outside for a few minutes to see if he'll come out of the outhouse and take a moment to enjoy the morning air. It's so beautiful outside, and you definitely wouldn't mind going for a walk later. You also wouldn't mind taking a bath today. Your skin feels sticky with sweat from the liner.
After a moment, with Soap still not showing his face, you decide that he must have went for a walk or a morning run. So much for your rules.
Sighing, you head back into the cabin. As long as Soap was going to be gone, you figured you might as well take that opportunity to get dressed, do the dishes, and start breakfast. You would have bathed too, but you weren't going to risk Soap coming back while you were out there.
Back inside, you make your way to the bedroom and push the door open. Instantly though, you're regretting it. You are one step into the room before you instantly freeze. Your eyes are wide, your cheeks are burning, and your jaw drops as you're met with a butt naked Soap MacTavish.
"States!" He shouts in surprise, his gaze having snapped over to yours the second he hears you push the door open. He reacts instantly, using the underwear he was about to slip on to cover his front and then frantically grabbing more of his laid out clothes to do a better job. "What the fuck?! Get out!"
His voice snaps you out of your state of shock, and you're quickly trying to apology, run away, and shut the door all at the same time.
"I-I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" You babble, trying to back up and hitting your back on the doorframe in the process. You quickly turn and leave, slamming the door shut as Soap continues to shout at you.
"What the fuck! What happened to knocking!" He shouts through the door, as you start to pace in the kitchen, hands on your burning cheeks.
"I don't know! I didn't think you were here!!" You shout back at him, embarrassed beyond belief. Soap had been quick to cover his junk up, but you'd still caught a glimpse of it. You were going to be scarred for life.
"I shut the fucking door! How the hell did you not know I was here?!" He continues. He sort of had a point there. You had left the door open originally.
"I just thought it shut by itself! I don't fucking know! The door doesn't exactly stay wide open!" You just weren't thinking. You thought he was gone. Surely you would have heard him if he came back inside. The front door wasn't exactly quiet when you opened or shut it, and you'd only been outside for maybe a minute.
"Steaming Jesus! If the door is shut, you knock!" Soap swings the door open and steps out, but you can't look at him even if he's fully dressed now.
"I get it! Noted!" You yell back at him. "It's not like I did it on purpose! I'd never want to see that in a million years! And where were you exactly? I didn't see you anywhere this morning, and I didn't hear you come back! I figured you just left again!"
"I got up early and went for a run! Some of us are trying to keep with our normal schedules!"
"Don't call me lazy!"
"I'm not calling you lazy!"
"You're implying it! But that's not the point! The point is you left without telling me!" You finally bring yourself to look at him. His face is red, and his eyes are burning with a mix of embarrassment and anger.
"You were asleep! What, you wanted me to wake you up and then deal with your pissy ass cause I interrupted your beauty sleep? Plus last night, if I remember correctly, you said I only had to tell you if it was for more than an hour. I was gone for thirty minutes! Forty at most!"
"Yes! You should have woken me up! A heads up would have been nice! I didn't know how long you'd been gone or when you'd be back. I thought you were still gone when I came in! I didn't hear you come back!"
"That sounds like it's your problem then! I came through the loudest fucking door! I saw you in the back, you should have heard me!"
"You could have said hi? Done something to make sure I was aware that you were back instead of just assuming I knew!"
"See there ya go again! Pushin' the blame onto someone else! No one is as fucking perfect as you, aye?"
"That's not what I'm doing! You're trying to blame all of this on me! I'm just saying there are things you could have done too!"
"Like left the door open? That way you couldn't be blamed for opening it cause it was already open?"
There was no winning with him. He'd find any way to twist your words and make it seem like you were being the unreasonable one. Rolling your eyes, you decide you've had enough. It seemed yesterday changed anything.
"You want to act like child then fine! Fucking act like a child! I don't know how the task force even deals with you."
You try to leave. You want to go into the bedroom, get dressed, and then leave for a bit to cool off. The second you try to pass Soap though, grabs your arm and forces you back against the wall. Your jaw is tight as he pins you. He's holding your wrist tightly, keeping it pressed firmly against the wall above your head. Your hand that's not being pinned quickly presses into his chest in an attempt to keep some distance.
"My task force was fucking perfect until you came along." He says to you in a deep and dangerous voice. "And then Price just had to bring in one more. He just had to bring you in. Our name doesn't even make sense now. One-four-one. Suppose to only have us four. Not five." He seethes. "We don't need you on our team. Not some fucking bonnie lass from the States, yet here you are."
You keep eye contact with him the whole time. Even in the position he had you in, you don't feel like you're in danger. He's holding your wrist tightly, but he's not excessively squeezing it or cutting off circulation. You're not going to have bruises. And he is letting you push him back. His chest is pressed against your hand, but he's not trying to crowd you. Applying more pressure to his chest makes him back off slightly.
Still his eyes are dangerous as they bore into your own. They’re filled with disdain as he towers over you, dominating the space between you. You’re trying to match his gaze, fight back against him and not let him win.
Then, for some messed up reason, you think about this morning and seeing Soap naked. You’re shocked as the image enters your mind, and you’re cheeks start to get rosy. You know your glare is slipping as you become flustered, and you need to break away now before Soap can figure out what you’re thinking about. His gaze is already turning slightly confused as he begins to notice the shift in your behavior.
"Why do you hate me, Soap?" You blurt. It’s the first thing that comes to mind to ask him.
Your question successfully throws him off. You swear you see his eyes soften for just a moment when you ask him that, but it's hard to tell with your mind racing. He's silent for a moment, just glaring back at you. The tension between you is palpable, his breath warm against your face, his proximity sending an unexpected shiver down your spine.
Finally, he drops your wrist and takes a step back. "I don't need to justify my reasons." He scowls. "I'm going to the lake. Just fucking learn how to knock."
You watch him leave and slam the door, massaging your wrist slightly as you do. Now that he’s gone, you can feel your heart racing in your chest, the pace matching the phantom thumps still felt in your finger tips that’d been pressed to his chest.
You shake your head, taking a deep breath to calm your pulse. The first time you run into him today, and you manage to blow up at each other. It shouldn't surprise you really, but you truly had hoped things would be different this morning after last night.
You slowly make your way to the window and peek outside. Soap is over by the lake, sitting against a tree by the waters edge. He’s running his hand through his hair and then burying his face in both hands, looking like he’s trying to calm himself down. It doesn’t look as though he’s going to be leaving anytime soon.
When he doesn't get up, you go into the bedroom and shut the door softly behind you. Soap's clothes he'd taken off this morning were on the floor. You kick them more over to his side of the room and then go to get changed yourself.
As you strip out of your pajamas, the cool air brushes against your skin, a stark contrast to the lingering warmth from Soap’s body when he had pinned you against the wall. Your cheeks start to flush again, and you feel a strange mix of emotions that you can’t quite decipher.
You pull on a fresh set of clothes, but your mind keeps drifting back to the way Soap’s eyes had locked onto yours, the way his chest had felt under your palm. There was something there, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on, but it left you feeling unsettled and oddly warm.
Once you’re dressed, you sit on the edge of the bed, trying to make sense of your feelings. The intensity of the encounter lingers, a confusing blend of anger, frustration, and something else you can’t quite name. Soap has never made you feel this way before. You’ve never left an argument with him feeling his… odd. And you sure as hell have never imaged him naked.
You sigh and get up, moving into the kitchen. You hope making something to eat will take your mind off everything.
You glance towards the window again, catching another glimpse of Soap by the lake. Despite the distance, you can almost feel the tension that still hangs between you, a thread pulled taut, waiting to snap or be cut. You don’t understand it, but you can’t deny it’s there.
Looking away from him, you focus on breakfast. Your plate was still dirty from last, so you were forced to make food that didn't necessarily require a plate. You'd planned on cleaning it before you started breakfast, but Soap being outside deterred you from that. You ended up just putting peanut butter on a slice of bread and drinking some water.
You ate slowly, making a list of things you wanted to get done today. The plates needed to be cleaned, you wanted to take a bath, and more fire wood needed to be collected. Unfortunately all those things required being outside, right where Soap was.
After what felt like an hour of waiting around, waiting for Soap to move on and go somewhere else, he’s still sitting by the water's edge. You eventually got impatient and decided to just get it over with. Soap had proven yesterday he could sulk for hours and hours, and you didn't want to wait around all day for him to stop. Tension or not be damned.
Gathering up the plates, utensils, and the pot you used last night, you step outside and make your way to the water's edge. However, you'd left Soap's dishes inside. If he was going to treat you the way he currently was, you saw no reason to do his dishes for him.
You eye Soap as you approach the lake. He'd decided to sit a few feet away from the only spot where you had easy access to the water. As you get closer, he looks over to you, a very familiar scowl on his face. The second his gaze turns to you, you stare straight ahead, trying to pretend he simply isn't there. Your skin prickles though, a constant reminder he’s there.
You kneel at the water's edge and get to work on rinsing off the food from your plate. Of course this wasn't all you were planning on doing to clean everything. You would boil water and disinfect everything once all the scraps were rinsed off.
"You're joking right?" Soap comments from where he sits. He'd been watching you rinse the plates off, arms crossed over his chest.
"Don't talk to me." You warn, not in the mood right now to get into something else with him. To make that still lingering tension build back up again.
Soap huffs at you. "You better not be cleaning my stuff." You hear him move a bit to try and get a better look at all the things you'd brought to clean.
"Relax, I left all your shit in the cabin. Wouldn't dream of ever doing anything nice for you."
"Well good. I don't think contaminating the plate and utensils I use to eat is doing anything nice for me." He settles back against the tree, but you can still feel him watching you. His gaze makes your skin boil.
"I know how to properly clean dishes." You grumble, setting the plate aside and moving on to the pot. "I'm going to boil water once I get all the food washed off. Is that fine with you?"
"I don't fucking care what you do. Make yourself sick, I don't give a shite."
"Ok great, so stop talking to me." You snap, trying to scrub off some of the residue on the side of the pan with your nail. You hadn't packed any sponges or other cleaning supplies, and Price didn't provide them.
Soap rolls his eyes as you snap at him. “Away an bail yer heid.” You hear him grumble, not understanding his Scottish drawl, but you know he’s most likely said something insulting.
Glancing over your shoulder, you watch as he gets up. He was heading back to the cabin, which you were fine with for now. It allowed your shoulders to relax and let you finish your cleaning in peace.
Once you were done, you filled the cooking pot with water and carried it back to the cabin to boil it. The door to the bedroom was shut, telling you Soap was most likely in there. Unless he was being childish and shut it before leaving the cabin. All to just make you knock for no reason.
After the water boils, and you use it to finish sterilizing your dishes, you want to do the next thing on your little to-do list. Bathe. Of course you need to go into the bedroom briefly to get things to bathe with.
Standing outside the door for a long moment, you try to psych yourself up a bit before tapping softly on the wood. Your heart is pounding in anticipation like you’re getting ready to enter a war zone.
"You have pants on in there?" You ask, crossing your arms as you wait for his response.
"She does learn!" You hear Soap's muffled voice say through the door.
You roll your eyes and repeat your question, wanting an answer before you walked in and scarred yourself again. "Do you have fucking clothes on or not?"
"Of course! Otherwise I would've said 'give me a second' or 'hang on, still getting dressed' now wouldn't I?"
You growl under breath and push the door open, flipping Soap off as you walk in. He's on his cot, back against the wall, and one of those black journals he brought opened and propped against his knees. You can't see its contents, but you don't really care to look.
"Oh that's very ladylike." He scolds, turning back to looking at his book.
"You're no gentleman yourself." You throw back, pulling open your drawer to get your towel and shampoo out. "I'm going to the lake to bathe. I swear to God if I catch you looking at me-"
"Quit your whining. I'm not some pervert. I don't try to go looking for people when they're naked, unlike some people who enter a shared bedroom without-"
"Don't even finish that sentence! I didn't want to see you naked! I wish we had bleach cause I would have poured some into my eyes by now." You finish gathering what you need and head for the door. "Do not come outside. I am dead serious. I will drown you if I see you looking." You threaten before shutting the door.
"Don't flatter yourself! No one wants to see you naked!" He shouts as you leave the cabin.
You set your towel down in some grass to keep it from getting dirty and then look around one last time. Mostly just back to the cabin to make sure Soap wasn't looking through the windows or on the porch, but also the surrounding area. It felt very unnatural to be getting naked outside. As much as it bothered you Soap was around, you feared someone else might be too.
Stripping down quickly, you leave your clothes in a pile and rush into the water. You would like to have folded them nicely, but you just wanted to get into the water and feel little more covered up again.
The water was cold. Despite the sun being out and shining on its surface, it was still a lake. The first few minutes of bathing is very tense. You keep watching the cabin, fearing Soap is going to come out, or you’re going to see his face in one of the windows, but there is no sign of him. After a while, you start to relax. You wash your hair, the scent of your shampoo providing a little feeling of home. It's when you're scrubbing your body with your loofa that the peace is disrupted.
"Oi, States!" Soap's voice has you quickly sinking into the water and covering your chest. He's walking across the yard (if you could call it that) with his eyes trained on the ground. "Hey, there's-"
"What did I tell you?! I'm fucking naked, go away!" You shout at him as he just keeps getting closer.
"I'm not even looking at you!" He exclaims, and it's true. He's not looking at you. His eyes as on the ground, looking off to the side, or covering the side of his vision the entire time.
"I don't care! I don't want you here! Go!" You keep shouting.
"Fucking listen! There's a storm coming. You need to get out, and we need to get some wood and make sure the cabin doors are blocked. If it gets windy it's going to blow those doors open."
You glare at him, staying where you are in the water. There was a bright blue sky above you, birds were singing, and it was warm. It did not look like it was going to storm out. You thought he was just making stuff up to interrupt your bath time.
"Yeah right." You roll your eyes.
"States, I'm telling you, get your ass out of the there now. There's pitch black storm cloud coming from that way," he motions off behind the cabin, gaze turning upward while his hand is busy. "We probably only have about fifteen minutes before it hits us."
"Are you serious? Cause if you're not-"
"Of course I'm bloody fucking serious! You think I'd be out here, risking seeing your ugly naked ass, if I wasn't?!" He shouts. "Come on! Move your ass!" He starts to walk towards you, his eyes still on the ground.
"Soap I swear if you come in this- what are you doing? Hey!"
He'd grabbed your clothes and was walking back to the cabin. "Come on, States! I don't have time for this! Get out of the water!" He shouts over his shoulder at you.
You're quickly scrambling to get out of the water and get your clothes back. He was kind enough to leave your towel behind, and you grab that and wrap it around your body as you stumble after him.
"You fucking jerk! Give me my clothes!" You catch up to him and grab a handful of the back of his shirt, yanking it hard to make him stop.
He jerks back slightly and turns to you, his eyes automatically drifting down your figure. "Oh good, you're wearing a towel." He shoves the lump of clothes at you, almost making you drop said towel in the process. You'd only been using one hand to keep it wrapped around your body. "Go inside, get dressed, and come help me get wood." He instructs you, brushing past you to head towards the trees.
You stare at him in utter shock and confusion. At this point you knew he wasn't joking. For whatever reason, he thought there was a storm coming. Still, you would have gotten out if he just went away. He didn't have to steal your clothes to make you come out.
You head to the cabin, get dressed, and try to dry and comb your hair the best you could. Before you go out back to help Soap gather wood like he wanted, you peak out the front door, looking for these pitch black storm clouds he'd been so stressed about. You didn't see any, and there were too many trees in the way to see far off into the distance. Frowning to yourself, you go out to look for him.
Soap is gather tons of sticks when you find him. He even managed to find a small log or two. He was on his way back by the time you came outside.
"Great, you finally decided to come help. Start getting wood. And maybe some large rocks if you find some. We can prop them against the doors to keep them shut." He tells you in passing, pulling the cabin door open and going inside.
You check the sky one more time in case you'd missed these rain clouds. Still nothing. When the cabin door opens up again, you look back to Soap as he comes out.
"Soap, I don't see any storm clouds." You wanted to believe him, but you honestly felt like this was all some trick to just get you to help him get wood.
"They're all over there," Soap repeats in a frustrated tone, motioning once again off in the direction you'd looked earlier. "What the fuck is so hard to understand?"
"I didn't see any!" You frown, getting an annoyed look from Soap.
"Can you just fucking trust me?! If you don't want to help then just go back inside, sit on your lazy ass, and let me fucking get wood!" He yells, storming off to keep gathering sticks.
You roll your eyes, letting out a frustrated growl as you stomp after him to help him collect wood. This was ridiculous. If there was no storm, you might just kill him.
***
It was about ten minutes later that you fully believed Soap. The sky above you seemed to darken instantly, and suddenly, you could hear thunder rumbling in the distance. You managed to get tons of sticks and decent sized logs. You also found some rocks to roll in front of the doors to keep them shut in case there was wind.
Now inside, looking out the window, you watch as fat, heavy raindrops start to splatter against the wooden deck. It starts with only a few before turning into an all out downpour. It's accompanied by wind shortly after, which does make the doors shake a bit.
"How long do you think this is supposed to last?" You ask, flinching as a bright flash of lightening momentarily blinds you before a loud crash follows it. It makes the glass windows rattle a little.
"Hell if I know." Soap mutters, shouldering the front door to try and make it close better. You roll your eyes.
"Well I just figured I'd ask the guy who magically knew it was going to rain and predicted there would be wind." You grumble.
"I'm not some fortune teller who knows the future, I'm just not fucking blind!" He growls at you.
"I didn't see storm clouds!"
"We've established you're pretty fucking blind! That's not my problem! You know, you should be thanking me instead of being an ungrateful brat!" Soap’s sharp voice cuts through the darkness.
"After the way you treated me this morning?! You're out of your mind." You cross your arms. It's dark, so you can't really see each other, but you can feel Soap’s intense glare burning into you.
"Oh, look who's the victim! Poor little States... like you know anything about what that's like." He mutters that last part. You almost don't hear him.
"I'm more of a victim than you-" you begin, ready to lash out about witnessing the horror of his pale white ass from earlier, but Soap’s sudden, ice-cold tone cuts you off.
"You don't want to finish that sentence, States. You don't know anything that I've been through." His words hang in the air, heavy and dangerous.
You watch his outline on the other side of the room, which wasn't too far away. Any smart retort you had dies on your tongue. His words have a weight that make you pause, and you can’t help but wonder darkness he’s hinting at. The silence stretches on, taking on a rather unsettling edge.
"Then tell me." You finally offer, not able to see the surprised look that passes through Soap's eyes due to the darkness. He covers it up with a huff, shaking his head, though you can't really make that out too well either.
"I'm not sharing any part of my life with you, States. Just drop it."
He retreats to the bedroom then, door shutting heavily behind him. You don't make a move to follow after him. You just sigh to yourself and rub your face. The tension in the cabin was high again, though this tension was different than before. You just hoped the storm would let up soon so you can get some air.
***
Roughly forty minutes later, any hope of the storm dying off is gone. If anything, it's staring to get more violent. You're trying to make lunch, or maybe dinner at this point, when there's a loud snapping sound from outside. It's the sound of a limb snapping off.
It lands pretty close to the cabin and makes a loud sound as the branches scrape against the building's wooden sides. You let out a sharp yelp and jump back from the stove, heart hammering in your chest.
A second later, Soap is coming out of the bedroom, clearly having heard the noise too. You would have been shocked if he hadn't. It was loud.
"The fuck was that?" He asks, going for the flashlight and clicking it on. He's shining it up at the ceiling, thinking the branch had landed up there and broken through.
"I don't know. A branch must have snapped off. It sounded like it landed on the other side of the wall." You tell him. Soap was searching around, checking all the corners of the space and even trying to look out the windows to see outside.
"I hope this storm dies down soon. Last thing we need is for a tree to land on this place." He mutters, clicking the light off when he doesn’t find any damages.
"Oh don't say stuff like that. Now it's totally going to happen." You frown, grabbing a jar of jam from the shelf.
You wince as another loud crash of thunder seems to go off right above you. It was deafeningly loud and made you slam your hands against your ears. In the process, you drop the jar, and it shatters as it hits the ground.
You might have been a grown woman in the military, but thunderstorms still freaked you out just a little bit. Especially when you were in the middle of the woods, with no radio, surrounded by trees, while it was down pouring and there were winds that might put tornados to shame.
"Ah, fuck." When the rumbling has subsided, you look down at the ground and curse at the mixture of jam and sharp glass shards on the floor. "I don't want to hear you bitch about me dropping that, cause you don't even like jam." You tell Soap, expecting a quick retort back from him, but you get nothing.
"Soap?"
Apparently thunderstorms didn't just freak you out. When you looked over at Soap, he was leaning against the wall and fists clutching the fabric of his pants. His breathing sounded a little labored, and you frown.
"Soap? Are you alright?" You ask cautiously, and he nods.
"Yeah.. yeah, M'fine..." He mutters to you, but you can tell he isn't. "I just... I need to.." His voice trails off as he stumbles towards the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
You hesitate for a moment before following, cautiously opening the door. Soap is sitting at the edge of his cot, his head in his hands, and his whole body trembling. It’s clear he’s having some kind of PTSD episode.
"Soap, what's wrong? Just tell me." You calmly say, wanting to help him, but unsure how.
"M'fine... I just need to calm down." He replies shakily, confirming your suspicion.
It was quite common for people in the military to have PTSD. The loud thunder boom from earlier must have trigger some memory for him.
"Hey, it's alright. It's just you and me out here. No one else. We're safe." You say, trying to ground him. His breathing is still erratic.
"I know we are! I just can't get my body to accept it." He snaps, frustration lacing his words.
"Just breathe, Soap. It's ok. Look at me." When he doesn’t respond, you get down on your knees in front of him. His eyes are unfocused, filled with panic. Despite how you feel about him, it’s hard to see him this way.
"Deep breath alright? Breathe in and hold it for five seconds, then slowly exhale." You instruct him, starting the breathing exercise in hopes he’ll follow.
“States, I said I’m fine! Please.” He gasps out, hands shaking as he grabs your shoulder and tries to push you away.
You stay where you are though, pulling a hand over his and continuing the breathing pattern. “You’re not fine! I’m not going anywhere, Soap. Just breath with me.”
He finally caves, his breathing too erratic for him to argue further. At first, he struggles to take deep breaths, but gradually, he begins to mirror your breathing. Slowly, his breaths become more controlled, the panic in his eyes starting to fade.
Once he's able to breath again, you get to your feet and place your hand on his back. "You alright now?" You ask softly, allowing him a moment to collect himself. He nods instead of answering you.
"Sit tight, I'll get you some water."
When you return with the water, he’s sitting up more, looking slightly more composed. He accepts the water you bring him and takes slow sips.
"You got PTSD?" You ask slowly, and he nods, staring down at his feet.
"Who doesn't in this line of work?" He responds, voice slightly tinged with bitterness.
"Yeah... I got it too." You admit. "That breathing exercise always helps me."
"You have a lot of episodes?" Soap asks, his voice monotoned and distance, as if he's still somewhere else.
"Used to. I got counseling early on, which really helped. What about you?"
"Haven't in a long time. Not since joining the forces." He answers, which confuses you a little. Did he mean before joining the task force?
You decide not to push it. He needed time to come around yet, and you want to give that to him. Giving his shoulder a soft squeeze, you head back to the kitchen.
"I'm gonna finish making lunch.. or dinner.. You want a sandwich?" You ask him, and he nods again.
"Yeah, sure... thanks."
You watch him a second longer before turning to go. He’s still staring blankly, but you know he’ll be ok now. Still, you leave the door open in case he starts freaking out again.
Soap always seemed invincible, but you guessed he was human after all. Who knew it'd be a thunderstorm that'd finally reveal his human side to you.
As you go back to making the sandwiches, Soap stares at the broken glass on the floor, the hairs at the back of his neck standing up. One of his scars seems to burn as if he’d received it just yesterday and not almost ten years ago.
He stared at the sharp shards of glass until you finally pick them up.