#i blame ghouljams for making me love soap with darlings who dont want him

[mausinly]

Soap MacTavish x fem!curvy!militarynurse!reader who’s secretly insecure about her body and thinks that Soap is only interested in her to get in her pants or it’s a prank but he comforts her and proves that she’s wrong and how much he genuinely loves her and that he’s been obsessed with her since she was moved to 141’s base?

Never Far From You

John "Soap" MacTavish x reader

Sorry this isn't exactly what you asked for, nonnie, but just know I am already attached to this reader and I will be slowburning this prompt. This story is getting unpacked layer by layer. I know you specified Nurses body type but it's never mentioned in this part. I couldn't find a way to casually fit it in with the idea I had but I will make it the forefront of another piece, don't you worry :]

This is also my submission for @glitterypirateduck and their Soap It Up challenge.

Prompt 2: "Do I make you nervous?"

Prompt 14: "I've been looking for you."

You haven't had to look around corners to check if the coast was clear since high school. It makes you feel childish. Makes you feel like a helpless teenager trying to avoid the prettier girls that whisper and leer when you walk past. You're too old to feel like that.

You don't know if you should be grateful you're not hiding from bullies or be more fearful of the person that's really chasing you.

You don't think you've ever been chased like this before. The girls in the halls never sought you out, and the boys that did only followed to continue jabbing at you as you tried to walk away.

No, this is much different. Too different. You don't know what to do with yourself.

Another nurse told you earlier that someone was looking for you. She gave a knowing smirk, telling you who with a teasing, sing-songy voice.

"Soap MacTavish." She grinned, leaning over the front desk, resting her chin on her hand.

You don't know why everyone thinks you like him. No. No, actually, you know exactly why. He won't leave you alone.

You left one of your patients room—a poor sap going by "Wick" that caught the nasty end of a bayonet—down a few halls to the nearest storage room. You stop before turning the corner, a suspicious feeling bubbling in your gut.

You peek over the corner, met with the rest of the long, bland hallway. He's not here. You don't like the feeling that replaces the suspicion. It's a sinking sensation.

This whole ordeal is eating at you. You know he's around somewhere. Unless he gave up after a while. Took him long enough, in your opinion. Part of you wants to run into him, though, just to get it over with and tell him to fuck off so you don't have to worry about it.

You straighten up again, pulling away from the corner and letting out a heavy sigh.

"So, who're we hiding from?" A horrifyingly familiar Scottish accent said from behind you, low and husky and almost a whisper.

You yelp and whip around to look at him, jumping back a little. Your feet scream to run, but you realize how ridiculous that is. You're an adult, you don't need to run, you're not in real danger.

The way he looks at you is dangerous, though. His eyes are lidded, relaxed as they take you in like he could do it all day. Those striking blues drag up and down your body, landing back at your eyes with such intensity that it makes you want to shy away.

He's so casual it infuriates you. He's just leaning against the wall beside you, arms crossed as he waits for your reply.

"I'm not hiding." You brush him off, tearing your eyes away from him and turning to walk away.

You pause, though, when he lets out a little huff of a laugh, almost a scoff. "Sure." He replied, not sounding all too convinced.

You look over your shoulder to glare at him but he only flashes you one of his little grins, eyes lit up with amusement and brows raised.

A real scoff leaves your own lips and you turn away again and continue down the hall. You suppress the urge to groan aloud when you hear heavy footfalls behind you as the Scot gives chase.

"I've been looking for you." He said, walking only a step behind you.

"That so?" You hum, trying to sound uninterested. Your tone doesn't sway him, it never does.

"Mhm, just asked the lass at the front where they keep the bonnie nurses and figured I'd find you around." He replied easily, and you don't have to look at him to know he's got that smirk on his face.

You hum again, not sure how else to respond. He follows you like a lost dog through the hallways until you reached the storage room. You open the door just enough to slip inside and much to your distain, Soap follows in suit, making a show of opening the door wide and waltzing in like he owns the place.

The storage room is fairly large, filled with rows of files and medications and equipment all broken off into different sections. You wind through the isles and try not to think too hard about Soap's heavy footfalls behind you. It makes you uneasy, fluttery in a way you don't want to think about. You feel like you're being hunted, like a little bunny that pops it's head up at the smallest branch snapping, unaware of the beast lurking just behind the foliage.

You stop walking and quickly turn to him, making him halt in front of you so easily that you think he was expecting it. You don't like that. You're not predictable, damn it!

"Do you need something?" You ask with exasperation, pumping up the attitude and irritation in hopes it scares him off.

You think it works for a second when his smile falters a bit and he has the decency to look a bit surprised by your outburst, but that hope immediately dies when he ducks his head down with a small chuckle that makes your stomach flip. He pulls one of his hands from his pocket and leans his arm on the shelf beside you.

He leans forward just a bit, those overwhelming blues flickering back up to you. "Does there need to be a reason?" He flashes you a lopsided, boyish smile and you feel like the ground is giving away under you.

"You always have a reason." You shoot back, cringing at the way your voice falters.

He notices, eyes looking back and forth between yours as his brows raise a little. "That I do." He replies, voice softer than before.

Soap takes a step closer, back straightening a bit in a way that makes you feel small in comparison. You straighten your back as well, taking a breath that comes in shakier than you wanted. Your attempt at coolness and defiance shatters when his other hand slips from his front pocket and slowly lifts towards you.

He's tentative, eyes holding yours and god, you can't look away. His hand lands on the side of your neck, fingers tenderly ghosting over your skin to see if you flinch away. You don't. You want to. You want to slap his hand away. You want to claw and sink your teeth into him so he'll scurry away with his tail between his legs.

But that won't happen. He'll just drag his way to your exam room and whine until you wrap him up, ask you to kiss it better. You almost want to.

The pads of his fingers drag up your neck and across your cheek. His palm is warm against your jaw and you're frustratingly pliant when he tilts your head. His eyes fall and you swallow when his thumb slowly traces your bottom lip.

"Do I make you nervous, hen?" His voice drops about an octave, low and just above a whisper. His eyes flit up to yours and you're halfway through your brain rebooting when you realize he's waiting for a response.

He isn't, really. He just wants to watch you try.

"No." You manage, a small murmur that in no way can be convincing.

He lets out a soft hum, head slowly tilting as he observes you. You feel like he's picking you apart, piece by piece. Pulling back your hardened shell to watch your innermost workings as they turn and click.

His thumb presses down on your bottom lip, tugging it down a little and he can feel the muted gasp you take. He leans heavier on the shelf beside the both of you and his hand drops away from you. A long, almost pained groan rips from his throat and he pulls back to run his fingers through his mohawk and tug at the strands. He drags his hand over his face and peeks at you through his fingers.

His eyes are narrow and hungry before he tears his eyes away again, waving you off. "Bah. Go get what you were looking for, I'll be finding you later."

You try not to sigh too audibly as you take a few steps back, your body visibly untensing as you put a bit of distance between you two. "Right, see ya." You say, a little clipped before turning on your heel and walking away.

Soaps eyes follow you until you turn a corner and step out of his line of sight, the back of his head falling back against one of the shelves with a thump. Run, little bunny. You're lucky he likes a chase.

#maus writes #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #cod #soap x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #so thankful that glitterypirateduck extended the deadline bc motivation was kicking my ass and it gave me just enough time to finish this 🙏 #i blame ghouljams for making me love soap with darlings who dont want him #i wanna see him work for it and im a sucker for flustered stubborn mcs