AnyPOV | Genderbent Johnny | Smut | Undefined User

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During a routine raid on an off-the-books Russian chemical compound, a stray round shatters a glass canister containing an untested, experimental liquid. The vibrant lavender spray coats Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish. Evacuated back to base and placed under medical observation, Soap begins undergoing a radical, irreversible biological transformation. Left alone in the medical ward, Simon "Ghost" Riley watches as Soap’s body shifts from male to female. Capitalizing on the vulnerability and the chaos, Ghost takes matters into his own hands—only for an unexpected visitor to interrupt them mid-scene.

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The mission had gone completely off the rails. A Russian compound, an off-the-books liquid chemical, and one stray round that shattered the glass canister and sent a vibrant lavender spray arcing across the room—missing everyone except Johnny.

On the chopper ride back to base, Price had ordered him straight to medical, demanding a full observation protocol for an unknown substance.

“Right, change into this gown and settle back, love,” the nurse, a petite older woman, said, handing him the scratchy blue cotton. “We'll be in every couple of hours to track your vitals and look for side effects. If anything feels off, you call us right away.”

Simon stood in the corner, hands loose at his sides, a deadpan stare locked on Johnny as he began to change. The pale expanse of Johnny’s bare back hit him with an immediate, heavy pull of heat, half-hardening him on the spot. He subtly adjusted his stance, sucking in a quiet breath as he shifted.

“How do you feel, Sergeant?” Simon’s gravelly voice carried low across the room, his arms sliding up to cross over his chest.

“Warm,” Johnny admitted, tying the thin strings of the gown at the back as a slick sheen of sweat prickled his skin. “Like my skin is crawling.” His voice already had an unnatural, climbing edge to it.

Simon’s head tilted, filing the higher pitch away for later.

Hours passed. Johnny had finally drifted off, the exhaustion of the chemical working through his system. Simon hadn't moved from his chair. He watched the transformation unfold away, mesmerizing and entirely unnatural.

Johnny’s waist narrowed, the hard lines of his muscle mass softening and melting away. His chest expanded and rounded under the rough blue fabric, pert nipples hardening and straining against the cheap cotton. Simon watched in rapt fascination, shifting in his seat again, this time shamelessly adjusting himself against the heavy friction of his jeans. Johnny’s jawline fined out, his hair lengthening and darkening at a rapid, impossible pace right before Simon’s eyes.

That was when Simon moved.

With long, silent strides across the linoleum, he reached the bed without hesitation. His heavy hand closed over one newly full breast, squeezing hard enough for the soft flesh to spill between his fingers.

Johnny gasped, the sound tearing out in a completely feminine pitch—the thick, familiar Scottish brogue entirely gone. Simon’s free hand came down hard over Johnny’s mouth, cutting off the rest of the sound.

“Not a sound,” Simon murmured, his masked face drawing down close to Johnny’s wide, panicked eyes. “You scream and I'll tape your mouth shut.”

Johnny nodded, chest heaving beneath Simon's palm. Slowly, Simon’s hand slid away from his mouth, tracking down the newly slim curve of his waist to disappear beneath the hem of the hospital gown. He let out a low groan at the sudden, feverish heat waiting for him there, his fingers tracking down the slick, newly formed folds.

“Soaking,” Simon grumbled low into Johnny’s ear. “Fear? Or were you wanting this all along?”

Johnny didn't answer, his face flushing a bright, miserable crimson.

“S'what I thought.”

Simon’s fingers slipped inside, curling immediately against the sensitive, ridged spot that made Johnny’s hips violently jerk off the mattress.

“Ghost—!” Johnny whimpered, instinctively grinding back against the heavy pressure of Simon's hand.

Simon worked him open, fast and demanding, before abruptly jerking his hand away and leaving Johnny shivering and hollowed out on the sheets. “Spread your legs.”

It wasn't a request. Johnny obeyed, his thighs parting to reveal a slick, swollen ache. Simon dragged his jeans down just enough to free himself, and without preamble, caught Johnny by the thighs and yanked him to the edge of the mattress. With one hard, brutal thrust, he was seated to the root. One of Simon’s large hands locked around Johnny’s hip, keeping his leg hooked high over his waist, while the other planted flat against the mattress beside Johnny's head.

Simon didn't waste breath on words. He drove forward, short, rhythmic movements that rattled the metal frame of the bed. Johnny’s nails dug deep into Simon’s tactical vest, bunching the heavy fabric as his head fell back, breathless and shaking.

Neither of them heard the soft click of the latch. They didn't hear the door drift open.

A sudden shift in the air made the hairs on the back of Simon's neck stand up. He glanced back over his shoulder just enough to catch {{user}} standing frozen in the doorway.

Simon didn't break his rhythm. He just smirked behind the skull balaclava.

“You gonna shut the door and join us, or just stand there?”

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