Reader475
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“Missed me,” Ghost crackles in his ear. Warm, teasing. A tone that Soap is almost certain is reserved for him.
Soap scoffs. "Prove it."
“Aw,” Ghost tuts. “Don’t trust me?”
No one I trust more, Sir. He doesn’t say it. Not that he isn’t sure Ghost already knows; if he’s even half as inhumanly perceptive as everyone gives him credit for, then he has to know, has to feel that tangible presence orbiting between them. (The direct acknowledgement of this entity feels too unshakably taboo. A point of no return that takes the shape of something gnarly; a feral elephant in the room that threatens to maul one or both of them down if addressed.)
“Bastard,” he grumbles instead. Wonders if his voice is as thick with affection over the com as it sounds spoken aloud. Would it matter, if it was?
//
[smut all the way down with a healthy dose of yearning]
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A clueless wolf mistakes courtship for games.
A fox tries anyway—until he doesn’t. -
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It was when Gaz woke up floating in the middle of a lake that he knew he was going to have to get his own back on Soap MacTavish. April, May, June, no month was too fine for some ridiculous prank of his. The floating bed really took the biscuit though. Swimming back to shore in pyjamas he then had to endure several wolf whistles as he trudged, dripping, back to the barracks.
Fed up with Sergeant MacTavish's practical jokes Gaz decides to take revenge, but nothing goes quite as expected.
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They both know what’s coming.
It’s not here yet, but it’s circling. Close.
Ghost finally pulled his hood down. Unzipped his jacket. He stayed standing by the desk, still as anything.
“Last chance to back out.”
Soap snorted.
“Don’t be thick.”
Ghost didn’t look away.
“I mean it.”
Soap leaned back on his elbows.
“So do I.”
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Ghost goes into rut and is absolutely not a control freak about it. Soap disagrees.Bookmarked by Reader475
17 Jun 2026
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Bookmarker's Notes
No wait. I like that. Like really. Kinda sweet.
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Excerpt:
“C’mon then, Johnny. All yours,” Ghost grinned, fully prepared to shove him back there if he was going to be a fucking bitch about it. Soap glared at him, fists clenching. Ghost gave him ten seconds, and then he was going to push and see if Soap would actually swing or would do what he was told.
Soap closed the distance between them without further prompting, sliding one hand around Ghost’s raised bicep and the other around his waist, a disconcertingly intimate embrace that left Ghost stunned for the brief moment it took for Soap to get himself where he needed to be. Then Soap was shoving his face into Ghost’s armpit and inhaling again, long and slow. The hand at the centre of Ghost’s back scrabbled at him, fisting in his shirt; the one on his bicep squeezed tight, tugging his arm down and adjusting its position so that Soap’s mouth and nose were well and truly wedged in with no access to clean air. Soap’s hips hitched, just a bit, brushing his crotch against Ghost’s leg.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Bookmarked by Reader475
17 Jun 2026
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Bookmarker's Notes
I’ll never admit to reading this