whenever you’ve been a mean fuckin’ tease to captain price, he’s got no issue showing his men what punishment looks like.
price put a chastity cage on you, pushing your dick down uncomfortably against the metal..
but man, it’s hard to think about it when your captain has you ass up on the floor in front of his boys.
“cap—“ his name slurred from how overwhelmed you feel. your hands are desperately trying to grab at something, anything.
“uh uh, pet.” price taunts, his big hands on your hips as he buries his cock deep into your ass. “yer gonna cum in that fuckin’ cage of yours and show the boys what happens when you don’t fucking listen.”
you whine, your eyes flickering up to see the rest of your team. all price’s men looking as equally needy and debauched as you.
simon, who’s eyes are too busy watching the expressions you’re making and ignoring the strain in his pants right now. he wants to know what you’d look like, lips around his cock and tears running down your face.
johnny who had already pulled down his pants a while ago, fingers in his cunt while he watches your cock press up against the cold metal. johnny was dripping and fuck, did that make your cock twitch.
kyle who’s not looking at you but rather, his captain. he’s palming himself through his pants as he watches price piston in and out of you, whimpering at every moan you gave.
Maybe this has been done before. But I had a horny shower thought at 6am this morning about Soap attending a wedding in a kilt, alongside the 141 and their "extended family' (Nik, who wears a 141 patch so I count him as part of the core, to be honest, Alejandro, Rudy), and they all have fun with him as the festivities progress into the night.
Price fucking him against a wall before the service, Soap's legs wrapped around his captain's waist; Soap being so wet that he drips onto Price's polished shoes, and he has to clean them with his tongue as he feels his superior leaking out of him. Gaz lazily fingering him during the ceremony, thumb circling his chubby little dick, and he has to press his face into Gaz's neck as he comes, and then watch in mute awe as Gaz sucks the slick off his fingers with a satisfied look. Nik cornering him in the cloakroom and Soap clinging onto his massive shoulders, legs draped over Nik's thick forearms, big hands gripping his arse as he's stuffed with fat Russian cock until he cries, the wet slap of his hips slamming into Nik's is obscene, as is how deep he's getting.
Alejo and Rudy corner Soap in the gardens and spitroast him in a private little alcove; Rudy's cock down his throat as Alejo fucks him from behind, wet kisses over his head as he's filled with cum from both ends. And finally, as they approach midnight, keeping Ghost's cock warm as people dance and schmooze drunkenly. Squeezing around its girth, listening to his lieutenant whisper dirty promises and praise in his ear - "you've been so good for us today, Johnny, did it feel good? Taking us all? Want more?" - as a large hand slips beneath the hem of his kilt to stroke his dick in lazy passes.
His orgasm builds slowly, achingly, his hips shifting minutely for the barest stimulation when he wants nothing more than to bounce on Ghost's dick and feel it in his throat. He can feel the wool of Ghost's trousers on the inside of his thighs, the soft give of his balls pressed tight to his body. He's so wet, so needy, and all he wants is to be rattled to within an inch of his life for the fourth time that day. He falls irresistibly over the cliff edge, cunt squeezing around Ghost's throbbing cock in tight pulses that make his belly clench and his toes curl, and soaks Ghost's hand.
Ghost takes him back to his room after that and presses Soap's knees to his chest, intense eyes watching Soap fall apart as he slides his cock back inside and fucks him, hard and deep, kissing the marks left behind by Soap's other lovers and growling possessively.
Just filthy. Really. Anyway, I'm going to the gym.
The first time you see the scar on Johnny’s chest, it isn’t dramatic.
There’s no grand reveal. No speech.
It’s just you and him in his flat, rain tapping softly against the windows, the world reduced to warm lamplight and the quiet hum of the kettle in the kitchen.
He’s tugging his shirt over his head like he always does—careless, comfortable—until he freezes for half a second. Just a flicker. A hesitation so small most people wouldn’t notice it.
But you do.
You’ve learned the language of him. The way his shoulders tighten when he’s bracing for something. The way his jaw sets when he expects rejection.
The shirt comes off anyway.
Your eyes take in the clean lines across his chest—surgical scars, pale and healed, mapping a history he fought hard for. They don’t shock you. They don’t scare you.
They just make sense.
Johnny rubs the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “Still get in my head about it sometimes,” he admits, accent softer than usual. “Daft, yeah?”
You step closer.
“Why would that be daft?”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “’Cause I wanted this. Fought for it. Waited years. An’ sometimes I still look in the mirror and think—” He stops himself, searching for the right words. “Just takes time for your brain to catch up, I guess.”
You reach out slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wants to.
He doesn’t.
Your fingers brush over the scar gently, reverent, like it’s something precious. Because it is. It’s proof of survival. Of stubborn, relentless hope.
“This,” you say softly, tracing the faint line with your thumb, “is you choosing yourself.”
His breath catches.
Soap MacTavish—loud, fearless, explosive in a firefight—goes very still under your touch.
“You think it looks… okay?” he asks, and there’s vulnerability there he rarely shows anyone.
You lean up and press a kiss just beneath the scar, not dramatic, not performative. Just steady.
“I think it looks like you.”
For a second he doesn’t speak. Then his hands slide to your waist, grounding himself in the solid warmth of you.
“I was scared,” he admits quietly. “Before. That whoever I ended up with would see me as… complicated.”
You smile against his skin. “You are complicated.”
He snorts.
“But not in the way you mean. You’re layered. Brave. Stubborn as hell. You rebuilt yourself from the inside out. That’s not complicated. That’s impressive.”
His grip tightens just a little, like he’s anchoring himself to the words.
“Does it bother you?” he asks, softer now. Honest.
You shake your head. “Nothing about you bothers me.”
He searches your face like he’s looking for cracks, for doubt. He doesn’t find any.
The tension drains from his shoulders slowly, like a held breath finally released.
“Good,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. “’Cause I’m not planning on going anywhere.”
“Good,” you echo.
Outside, the rain keeps falling. Inside, his hands are warm, steady at your hips. His chest rises and falls under your palm—real, solid, chosen.
And when he kisses you, it isn’t uncertain anymore.
It’s confident.
Like a man who fought for his body, his name, his life—and finally feels at home in all of it.
Genuinely obsessed with the idea of transmasc Soap having top surgery and Ghost sitting there like a guard dog with trauma responses, refusing to leave his side. Not because he’s worried—no, Ghost would never say that—but because “you never know who could breach the perimeter.” Sure, lieutenant. Sure.
CW: MDNI, 1356 words, transmasc!Soap x Ghost, Soap's genitals referred as clit, cunt, hole, Ghost has troubles with erection, overstim, bondage, toys, unprotected sex, probably hurt/comfort. This work was written in Russian and translated by me myself so the language might be shittier than usual.
divider by @/gildui-archived
It was Soap's idea. A change of scenery would help Simon relax, he said; overcome a barrier that surfaced from the depths of his past from time to time — and had surfaced just in time for their joint leave as if on purpose. Ghost suspected Johnny had simply chickened out from fucking on his bed after seeing the state of his apartment — if Simon hadn't gotten used to it, he wouldn't fuck there either.
He didn' want to admit that he wouldn't fuck at all right now, because the memories squeezed some internal organ responsible for arousal in a bony hand's deathly fist.
The room of a hotel with some name appropriate for a place people rent by the hour to fuck looked out onto a large neon sign. Reflections the color of a Cosmopolitan glass fell through the curtains onto the floor, mixing with the violet of the dim lighting that remained after they turned off the overhead lights. The only thing that stood out from the ambiance of a webcam girl's room was the TV hanging for some reason on the wall. The bird at reception had mentioned something about music and speakers, but they didn't bother, flicking through the meager selection of channels and ignoring the abundance of porn just to settle on the regular evening program.
Sounds of the third consecutive episode of Midsomer Murders mingled with the short, ragged breaths of a breathless Johnny making an effort not to moan out loud.
The sweat beading on his temples quickly cooled in the chilly, well-air-conditioned room and clung to his heated skin like a tight film — every muscle in his bulky body was tense, from his clenched jaw and bound hands to his trembling, spread thighs with a black rabbit, shoved inside to its limit, vibrating insistently between them. To prevent the toy from slipping out from his dripping hole Soap had to twist his body and push the base of the rabbit against the mattress — that only tightened the knot of his third orgasm, forcing his overstrained muscles to spasm. It was unbearable — deciding to take a risk, Johnny bucked his hips and miscalculated; Ghost, sitting with his back to him and thoughtfully watching the investigation in the detective show on the screen, turned around at the pitiful whine and absentmindedly adjusted the toy, pressing the short appendage that had slipped off against Johnny's hard clit.
Soap came, looking at Simon's bony glove between his legs, and slumped heavily onto his side, letting the tool of his torture slide out onto the salty wet sheet and shifting his own weight from his restrained arms.
"Ye ken, LT, this isn't how Ah imagined it," he muttered hoarsely, still out of breath, looking at Ghost through his glued-together eyelashes. Ghost reached for the sticky vibrator and switched it off, his thoughts seemingly still somewhere with Inspector Barnaby from the show. There was no reproach in Soap's voice — flushed and satisfied, he slowly regained his breath, pressing his cheek to the pillowcase, clearly fresher than the one Simon slept on at home, and stared at Ghost without blinking. The latter removed his mask only, and the contrast between his dark bulk, covered from head to toe, and Johnny's completely naked body seemed appropriate in this absurd setting.
But Soap was right.
"And how did you imagine it, Johnny?" Ghost rumbled low, turning away from the telly showing murders in a fictional county and leaning down to Soap's sweaty face. The kiss was salty and stubbly — Johnny reflexively tried to cup Ghost's scarred face and pull him closer, as if only his mangled lips could quench his thirst after all that physical exertion, but he got stopped by the unyielding red cotton ropes on his arms and growled in displeasure.
He didn't really have to answer — Ghost had become quite good at reading his thoughts after all that time spent side by side on missions and in civilian life; without taking his eyes off those plump lips, he rolled Johnny onto his back again and swung his leg over his Sergeant's thigh, resting his knee dangerously close to his wet, pulsing slit. Soap kissed him as if he hadn't just been milked dry — and judging by how easily Simon slid his fingers inside after pulling off his glove, he certainly wasn't done. Hot walls, stretched by the thick rabbit, clenched around the cool digits only when Ghost circled the engorged head with the pad of his thumb — Simon involuntarily licked his lips between the thorough caresses of Johnny's broad tongue, and Soap breathed out raggedly in response.
"Fock me, Si, please, Ah really wanntae," he murmured softly, trying to trail kisses down Simon's pale neck. Ghost offered himself without immediately responding and scissored his fingers inside Johnny, shutting his fluttering white eyelashes close. He was welcomed and awaited inside, clung to by heated, blood-pumping soaked cunt no vibrator could satisfy, fully trusted and shamelessly wanted.
"I... it'll take a little time," Simon finally sighed, pulling back and pulling his fingers out of immediately shuddering Soap. They both looked down — at Ghost's cock that still hadn't the slightest urge to burst his fly with its erection.
"Want me tae blow ye?" Soap blurted out immediately, licking his already wet lips, and quickly added, "I wanntae. If ye let me."
Ghost nodded without much hesitation, first helping Johnny sit up to undo several knots and free him from his bonds, and then finally tugging at his hoodie's back, shedding its protective hide. Shaking off the ropes and wasting no time rubbing the ribbed indents in his tanned skin, Soap reached for Simon's belt, pulling his jeans down his wide hips. His cock lay neatly in his boxers, undisturbed by arousal — not taking it personally, Johnny almost immediately took it all the way into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and sucking with hungry pleasure.
It was easy for Simon to resist the urge to close his eyes — Soap was too handsome. Looking down at his features, carved from the Scottish coastal cliffs, Ghost ran his hand over his sweat-dampened mohawk and slid his hand lower, to his broad shoulders, to the almost senseless nipples above the barely noticeable, symmetrical scars, to the dark hair that covered his strong, beautiful body like a barbaric coat. He didn't even notice he muttered it out loud — he only met blue eyes that flicked upward with silent love and let out a low groan as he felt the sly bastard trace a teasing pattern with his tongue over his sensitive underside.
Soap sucked wetly, drooling all over his fist, the rumpled sheets, and the thin skin of Ghost's sack. His efforts were soon rewarded with a slow erection, which he greeted by pushing all the way down to his throat and choking like a loud slut. Pulling himself off Simon's hardened cock and still caressing it with his hand, Johnny offered his sated face for a kiss and grabbed Ghost's soft arse with his other hand, gently urging him to lift up.
"Johnny," the name flew from Ghost's lips automatically, replacing any other phrase. The hotel bed, ill-suited for two burly men, creaked under their clumsy tossing and turning, but held — Simon's pale, freckled thighs settled between Soap's hot legs, which immediately clasped them. "Good boy, Johnny."
"Love ye, Si," Johnny placed his calloused palms on Ghost's broad back and dropped his head onto the pillow, finally closing his eyes in bliss. The wet head of Simon's cock brushed against him, sliding lightly over his hot folds, and on the second thrust sank easily into the hot tightness. Slowly, as if still unsure he won't go limp during the process, Ghost began to move, watching Johnny relax and melt before his eyes, no longer holding back the moans he'd saved for this very moment.
They'd found the murderer in the TV on the opposite wall — possibly the butler. Ghost had also found the one hiding in the dark corner of his mind. Interlocking his fingers with Johnny's, he cocked the trigger and fired without mercy. This leave is going to go well.
he wakes up with a heavy weight in his pants, his skin sweaty and flush already. hes never felt so little dysphoria before, the small amount only from the fact that it’s your body— but even that makes him moan as he ruts against the mattress. he’s always so horny in the mornings…the thought of you in his own body, thumbing at his t-dick, letting out broken moans with his own voice…
"You have been a member of Shadow Company and Phillip Graves' omega for years suffering at his hand until you meet the members of Task Force 141. They help you learn to love again while you help them destroy Shadow Company from the bottom up."
John "Soap" MacTavish/Reader, Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/Reader, John Price (Call of Duty)/Reader, John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley/Gary "Roach" Sanderson (past), Phillip Graves (Call of Duty)/Reader (toxic), Rodolfo Parra/Alejandro Vargas
be very aware of the tags and read them thoroughly. Major trigger warnings for graphic descriptions of male on male non-con/rape, manipulation, degradation (not the fun kind), and general abusive toxic sexual relations. These are not romanticized and very much harm Reader.
please take care of yourself if you are sensitive to these issues and still decide to proceed with reading this fic. I will not be held responsible for your actions after you read these warnings, okay?
I miss summer so I drew . Transmasc soap in his glory obviously....
Summmer... wow
Anyways he'd 100% not wear that top at a private pool / beach because real men don't wear shirts and they ARE out when the rest of the 141 . Atleast he can't be the only one blamed for groping up his team on days like this .
