#john ‘soap’ mactavish x reader

[mikichko]

paciencia y fe

cw: gn!reader, sexual acts with gn!reader, unedited

for my sister, @wraithdance , and my sister wife, @gardenthatneversleeps 💕 a thank you for the patience and love you’ve given me 🤍

Johnny swears your paths have crossed for the sole purpose of teaching him patience.

He doesn’t lack it. If anything, patience has saved his life multiple times.

But with you? It’s almost like Johnny’s never known what it’s like to be patient.

He’s never experienced the itch in his fingertips before. Fingers flexing continuously as he eyes you from across the room. His eyes trail over you, half listening to the conversation around him while he observes.

You laugh with Gaz. A full body motion that has you leaning up against him, shoulders pressed together as you grip your sides. Gaz leans into you just as much, face coming closer to yours as he chuckles before you both pull back.

Johnny can feel his face turn. Eyebrows creasing, eyes narrowing, the corners of his lips pitching downward as he observes you both. He doesn’t even get the chance to subdue his reaction when Gaz’s eyes flick towards him. Realization flashing across his face before it melts into a sly grin.

Johnny brings the drink up to his lips. He’ll need the strength to survive whatever Kyle’s cooking up.

Kyle tells him you’re skittish, with a tendency to run like a feral cat. A defense mechanism.

Johnny tries not to dwell too much on what could have driven you to need such defense. If he ever finds the cause, it’ll be Soap that’ll handle it. He’ll make sure Johnny isn’t ruined for you.

He treads lightly around you. Circling within your vicinity, ignoring the magnetic pull that taunts him whenever he’s close to you. If he were a more naive man he’d think this is what hell was like. Within vicinity of something so beautiful but unable to have it within his grasp.

He knows true hell would be not having you at all.

The thought makes his blood run cold. Drives fear through him so fast that his patience is always restored. So he takes his time. Watering, feeding, and shaping your relationship as it grows.

You circle each other for months. Completely unaware of the game Johnny’s playing at until you’re always at his side. Naturally gravitating towards him whenever your friends come together. He’s got you in a box.

You don’t hiss, it wouldn’t be appropriate he thinks, but your eyes are wary of him. Sizing him up to determine what threat he poses, or if you can trust him. Again, he takes his time. Not in a rush to have you skittering away.

His warm breath tickles the curve of your ear as he mutters low and soft to you, only you. No matter the setting, he treats every conversation with you with such delicacy. Keeping his voice leveled to a point only you can hear. He’s not concerned with the rest of them. As long as his words reach you, they’ve carried purpose.

It’s like this at any function and often you find yourselves tucked into a corner, locked in conversation. Even tucked away, Johnny talks softly into your ear. Invading your space just enough to push his scent towards you, but not enough to spook you.

He reaps the reward for his efforts when you lean into his space, unknowingly following his scent. At the same time Johnny pulls back just a bit and turns his face towards yours.

For a brief second your lips brush against each other, but it’s enough.

Johnny’s breath stutters, eyes dropping to your lips instinctually. You shudder, a low noise escaping your parted lips as your body reacts without your permission. His eyes flick towards yours, only to find them dilated and on his own lips.

Truthfully he doesn’t know what happens first. If you lean up, pressing your lips to his or if his hand curls around your hip to pull you to him. In the end, it doesn’t matter. Not when you press your body against his, pressing him into the wall while he pulls you to him, as your lips slot together for the first time.

It’s slow, he wants to savor what he’s been chasing for months.

He makes love to you like this too.

Slow and languid as he opens you up. Taking his time to cherish and care for you the way one does with something of delicacy. Handling you with care as he focuses on pulling delicious sounds from your body. Prideful as your body reacts to him. Opening yourself up to him in a way you’ve denied others.

You give him access to the most delicate parts of you. Gently parting yourself for him to sheath himself in you, joining you together at last. His hips roll into you at a slow pace.

Hand clutched in yours, he whispers breathlessly against your lips. The warmth you provide pulls his innermost thoughts and they spill against you.

He’s wanted this for so long. Since he’d seen you all those months ago. He’d dreamed about you. How your skin would feel against his. How your body would fit against his. The way your nails would feel raking across the skin of his back.

He loses himself more as you squeeze him, back arching off the bed. You pull him down onto you with your free arm as you orgasm, desperate for as much of his skin as he can give.

A dam breaks. And suddenly there are words of adoration spilling from his lips. He kisses you deeply after each confession, pushing his words into you the only way he knows how.

Though the passion overtakes him, he’s smart enough to hold his tongue, even if just a little. After all, there’s nothing patient about murmuring “I love you” so soon.

[erosology]

i just think soap’s love is all-consuming, a boa constrictor squeezing its prey until it has no other choice than to just take it. he so desperately wants to squeeze you until you’re trapped in his rib cage, right next to his heart where you can see your name carved in on the muscle, each beat a syllable of your name. too many sacrifices to pay the price of his job, but not you—never you

[moondirti]

charcoal

pairing: John 'Soap' MacTavish x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 2.6k summary: you and johnny draw portraits of one another warnings: cock warming, unprotected p-in-v, creampies, handjobs, tooth rotting fluff, nude drawings, light masochism, mentions of death notes: inspired by soap's journal in mw3. our sweet boy can draw :)

“Sit still.”

A whisper, spoken like a fervent kiss to the space between you. Humid air, smothered under his peppercorn cologne and the tangy warmth of lingering sex. Johnny’s pelvis remains glued to the back of your thighs, conjoined at that sweltering centre, gently swelling back to rock-hard shape. It works to plug you full of him, a barrier to the cum he’d spilt a mere thirty minutes prior.  

Mere. To you, long hours have gone by while stuck in this state, oscillating from painful overstimulation to an insatiable urge that only exists with him – more, more – and back again. But he exercises a surprising restraint. No. Unexpected. A fortitude obviously cultivated in the SAS, carbon under pressure, polished and primed. One that is diamond-sharp, deadly even, but usually crumbles to dust around you. 

He keeps your leg hooked over one broad shoulder. The other quivers, cushioned by the duvet, serving as a surface for the item he’d fetched in a rush. 

Fuck. Hold it righ’ there. Freshly spent, glowing with an endorphin-logged high.

Huh– W-What’re you doing? 

Y'look so bloody beautiful like this, hen. Have ta memorialise it. 

Ever the flatterer. You’ve no doubt you’re a mess – mussed hair, smudged mascara. The only thing he’d left in his stripping you was the necklace you’d worn for his welcome home; a golden chain, charmed with a replica of his dog tag and an antique locket you’d salvaged from your grandmother’s place.

You thought he’d been reaching for a polaroid; a quick snapshot of the moment, print to be stapled to the inside of his combat coat. But he’d ducked under your bed – not the nightstand where you kept the camera – and ruffled through dust bunnies and expired condoms for the stash of things he deems too important to take with him to the job. Material objects, little keepsakes, left to rot behind, with you. 

He’d come back up with a self-satisfied grin, a journal – moleskine bound and half-full of rough scribbles – clasped between waving fingers. 

It’s not the first time he draws you. Just the first time he does of such an intimate scene. 

Clenching involuntarily, you flush at the thought. Johnny’s free hand tenses from its place on your knee, soothing circles turned bruising touch. Giggling, you squeeze him again, only to be met with a particularly vicious thrust of his hips. 

“Nng-! Christ,” 

“What'd I tell ya?” 

“I had been.” The protest peaks at the back of your throat, forming something more akin to a whine. His chuckle is indicative of the fact; sunlit bough and soft moss gaze catching yours. His eyes pool like honey in the lowlight, gold drawn out by the haze of your surroundings. Warm. “You’re taking too long.” 

“Wad ye rather I get the shadin’ on yer tits wrong?” He teases, gaelic-curled accent accompanied by sharp scratches of charcoal on paper. The black dust coats calloused fingertips, concentrated on the middle, the one he uses for smudging. “Ye'll end up lookin like ma great aunt.” 

“That’s gross.” 

“Watch it. Rory was a great woman.” 

But his chest widens in that special way, skin rippling over thickset sinew, and you know his current contentment runs bone deep. He gloats it, wearing the radiance like he does the sweat; the tender marks along his neck, imprints of your teeth cut in blood. His battle scars pale in contrast, silver and thin and nothing when set beside the raised scratches, red, carved mid-fuck. 

You’ve tried to be gentle with him. Really, you have. 

You just found he doesn’t prefer it.

A Noah’s-Ark cataclysm of rain, unending cataracts of water sluicing from the sky. They wash over the windshield, the windows – you can barely see beyond the hood of his car. 

It was your suggestion to wait the storm out. You’d gone on a picnic for your first date, perched up high on some mountain that now seems too formidable to scale down.

Spice with rosy overtones. His scent is intoxicating, distilled on that spot – the edge of a broad tendon that stretches up his neck. Johnny’s clad in a polo shirt, the collar slightly popped to cover the patch of skin, but you catch sight of it every once in a while. Enough to fuel your internal screams, urging you to act against what is proper. 

Hold out ‘till the next time you see him. Leave him wanting more.

He’s talking. Something about football and fake turf scrapes. 

God. That voice. Full-bodied, confident with all the charisma to match. You latch on to every syllable, basking in the way they furl from him – rolled r’s, two element vowels morphing to one. What’s the word for gorgeous in Scottish jargon? He’d taught you it over a bowl of strawberries. 

Broad. Brock. Brow. Br… something.

But his thumb had swiped out to the edge of your lip to catch a bead of stray juice, and you’d lost all wit. In one ear, out the other. Boiled down to a saccharine, lust-filled puree. 

You’d wanted to take the digit into your mouth. 

The high altitude ensures the car is frigid, windows chilled with a freezing pellet downpour. The skirt you wore does nothing to hide the goosebumps that prickle down your thighs. 

It’s not the weather, though. It’s him. He inspires a cyclone in you, a vortex of violently rotating winds that upturn every function. Hot. Cold. A puddle of melted something, stirring deep within the recesses of your gut. Your attempts to smother it down will forever be in vain. 

Him. Him.

He drives you mad. You’re fucking stupid. 

But pellucid blue light streams in from outside, the sun sinking behind gunmetal clouds, and Johnny fills his jeans nicely, you think. Hulking thighs force the denim to its limits, stretched and spread and–

Oh.

Maybe your mind had skipped over it purposely. For knowledge of what it would do to you. In knowing that your panties are already slick, unable to hold the extra saturation. You’ll leak onto his seat. 

Fuck.

A prominent, massive bulge. Strained, outwardly painful. 

Enticing. 

You flood, anyway. Overbearing heat and oblivion striking your core. A breath catches, spinning to form a small bubble of recklessness between constricting lungs. 

You speak before you begin to process it all. 

“We’ll be here for a while.” 

Stupid, silly girl. 

He halts, tangent lost to the half-lidded look you give him. Your nails graze the arm nearest to you, propped on the console, brushing through hair to elicit a deep shudder – mirror to your salacity. It tells him what he can already guess. 

In the split second it takes for your impulse to waver, he recovers, back to that ludic man you’d met just last week. 

“And there are only so many things to talk about.” Johnny nods.

Your heart slams on hollow ribs. He may hear it if he tries hard enough; an echoed melody of cosmic yearning. 

“Gotta save some for next time.” 

“Aye.” His head ducks closer to yours, locking you to those bonfire eyes. “Next time?”

“Hmm, if you like me enough.” The suggestion skips across your nervous titter. Spearmint washes over you when he speaks, cold breath a product of the pack of gum he keeps tucked in his car door. He’d told you he reserves the stash for special occasions, with only the ‘prettiest of hens.’ You’d folded the wrapper into a heart and placed it against the stick shift. 

“I like ya, bonnie. Only question is–”  A bent forefinger taps your chin, thumb caressing the curve of it. “Do ye like me?” 

You let your stare flutter down to his lips; perfect, pink, pulled in a devious smirk. It wipes any semblance of logic from you. Propriety, the manners your mother taught you at a holiday dinner table – cross your legs, elbows off the table – dissipate to ash. You’re raw; skinned alive and vulnerable to whatever he wants. 

Crackling nerves. You don’t answer, don’t say a word. 

Instead, you lean in to kiss the scar on his lip. 

And it all goes to hell from there. 

Hurried gropes, desperation fogging. You bend over the centre – precariously balanced on your knees – to hug his head closer to yours. His hands find purchase on your waist, exposed now, your sweater rucked upwards to hang just below your bra. You can see his back in the reflection of the window, his muscles rolling under a too-tight shirt, expanding to accommodate the weight you throw onto him. 

It’s hormone fuelled, messy. Your teeth clack and your tongues wrestle and you can only ponder on releasing him, on untucking his hard length from hindering pants. 

“H-Here–” You stutter into his mouth, left hand smoothing down his chest to dance teasingly at the waistband. His hips buck the slightest bit. “Let me…” 

“Wanna make ye feel good too, lass.” 

“Please.” 

And it must be the way you say it, the keen in your tone, the pout of your lips. You’re close to tears, eyes glossy like the wet road ahead. It must be; mutual magnetism, some shared fondness that makes him concede to your plea  (I like ye, bonnie), before he helps you pull them down to let his cock spring free. Head flush and base thick enough to split your lips. 

You swim impossibly deeper into the pool of crush-drunk abandon. 

Braw. That was it. Braw, for mind-numbing attractiveness. Or so to say– 

Maybe you’re exaggerating. It doesn’t feel like a grand enough word to encapsulate this. To capture him. 

Nothing could be enough. Your first date and yet you sit here, obsessed already, willing to spend a lifetime showing him all you can’t say. How those eyes draw from you a lightness, an ease. Hazel has quickly become your favourite colour. How mohawks are an abomination to conscientious style, but how he makes them work, much to your displeasure. You imagine plugging clippers in a shared bathroom, helping him buzz off the sides prior to longer missions. Sending him off with a kiss that means more than just interest.

“Fuck.”

“Feart, now?” 

His accent thickens in the throes of pleasure. You add the word to your growing list and spit on your hand to help slick him up. 

He stops you before you can wrap it around his leaking cock. “Wait, wait.” 

Head still buried into the crook of his neck, a trail of purpling bruises adorning the stubbled skin of his jaw – you can only spot him in your peripheral, a hazy blur of long eyelashes and a prominent nose. 

His hands unclip your bra when he speaks again: 

“Do it dry. I like when it hurts a little.”

A year later now. He’d wrapped an assignment early to see you on your anniversary. 

“Done?” 

You’re sticky with cooling sweat and spit, fluids hardening on supple flesh in the filtered air of your bedroom. Both naked, posed in the same position; your right glute burns with the ache of a prolonged stretch, still thrown over his shoulder as he hurriedly finishes the final details of his sketch. 

“Almost. Canae fuckin’ get the lightin’ right.” 

“Lemme see,” You make a grab for the journal. He bats your hand away. 

“No.” Johnny huffs, shifting to look at you from a slightly different angle. “I think it’s the glow.” 

“The glow?” 

“Aye. Took ower long ta get those gorgeous tits down, you’ve lost that sex sheen.”

“You’re mad.” 

The hand that was at your knee starts to knead your thigh, grabbing whatever it can hold. An intentional touch, he targets every tender area, sparking a match to an already smouldering flame. The pressure at your core tightens.

“I’d say it’s a quick fix,”

Your hips buck to meet the heavy weight of his palm as it flattens against your pelvis, seeking true fusion to the rough skin. You’re feverish, practically singing him; you spread your legs and do what you can to spear yourself further onto his cock, one that has not yet left the tight clutch of your cunt. 

This is what the poets eulogise, this ‘swete breeth’ reverence. Zephyrus – he’s zephyr adjacent – the god of westerly wind. But he places you on a shrine like he’s not the being made of sun; touches you with a prayer imbued into his callouses – barnacled reminders of his life as Soap. Your Johnny, as he is with you, finds you speechless and continues giving – pouring water onto wet clay, bending you as he pinpoints an electric centre, that bundle of nerves that has you seeing star-speckled pantheons. 

He continues to work your clit even as you kick his back, heel thrashing onto freckled skin. The overstimulation is not creeping, it does not wait until you’ve come undone – no. You’ve been on this tightrope for far too long now, and your legs tremble with the sheer exhaustion of it all. It’s never clear with him, whether the end is in sight. There are often moments of recovery where you pull away, only for him to flip you over and stuff you full again. 

The lewd squelch of your cunt, your wailing moans; you hardly register them as he begins pistoning into you, both hands and dick devoted to completing the picture. All that exists is sacred, divine insensibility. Pleasure in its purest form, locked in this haven where you’re safe to imagine holding onto him forever. 

“J-Johnny… Johnny, God– I’m gonna–”

He gains speed, fucking your sopping heat with a brutal pace, unrelenting as he circles your abused clit. You don’t have it in you to even move, boneless and wholly open to his ministrations. 

“Tha's exactly what we want now, bonnie. Go on, cum for me.” 

The muscles in your core harden, too brittle to stand against the wicked tide brimming within you. It drives you delirious, flooding your instincts. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and your back arches – you absolutely ruin the continuity that comes with being his live model. But you don’t care. You don’t care. He’s so good at hitting you in all the right places – head nudging your cervix, his breadth stretching you out with a fiery sting. He rubs you raw, chafing, and you’re so close. 

You think about jerking him off on your first date, coaxing from him groans that taste like scotch and spearmint-covered strawberries. The sorest handjob known to mankind – he’d cum hard, spurting thick globs of warm fluid onto his lap, webbing your fingers together with his essence. His apologies had fallen on deaf ears when you’d licked yourself clean. 

You think about meeting him at that bar, nursing a fruity drink with a wild name. Your friend had abandoned you for some blonde chick, but Johnny took your lonesome as an opportunity to swoop in and compliment your dress. He’d later told you that he’d only been looking for a quick fix to stall on the grief of a close friend's death. Turns out, ye're not so much a stall, more a remedy, love. Sad tae say I'm glad yer friend was horny that night. 

You think of him, now. Of the past twenty-something pages of his journal filled with nothing but idle doodles of you and gum-wrapper hearts, no longer dedicated to anguished attempts at remembering lost comrades. He’s grown to be a better artist, lines bold and drawn in sole strokes, able to capture just about anything in ballpoint pen alone. 

Well I’ve got the perfect muse now, haven’ I? 

You break, shattering into a million fragments. You know he’ll pick you up.

Finally resting, spooned together under clean sheets. A strong arm thrown over you, holding open a page for your scrutiny. 

“It’s nice, baby! You might’ve made me too pretty, though.” 

A growl. “Shut it. That’s all you.”

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[strawb3rryshortcak5]

The Other Woman

john ‘soap’ mactavish x reader, simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader (unrequited love)

Summary: You and Soap slowly develop into something more than friendship, you fall in love. The problem is, Simon loves you too.

Contains: SFW, literally all angst, some cute parts with Soap obviously, descriptions of violence, yelling, dead bodies, and anything else COD related you can think of.

A/N: Soap needs some love too! This was really fun to make. I love basing oneshots off songs, this one is based on the other woman by queen lana del rey 💞(not completely proof read, mb 😍)

————————————————————————————

Let’s cut to the chase, you and Soap have been together for a while. Only recently though did you come clean about it to the rest of 141. The both of you were nervous that it wouldn’t be allowed, maybe you would get told that your relationship is too distracting for the two of you, making you unable to get the job done. Whatever that might be.

Price reacted completely different than you thought he would, congratulating the two of you for finding love, bits of teasing all around from the rest of the team came naturally as well. Teasing from everyone except Ghost. As soon as Soap broke the news, he went silent. Giving your newly made boyfriend a quick pat on the back and then passing by, making his was to the door. Your eyes followed his fleeting form as Johnny leaned down to make commentary on the situation.

“Has he got a stick up his arse?” Soap says in a light tone, whispering it specifically so nobody else would hear but you.

“Perhaps. Maybe he is just upset i got to you before he could.” You giggle back quietly. Soap chuckled under his breath before grabbing your hand and softly kissing the knuckle.

You smile brightly as he does so, soon excusing himself from the room and lightly jogging across the room to follow Ghost wherever he had gone.

The other woman has time to manicure her nails

You always admired Simon. The way he was so explicitly put together in regards to his weapons and materials. He trains regularly, always making time to clean his guns, sharpen his knives, and you have even seen him shine his shoes in the past. At one point you could have sworn you saw an array or acrylic paint bottles and paint brushes all over his private desk in his office. But, you might be wrong. In all, you wish you could have his time management skills.

The other woman is perfect where her rival fails

On a rather foggy day you had also watch Soap and Ghost spar. This most definitely impressed you, seeing as Simon immediately had Soap on his ass. Throughout the whole session, you could’ve sworn you saw him glance at you, with eyes searching for approval every time he landed an ending hit on Soap. You didn’t pay mind to it though. Laughing at your boyfriend’s irritated excuses on how he was rusty, tired, and the reason he tripped over his own feet was because his boots were untied. They were not.

And she's never seen with pin curls in her hair, anywhere

“How come you never smile?” You had asked him, trailing him like a dog during one of the many missions you had been assigned to with him.

“I do.” He replies. Looking back at you briefly before settling down on the roof top with his sniper rifle.

You laid down next to him, ready to take down anyone that came onto the roof with plans to attack you both. Removing your pistol from your belt, you scooted up a bit to a half sitting position with your head using the wall for complete support. Turning your head to look at Ghost, you asked another question.

“And your mask? How come you never take it off?” You curiously questioned. Eyebrows raising slightly as you awaited his response.

“Classified. Apologies, sergeant.” He says, looking at you through his peripheral vision.

“You’re no fun!” You pout, crossing your arms and turning away from him. You pursed lips almost immediately being replaced by a toothy smile.

He notices this, but gets back to work. Focusing on the task at hand rather than the woman he would do anything for. Let’s just say it was a bit hard to do so.

The other woman enchants her clothes with French perfume

“We were just on the field. How does he smell so fresh?” Soap comments, walking along side you while you wipe your bloody knife off on your pants.

“He showers whenever he can. I wish i showered as much as he did. Then i wouldn’t smell like shit everyday.” You mumble the last sentence. Fake jealousy lacing your voice as your boyfriend put his arm around your shoulders.

“I think you smell fantastic. But you should shower, with me this time sweetheart.” He looks down at you and winks with a grin spread across his face.

Your cheeks flush as you shake him off and start to walk faster towards the safe house. Smiling to himself, Soap follows suit.

The other woman keeps fresh-cut flowers in each room

“You lot are pigs.” Simon states, gruffly, as he begins to pick up the dirty clothes and garbage that lace the floor of the base.

You have noticed this about his. He is constantly searching for something to do. Price mentioned Ghost said he doesn’t want to be lazy. You think it’s something else. A distraction maybe. For what? You have no idea. That doesn’t mean you appreciate it less. After a long day of fighting the last thing you want to do is make your bed, clean up, and shower. Most times when you do return back, everyones cot is made nicely, things have been picked up, and the showers have been prepped for the stinking soldiers that will soon occupy them.

There are never toys that's scattered everywhere

No man left behind. It is a common saying in the army. At some level, there is a certain time when this mantra means nothing. Of course, everyone tries their best to have the backs of the people around them. But when you are holding on to someone as they hang from a speeding helicopter, you need to take into consideration that no matter what, it is necessary to put yourself first. Simon ignores that.

“If you keep holding on to me we will both fall!” You scream as your body hangs off the side of the helicopter. Ghost tightens his grip on your wrist.

“I am not letting you go!” He bellows, roughly pulling you back into the helicopter. It had shifted slightly, giving him a perfect opportunity to launch you back onto somewhat solid ground

“Thank you!” You say after a couple minutes, adrenaline starting to slow. You look at him as you quickly wipe your leaking eyes. He just nods in confirmation that he heard you before staring out into the sky.

And when her old man comes to call

“Y/N and Ghost! Get packed up. I’m sending you to Dublin. I need you to clear up some loose ends and gather the information that was stolen from us. Here is everything you need to know.” Laswell states as she hands Simon a folder, walking away after doing so.

You both nod your heads in agreement and begin packing. It was an unusual announcement, seeing as usually everyone on the team has a place on the field. But whatever, you will get this done quickly your the combination of skill sets you both possess.

When you are both done packing, you say a quick goodbye to Soap. Kissing him softly on the lips before getting onto the plane.

He finds her waiting like a lonesome queen

It had been a couple hours since you arrived in Dublin. You set up your posts quickly. Occasionally participating in banter with Ghost as you wait for the targets to appear. You were waiting on the low level roof of an apartment building. The darkness covering you completely. Ghost was down below, waiting to take out the expected armed soldiers protecting your targets.

The plan was you snipe the targets and Ghost kills the guards. Easy enough. How wrong you were. After a couple minutes of radio silence, you call out to Ghost using the walkie talkie you were given.

“Ghost, how copy?” You whisper into the device. Continuing to look through the scope of your gun.

A couple minutes go by before you ask once again;

“Ghost. How. Copy.” You question, more firmly than last time.

A bad feeling arose in your gut after the 6th minute waiting for his response. You jump up quickly, pushing yourself through the open window you entered to reach the position on the roof, and slid against the wall all the way until you reached the room where Ghost was supposed to be. Knife in hand, you kick down the door. Eyes widening as you finally react to the situation in front of you.

Ghost. Surrounded by 8 bodies in a pool of blood. Out of the 8, two of the were the men you were sent to kill. At first it looks like some of it is Ghosts blood, but you realize he is actually fidgeting with his walkie, trying to do what you would assume is fix it.

“Simon!” You shout as you enter. “Are you hurt? What happened!” He looks at you before raising the dead communicator in his hands.

'Cause to be by her side

It's such a change from old routine

“It wont work. Dunno what happened.” He says as he tosses it to you. Standing up as he does so, using the wall as support.

“Bloody fucking hell.” You mutter, turning around with Ghost following you. Closing the door behind him he whispers a quick ‘apologies sergeant’ thinking you wouldn’t be able to pick up on it. You do.

“It’s fine. You are lucky i’m so brave, coming to find you like a good girl.” You say as you turn around grinning. Tossing him back the once broken device that you fixed.

He grabs it and attaches it back to his vest. Following you up the stairs as you both exit the building and call for an escort back to base.

“Good girl you are, Y/N.” He says, almost completely silently. This time, you don’t hear him.

But the other woman will always cry herself to sleep

“Because i love her!” Simon screams back at Soap. Eyes widening in the words he had just spoke.

Soap looked at him funny, chuckled before turning his head slightly to the side.

“What?” He says. Tightening his first until his knuckles turned white.

Ghost doesn’t know what to say after that. Nobody says anything after that. The two of them unknowingly stand there as you cover your mouth behind the door of the base. You had went to follow Soap after being bombarded with questions from Price and Gaz. Your eyes begin to water as you realize how serious this actually was. You didn’t know what to do.

The other woman will never have his love to keep

You step out from behind the wall, lowering your hands and locking eyes with Ghost. You watch as his eyes widen even more. He turns away, fast. You begin chasing after him.

“Simon!” You squeak running past your boyfriend. He wasn’t jealous of your actions. He knew that the two of you had a great friendship, he knew how this would effect it. He trusted you. So he walked away and went back inside.

And as the years go by, the other woman

Will spend her life alone

As soon as you caught up with Ghost you grabbed his arm, spinning him around so you could fully look at him. You didn’t know it, but he was sweating like crazy. You were the first person he had loved romantically in a long time. He yearned for you. He dreamt of you. He was totally in love with you and he knew it. And now, you did too.

Alone.

“I can’t be with you.” You quickly blurt out. lowering your hand from his arm and breaking eye contact.

“I know.” He replies. Voice unwavering as he walks away from you again.

You want to tell him everything. You want to tell him how he could’ve been with you. You had liked him before you got with John. You really did. You didn’t notice all of his strange habits just for the fun of it. But you were with Soap now, and you really did love him. You had never been in a situation like this before and you didn’t really know what to do. This time, you let him walk away. Not before you caught him saying something else.

Alone.

“Apologies, sergeant.”

[majinbangus]

You're sprawled on the couch when he comes in the room, eyes zeroing in on you instantly. He doesn't give you the chance to greet him, stalking up to you as if you're his prey. Which, in this moment, you probably are.

It's not hard to tell he's still in that soldier headspace he gets stuck in sometimes. He looks tired. Stressed.

You're about to get up and ask him what he wants, what he needs, once he's looming over you, but the words die out when his hands shoot out and start squeezing your breasts.

You don't stop him, but you do laugh a little, incredulous. "What are you doing?"

"Fluffin' your tits." He's gruff, both in tone and groping. "What's it look like?"

"That's not how- nevermind." You chuckle and fondly roll your eyes. "Why?"

"Cuz they're mine," he says as if that's reason enough, and you suppose it is.

He let's go to get on the couch with you, batting your legs open to settle between them. The man practically flops on top of you with enough force to push an oof out of your lungs, but you can tell he's careful not to crush you entirely. His arms shove underneath your body, squeezing tight as he nuzzles his face against your newly fluffed breasts. You bring a hand up to scratch the back of his scalp the way you know he likes, and he sighs, melting into your body.

"Just like a big baby." Your chest bounces with silent laughter, and he gives a little sleepy warning nip to your clothed breast.

"Stop gigglin'. Tryna nap."

You almost laugh harder. He's not dispproving your point, but if this is what he needs, who are you to deny him?

"Alright, alright, I'll let my soldier rest." You calm yourself, softening your voice. "And I'll be here when you wake, too."

You know you're forgiven when he grunts and presses a kiss to where he bit.

[moondirti]

holy fuck char

holy fucking shit?

i’m so down for possessive ghost — him bringing up his jealousy while he’s balls deep inside red? because no matter what she says, he’s still rammin her insides so that she’ll feel him for a week? lord have mercy on me i am not your strongest soldier i will go down for this dick

and red being not at all opposed to the idea of fucking soap either. i already know simon went caveman brain when she clamped down at his suggestion. “You fuckin’ liked that.” uhUHHH? YEAH AND U WOULD TOO!

knowing johnny’s perspective in all this is so funny. He’s lookin at em like “oh they’re fr going at… Damn” while maybe the tiniest bit jealous but whole time they’re talking about him 🫣 if only he knew, he’d be unhinged for days

perfection as always

Ok, I'm sure you're already writing something with Red, Ghost and Soap, BUT in that public smut you wrote... she somewhat flirted back / agreed to Soap with his offer to cuddle. I wonder if Ghost was murmuring some stuff (while balls deep) to arouse her further about inviting Soap... like along the lines of having Soap open her up, so she can take his {Ghost} larger member etc. Is that what the giggle was about? And morning after now that Soap has suspicions confirmed about Ghost and Red... can he be chill? Will he be chill if he got an invite? Anyway, musings in anonymous.

A/N: Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader. Mentions of anal. Smut. A dash of soap. Parallel to subtle.

“Cuddle with Soap?”

“Cuddle” is full of grit. Ghost spits it out like a dirty word as if allowing Johnny to hold you would have been akin to anal sex.

You palm his cheek, thumb digging under the edge of his mask. His cock is inside you, thick and searing. He drives forward in long, sharp strokes. “You know - oh fuck - you know I wasn’t - wasn’t going to.”

“Do I?” he rumbles, lying flat on top of you, hips rolling between your spread thighs, insistent.

It’s raining outside the safe house. A full, swollen storm pelting against the one window. The trees are swimming together, branches and dead leaves making music. Price is out front on watch. The others are asleep in the corner and Ghost had reached for you in the dark.

“We can’t.”

“The storm’s too loud. No one’ll hear.”

"I don't think-"

"I need you, Duchess."

He braces his weight, his eyes glinting in the holes of his mask as he appraises you. You clutch at him, holding tight even though he’s got you pinned. You can smell him every time you bury your nose in his soft sweatshirt: a lit tobacco pipe in the rain. He rocks forward and rows back at a consistent rhythm, soaking in the warm, slick clutch of your sex. He might do this until morning, until dawn slinks gem-red over the room. He’s tried it before. He’s succeeded.

You should have been a porn star with that stamina. I need a wheelchair.

If you think that will get you out of training, think again, Red.

No matter how subtly he fucks you, he’s still heavy, his cock so big that every plunge aches like an old burn. He punches the breath from your lungs, his bare hand finding purchase over your mouth when you whimper or grunt. The pleasure is debilitating. He blankets you, holding you down, stabbing deep, but careful not to make any noise that could awaken the others. 

You’re so wet that you hope the shift and graze of his pants, his boots creaking on the floor is enough to mute the crude song of him claiming your pussy. 

“We could ask him to join, hmm?” He nuzzles his covered nose along your jaw. “Should I have him stick his prick in you, open you up for me?”

You clench. It’s totally not your fault, but you lock up, choke his cock. “Shit,” you whisper as he sinks deeper and groans against your throat. 

“Dirty girl,” He grasps your hip, squeezes until it’ll bruise, which you wouldn’t mind. You love the marks he leaves on your skin since he’s so careful about publicizing his desire for you outside of these moments. “You fuckin’ liked that.”

His tone is etched with slight bitterness.

“I didn’t,” you murmur, but his dark eyes glisten like seal skin, they’re full of a longing that pinches your nipples - your spine - every branch of nerves. You feel so on display. The attraction for Soap can’t be helped. He’s gorgeous and hilarious, ripples like a white-yellow sun. He’s flirtatious and thrilling and you have the gut feeling that Soap eats pussy with an unreal enthusiasm. 

He’s not Ghost, though. 

He’s not Simon.

He peers down at you, the weight of him in your cunt swelling and pulsing. You’re stretched to your limit, your knees clamped against his muscular torso. The fabric of his under armor is silky against your bare skin. He’s staring so intently that you feel awkward - nervous as hell.

You giggle. A reflex. 

No. No. I don’t want to get dicked down by Johnny. 

“Liar,” Ghost finally accuses as he grinds his pelvis into your clit. You arch, nails stabbing into the nape of his neck. You can feel the strain in his tendons, the bunching of his shoulder blades. He’s balls deep, crushing your body but keeping his hand firmly planted beneath your head to protect it.

“I’d-I’d only let him if you were there,” you confess. “Inside me…fuck…holding me while-“

“Inside you?” Ghost rumbles. “You want Johnny to fill somewhere else, then?” He slides one broad hand beneath your ass, lifting your hips and thrusting down so sharply you choke. “Could you handle it, love?”

He’s in your lungs. Your guts. He’s embedded in your nervous system and you can’t remember human language. 

“Shit,” you hiss.

“Aw,” he murmurs, audibly impressed with himself. “That’s my girl.”

You bite your lip, eyes rolling back when he delivers another deliberate stroke, his length drags through your walls, ridged and colossal. It hurts just the right amount.

“I could handle it,” you answer hoarsely. “You know I could.” 

You tug him down to press your lips to the skull’s teeth, desperate to kiss him, but no that you can’t right here, right now. Ghost goes easily, allowing you to manhandle him. That’s the thing about Simon. He can toss you around, lift you against a wall and fuck you dumb, but he’s always ready to be delicate or subservient when you need him to be.

Your head falls back as you blink up at him, offer him a pointed flutter of your lashes. Ghost actually stiffens, grows harder, massive thighs forcing your knees apart. “Don’t you look at me with those bloody fuckin’ eyes,” he husks. “Tryin’ to distract me.”

“We were talking threesomes, Simon.”

“If you think I’m gonna let that cunt taste you tonight-“

“Tonight?” you echo. “So then tomorrow?”

He pauses, dropping his head and shaking it. He laughs softly. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

“You’re a pain in my arse.”

“You are in mine.”

“I’m not in there yet,” he mutters as he slides one leather-covered finger along the crease of your ass. “But we’ve got a long time ‘til morning.”

You smirk, contracting your lower muscles until his pace stutters. 

“Fuck, Duchess.”

“You’d break me if you tried that.”

“Nah,” he assures you, circling his pelvis before pushing further as if he could hit your womb. His mouth is right against your ear. “You know how good I’d make it, yeah? Use my fingers…my tongue…until you’re so fuckin’ ready-“

“Mmm maybe Soap can help. Double-team, yah know?”

His fist slams against the floor. There’s a snarl behind his mask. 

“Okay, okay,” you soothe him, petting his burly shoulders. You press a soft kiss to his covered cheek before you lie back and let him continue. “No more Johnny talk.”

You’ll table it for later. 

[i-love-you-just-the-same]

bear hybrid! price who stalks around your house at night, protecting you from whatever else might be lurking in the woods. you don't know that he is of course, but you should be more thankful when he shuts and locks your windows when you're asleep. occasionally you see him lumber on the edge of the forest, minding his own. he doesn't want to scare you, but he wants you to admire him, too.

wolf hybrid! simon that follows you everywhere (from a distance and he rarely lets you touch him). you were frightened at first of the big bad wolf, but when he takes you away from snakes and other dangers in the woods you learn to leave out some scraps for him. (he sleeps on your front step. won't enter the house yet.)

fox hybrid! johnny who regularly sneaks into your house to play in your blankets. the wildlife here is so friendly you're shocked, shouldn't they be frightened of you? however he sleeps under your bed and he's fine unless you try to kick him out. red fur is on everything, he seems unusually close to the wolf that looms around. loves scratches to the ears!

falcon hybrid! kyle who hovers in air around your house. he finds little trinkets for you and leaves them on your porch. he mostly hangs around price, but he will chirp greetings and steal bird feed from your feeders.

they protect you in different ways, trying to worm their way to your affections before they bed down in your abode for winter.

[skyrigel]

Simon's the guy who is nonchalant and a no-nonsense attitude, he's the man who doesn't care and absolute zero fucks and that's until missus comes along.

Now Simon's running around the house, bickering how you shouldn't skip breakfast and he's absolutely frowning when you side your greenies before he's holding your jaw and spooning them in, “Now be a good girl for me, won't ya' cupcake.” is all he says, tapping twice under your chin.

He's fussing over you, tucking you in scarves and caps and buttoning your coat because it's cold outside, “Can't see my pretty girl sick.” is all he says, bumping your nose.

John practically snorted when Simon pulled out your sneakers from your purse that he has been carrying, because he knew you're gonna whine about your pointy heels later, “Dance all you like babygirl” is all he says, bending down and removing those evil heels, then massaging your red ankle before he's sliding in your sneakers.

Oh, and yes he's gonna burn the whole fucking world if it meant to keep you warm, because he fucking cares only about missus.

Grim Reaper! Simon

Masterlist

[thebookbutterfly]

fanfiction isn’t enough, I need to chew on him

[moondirti]

nothing inspires me more than your writing, lev. i am so wholly obsessed with this - i love him so much.

UR SO RIGHT!! He’s such a baby; you buy him pillows but all he lays on are your breasts, your tummy. He’s probably one of those weirdos who like the sound of ur internal organs doin their thing. It helps me sleep

this got me so hot and bothered. His accent comes through in your writing. i hear his exact voice in my head

Literally threw my phone and squealed at this line. I love it so much and i dont know why. It’s that thing you do in your writing, the bracketed tangents, that really give it character. I’ve mentioned this before I think but it reads like background vocals that enhance a song

perfect perfect. As always

coorie | John “Soap” MacTavish x f!Reader

He pants into your mouth, and you can feel the stretch of his grin—a languorous, satiated smile like the sunrise in the winter. All dark, endlessly so, and then suddenly—

Johnny feels like dusk. The first breach of the morning over the lands; a sleepy haze of light eating into the tenebrose that shrouds everything around you. A steak of ochre, gold, in a world of darkness; the varicoloured smear of pastel clouds breaking over the horizon. 

Being with him is a little bit like cupping the sun in the palm of your hand. 

warnings: soft!Soap, super soft smut, fluff, domestic bliss, two idiots being drunk off of each other; female gendered anatomy, female!reader; very little substance just pure fluff

word count: 4k

notes: coorie is a cuddle in Scots and that’s the cutest thing to me. we just have cwtsh. also, you can’t look me in the eye and tell me this man ISN’T the little spoon.

Keep reading

[writersdrug]

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish is the kind of dad who throws your kids around for fun, tossing them into the air and catching them just to hear their infectious laughter, ignoring the worrisome protests that you call out from the kitchen when they get a little too high.

Captain John Price is the kind of dad who convinces your children to ask you for pizza for dinner, acting all surprised when you tell him to call the local pizza place, eyebrows rising with "What's the occasion?" despite the obvious grin that his plan worked. You aren't fooled.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick is the kind of dad who chases your kids around with a nerf gun, relentlessly pelting them with styrofoam bullets and ganging up on your oldest son with your youngest daughter. Waits behind the front door for your son to get home from school and immediately fires on him.

Simon "Ghost" Riley is the kind of dad who holds your toddlers like footballs, your daughter tucked sideways under his arm and dangling your son by his ankle. "Found these mice sniffin' 'round the cookie tin." He says with a deadpan expression, but you don't miss the way his mouth twitches when they giggle and shriek.

[moondirti]

I love your writing ❤️ Can I ask, what do you think each of the 141 boys top kinks are?

thanks love! sorry this took so long, i was givin it some thought

characters included: simon 'ghost' riley, captain john price, john 'soap' mactavish, kyle 'gaz' garrick warnings: dacryphilia (mentioned sadism), gagging (spit and alluded breathplay), breeding (unprotected p-in-v and creampies), anal (lube/preparation, unprotected p-in-a)

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY: DACRYPHILIA

i've mentioned this before but i whole-heartedly believe that simon loves seeing you cry. he's not a good man, nor does he pretend to be – he's a sadist in many ways, and that extends to the bedroom, where, more than anything, he strives to find you writhing in half pain, half pleasure.

there are darker parts of him he tries to keep at bay; that instinct to push you to your limits - seeing just how far you can contort before you threaten to break, testing the give of your flesh and what it takes to pierce it. yet, no matter how much you beg for it - no matter what you say or do - he would never expose that part of himself to you. he’d keep it locked up, tucked between a rib and that doughy part of him that still rings with vexing guilt.

but drawing glossy tears to your lovely little eyes? fucking ragged moans and high-pitched wails out of you? it’s the perfect medium, a compromise he seeks almost every lay. simon would leave bruises, would push so far into you your belly bulges. he stretches you out, tender skin pulling with a fiery sting, and pinches your clit as you try to adjust. he leaves marks he knows will heal, but ones that ache enough to get you sniffing into the crook of his neck. 

and it’s when you’re all flushed out, lips swollen and salted water staining your cheeks, that he cums the hardest. it’s when you’re still hiccuping in the aftermath, tender, raw, does he opt to stay the night. just this once, just for the girl whose tears he both hates and adores.

JOHN 'SOAP' MACTAVISH: GAGGING

it is without a doubt in my mind that i say: johnny has a major oral fixation. when people ask whether he’s an ass, tits or thighs guy, he has to turn them around to very intently point to that bloody fucking mouth of yours. it was the first thing that captured his eye – those lips smeared in lip gloss – and ever since then, he hasn’t been able to get a grip. 

because – listen – he’s messy. sex with him involves every fluid imaginable, puddled in curves and bends you always miss when washing up. the worst of them is spit; he’s a sucker for you all cock-dumb and drooly, stuffed chock-full in every single hole. when he’s ramming you from behind, he’ll always hug an arm around to reach your face, pushing three thick fingers onto your tongue until you’re gagging like crazy. he nudges your tonsils, allows you the space to breathe but not enough to swallow back your piling saliva. johnny doesn’t pull back until he feels it running down his wrist, until he’s coated in you absolutely everywhere. 

and it’s not just his fingers. he shoves just about anything down your throat. his cock, buried to the hilt so your nose smooshes into the crop of curly hair on his pelvis; your toys, right after making you play with yourself; hell, there was the one time he’d been too impatient to get back home and pulled you into a public restroom. he’d fucking crammed your panties into your mouth to prevent you from making noise. 

he just likes seeing you struggle to fit them, issall

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE: BREEDING

at twenty-something, he’d made a list of things he wanted to accomplish in his lifetime and, while his career goals were rapidly realised, the domestic column went largely untouched for almost a decade. he thought he was past that point of adolescent naivete – having long since learnt to be okay with the way things are – but price isn’t getting any younger. when he meets you, that yearning for a family – a pregnant wife, barefoot and waiting for him, touched with a halo type of radiance – comes back twice as strong. 

he knows he can’t intentionally fuck a baby into you, not yet – he’s still in a position where he’s away from home more often than not. that being said, the captain certainly plays fast and loose with the rules. no condoms? mm, no problem, sweetheart. i’ll fetch you a plan b tomorrow, before pumping you full of cum. he thinks he’s discreet when he manhandles you into those positions, the ones where your bottom half is propped up, where your legs are pushed to your chest and his cock spears into unfathomable depths. he just wants you to feel every of him, promise.

but lord, does he lose it when he feels his head kiss the wall of your womb. It’s the sight of you, spread open and overflowing, globs of pearlescent spend oozing from a wrecked hole. it’s you smearing it into your folds with two quivering fingers and tugging him closer. price thinks he’s ready to risk it all – every ticked box, his career, his livelihood – to get to see you like that every morning, blushing with an early dawn, biting down on his shoulder to keep the kids from waking up.

for now, though, he’ll settle for fingering his cum back into you, knowing that it won’t amount to anything.

KYLE 'GAZ' GARRICK: ANAL

often pegged as the most ‘well-behaved’ member of the 141, gaz just tends to keep things quiet. he hides his snickers with a cough, his sarcastic remarks are whispered to himself (unlike soap – who almost yaps about everything to the lieutenant). as such, his top kink happens to be more of a dirty little secret than anything. it takes him a while to admit it to you, but the thought of stretching your other hole drives him mad; his eyes always draw to the ring of muscle whenever you’re bent in front of him. 

he’s kind of ashamed, really. that is, until one slow afternoon where the two of you indulge in your routine of cuddles and shitty anime dubs. he’s got you nestled on his lap, curled under an old quilt that smells like sugar scrub and his aftershave. and maybe it’s the way your head tucks under his chin, or maybe it’s your legs intertwined with one another, but before he knows it, he’s grinding up into your ass and you’re reciprocating, panting as his hardening bulge cleaves between it. 

you know, i’ve always wanted to try something… next thing you know, you’re in your bedroom, pillow buttressing your hips as he slowly preps you. he’s got one hand spreading your cheeks, the other coated in lube, scissoring the unbelievably tight clutch of your ass. he’s leaking onto his lap, practically twitching, but he doesn’t want to rush. he takes his time unravelling you, giving you all the orgasms you need to let go of your tensions. only then does he finally, finally, split you open. 

and it’s beyond anything he’s ever imagined; your muscles are more controlled, stronger. you squeeze him with herculean strength, milking him for all he’s worth. gaz buries his face into your hair to muffle the satisfied groans that stream from him, taking you deeper, deeper, so that when he cums, you can feel it in your guts.

needless to say, anal becomes a regularity after that.

[evermoreal]

thinking abt some kind of outlaw!au where the 141 walk away from a raid with a lot more than they bargained for.

౨ৎ *· edit: this is now a series!

a few weeks back they’d received word of a nobleman and his wife who’d be leaving for their honeymoon, valuables aboard the carriage. after a bit of lurking and bribing, they’d narrowed down just which road was desolate and wild enough to get away with the raid.

concealed by the bordering forests, they’d waited. an embarrassingly opulent carriage came dawdling down the road (polished wood, velvet curtains, ostentatious engravings) & they pounced.

the drivers & guards, they’d expected. the gunshots, the shouting. what took them by surprise, though, was the wife, who did not fight as gaz wrestled her into his arms. who watched a little too closely when ghost dragged his blade across her husband’s chest, demanding the location of their funds.

“where’s’a money?” price questioned, moving towards the woman when her husband’s pride weighed heavier than his cowardice. his broad palm gripped her jaw as gaz held her arms behind her back. “hm, lovey? y’speak english? y’better tell me, or your sweetheart ‘ere ‘ll be gutted before tha night’s over.”

she watched her husband writhe for a long moment, before meeting price’s gaze. her voice was flat, steady. “kill him.”

soap barked a laugh. ghost cocked his head.

price, though, was intrigued.

“kill ‘im?” he echoed. then, he lifted her hand, yanking the diamond ring off her finger and pinching it between his fingers. “wha’ bout this? just a rock, is it? ‘till death do us part’ mean nothin’ to ya?”

“words don’t mean much when you’re forced to say them, sir.”

“forced?” price questions, narrowed eyes flicking across your features. he looks to your husband, then, who’s soiled his pants. “tha fuck is this muppet forcin’?”

price is quiet for a while, watching your husband as he wriggles in ghost’s grip. when he meets your gaze, there’s a small, barely-there curve to his chapped lips. “you really want ‘im dead?” there’s an amusement to his tone, a disbelief.

you steel your gaze. “yes.”

the curve of his lips bends into a grin, and you’ve barely exhaled before he’s lifting his pistol, aiming it at your husband’s head, and shooting.

limp, he falls to the ground.

you don’t flinch. in fact your voice is steady when you state, “the money’s in the chest, beneath the seats.”

once again, price approaches you. grips your jaw, tilts your face this way and that. he taps your cheek twice, and says, “you heard the woman. soap, get the money. gaz, tie ‘er up, she’s with me.”

[deunmiu-dessie]

𐙚₊˚⊹♡ 23 c.o.d men rambles with nsfw visuals (p-links) ♡

featuring!— kyle ‘gaz’ garrick, johnny ‘soap’ mactavish, simon ‘ghost’ riley, john ‘captain’ price, phillip graves, könig, vladimir makarov! ♡

₁ 𐙚 imagine fucking john doggy style, and he’s jus’ so horny for you so you guys don't even make it to the bed :( he tosses you onto the couch and lifts your ass into the air, his thick, meaty cock bruising your insides. then he grips your hair and bends you back to slant his lips over yours in a messy kiss 😖

₂ 𐙚 having a sloppy make-out session with gaz when he gets back from a mission. sucking on his tongue and whimpering into his mouth while his big hands run up and down your thighs and ass. gaz always gets you so needy and wet before he dicks you down, having tears streaming down your face and thighs trembling :((

₃ 𐙚 soap fucking his cum back into your swollen pussy while whining and whimpering, promising to get you pregnant; thick and hard at the thought of you round with his kids. he pumps your pussy to the brim with his cum that night, til it drips down your thighs.

₄ 𐙚 gaz loves to record the two of you having sex, and loves to send it to the 141 group chat. loves to show off his pretty girl whose pussy takes his big cock so well :( loves to show them how well you moan and beg, loves to show them your fucked out face, loves the way the team goes feral as you moan their names with bleary eyes and drool spilling down your chin. loves to show them that regardless, you're his.

₅ 𐙚 simon using your pussy as a cumdump... literally, when you act like a brat. he'll have you lay naked across the bed, hand fisting his cock as gazes at your tits, your needy cunt drooling and clenching. he'll watch as you cry and beg for him to fuck you, your wrists bound together and tied to the headboard. then he'll press his thick tip into your pussy and spill himself inside. brats don't get to cum, as he likes to say— sorry :(

₆ 𐙚 kyle 'will overstimulate you while pussydrunk' garrick. baby gaz just loves the taste of your pussy, especially after going so long without it :( you're so warm and sweet, needy and sobbing-- and he's missed the feel of your thick thighs wrapped around his head, missed the feeling of your hands running through his hair. so, just let him enjoy his meal.

₇ 𐙚 needy soap who swears he'll just rock against your panties, his thick cock nudging your fattened clit which presses eagerly against the pre-cum soaked fabric. soap who moves your panties to the side and shushes you with a kiss to your lips, swearing he'll just thrust against you; thumb brushing against your bundle of nerves. soap who loses himself in the moment, gripping your thighs and looking at you with pleading eyes, swearing he'll only use the tip, thick, bulbous head already stretching your pussy. 🥺

₈ 𐙚 after you had the baby, john can't stop thinking about seeing you swollen and round again, with your breasts heavy, and thighs thick. john who breeds your pussy at any moment he can. whether it be with you bent over the counter and cooking dinner, with you sleep; your pussy warm and welcoming, or even in the shower, your milk-heavy tits pressed against the shower door. ( bonus )

₉ 𐙚 makarov who finally gives in to your pleading demands, his hands rough as he forces you onto the bed, yanking down your skirt and pulling your panties to the side. his gaze is cold and calculating, even a bit annoyed. makarov who snatches the loli from your mouth, running it up your slick pussy before pushing it in. "Это то, что вы хотели, да?"

₁₀ 𐙚 he makes sure to fuck you well before he leaves on a mission, his thick cock bullying your slick cunt full of his cum. gaz makes sure you know who your pussy belongs to, makes sure he has your thighs trembling in his arms as he fucks you against the shower wall.

₁₁ 𐙚 simon loves to watch you ride him, loves to have your tits in his face, taking one of your sensitive nipples into his mouth. loves to hear you whine that your cumming for the fifth time, loves to watch as his abdomen becomes sticky with your creamy cum. loves watching your lips tremble and your eyes water as he thrusts sharply into you, knocking on your cervix and bruising it.

₁₂ 𐙚 having sex with gaz always overstimulates you in every sense of the word and not just with your body. gaz loves to watch you fall apart on his cock, loves to grab your chin and keep your eyes locked with his, loves to watch your gaze get bleary and your mouth struggle to form words all while his hand moves in quick figure eights on your clit, cock spearing through you deliciously. gaz will press kisses to your swollen lips, groaning into your mouth. "on me, luv. le' me see those gorgeous eyes."

₁₃ 𐙚 price loves to suck on your tits, while his cock slowly pumps in and out of you. loves to bury his face into the valley, placing kisses and sucking hickies. john price sucks on your nipples like a man starved, thick hands squeezing and kneading :(

₁₄ 𐙚 imagine getting punished by boyfriend graves because you fucked up during a mission, the objective getting away. he tells everyone to leave the room, glaring eyes stuck on yours. graves who orders you to strip, pushing you down against a busted couch, yanking down your combat pants, and tearing your panties. graves who angrily unzips himself, as you blubber and plead, pussy leaking and ready. he watches as your pussy struggles to take his cock, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you apologize repeatedly. "don't want to fucking hear it, sergeant."

₁₅ 𐙚 gaz fucking you into the bed after he gets home from a mission gone awry. soft lover gaz who just can't be his usual giving self. gaz who takes what he needs from you, regardless of the tears that stream down our face.

₁₆ 𐙚 könig, all needy can't help but fuck your thighs, whimpering and whining :(

₁₇ 𐙚 having a threesome with soap and gaz; who can't help but record as soap practically makes love to you with his eyes. gaz who could care less as you forget all about his cock, breathing heavily as he watches as your pussy struggles to swallow soap's cock. gaz who sends the video to the 141 group chat.

₁₈ 𐙚 imagine makarov sharing your pussy with yuri as a reward to the man. makarov who guides your mouth over his cock, all while sipping on his alcohol; yuri fucking into your pussy needily, grunting and groaning as you squeeze around him.

₁₉ 𐙚 100 percent believe this is how gaz and soap eat you out, prove me wrong. i'll wait. ( bonus: since soap made you cum first, you granted his wish. )

₂₀ 𐙚 john overstimulating you while whispering how much of a good girl you are, slapping at your thighs when you cringe away from him, his thick fingers finding your clit again. john who fucks into ravenously, cooing as you shudder and buck against him.

₂₁ 𐙚 graves finally puts your smart mouth to work, shoving his thick length down your throat. graves angrily saying your pussy isn't good enough for his cock. his words, not mine.

₂₂ 𐙚 angry sex with toxic gaz, who swears no one will ever fuck you as good as he will. who tells you that you belong to him, that you were made for each other, that you won't leave him. who fucks you dumb until you promise to stay.

₂₃ 𐙚 soap swears he won't cum inside you...

spent hours scrolling through twitter porn, help me.😔

[swordsandholly]

Thinking about a mechanic!AU where the 141 boys run a garage and need a new receptionist. They hire you because you’re just so cute (great tits) and have a decent resume but it becomes a slight problem when they realize you’re a bit… dense.

Total ditz to be precise.

But they can’t really get mad when you get the keys for clients mixed up and look at them with those big eyes all teary and a little pout pushing out your lower lip.

Price is the most patient, perfectly content to walk you through how to file paperwork and fill out forms. Instructing you in a low voice while his breath brushes the shell of your ear. It’s really their fault for having such a terrible system, you know? Don’t worry about it too much, dove. He’ll settle his big hands on your shoulders and gently trace up and down your arms. See? You’re getting it. Just needed some more practice, hm?

Johnny is more than happy to show you around the garage, rattling off everything he knows about all those nitty gritty details that go right over your pretty little head. He’ll pop open the hood of some sports car and point to the engine to show it off. No, bonnie, you’ve got tae get in close. Closer.

Until you’re bent entirely over in one of those too-short skirts you wear everyday. It takes all his willpower not to yank you into the supply closet.

Gaz is just so sweet to you. Always bringing you little treats and candies to suck on. To help you concentrate, of course. Always greeting you with a soft ‘baby girl’ at the beginning of your shift. Whenever you’re standing around be it at the printer or counter - wherever really - he’ll slip a hand on your waist. It always trails a little lower, his pinky just edging on the hem of your too tight jeans.

Ghost gets frustrated with you to the point of causing tears to well up in the corners of your eyes. He’s feels guilty, sure, but bloody hell just print the damn receipt. He avoids you for the most part. Until one evening when it’s pouring down. You forgot your rain coat of course, silly girl. He offers you a ride which you take happily.

After that he can’t get rid of you. You bring him coffees (how you remember his order word for word but not where you last left your own cup is beyond him) and giggle at his jokes. When a client gets too snappy or too loud he’s the first to step in - standing behind you glaring at them with his huge arms crossed over his chest until they back down.

[i-love-you-just-the-same]

naps to lovers?

price is an accident, you fall asleep watching a movie with him after he cradles you in his bed. plops down with you to do some paperwork and he's out, too. you wake up cuddled into his chest and pretend not to notice his boner.

next it's johnny. you're both exhausted from sparring and workouts. instead of showering, he pulls you to his bed and tells you to wait for him before you get in. by the time you want up, the sheets are crusted with sweat and soap is on top of you, crushing you to the mattress.

after that, it's both johnny and kyle. smooshed between them after a long hard mission, it's hard not to appreciate two nice pillows. simon has the picture of you three asleep on each other.

kyle finds you in the mess hall after, pulling you to your room with the promise of takeout and uninterrupted rest.

simon is standoffish at first, but eventually offers himself up as a weighted blanket for you after being reprimanded by another force's captain (don't worry, price and gaz are handling it). he lets you hold him close while stroking your hair and face until you drift off. he frequents in odd hours with you (when he knows your alone or stacked up with another one of the boys).

you don't mean for it to, but it becomes much more regular. price pulling you into his lap during late night briefings, soap's head in your lap, and kyle following you back to your room. they get so much more casually affectionate- hands on you at all times, forehead kisses, and sweet words. they begin to take you out together after missions and on off days to movies and shopping (they love dressing you up).

this all builds up to a random friday where they bring you to a house about 30 minutes from base. lately, they'd all been a bit more secretive and making investments "for the wellbeing of the team" like price's new truck that could seat 7. the house has all five of yours stuff in it (ash trays, half finished sketches, sewing kits, kyle's hat on the table). you see some of your missing clothes in one of the big dressers half-opened drawers.

it shouldn't be a surprise to you then when you walk in the bedroom and there's a california king. you really should have expected it, hen, they've been courting you for months!

yeah, johnny's naked on the bed, so what?