#johnny mactavish x you

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

SOULMATE SOAP HAS MY HEART. I DONT THINK THERES ANYTHING I WOULDNT DO FOR HIM

67 / 2.8k / soap soulmate au, epilogue

...

"Anything, you say?" Soap's eyes sparkle. "A dangerous proposal, hen."

You roll your eyes. "You know what I mean."

"I know what you said." He grins at you as he towels himself off. "I’m wonderin' what exactly I could get away with, bein' offered anything. No limits, no boundaries..."

You can't help but let your gaze trail down his form. He's totally naked and still dripping wet. "Anything within reason."

"Where's the fun in bein’ reasonable?"

You lean back, pulling your feet up and crossing your legs atop the low hotel coffee table where you're seated.

You and Soap have been getting to know each other here—intimately, as soulmates and people—for the past two days. You don't live near Glasgow and wouldn't tell Soap where exactly you call home, so he offered to get the two of you a hotel suite near the mountains while the higher-ups figure out what to do with you.

You figured he'd offer to take you out on a date or something, but so far you haven't made it out of the hotel room yet. It's more like a honeymoon than a vacation. You can't say you're disappointed with all the things he's shown you, though.

"Oh, so it hasn't been fun for you yet?"

Soap laughs at that and throws the towel to the carpet. No point in modesty. You’ve seen and touched every scar and bruise on his powerful body, but it does nothing to deter your gaze.

"Been plenty fun. But now I know I could be gettin’ away with even more if I play my cards right."

"Such as?"

"Marriage."

You scoff. "Pervert."

"Am I?" He leans toward you and braces his hands on the edge of the coffee table. He loves the way you try to resist looking at him but can’t help yourself. Your gaze keeps trailing down to his abs. "I think you like the idea of me down on my knees. I’ve seen you enjoyin’ the view."

Your back straightens. He's so cocky. Still, your eyes don't meet his. If anything, they dip lower. "Laswell called while you were in the shower."

"Did she?" He strolls across the space between the bathroom and the bed to his duffel bag. You lean back and watch him languidly as he digs around for his phone, his handsome mouth settling into a frown. He won’t find it. He sees why once he glances over at you to see your catlike smile.

Soap crosses his arms and looks down at you. "Resigned to petty thievery now, are we?"

You shrug and hold his phone out, letting it dangle from your fingertips like a mouse by the tail. "It's not like I have any other jobs to preoccupy my time."

He pauses to admire the view down your tank top—his tank top—and then snatches the phone away. "How many times do you want me tae beg and grovel for forgiveness? Not that you deserve it, ye wee hellion,” he mutters, scrolling through his recent calls.

"At least three more times." You lean back on your hands as he walks away. "Aren't you going to ask me what she said?"

"Are you going to tell the truth?"

"I was considering it."

"Were you?”

You sigh and watch him raise his phone to his ear. You miss when he hung on your every word.

"Go for Soap."

Soap makes a show of talking on the phone with Laswell. He tries not to glance at you too much. You and your sharp pout and the black tank top you’re wearing and how it rides up on your hips and leaves nothing to the imagination. He’ll have to do something about that later.

"Aye. Understood." A slow grin stretches across his face. "Now that is good news. Pleased to be workin' with ya, Laswell."

He hangs up. You cross your arms. "Well?"

Soap tosses his phone on the bed and turns back to you. "Ought to chew you out for answering a call on a secure line."

"Kate already did."

"Did she, now? And you’re on a first-name basis?" Now he is amused. "Don't think I'm not keeping track of every little rule you’ve broken so far. You’re in enough trouble as it is."

You bounce your leg against the tabletop. "What did she say?"

Soap closes the space between you. In the time it takes him to reach you, you stand up, bare feet on the low table. It puts you barely above eye level with him.

"She didn't tell you the news, then, did she?" His lips twist into a smug smirk. "Serves you right."

You stare him down. You don't often get the chance to, so you capitalize on it for all you're worth. "She did," you lie.

"You’re lying, darlin’."

"How would you know?"

"You'd be right pissed off already, for one." He wraps his hands around the backs of your bare thighs idly. His thumbs brush the underside of your ass. "For two, I know better than to take you at your word. Might as well start assuming the opposite of what you decide to tell me."

"That's not a nice thing to say to your soulmate."

"You’ve never been nice to me in your life." He pulls you closer, making your legs part so he can hike his thigh up between them, his foot flat on the table between yours. He grins at you. "I seem to recall you threatenin' me that first night we met."

You push against his chest to steady yourself. "I was trying to protect your dumb ass. You were going to get yourself killed."

Soap’s hand slides up to the small of your back to help you balance. "Didn't get killed, though, did I?"

"Only because I told you to hide."

"My guardian angel."

"You're lucky you got away when you did. If you compromised us, I would've gutted you."

"Vicious, vicious woman."

"Stubborn mule of a man."

"Gorgeous, disobedient pain in my ass." Soap takes your chin in his fingers and lifts it, drifting closer to your lips as if drawn in. "Not tae mention ornery."

"You're ornery."

"Now, that's hurtful. You ought to give me some sympathy."

"Give me one good reason why."

His hands slide up to cup your ass. "Because I’m your soulmate, and I’m entitled to a little sympathy for the fact that your brazen attitude makes me crazy."

You rub at his collarbone. "If you're my soulmate, it follows that you deserve it."

Christ, he loves when you say shit like that. He leans in to mouth the underside of your jaw and murmur directly against your ear. "You know what I deserve? And you’re gonna give it to me?"

You tilt your head up. His lips slide further down your neck. You preen. "Someone has to."

He lets out a dark huff of laughter at the response. You’re all too eager to push back at him, and nothing gets him hard faster than a challenge.

Just as he latches onto your neck and begins marking you with a new hickey, you push him backward onto the hotel bed. Soap laughs as he lets himself fall. Then he sits up on his elbows and leers at you. His hair is already mussed and his breathing already heavier than normal.

You climb over him, plant your palms on his shoulders, and press him down into the comforter. Right as you stoop down to catch his bottom lip in your teeth, though, you look down at him from above and frown. "Wait, but what did Laswell say?"

Soap pauses. “Now?”

"Yes." You can’t stand not knowing. "Tell me."

Soap grabs two handfuls of your ass and squeezes in annoyance. Ruin the mood, then. "She said she heard back from the program." The program meant to protect the soulmates of military operators and other agents who could be compromised by the existance—or any knowledge whatsoever—of a soulbond. Like witness protection.

You suck in an annoyed breath. "Are you really gonna lock me up in some safehouse?"

“I’d love to—chain you up, put you in a cage, keep you somewhere all safe and sound so nobody else can touch you.” Soap watches you with an off-kilter gleam in his eyes. His words draw an image in your mind that isn’t remotely unpleasant. “But it won't be with the program, no. They denied the request."

You perk up. "Really?"

Soap grins at how excited you get. “Aye. Said your old job makes you a security risk. Too hot to handle.” He lets out a huff as his hand slides up your bare thigh. “But don't get too excited. Laswell found another opening. Or… made one. Something in her sector."

You sit back in surprise. "CIA?"

"Aye. Turns out your impressive track record of selling violence for money makes you a font of useful intel. " Soap watches you, gauging your reaction. "Couldn’t let that go to waste, now, could they?"

You glare down at him. "What's the catch?"

Soap can see the wheels turning in your mind. He grins. "Oh, hardly a thing."

Your hands tighten on his shoulders in warning. "Johnny."

He grins up at you, all teeth and confidence. He loves the way you say his name. “You should go into intelligence. You’d be a hell of an interrogator. You’d get me to tell you anything and never even bat those pretty eyelashes at me."

"John, I swear to God."

He laughs as he sits up on his elbows, his free hand running up your leg to wrap around your hip. "Alright, alright. Pushy." This is almost how he wanted you: straddling him on the bed, hips pressed together. "You're the perfect hire because you come attached to your own soldier, aye? Package deal. Someone to keep an eye on you."

"What, like a handler?"

"Somethin' like that," he muses, tracing his finger along your spine.

You give him a doubtful look. There's no way Laswell would stoop so low. But seeing the shit-eating grin on his face gives you a sinking feeling. "I'm an asset?"

"Course not. An asset would've defected of their own free will. And since you runnin’ away with me is still off the record as of yet…"

Still perched across his hips, you cross your arms. "And what if I say no?"

Soap narrows his eyes.

The world flips. You're on your back, pinned underneath him against the bed. He presses your wrists against the comforter. "Then you'd be a hostage."

You pull at his grip, but it does no good. "You can’t do that."

"I can."

"Says who?"

He leans close. "Says your new handler." He lets the word sink in, lets it make your mind race with indignant heat. That's how he likes you best. His lips trail along the side of your neck, mouthing at the sensitive skin there in a way that makes you arch up. "Talk or don't. Either way, I'll have a convenient excuse to keep you locked up tight."

Naturally. He lets the truth slip out so easily. Likely because he never intended to give you much of a choice. He's learned his lesson and knows very well not to trust you to stay in one place anymore. If he wants to keep you around, he needs to play dirty. Like you.

He trusts you with his life, yes, but not with your own. And certainly not with his heart.

You scoff. But instead of resisting, you relax your body and let him have his way. "Fine. If it makes no difference, do your job. You know what that is, right? Extract my intel."

He pauses with his mouth against your neck. You’re giving in already. He isn’t used to that.

He shifts his hands to thread your fingers together and pin them higher over your head. He lets his mouth brush your neck as he speaks. "I intend to."

"Go on, then. Let’s see a real interrogation. Nothing like that silly warehouse you had me in before."

Soap’s face falls into a scowl. Cheeky. "That wasn't an interrogation, hen. That was a rescue." He settles one muscular leg back between your thighs. "Bloody eager to test my patience. And for what?"

"Mm."

He lets his knee nudge up against your core and grind against it, skin to skin. "You want a fight?" His voice softens, barely. "You want control?"

You think about it. But ultimately, you let your eyes close and relax your body that much more under him. "No, I trust you."

“Oh?” You’ve never said that before. Those words sound good coming from your lips. “Do ye?”

You open your eyes a fraction to narrow them at him. "Don't look too far into it."

“I’ll look as far as I please. Trust me not to hurt you, trust me not to let you leave...” He kisses you. It steals your breath again. "Trust me to give you what you need. Am I close?"

"You're trying to rile me up."

A dangerous grin slowly spreads across his face. “That's what I do best, sweetheart. So you trust me, eh?" When he gets like this—dark and heated, predatory—Soap looks more dangerous than all the weapons he’s ever used combined. A man as trained and deadly as Soap can get downright lethal when he’s playing with you. “Are you sure you should be trusting a man like me?”

"No, definitely not. Horrible idea."

He lets a laugh rumble out of his chest and his knee grinds against you again, earning himself a soft gasp. "But you’re still doing it, aren’t you? And you know what I'd do if your sweet little ass pulled another runner."

"I'm shaking in my socks."

His eyes flash with heat as he smirks down at you. He can feel your thighs clenching around his leg as he continues to grind against you. "You ought to be," he murmurs. "You know I got you. And you owe me."

"Do I?"

"Aye. For runnin' away from me, for lyin', for makin' me hunt you down. For makin' me drag your ass out of a frozen river. For makin' me think you were gonnae freeze t'death the moment I finally got you in my arms." He gives you such a heated look, you find yourself looking off at the ceiling behind him rather than holding his gaze. "And that's not even gettin' into all the stitches I got 'cause of you. You owe me for every single one."

You swallow. "Are you planning to hold that stuff over my head forever?"

If you had any idea how it felt to see you disappearing into that river, you probably wouldn’t be asking that.

"That depends on whether you plan on bein' the sort who needs to be kept in line forever," he growls. "Or whether you're gonnae let me keep you safe, darlin', always where I want ye."

Your face warms and your chest flutters. Damn it. "Fat chance," you retort as quickly as you can to cover up the butterflies.

"Forever it is, then." He lets go of your hands and reaches up to grab your chin. Soap has big hands, strong, with too many scars along his knuckles given his young age. "You’d do well to remember that every time you think about runnin’ from me.” His knee grinds up against you again, a tease and a promise all rolled into one. “Now tell me again that you trust me.”

"Nnh." You squirm. "Johnny, c'mon..."

"No, go on. Say it for me. Say you trust me. Say it out loud." He leans in closer. He's hungry again. Starving. "Let me hear it again. Sounds as pretty as you look."

You roll your hips against his knee again, seeing stars against your eyelids when his thigh muscle clenches.

His grip tightens in warning as he fights to keep control of himself. "You’re pushin’ it, hen."

"Do something about it," you murmur. You wanted bite in your voice, but it's not quite there. "Handler."

Coming from your mouth, it does funny things to his mind. His muscles coil tight with need. But then he relaxes. He has all the time in the world to do everything he wants to you. He bites down gently on your ear, earning a breathless shudder from you. His hands snake under your hips, pulling them up higher as his body slides between your legs.

"That's right. All mine."

...

the end :) thanks everyone! soap loves you <3

...

�� previous part / [epilogue]

part 1 / more Soap / masterlist

...

send me a prompt for more of him? :)

[elysianightsss]

Johnny ‘soap’ MacTavish x reader burns night celebration nsfw drabble

-

Bright laughter sounds throughout the room much louder than the fireworks outside, full glasses clinking together in celebration. You can’t wipe the smile off your face as Johnny yells ‘cheers’ louder than anyone else before going on to give a toast.

“Ma Bonnie’s first burns night! Thank ya ta all for makin it ta best-“ his voice fades into the background of your mind but, still your smile doesn’t fade. This had been the best night of your life, minus the day you met Johnny. It was a little crazy and though Johnny was worried that you wouldn’t cope with the loudness and the disorganisation of the night, he watched you get happier and more excited every hour.

The table in front of you was messy. Haggis which you didn’t particularly enjoy, tatties and nips as Johnny called them with a cheeky grin though you know them as potatoes and turnips. A hearty sweed stew that smelt so divine your mouth watered when the lid was removed. All the pots and plates were empty now, the only thing full was everyone’s bellies.

The evening progressed with some of Robert Burns' poems and songs being recited as well as tributes being made to the great Bard and even a game invented by the MacTavish’s in which if someone says a line from a poem and points to someone in the room, that person will have to say the next line of the poem correctly or they take a shot. You got very tipsy.

After dinner there was dancing as, not unattractively, Johnny played the bagpipes. His nieces and nephews dancing around to the melody with giggles, it brought a true sense of family to you. A type of sereneness you hadn’t felt before. Something you continued to feel even as you hugged the family goodbye.

On the drive home Johnny mentions about taking you to one of the many festivals in the heart of Glasgow next year. He doesn’t stop talking about how good the night was, how happy he was you enjoyed it. How much he loved watching you and his family bonding. Even as he opened the car door for you and unlocked the front door of your little house he didn’t stop talking.

No, no it wasn’t until you started to take off your boots and coat, then he shut up. Watching you with a twinkle in his baby blue eyes as you unwrapped the scarf from around your neck and placed it on the coat hook by the front door. “Tea?” You asked floating past him, not even glancing up at the excitable mohawked puppy who pouted when you didn’t meet his gaze.

You busy yourself in the kitchen filling the kettle with water and flicking it on to boil. A little sway in your step as you go to grab the milk from the fridge, “Bonnie?” You hum in reply, hand on the fridge ready to open it as you glance over at your boyfriend. Your eyes widen.

Johnny is stood in the kitchen stark naked, cock hard and hanging heavy, expectantly. Calling to you. Johnny smirks when you smack your lips together, mouth suddenly dry. You feel yourself drifting towards him and then you’re in his arms letting him pull the clothes from your body.

Your nipples pebble instantly, it’s only then you notice he’s opened all the lounge windows. The smell of smoke in the air, it overwhelms the other scents around you. Your cinnamon diffuser is gone, Johnny’s spiced musk that lingers around the house is now dominated by the bonfire smell.

Johnny inhales strong, a big breath. Exhaling slowly, satisfied, low and sensual. Goosebumps rise on your skin and you shiver pushing closer to him for the warmth he provides. You swear he must of been a bear in another life, he runs hot all through the year, a curse in the summer but a true blessing in the winter.

He pulls you into him, arms wrapping around your waist, “So beautiful.” He smiles genuinely as he delivers the compliment that makes you melt under his gaze. A strand of hair has come unstuck from his gelled mohawk, it blows in the freezing breeze Johnny has let trespass into the warmth of your home.

“Back at ya big guy.” You mutter, it’s brazen and breathless, making your boyfriend tickle your sides with his rough hands. No matter how gentle he is you still feel the callouses of hard work.

Johnny’s breath hitches a little in a way that makes your chest puff with pride when you grip his cock. Stroking it a little, you watch the changes on his face. Blue eyes disappearing from view as they flutter close, thick brows furrowing, the wrinkles at the side of his eyes crease and he lets out a grunt. It’s followed by a sharp moan, “Fuck honey, just like tha’.”

You feel powerful when he’s like this, at your mercy, head thrown back moaning in pleasure. This strong man, his thick neck, muscular arms and big thighs, broad shoulders, sturdy stance. All of him screams large, bellows attractive to you and you feel obliged to tell him as such.

“You’re so fucking hot.” He chuckles heartily, looking down at you like you hung the bloody moon. He’s addictive in a way you’ve never felt before.

“Yeah lass?” He tilts his head at you amused.

“Yeah.” You nod. Johnny has you up against the wall in no time, spitting on his hand and rubbing it against your cunt. Slipping his fingers in with a small pinch at the quickness. It’s only a few pumps and he’s replacing his fingers with his cock.

“Sorry Bon but I need ya now.” He breathes with promises to make you cum on his tongue later. The first thrust is euphoric, breath knocking out of your lungs when he pulls out and fucks back into you hard. Deep.

Your thighs burn from how wide they’re spread to accommodate him in between them, his balls slapping against your ass, “So messy Bonnie.” He chokes out, hot breath against your ear. He’s right, you’re so wet it’s all you can hear, the squelch of your pussy with each thrust.

Johnny doesn’t tease you tonight, he’s been waiting for this since you said no just before you’d left for the evening. Seeing you freshly out the shower he couldn’t help himself with how pretty your skin looked all wet. But you brushed him off with a maybe later as you started your makeup.

Now he had you with nowhere to go but the bed, he was gonna fuck you for as long as he wanted. You clench around him moaning into the cold air when he grunts in that sexy, thick Scottish accent of his, “Happy burns night lass.”

[reveluving]

Ok, so Soap and shy wife. We all know he's the definition of sunshine/happy puppy and has the energy of an entire class of kindengarden. Imagine when they first meet the couple and he's all loud and jolly, and wife quietly shakes their hand and says "Nice to meet you" and he INSTANTLY quiets, because he's proud of his Darling to meet his friends/family, also because they're all wondering how she puts up with him🤣❤

LOSING MY MIND AT "they're all wondering how she puts up with him" BECAUSE THAT IS BASICALLY THEIR DYNAMIC 🤧💗💗

Includes: tooth-rotting fluff!

COD x shy!wife thots closed! Thank you, everyone, for your time & amazing minds! I sincerely hope I can do this again with y'all soon! 💌

Come & check out my COD m.list!

You just know this man does not shut up about you every time he meets up with his team for work. 

And then, one day, he surprises them with a “she’d love y’all to come over one day.”

“Didn’t you say she’s a lil’ shy?” Kyle voiced out everyone’s thoughts, so to be offered not by the man himself but the meek lady in question was a little surprising, to say the least.

“She is, yeah, but she’s open t’meeting a few pals o’mine.” Johnny meant it to sound casual, but with his mates knowing him for a long time, it wasn’t hard to catch the hint of care in his voice.

And, well, it would be rude to decline a lady’s generous offer, now, would it?

Johnny’s hyped, no doubt, his friends—no, brothers, and his other half finally meeting in person. They didn’t even have to ask, just by the way he was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel or the way he hummed to the radio, likely a playlist the two of you shared.

And with the boys holding some sort of gift for you, just as a thank you for the invite, you greet them by the door as soon as your husband announces his and his friends’ arrival. 

With Simon physically being the closest to you, you wiped your hands on your apron before holding your hand out. Simon nearly struggled with his strength, not expecting your lack of hesitation to greet him, out of all of them.

You introduced yourself, “It’s nice to finally meet you guys.”

Ah, such a sweet voice. So sweet that had Johnny not gone on and on about your shyness, they would’ve thought you were scared of them. But, you weren’t and the proud smile on Johnny’s face says it all. 

Why wouldn’t he? With your warm smile and even willingness to shake Kyle and John’s hands as well. Albeit, you had a habit of looking down every once in a while, especially if they tried to show their respect, i.e. complimenting your cooking, the decor or you in general, it was hard not to find you endearing.

But God knows how you, of all people, manage to put up with his nonsense. 

In the words of Johnny; “Opposites attract, after all.”

And seeing it now, to say Johnny was whipped…. Was putting it lightly.

It’s funny to see Johnny trying his best when it comes to lowering his gruff voice for you, even if you loved it just the way it is.

Though he has a lot of things to tell you, so much love to give you, you have his full attention the moment your lips part.

Each time you open your mouth, he closes his. As if fearing that one word from him would mean talking over you entirely, and he couldn’t bear the thought of that. The hearts in his eyes were tough to miss. He’s expressive, too, hanging on your every word like you were giving him a task when it was just you talking about how you learnt to make the lasagna you served for dinner.

‘SHUT UP, MY BABY HAS SOMETHING TO SAY’ type of beat, but it’s the man who’s saying it that has the loudest voice (and the gentlest heart).

But they’d be lying if they said they didn’t enjoy listening to the stories of how you met and how emo Johnny gets when the dates or outings don’t go his way, even though it all went well in the end.

Why wouldn’t they enjoy seeing his soul leave his body when you mentioned his baby pictures that his mother not only showed you but gave some to you as well?

“Johnny, c’mon, now, she’s a part of the family! She’ll need some photos o’you for when you move in together soon.” Says his mother, gifting you probably a stack of them, as if unfazed by the sight of you and Johnny covering your faces, the temperature of your body heat rising that even you feared you might pass out right then and there. He couldn’t even find the energy to stop his sisters from teasing him.

But besides allowing you to embarrass him a little, even if it wasn’t your intention, your home is another.

A small unit, located on the second floor. The candlelight colour, the cute indoor plants in each room, and the seats. 

Oh, the seats.

John nearly passed out just moments after he sat on it. 

Just by the way you maximized the apartment space, it’s no wonder Johnny always looked forward to returning home. Not necessarily the apartment, but to you. 

Dare they say, the visit felt like a ‘cultural reset’ (is that what the kids are saying these days?). Largely because one; they were able to finally confirm that Mrs MacTavish is a real person and two; one cannot simply ignore the dynamic you and Johnny have. It may be eye-roll-worthy to some, but Johnny learns it isn’t something worth fighting about. So long he has you, those people can yap and nag about it all they want. 

Bonus: John’s definitely the type of person to tell Laswell about it like it was some kind of a mission—like it was almost unbelievable to see you, well, you!

“M’tellin’ ya, Laswell. As soon as his wife had something t’say, he shuts up faster than when I tell him to.” He chuckled before taking a sip of his drink.

“Sounds like a keeper to me.”

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

[ervotica]

𝘾𝙊𝘿 𝙏𝙒𝙏 𝙋!𝙇𝙄𝙉𝙆𝙎

if requests are high i will be making another!

𝙨𝙞𝙢𝙤𝙣 “𝙜𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙩” 𝙧𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙮

simon ties you up

dadsbestfriend!simon makes you squirt (repeatedly)

simon breeds you

sitting in simon’s lap

punishments with simon

simon takes a video to watch later | more of simon’s spank bank

simon and his pet | simon lets his pet out of the cage

simon holds you down and plays with you

simon fucks you to put you to sleep

𝙘𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙟𝙤𝙝𝙣 𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙚

stepdad!john fucks you in the shower

slow, nasty sex with john | part two

john teases you before he puts it in

john eats you out (this legit looks like john in the vid)

john smacks you (lovingly)

john tries a new position

stepdad!john uses you

stepdad!john fucks your throat

john breeds you

𝙟𝙤𝙝𝙣𝙣𝙮 “𝙨𝙤𝙖𝙥” 𝙢𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙨𝙝

you ride johnny hard

johnny loves when you ride him

johnny fucks you fast and hard

what you and stepdad!johnny get up to when your mother leaves for work

sex on the couch with johnny

intimate sex with johnny

best friend!johnny steals you from your deadbeat bf and sends him this video

rubbing your face all over johnny’s cock | he fucks your throat

johnny begs you to get off him before he cums inside — you don’t

𝙠ö𝙣𝙞𝙜

size difference with könig (photo)

könig can’t stop touching you | könig still can’t stop touching you

what “just the tip” turns into with könig

könig can’t stop breeding you

könig makes it fit

könig cums in your mouth

könig fucks your tits

könig spanks you for his own enjoyment

könig gets you wet and messy

könig plays with you

könig loves to tie you up to pleasure you

𝙥𝙤𝙡𝙮

tf141 get you drunk and use you

[forsworned]

cw: sexual content, pnv sex, scratching, biting, marking, you being shameless as fuck about your sex life in front of the others, also not proofread

Johnny can't help but overhear the conversation you're having with Kyle about your hook-up gone wrong. About how "men just aren't men anymore", and "they don't make them like they used to". He chuckles, shaking his head as he watches his brew pour in his cup, but his ear perks up at your voice again, echoing from the hallway to the living room.

"...he literally stops me mid-stroke to whine about not scratching him! Can you believe it!" You huff, plopping down on the couch.

Kyle watches you with amusement, taking a seat next to you while he sips at his mug and glances up at Johnny. "He's unbelievable."

"And then he tells me that it hurts when I bite him!"

"Oi! Quit y'er moanin'! It's too early for allat." Simon grumbles, and you feel a touch embarrassed at his sudden outburst.

You pout. "Sorry." You apologize, deflating like a balloon on the couch and Kyle chuckles at you. He ruffles your hair to comfort you and you sigh. "You get what I mean, right?"

He nods, and then gestures for Johnny to 'solve' your little issue.

"What seems to be the problem?" Johnny leans against the counter next to Simon who is a bit vexed about being woken up to the sound of you bitching about a guy.

And then begins your tirade of how men just aren't as visceral and moonstruck by women anyone; how they've lost their passion and chivalry when it came to romance and you're starting to lose hope. Johnny pouts for you, but there's an amused look on his face.

He's so understanding. Truly, a gentleman when it comes to these sorts of things. So, it really doesn't come off as a surprise when he's offering to help you resolve 'said' problem.

Of course, you laugh in his face. You don't take him seriously. You never take him seriously.

"Up to you, obviously." He sits on the edge of your bed and you toy with the memorabilia that lines your worktable. You turn to him and he sits there looking like he got ready to fuck you.

Like no seriously, you can smell his aftershave, you can see that he's trimmed down his stubble and neatened up his disheveled mohawk. He smells like spearmint and cypress when he speaks and it's alluring to say the least.

"You're serious?" You quirk an eyebrow, fiddling with the little green toy soldier.

"As a heart attack." He smiles sincerely at you. "No pressure."

You set the toy down and silently move toward him. His baby blues never leave you as you reach out to grasp his shoulder, touch as light as a feather. Your legs straddle his hips and his arms instinctively wrap around your waist and you lean forward to place an experimental kiss to his lips.

They're soft and a bit raw. Like he's been scrubbing at them with a toothbrush for ten minutes straight and you giggle at bit.

"What?" His dark lashes flutter up at you, barely breaking the sweet kiss you've placed upon his lips.

You shake your head and smile. "Nothing." You hotly slot your lips against his and he collapses back against your bunk, easily maneuvering you against your mattress, and you feel a thrill run up your spine when he easily finds the sweet spot on your neck.

A moan easily escapes your lips, your spinal column curving as your chest presses up against his burly one. And soon your clothes are accumulating into a little pile next to your bed.

For a moment, you both analyze one another. It wouldn't be the first time you've seen Johnny naked. He shamelessly prances around the living room with his cock out because he seems to always forget his towel in his bedroom, but this is the first time you're seeing him rock hard. And fuck it's thick and veiny, uncut and weeping at the tip.

And he's sure as hell never caught a glimpse of your bare form, maybe clad in a towel, but surprisingly you've never sported a wardrobe malfunction in front of him.

"God, lassie--"

You cut him off, covering his mouth with your hand and shake your head. "I want you to show me that you're capable of fucking me right. No whining, no complaining."

He grins. "Right, just the visceral fuckin' you crave, huh?"

And that makes your pussy clench. From the minute, he enters you, you're clawing at his skin and he's groaning at the snugness of your tight wet pussy as he takes pleasure in the pain. It's addicting.

Your sharp nails against his shoulder blades, biceps, and the nape of his neck and your teeth buried in his neck as he fucks you so good. It's a deep, fast, and ravenous rhythm that makes you cum in two minutes. The orgasm he gives you is unlike any other you've experienced. Maybe because it was wrong. Using company time to fuck your teammate wasn't the best decision in the world.

But the way your body spasms, seeking purchase in his dark locks as he thrusts deep into you, getting at that sweet spot beyond that spongy area. Oh man, it's like a seventh heaven as you moan out his name.

And Johnny? Mans is on another planet. He can't even believe you're letting him fuck you. And the way you cum so quickly on his dick? He can't even hold out any longer, quickly following suit, but he's still hard. His dick molding your insides and you wipe the sweat that forms at your brow before stretching out your arms and giggling.

"Fuck, that was...that was really fun." You breathe. A grin stretches across his lips and he peeks down at the milky ring around his cock.

"Looks like ye had a lotta fun." He retorts, and you chuckle at his obvious remark.

You study the marks you've left on his body and he's more than happy to parade them around. "

"I loved it." He reassures. And he did. It was worth the two minutes, and maybe even more if you'd let him.

"Good." You grin before kissing his chin, and nipping at it. He groans in pleasure.

"Keep doin' tha' and I'm gonna have another go at ya."

You bite your lip looking at him with mischief brimming in your eyes. "Try me."

masterlist

[inkbybambi]

john “take it like a good girl” price

simon “ride it just like that” riley

kyle “feels so fuckin’ good, sweetheart” garrick

johnny “please let me cum inside” mactavish

[dmitriene]

cw: exhibitionism and voyeurism.

johnny mctavish is as horny as a dog during rutting season, but instead of humping legs he humps your pussy, any time he wants and everywhere he pleases, eyes glistening blue and wrinkling with melted smile, his hand shoved unabashedly between your legs, cupping your mound in his warm palm.

he ain't ashamed to finger your tight cunt until you're drooling on the wooden table of the café you sat in, thinking naively that you'll stop here just to drink some hot drinks and enjoy the treats, just until his fingers moved towards the zipper of your pants, teasing across the sewed line of fabric.

not even the possible public can stop johnny, he'll just snatch you away from the table you sat at, during some chilly evening in the pub with his mates from the task force, since you're too pretty for just to look at, with his cock swelling hot and throbbing beneath his pants, unable to wait any longer.

he'd fuck you in the restroom, in the locked toilet stall with your cunt stuffed full of his thick cock, dripping slick that seeps down to his trimmed pubic hair and tight balls, pulsing walls painfully tight around the throbbing girth of him as he pummels in and out of your gooey warmth, little muffled moans still escaping your lips.

piercing the air in the restroom, making men that just went in there to wash their hands freeze, understanding very well what happens in one of the stalls, rumbling out so you'll find a room, but the way your blood pressure rise, pussy tightening up, johnny is quick to whine a husky moan and scare them off.

it's should be humiliating to be caught like that, but you can't stop your eyes from rolling back at the frantic movements of johnny's hips, making your pussy so wet that each glide of cock inside of you is squelching, the pitchy mewls that escape your lips is making everything too loud, but johnny purrs it's their problem for listening.

and it is, it's also simon's problem for slipping in the stall next to yours, fisting his rudy cock in a tight grip of calloused palm that stains his calloused fingers with pearly precum, chewing at his stinging lips to silence his groans, rippling out to answer your little breathy sounds, cock throbbing when he hears the lewd slap of skin on skin, wishing he could do more than jerk off.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[lovemebutleavemewild]

Johnny brings you to base for inspection by his superior officer.

When Johnny brings you to meet his friends on base, you're a little nervous, sure, but it's nothing you can't handle.

Of course, military men are brash, but they're nothing on your Johnny, and when they make their jokes, you're more than able to give back as good as you get.

But then Johnny tells you it's time to meet Ghost.

"My lieutenant, hen. My boss."

And you think that's why he sounds nervous, that he wants to impress the man, so you go with him to his office, knock and are told to come inside.

Find it very sexy when Johnny stands to attention in front of the man, actually.

Ghost is ... something else and you don't want to ruin anything for Johnny by ogling, but ... you've always had a thing for masks and dominating men, so seeing your own man submit to another is doing things to you.

"This her?" the man asks, jerking his head at you.

"Yes sir," Johnny says, not moving, even as his superior stands and comes around the desk to lean against it. He clicks his fingers at you.

"Here. Now." You blink and look at Johnny, not sure how to respond to being talked to like a dog, but he doesn't say anything.

Suddenly the man on the desks stands to his full height and strides towards you, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at him.

"Don't look at him. I gave you an instruction,"  he almost snarls. "Do y'know why you're here?"

You shake your head jerkily, suddenly sure that "to meet Johnny's friends" is not the right answer.

"Well, Johnny here kep' on about his new pretty bird and I decided I had to check things out, make sure you were good for him. Told him to bring you right in for inspection."

"In-inspection?" you squeak. Ghost leans down so he's looking at you directly through the slits in his mask.

"Said you wouldn't mind. Said you were his dirty girl. Tha' right'?"

And the thing is, Johnny has called you that before and nothing gets you going more. It's no different now. So you just nod dumbly, seeing the edges of his mask lift when he smiles.

He leans back against the desk, leaving you alone in the middle of the room.

"So strip."

And you do, pulling your jumper over your head and slipping out of your shoes, tights, skirt. You're wearing a matching bra and panties, had some vision of what you and Johnny would do when you got home.

Ghost circles you slowly.

"Hmm, nice lil' set," he says, pushing his finger under the strap of your underwear and letting it go so it snaps back against your leg.

"But not very good at following instructions," he rumbles. "Told you to strip, darlin'. Why'd you stop?"

You shiver and, with shaky hands, undo the clasp of your bra, letting it fall to the side. Finally, you push your underwear down, stepping out of them.

Ghost watches you, eyes unfathomable. Then he speaks again.

"Bend over the desk."

When you do, he leans over you, letting his hand run down your side and over your ass.

He tuts.

"No marks, Johnny? Not even one little bite?"

His hand flashes up suddenly and comes down hard on your ass, making you gasp. He leans over you, front pressed to your back so he can reach your ear with his mouth.

"We better fix that."

[joonieskinks]

au where you were married to Cpt John MacTavish, but wake up to find yourself married to Sergeant Johnny MacTavish (original vs remake Soap)

“No,” you state coldly. The shock was still sinking in.

“No, Price. That’s not my husband.”

Price’s gaze puzzles. “You asked for Johnny MacTavish, this is Johnny. Our Johnny.” He gestures to your supposed husband, who is taking this all in himself, but he sits just staring at you.

Johnny, who couldn’t stop admiring your face, your body, your ring on your fourth finger. He gave you that. Well, sort of.

Johnny, who was your husband. You, his wife. He had a wife in another life. Gods, what a catch you are, how did he manage to bag you? he thinks.

Wait. Gods, does that mean he gets you too?

“I asked for my John, my John MacTavish, my husband. He-“ You state and finally look, really look at the man before you, this Johnny.

“He’s too young, it’s not the same. It’s- it’s off.” You look back down to the floor, you’re utterly confused. One moment you’re in bed at home, the next you’re on base in a room that’s designated for “MacTavish”. At first you thought it was a dream, so of course you went asking for your husband just to see his face again.

You didn’t expect to actually see him, well- a younger version of your husband, much less an alive one. You had to pinch yourself, you really were here. This was real.

Maybe it was a second chance, maybe it was a cruel trick of fate. You couldn’t tell just yet. You were hesitant, scared.

But Johnny on the other hand, he was having a hard time keeping still and his hands to himself with the likes of you in front of him.

“Cap’, can ye give us a moment?” Johnny asked his superior, who happily obliged. Price eyed you as if to warn you not to do anything stupid, but still be backed out of the room.

You could still barely look at Johnny. He’s your husband, but so much younger, he’s still just as handsome, he’s technically yours but- it was all too weird. Would he even want you? What if he had someone else already?

“Bonnie? Will ya look at me?” Johnny comes straight up to you, holding your hands in his. His fingers playing with your wedding ring, he already loves the idea of it, of you as his. That ring to call you his and his alone. Never did he think he’d have anything remotely close to this, so he considers you a blessing if anything.

You reluctantly keep your head down so Johnny brings one hand to cup your chin, forcing your gaze up to his face.

The sight of his concerned face nearly breaks your heart. It hurts to see him yet it’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of since his passing. To have him before you again. It’s all so overwhelming you can’t help but tear up.

“No need for that, bonnie.” He smiles as he cups your cheeks. It feels so good to have his skin on yours again, you close your eyes at the feeling.

“If you’ll have me, I’ll certainly have you. Even if ye are a cougar now.” He jokes and your eyes shoot open at his words. You hit him lightly out of annoyance, but he just smiles. You can’t help but begrudgingly smile back, rolling your eyes.

Same sense of humour. Maybe he is your husband after all.

“I missed you so much, Johnny.” You admit, bringing your fingers to graze across his face. To actually feel him again, it really feels like you’re getting your second chance at love.

“‘Ts nice to finally meet my missus.” He says softly as he brings his forehead to rest against yours, but it’s you who brings your lips to meet his, losing yourself in his touch after all these years alone…

Then it hits you that this younger version of your husband might have even more stamina and strength- so naturally you waste no time getting him back into his quarters and testing that theory.

At first you feel a little nervous that Johnny might not like what he sees. After all, you are a couple years older than he is now, but he’s utterly entranced as you stand bare before him. His hands all over your body, exploring every crevice, kissing you up and down. He can’t get enough.

“My wife’s so beautiful”, “my wife’s all mine”, “gonna make ya feel so good, show ya what a good husband I’ll make for ya.”

[thebeesatemyknees]

141 AND HOW THEY ARE WITH SOMEONE WHO THEY DISCRETELY AND SECRETLY LOVE. LIKE MAYBE NOR A HIDDEN RELATIONSHIP, BUT MORE LIKE BEST FRIENDS AND THEY LOKE READER BUT READER DOESN'T KNOW. IDKK

141 secretly in love with their friend

Word count: 2k || No warnings || Reader: gender neutral. Pronouns "you"

Simon Riley, who always chooses to sit next to you. It’s not even that he lets you sit next to him, no – he goes out of his way to sit next to you. When you’re hanging out in a pub, with him and a bunch of mutual friends (mostly the rest of 141), he lets you choose a seat while he goes to get your drinks. Once he’s back, he places your glass in front of you and tells you to budge up so he can sit next to you. Though, after a few times, it became a routine and you naturally began to make some space for him. Others also know to leave at least one seat beside you empty. If someone forgets, or isn’t privy to this unspoken rule – Simon slaps their shoulder and wordlessly points to a different chair. And so far, no one’s had the balls to tell him no.

He’s a master of dark humour and dad-jokes, and he tells them no matter what reaction he’ll get. He’s used to people rolling their eyes at his puns, but he doesn’t really care. However, with you? It's different. He closely observes your reactions, taking note of things that genuinely make you laugh and things that seem to make you uncomfortable. He catches himself yearning for your reaction, wanting to make you laugh. While in a pub with friends, he keeps telling jokes and adding sarcastic comments, but does it so quietly that only you can hear them. And when he manages to make you laugh, he has a hard time hiding the proud look on his face.

He gives you the “scary dog privilege” and goes out of his way to make it obvious that you’re under his protection. He’s not possessive nor aggressive towards others, but he can stand his ground and you’d have to be absolutely crazy to willingly get on his bad side. So whenever he’s home, he comes with you to all the places you frequent and makes sure all the regulars see that you’ve got a big, scary-looking man at home. They don’t have to know you’re just friends. Honestly, he’d like everyone to think that you’re together. That would keep all the wrong people, all the creeps away from you – that’s what he tells you after not correcting a stranger who commented on you being a cute couple. He then watches your reaction closely, wanting to figure out how you feel about the idea of being together. Whether he has a chance, or should he back off.

If you playfully flirt with him, he smugly reciprocates. As much as he likes puns, he doesn’t use pickup lines, but his witty, flirtatious comments are enough to make your face feel all hot. And he always tells them in the most deadpan manner possible, while looking at you with a half-lidded, almost lazy, look in his eyes. And he doesn’t look away, wanting to see your reaction. To see the smallest twitch of a smile in the corner of your lips. To see you roll your eyes at him or turn away with a blush creeping on your face. He wants to see if you meant it. If you’re willing to take it further.

John Price, who does a bunch of domestic things with you and for you. He makes your friendship feel as if you’ve been happily married for the past 20 years. He rarely goes back to his own flat, most of the time staying at yours. It started with him popping by for a cuppa or to fix something. Now, however, you go grocery shopping together, he has his own drawer in your wardrobe, you have movie nights that you don’t even have to invite him to. You don’t actually live together, he sometimes stays at his place to keep the sense of normalcy. But then you wake up and find him in your kitchen, sleepily drinking a cup of coffee after letting himself in with the spare key you gave him. Fresh bread lying on the counter next to him, as he scrolls through news on his phone. He greets you and stands up to start preparing breakfast for both of you.

He lets you borrow his clothes. Though, that’s a bit of an understatement. He wants you to wear his clothes. That’s why he started to “accidentally” leave his jumpers and shirts at your place. Once you officially let him have a drawer in your wardrobe, he brings all of his best, most comfortable jumpers, even going as far as spraying them with his cologne, in hopes that you'll find comfort in them while he's deployed. He also keeps an extra jacket in his car, though he only offers it to you if he’s not wearing one himself. He won’t admit it, not even in front of himself, but giving you the jacket he’s been wearing ignites a warm feeling inside his chest.

If you playfully flirt with him, he doesn’t flirt back, suddenly getting more serious instead. He might laugh quietly, but sometimes he looks downright annoyed with your teasing. At least that’s what you think. In reality he’s just worried, overthinking the situation while a sombre feeling sets in the pit of his stomach. He feels like he’s betraying you. Here you are, feeling comfortable and safe enough to joke with him like this, while the only thing he can think of is to make you his.

Kyle Garrick, who takes you out as often as possible. He organises lots of platonic (please end his misery) dates. If either of you wants to check out a new place or simply go to your regular spots, he immediately calls you. Cafes, arcades, shops, parks, galleries, bookshops. At some point, it might make you think that he doesn’t have that many friends, but no. He just chooses to spend time with you over anyone else. While eating out, you often get into arguments over who’s gonna pay the bill. He jokingly tells you that he needs someone to spend the “military money” on, but he really just wants to see you enjoy yourself properly without worrying about the expenses. To see you, being taken care of. And he’d be so damn happy to be the one to do that.

He’s also very attentive to your likes and dislikes. While walking through shopping centres, he takes note of things you seem to want but end up putting back on the shelf. That being said, he’s the best gift giver. And it’s not just expensive gifts. Honestly, he rarely gets you pricey things, worrying that it might overwhelm you. But he doesn’t stop himself from getting you knick knacks, your favourite snacks, or even simply picking some flowers for you when you go on hikes.

While deployed, he sends you short letters, sometimes adding some local sweets as well. He knows it would be much simpler to just text you or call you, which he does, but he believes that handwritten letters are more meaningful. The first time he tells you that, you roll your eyes at him. He then asks, pretending to be deeply offended, if he should stop sending them since you dislike them so much. No matter your response, he’d be sending them anyway. And if he ever finds out that you kept all of his letters tucked away safely in a box somewhere in your room, he will have a hard time hiding the tears welling up in his eyes.

If you playfully flirt with him, his brain short-circuits. The best he can do is huff a laugh quietly and reply with a simple “alright” as he looks away from you, trying to play it cool. He doesn’t flirt back, simply because he can’t. His face gets all hot, sweat suddenly coating his palms. Did you mean it? Are you teasing him? Did you finally find out about his feelings towards you? His heart is just as frantic as his thoughts. He shakes his head and tries to casually change the topic, which only makes him look more suspicious. You, oblivious to his internal torment, probably interpret his reaction as discomfort, which makes you step back and avoid flirting with him again. This, in turn, leads him to even more panic, worrying that he’s lost his chance, as he tries to bring your conversations back on the more flirtatious track.

[Sorry to my Scottish readers, you might feel a bit excluded here. Anyway, Johnny still takes you on a fun road trip!]

Johnny MacTavish, who takes you on spontaneous road trips. If you’re not from Scotland, he takes you there to show you his hometown and places he used to go to with his family when he was a kid. He picks you up and drives north but takes an indirect route, stopping at different locations that interest you. You get stuffed with snacks that he prepared for the road and lose both your voice and your hearing from how loudly both of you sing. Throughout the whole trip, he discreetly takes care of you, casually opening the car door for you, making stops so you can stretch your legs, making sure you’re not getting cold. And so, instead of getting to your destination in seven-ish hours, the trip itself takes you two days. You stop midway and find a decent room in a small inn, ending up sharing it together. He keeps his distance, but he has a hard time stopping his eyes from lingering, finding great pleasure in looking at you getting comfortable and ready for bed. His voice gets low and calm while you talk, letting the late hour lead your conversation towards more meaningful, intimate territory. Next day, once you get to his childhood home, he introduces you to his family, and at some point you catch his mum giving him a strange look. When you ask, he tells you he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. However, what you don’t notice is that he turns away while saying it, trying to hide his reddening face from you. You might be oblivious to his feelings, but his mother figured out that her son is head over heels for you the moment you walked into their house. 

He tries to teach you some Scottish phrases. You don’t really use them, worried that it would sound strange next to your regular, very not-Scottish accent. But then one day it slips out of your mouth. Maybe you got annoyed with him, which wouldn’t be surprising considering how often he teases you. The moment the words leave your mouth, a wide grin spreads across his face. He cheers like a lunatic, picking you up and twirling around with you in his arms. [And let me make myself absolutely clear – even if you’re a bigger person – you’re in the air. All you can do is dangle your legs above the ground and hold onto him for your dear life. His muscles are for practical purposes, not just visual.] 

If you playfully flirt with him, he shamelessly flirts back. With one simple comment, you unleash absolute chaos upon yourself. Hopefully you’ve got more pickup lines up your sleeve, cuz you’ll really need them. To this point, he was keeping himself in check, making sure not to overstep any boundaries. But once you flirt with him, it’s a green light, game on – he’s not stopping anytime soon. He’s a very open flirt too. He’ll use the most cheesy pickup lines on you, a wide smile permanently fixed on his face. Seeing him wiggle his eyebrows at you doesn’t even surprise you anymore. He’s also a rather physical person, so you’ll have to get used to him leaning in and playfully bumping your shoulders or knees together, or constantly resting his arm around the back of your chair.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

if the military wanted you to have a wife, they'd issue you one. Soap's heard that saying once or twice.

and here you are. claiming to be his... issuance.

you tilt your head. "you don't remember signing up for the program?"

no. no, he doesn't. his eyes dart down to your lips for a fraction of a second before returning to your eyes. he'd remember that. more to the point, he'd remember whatever he did to deserve this. he looks you up and down again, disbelief and desire flashing across his face, and not in equal measure.

you’re like if someone wrung the starry slurry of thoughts constituting what makes a perfect woman directly from his brain matter, let it ferment and clarify like honey wine, put marriage papers in her hand, and dressed her in a… in a fucking… are those stockings stretching up under your skirt?

hell’s bells. you’re one part girl next door, one part muse—the one his hand can never quite shape on the page to match what’s in his head—and several shades of his favorite porn star. an old-fashioned pin-up doll in the flesh.

"you're not John MacTavish, then," you say, peering down at the papers in your hand with a small frown. "so sorry to bother you—"

“no, hold on.” he takes a step closer. “i’m him, aye. but the program...” the application questionnaire. filling it out was nothing more than a drunken bet with Gaz, but yes, he dimly remembers it. doesn't recall turning it in, but maybe he was drunker than he thought. “it's real?"

“completely real. i was selected for you based on the preferences you specified,” you tell him. you shift the clipboard into your other arm, pleasant smile turning into a frown. "but i couldn't possibly ask you to sign a marriage certificate sponsored by a program you don't even remember applying for."

oh, that is rich. you don’t seem to see the humor here. it’s absurd. have you not seen yourself? he'd be daft to pass on someone as bonnie as you.

not to mention you seem more than a little disappointed at the idea of being turned down. that fuels his ego even more.

 "you're sayin' you're a part of that military partnership program, aye? and you were handpicked as my spouse based on a few questions?"

you helpfully produce a copy of his responses in pink triplicate. sure enough, he recognizes his own drunken scrawl.

none of the questions have anything to do his preferences looks-wise. career aspirations, communication preferences, hobbies, his ideal saturday night. his sleeping habits. this is a psychological profile. CIA shite, as Gaz would say.

he doubts his drunken self read more than a few lines of this paperwork while he was constructing his dream girl in the survey blanks.

as he studies the page a little too closely, your small frown turns into a frustrated scowl. "john? um, i mean."

it instantly pulls his eyes back to your lips.

you twirl a strand of hair around your finger. "it’s nice to meet you,” you say in a tone that makes it clear what you’re really saying is ‘hey, stud, i'm looking forward to the honeymoon.’

that’s your attempt, at least. but Soap sees more than you mean to show. the way you play that card--the way you twirl your damn hair--is the clumsiest, most blatant attempt to flirt. somehow, that's what catches him off-guard the most. It makes his heart squeeze. god, are you nervous? you?

he runs over the back of his teeth in the split second before his signature lazy smirk slides back across his face. "happy you got paired up with a bloke like me?"

he hands the paperwork back to you. you take it back with great relief and nestle it securely into the crook of your elbow. you’re certain he didn’t sign every single blank he was supposed to, but he won’t remember that. you’ll check the signature lines later and forge his handwriting to finish it.

you smile prettily at him. then you make it a little more coy. you should be bashful--he's handsome. "i'm lucky. you're special forces. i’m a nobody, really. if you want, you could try filing for a spouse upgrade. if you want a really good fiancée..."

“fiancée." Soap rolls the word around his tongue. "is that what i should call you?”

"well. you saw my name on the paperwork," you point out. you know very well he didn't.

before he can ask any more questions, you press a chaste kiss to his cheek and pull away, walking down the hall with documents in tow. his gaze is heavy on your back.

the documents in your arm are real enough. Soap really did complete that questionnaire, just like how he remembers. getting the application turned in is what required a little creative effort.

but as long as nobody looks too closely at the military ID photocopied in the application file, they won't notice that the mostly-obscured face of the soldier who turned the application in doesn't look much like Soap at all.

...

more Soap / masterlist

[paradisewithinpain]

my take on "the hero would sacrifice you to save the world but the villain would sacrifice the world to save you" & tf141....

DARK THEMES, PLEASE BE WARNED

we all know these men are soldiers through and through. they put their lives on the line for the good of the world and they do it no questions asked.

but when it comes to you?

fuck that

there is nothing, and i mean nothing, that will stop these boys from keeping you alive and happy.

JOHN PRICE knows the power he holds. he knows the respect and fear that ranks both above and below him have for him. he knows that and he's going to abuse it when it comes to you.

you come to base and someone's bothering you? they're answering to a pissed off captain who doesn't give two shits about the morality of his punishment. as long as his love is happy, he's happy.

and who cares if he sends that idiot of a soldier into a situation where he's sure there's a good chance he won't make it out? price claims it to be "good experience". no one but him needs to know that it's more of an execution than anything

SIMON RILEY is the guard dog you never thought you'd need but boy are you glad you have him. walking places is a mindless activity knowing you have a giant of a man watching every single moving thing that enters your presence.

he was a weapon of mass destruction when he wanted to he. and when you came home crying, telling him about the store clerk who yelled at you because you tried to them that they over charged you for an item, he knew that his brute strength was needed.

and who cares if the store clerk was found outside in the alley by the shop, their face bashed in over and over and over again until they were almost unrecognizable? that's one less employ the store had to pay

JOHNNY MACTAVISH is a dedicated lover and an even more dedicated demolitionist. he's constantly showing you his silly little notebooks that are detailed with fun chemical reactions and ways to make green fire using sugar and boric acid. it's always fun to keep you entertained and a smile on your face brings a smile to his

but when you come home from work and that smile is no where to be found, he's immediately inquiring why. when you tell him about your shitty boss and the horrible way you've been treated, he's immediately pulling out his notebook and distracting you with silly chemical reactions and even putting on a small show for you to cheer you up.

and who cares if a week later your boss was found dead in his apartment, some type of untracable lethal poison infused in his coffee? you had always liked the assistant director better anyway.

KYLE GARRICK was a sweetheart through and through. he sweet talked his way into your life and you're glad you let him. his affirmations were always what you needed and when you needed. the way he'd hold you in his arms and whisper all the incredible things he saw in you never failed to warm your heart. he was observant and smart, seeing right through you and everyone else around him.

so when you had to delete a few nasty messages on social media after kyle made a post about you, he was less than pleased. he took you and your happiness very seriously. he posted you because he wanted to. he loved showing you off and he wanted the world to see how happy you made him. a few anonymous profiles weren't going to change that.

so who cares if their names, jobs, profiles, browsing history, and text messages were all exposed? the nasty information was all kyle needed to know that those men would never see the light of day again

[elysianightsss]

Okay I know this trope has been done time and time again but it’s a fuckingggg classic okay? Okay.

Best friend Johnny who keeps a photo of you in his pocket so he can remind himself what he is fighting to get home to.

Best friend Johnny who’s face lights up as soon as he sees you waiting for him at the airport with one of them big signs saying Johnny on it. It looks like you spent a lot of time hand decorating it.

Best friend Johnny who doesn’t argue when you ask him to stay at your house his first night home, he simply smiles with a nod because why would he ever refuse you.

Best friend Johnny who already has some of his clothes in your drawers for whenever he stays over. Brought over a duffle bag full of some a while ago and just stared filling your drawers.

Best friend Johnny who snoops around after he gets out the shower to see if you’d gotten any new toys while he was away. (You had) he grins while inspecting the new one, not a vibrator this time. No this one was moulded like a real man, very detailed he noticed. He would never tell you how he held it next to his to see the size difference.

Best friend Johnny who grins at you when he comes out of your room freshly cleaned and in new clothes to find you in one of his shirts and just underwear, dancing to the ABBA songs you were playing through Alexa.

Best friend Johnny who dances with you just so he had an excuse to have his hands on you. And oh boy does he, his thick fingers running over your body. Hot breath on your neck as you both laugh.

Best friend Johnny who feels on cloud nine while he makes dinner with you, the domesticity of it all making him yearn for more. The way you’re both moving around each other, flowing and fitting in with each other perfectly.

Best friend Johnny who even though is eating the same thing as you, still tries to feed you with an “Op’n up fa me lass.” Spoon in hand resting softly against your lips waiting patiently for you to accept, “K’mon bonnie.”

Best friend Johnny whose face drops when you tell him all about the date you had been on with a complete and utter douchebag while he was away. You don’t notice the way he freezes at your words, you don’t see the fire behind his eyes.

Best friend Johnny who finally finds the courage within him to say you don’t need to date anyone. You have him. He’s yours, always have been bonnie.

Best friend Johnny who goes crazy when you finally let him touch you. Desperately laps at your pussy, clit swollen and aching as the Scot wraps his lips around it wanting nothing more than to show you how well he can take care of you. How quick he can make you cum all over his tongue.

Best friend Johnny who is the best fuck you’ve ever had in your life. He’s all over you, he’s in your every thought, your every breath. You feel him in your throat when he slides his thick cock into your slick pussy. You’re dripping a mixture of cum and Johnny’s spit.

Best friend Johnny who’s so hot the way he’s desperate for it, pathetically desperate to slap his hips against your ass. The shlick shlick shlick sounds loud in the air with the way his heavy balls slap against your clit sending rolls of pleasure through you with each thrust. “Fuck lass, so pretty! Do ye ken what ye do to me? Dis wee cunt is addictive!”

Best friend Johnny who makes love to you well into the early hours of the morning. You’re a complete dishevelled mess by the time he’s done. Hickies anywhere his mouth could reach, hand marks on your hips, hair a mess, drool on your chin, throat dry and sore from screaming his name and your cunt dripping with his cum. But you fall asleep satisfied with a smile on your swollen lips.

Boyfriend Johnny who kisses you softly all over, whispering praises and I love yous into your skin as he uses a warm flannel to wipe away the sweat and cum from your body.

Boyfriend Johnny who makes you breakfast in bed, all your favourites and some pieces of fruit for healthiness. Who delivers it to you on your bamboo tray, an apron wrapped around him that says ‘I’m cute’ on the front. His naked arse out of full display.

Boyfriend Johnny that watches you eat with a smile on your face and happiness bubbling in his chest.

[barrackspredator]

Johnny would never admit it. No, he would rather die than ever say it. But you were the one that got away.

The friendly girl next door. His girl next door. The lovely lass he knew for all his life. You grew up together, practically watched each other grow from silly toddlers to rebellious adolescents. And adolescence were the years of sweet romance and whispered promises.

“I’ll be back for you, y’know that?”

“Do you promise, Johnny?”

“When have I ever lied to you?”

He strokes your hair and reassures you everything will be alright. He doesn’t mind that you’ve flooded his pillowcase with tears. He doesn’t mind the way you grasp his shoulders, begging him to stay. And he doesn’t mind the way you kiss him feverishly, forfeiting your maidenhood to him that very night.

Johnny leaves for boot camp the next day. Every reason you gave him to stay fell on deaf ears. Your beloved Johnny left anyway, his promise to come back forgotten.

Had he forgotten of his sweet girl? Of course not. He just doesn’t have the courage to see you again. Even the strongest of soldiers have their weakness. And for Johnny, it’s you.

i didn’t proof read this. enjoy!

[stargirlstabber]

imagine simon riley holding you close to him when you break down, sobbing as your shaking hands grasp onto the urn filled with johnnys ashes. ever since the day the love of your life took his last breath, everything has been going downhill. so far downhill that price even took you off the next missions. he didn't trust you to not jump in the line of fire on purpose. not after losing him. not after losing the scottish sunshine that always brought a smile to your lips. simons bare hand stroked over your head, trying to soothe your trembling form. he was gone...

[forsworned]

cw: sexual content, pnv sex, cunninglingus

“This is wrong.”

“So wrong.”

You moan out as Johnny’s calloused fingers slip under the waistband of your underwear, peeling off the fabric to feel the wetness pooling between your thighs as he lifts your pajama shirt to reveal your braless chest. His lips immediately find your nipple and they harden at his tender touch. A stark contrast between the rough pads of his fingers that caress your naked skin. And soon he's between those sweet thighs, supping up your drooling folds, immediately clenching at his touch as you squeeze his head between your thighs. The feeling of his scruff and shaven head scratches at your inner thighs, but it's a pleasant feeling. His hair is soft, silk-ladden-like as you trace over his scalp, scratching at the follicles with your nails which causes him to moan against your pussy.

And before you know it, you're being turned onto your stomach, ass being pushed back against his pelvis as he aligns with your core. He slowly pushes into you and you arch like a cat, stretching your arms as you claw into the sheets. It's not even moaning at this point, just straight whimpering enmeshed with incoherent words. Fuck, it feels sooooo good, especially knowing that you two weren't supposed to be doing it. Or at least you think so. Was it entirely inappropriate? Definitely.

But the Captain has always made it clear that what you do outside of missions is entirely your business. So a little fun here and there isn't gonna kill you. At least that's what you told yourselves, after having euphoric orgasms, tucked under damp sheets as you cuddled against one another. You suppose everyone has a vice...this one you just so happen to share with Johnny.