#johnny soap mctavish

[bakersbucky]

One of my favs

LOW COUNTRY | HIGH NOON

johnny mactavish x reader

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yearning—they're both so dumb.

Two weeks fly by and Johnny proves himself in ways you weren’t prepared for.

The first two days after he arrived, you’d spent hours showing him the ropes, expecting some level of difficulty, some struggle once he got down to actually doing the dirty work. Sure, he could listen and memorize to his heart's content, but if he couldn’t do the work, he wasn’t useful to you. 

But goddamn, could he do the work. 

The day after he arrived, you had him shadow you as you worked. You narrated everything you did for the livestock and important things to remember. Shimmer was on a diet and needed a little less hay in her stall. The water in every barn had to stay cool to keep the animals from overheating. The sheep’s bedding came from cornstalks harvested straight from the fields, and the barn doors had to stay open during the day for ventilation. Dixie had to be fed alongside the sheep—otherwise, she'd get jealous. The cows ate soybeans, and their barn fans had to run non-stop to keep the heat at bay.

On the second day, you let him take the reins. He remembered everything, every miniscule detail, down to a T. You were there if he needed help, but he never did. He fed the animals—hell, he did it all like he's been doing it his whole life, like he could do it blindfolded. 

It was almost jealousy-inducing how easy it comes to him. You’ve spent years building up the strength needed to handle farm work. You’ve got muscle, no doubt about that. Every long day under the sun has carved power into your body, earned through a lot of sweat and double the tears.

It’s unfair. It’s painfully distracting. He’s painfully distracting.

Regardless, you shove your pride to the side. This is what he’s here for, after all.

The division of labor falls into place easier than you expect.  He takes over livestock care and you handle the crops and the house. But together, everyday, you both fix the fences, riding out in the afternoons with supplies in tow, patching up the weak spots before they become real problems.

You don’t speak to Johnny much during the day—mainly during meal times. He spends most of his day to the left of the house at the livestock pastures and barns. The main pastures are all sprawled out, home to about fifteen cows and sheep, respectively. You spend most of your time at the crop fields, which stretch to the right of the house, along with the old barn your family stopped using years ago. Too much upkeep for what it was worth. The cornfields are there too, easy to reach on horseback. 

The stables sit in between both, a ways behind the house. The whole farm isn’t a big operation, not by most standards, but it definitely needs more than one person to run it. With Johnny proving himself capable, you both fell into an easy routine rather quickly.

Johnny's up at 7 a.m., like clockwork. He takes the biggest horse, Scout, and makes his rounds, feeding the animals breakfast, checking the water troughs and filling them up when needed. He lets the livestock graze before the sun gets too high. 

By 9, Johnny finally gets a moment to breathe while you’re awake and already in the kitchen cooking breakfast. You found that if you time it right, you can get an eyeful of Johnny from the kitchen window. You’ve unintentionally made it part of your morning, standing by the window, mug of coffee in hand, watching him. You repeatedly tell yourself it's to make sure he’s getting the job done, but the more you watch, the more you find yourself thinking about him in ways that grow exceedingly inappropriate for a boss-employer relationship. 

You should stop watching. If he were to ever catch you, he’d probably think you were some kind of freak. Maybe you should focus on the eggs in the pan, the bread in the toaster, but it’s hard to follow your better judgement with Johnny around. Pa’s been on your ass for how much toast you’re burning these days. 

Breakfast is never fancy, but it’s solid. Eggs, grits, fried potatoes, sausage, bacon. Sometimes fresh fruit if you’ve got it, a pitcher of orange juice on the table alongside the coffee. Variations of the same spread every morning, something hearty and filling to start the day.

Johnny’s damn near worshipful over your cooking. It brings a flush to your cheeks each time he comments on it, considering Pa’s never had too much to say about it. The way Johnny reacts, closing his eyes when he takes the first bite, letting out a quiet “Christ, that’s good”- or he groans under his breath, making it hard not to feel at least a little smug.

You’re used to running the cooking and cleaning on your own: the dishes, wiping down the counters, making sure everything’s in order. Pa never offered much help in that regard. He’s traditional in the sense that ‘it’s a woman’s job’ to take care of the home, with all of its chores and domesticities. He’s stuck in his ways but he’s got a kind soul.

But Johnny does it all with you. Doesn’t even ask.

He waits till everyone’s finished eating, then rolls up his sleeves and helps clear the table like it’s second nature, like it’s part of the job description. He stands beside you at the sink, drying dishes as you wash, putting them away without needing to be told where anything goes. He just remembers.

Most times, you both wash in silence. The only sounds are the clink of dishes, the rush of water, the occasional scrape of a sponge against a pan. But you can feel his eyes on you, watching as you scrub a pot or rinse off a pan. He never says anything—just waits for you patiently.

But it does something to you. Makes you feel small in a way you can’t quite explain. Not insignificant, but exposed. Like he sees too much, like he notices things you don’t even realize you’re giving away. It sets your nerves on edge, tightens something low in your stomach, makes your hands move a little quicker even though you don’t want to give yourself away. It’s ridiculous, really. It’s just dishes. Just a quiet kitchen. But under the weight of his gaze, it feels like something else entirely.

His arm brushes yours sometimes—subtle and fleeting but often enough that it doesn’t feel like an accident. Like maybe he’s finding excuses to touch you, even if it’s barely there. And it’s nothing, really. Just the briefest press of skin, the softest graze. But it burns and it lingers. It sinks into your skin like a brand, like something your body wants more of, wants to memorize. You keep your face neutral in the moment, your hands steady. Inside? Your pulse stutters, your breath feels too shallow, and your mind won’t stop spinning in circles. It’s ridiculous, how something so small can unravel you like this. But god help you, it does.

You try to brush it off. He’s just being kind, just paying attention. That’s all. Nothing more.

You remind yourself to be grateful for the extra set of hands, for the way his quiet presence makes the work easier. It’s a small thing, really—his help. But somehow, it takes the edge off the mornings, makes them feel a little lighter.

Johnny’s makes everything feel lighter, now that you really think about it.

Mornings used to be a race against the rising temperatures outside—shoveling down breakfast just to sprint outside and make sure the livestock were moved to the shaded pastures before the sun got too brutal. But with Johnny around, you don’t have to worry about that anymore. He’s got it covered. 

After breakfast, usually around 11, Johnny heads back out to do just that, while you get ready for your day’s work. You throw on something you don’t mind getting dirty—some overalls and a tank top, old boots, maybe one of Pa’s loose flannels if there’s a breeze.

You head to the stables and grab Shimmer, heading out to the crop fields. You pass the time, watering, weeding, checking for pests, making sure everything is growing the way it should. It’s tedious work, but at least now, you can actually focus on it. In a way, it’s calmer than dealing with the animals. 

By 3 p.m., you've made your final rounds around the fields, harvesting some cucumbers and tomatoes if they’re ready, checking on the other plants to make sure everything’s in place. The heat nears oppressive, and you’re already looking forward to heading inside.

As you ride back toward the stalls to put Shimmer away, your eyes find Johnny by the sheep pen. He’s herding them inside, guiding them with an easy patience, keeping them out of the harsh afternoon sun. Even from a distance, you can tell he’s got a good handle on them.

Your gaze drifts past him to Scout, tied to a fence post nearby. Shimmer must notice him too, judging by the way she whinnies, ears pricking forward with interest. They’ve been sticking close lately, choosing to graze together in the mornings and evenings, grooming each other like they’ve suddenly decided they’re inseparable. It’s odd, considering they’ve never paid each other much mind before—at least, not until two weeks ago.

It’s still August. Scout’s still in heat. You make a mental note to keep an eye on him.

Your gaze flickers back to Johnny—jeans slung low on his hips, a plain wife-beater stretched across his broad chest—and as always, you try not to stare.

But Johnny has a habit and it’s downright cruel. When the sun reaches its peak and the heat settles thick over the land, he peels off his shirt without a second thought. Like it’s nothing. Like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing.

And maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he’s just trying to keep cool. But sometimes—when he catches you looking, when the corner of his mouth quirks up just slightly—it feels like he’s doing it on purpose. Like he enjoys watching you struggle not to let your eyes linger on him too long, not to let your thoughts wander somewhere they shouldn’t.

You’ve never been so thankful for the relentless southern sun.

It clings to him, highlighting every sharp line and defined edge. His skin glistens with sweat, the golden light catching on the broad curve of his shoulders, the sinew of his arms as they flex with every movement. Thick and strong. 

The first time you saw him shirtless, you stared. You couldn’t help it.

And of course, Johnny caught you.

His gaze locked onto yours, sharp and amused, and in that split second of distraction, you didn’t even realize you were sliding right off Shimmer’s back—not until you hit the ground with a graceless thud, landing in a fresh patch of mud.

His laugh had boomed across the fields, full and unrestrained, carrying all the way to your burning ears. You barely had time to process the sheer humiliation of it before you wordlessly climbed right back onto Shimmer like nothing happened, like you weren’t covered in mud, like you hadn’t just been caught drooling over him.

Played it cool. At least, you had tried to.

You shake your head, forcing your thoughts away from Johnny, and focus on putting Shimmer away. It’s easier said than done, but you manage, leading her into her stall and giving her a quick brush-down before heading back toward the house.

Lunch won’t make itself, and you figure you might as well get a head start—assuming you’re not completely covered in dirt from standing around, too busy staring at him to notice the dust clinging to your clothes. Which, if you’re being honest, happens more often than you’d like to admit these days.

At least he has the decency to put a shirt on before stepping inside. Small mercies.

You always whip up something light—sandwiches and a salad, maybe. You’re never in the mood to make anything too heavy. Pa skips out on lunch as usual, though. He always does, opting to head out to visit your Ma. She’s buried alongside a 200-year-old willow tree at the far edge of the property, the place that was always her favorite. Lunch used to be between you and a farm catalogue. Now, it’s between you and Johnny.

He never comments on how Pa slips away; he’s gotten used to the routine of it by now. It didn’t take long for him to piece it all together—Ma’s absence, the way Pa goes to kneel by the tree each day. He notices something in your eyes, too. He’s seen it in his own—loss. Grief.

When the aching sound of silence settles over the house—when the scrape of forks against plates is the only thing filling the empty space, when Pa’s vacant seat feels heavier than it should, Johnny’s hand inches toward yours.

It’s subtle, barely there. His fingertips just skim against your own, light and careful, like he’s offering something without asking. Like he’s reminding you, in the quietest way possible, that he’s here.

The first time he does it, you flinch and pull away before the warmth can settle, before the weight of it can mean something. But the next day, and the one after that, he does it again. Always the same way, always patient.

Day after day, you stop avoiding it.

It’s unspoken, something steady. A silent offering. He never asks for more, never demands, just open to  let you take what you need.

Today, your hand creeps to meet his. Your fingers slide to hold his own so easily—so naturally. Your fingertips graze over his knuckles before slipping between his fingers, not gripping, just resting. His other hand stills mid-stab of a piece of fruit, the fork hovering in place before a slow, knowing smile tugs at his lips—soft, easy, like he’s careful not to startle you. He doesn't tighten his hold, doesn't rush, just lets his thumb brush along your skin, as if memorizing the feel of it. His consistency is comforting. 

And day after day, without meaning to, you realize just how much you’ve come to rely on it.

Today, Johnny checks on the livestock one last time after lunch, but not before pitching in to help clean up. He’s quick about it, helping you get everything in order before heading out to make his rounds. He moves through the pastures, checking the water troughs, topping them off, and making sure the animals get their feed. It’s a rhythm by now—one that’s almost as natural to him as breathing.

You, on the other hand, head upstairs. The heat of the day still lingers in the air as you peel off your dirt-smeared clothes and step into the shower. The water hits your skin, hot and soothing, washing away the sweat, the dust, the weight of everything. For a few minutes, it’s just you and the steam, curling around you like a fog that keeps the world at bay. Thanks to Johnny, you can take more time for yourself, allowing for a few moments of peace.

Once you're clean, you retreat to your room for a bit, letting the quiet settle around you. The heat from the shower still clings to your skin, steam curling lazily in the air, and for a little while, you allow yourself the luxury of doing nothing. Just breathing. Just being.

But duty calls, as it always does. 

With a sigh, you pull on something comfortable—old jeans, soft and faded in all the right places, a loose tank top that drapes over your shoulders, and a pair of boots worn supple from years of hard use. You leave your hair down, still damp, cool against the nape of your neck as you step into the hallway. The air meets you in a soft contrast, brushing against your skin as you shake off the last remnants of stillness and head downstairs.

Pa’s sitting in his armchair, the low hum of the 5 o’clock news filling the first floor. His eyes are glued to the screen, but you don’t disturb him, slipping into the kitchen to prep dinner. The knives feel familiar in your hands as you chop the vegetables you harvested earlier, the scent of fresh tomatoes, onions, and herbs filling the air. You sprinkle salt over the meat, massaging it in gently, knowing it’ll make the roast tender for tonight.

The clock ticks past 5:30, and at 6, the last task of the day is waiting. Fence checks.

You and Johnny do it together every day. At first, it was purely for convenience—two hands are always better than one. But now, you look forward to it—to seeing him again.

You grab your jacket from the hook by the door, the familiar weight of it settling over your shoulders, and step outside. The evening air is cool against your skin, the sky beginning to soften into a wash of purples, pinks, and golds, the colors mixing together like paint on a canvas. The breeze picks up, gentle at first, but carrying with it the earthy scent of grass and soil. 

You make your way toward the stables, the gravel crunching under your boots in a steady rhythm. The evening air is cooler now, carrying the scent of hay and earth.

As you near the stables, you spot Johnny already there. He’s inside, leaning against Scout’s stall door, his back to you, speaking in a low murmur meant only for the horse. His fingers move through Scout’s mane with an absentminded gentleness.

There’s something different about him in moments like these—when he thinks no one’s watching. He softens. It’s endearing in a way you don’t quite have words for. And for a moment, you hesitate, just watching, before finally stepping forward.

You hum a soft, "Hey," and Johnny turns from Scout, a small smile tugging at his lips like he can’t help it, and he steps toward you with his hands tucked into his pockets.

For a moment, neither of you speak. You just stand there, caught in some strange pause, like you’re both waiting for something. His head tilts slightly, eyes scanning your face with quiet curiosity, and the longer the silence stretches, the more unbearable it gets.

“You talk to the sheep like that too, or just Scout?” you ask, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

He stills, processing your outburst before he huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Only th’ ones that listen.”

Before he can say anything else, you turn away—too quickly, probably—and busy yourself with Shimmer, running a hand through her mane like she suddenly requires all of your attention. Anything to ignore the way your chest feels too tight, your pulse too loud in your ears.

Johnny doesn’t move right away. You can feel him still standing there, watching, like he knows exactly why you turned so fast but isn’t going to call you on it. 

“She givin’ ye trouble?”  he finally asks, nodding toward Shimmer as you stroke her mane.

“Always,”  you mutter, scratching behind her ears and she whinnies. “She thinks she owns the place.”

“Cannae blame ‘er. She’s got ye wrapped ‘round her hoof.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch despite yourself. He’s not wrong. Shimmer huffs softly, nudging at your shoulder like she knows you’re talking about her. You softly push her nose away, shaking your head.

Johnny steps next to you, leaning his arms over the stall door, softly scratching the base of her neck. “That why ye bolted over here, hmm? Needed an excuse tae hide?" His voice is light, teasing—but there’s something underneath it. Something careful.

Your hand stills for just a second before you scoff, shaking your head. “Please.”  You turn, meeting his blue eyes with a practiced ease you’re not sure you actually feel. “If I wanted to hide from you, I’d pick a better spot.” You’re almost teasing when you say it, but you do know the property better than him, afterall.

“Dinnae have tae hide from me, hen,” he hums, the corner of his mouth quirks..

You hate that it makes your stomach flip. Hate that you have to force yourself to look away, to pretend the warmth crawling up your neck is from the evening heat and not from him.

Johnny lets the silence stretch, like he’s giving you a chance to say something—anything. His gaze lingers, drifting over you. Taking in the curve of your shoulders, the way your hair catches the fading light, the way you hold yourself like you’re thinking too much but refusing to say why.

When you don’t speak, he exhales a quiet chuckle, shaking his head before pushing off the stall door. Letting it go, for now.

 He nods toward the fields, “C’mon. Fence line’s no’ gonna check itself.”

You follow without a word, slipping out of the stables with him. Long shadows stretch across the fields, swaying with the wind-blown grass, and somewhere in the distance, a few cattle call out, their distant sounds blending with the steady hum of crickets.

Neither of you rush. There’s no need. The fence line is long, stretching across acres of land, and it’s a quiet sort of work—just walking, looking, making note of any broken slats or weak posts that’ll need fixing. He walks alongside you, the toolbox rattles lightly in his grip as he carries it at his side, the sound punctuating the steady crunch of boots against dry earth.

For a while, neither of you speak.

It’s not exactly uncomfortable, but it isn’t easy either. You’re aware of him in a way that feels impossible to ignore—the way his steps fall in rhythm with yours, the occasional brush of his arm when the path narrows, the way he glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking.

“Ye always this quiet?” Johnny asks, his voice low, barely disturbing the quiet, as if it’s a part of the gentle breeze.

You snort softly, eyes fixed on the fence as you mindlessly trail your fingers along the wooden slats. “Only when there’s nothing to say.”

“That so?” His voice carries easily with a sprinkle of amusement.

“Mhm.”

You keep walking. So does he.

Every so often, you test the fence with a firm press of your palm, checking for weak spots. He does the same. Occasionally, he stops to inspect a loose post, tapping it with the toe of his boot before moving on. It’s a simple rhythm—walk, check, walk again—but the silence between you is anything but simple.

It’s thick, growing heavier as the minutes tick by.

You can feel his presence beside you like a current, something you could fall into and get swept under if you weren’t careful. And maybe he feels it too, because every now and then, his hands twitch at his side, like he wants to reach for something, but can’t. Won’t.

“Ye ever get tired o’ all this?” His voice is quieter this time, almost like he’s asking himself more than you.

Your brows pull together slightly. “Of what?”

He gestures vaguely around you with the hand that isn’t carrying the toolbox. “Th’ same land, same routine. Mornings start early, work’s never really done. That ever get to ye?”

You consider that for a moment, kicking at a stray rock with the toe of your boot. “Maybe. Some days.” You glance at him. “You?”

His mouth tugs into something like a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nah. Never.”

You don’t know what to make of that.

The two of you keep walking, keep checking the fence. The breeze picks up, stirring loose strands of your hair. Johnny exhales a slow breath, his shoulders shifting as he rolls them back, working out a stiffness from the long day. The movement draws your attention, and for a brief second, you let yourself look. Really look.

The sharp cut of his jaw, the way the light catches on his cheekbones, the way his shirt clings to the broad stretch of his shoulders, still slightly damp from the sweat of the day. The gold cross dangling from his neck and the dark, miniscule birthmark that sits just below his ear. His hair has grown a bit since he first came. Maybe you could cut it for him, like you do for Pa.

You swallow hard and snap your gaze forward before you get caught. Again.

Another long stretch of silence. Another step. Another brush of his arm against yours—so light it could be accidental.

Could be.

Johnny stops when he catches sight of a sagging section of barbed wire, his steps slowing before he finally comes to a halt. Without a word, he sets down the toolbox and crouches, running a hand over the worn wood of the post before reaching for the wire. Testing its give. Seeing how bad it really is.

You watch as he exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly before grabbing the wire stretcher and a handful of staples. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even complain about the extra work—just gets right to it, like it’s second nature.

Rather than hover over him, you hoist yourself up onto a sturdier section of the fence beside him, perching on the top rail with ease. The wood is solid beneath you, not like the weakened stretch he’s working on now.

The sun is nearly gone, but there’s still enough light to bathe the fields in a golden glow, the last remnants of warmth brushing against your face. You tilt your head toward it, letting the heat sink into your skin, letting the evening breeze lift strands of your hair. It’s the kind of peace that settles deep in your bones, the kind you don’t appreciate until it’s gone.

Johnny breaks the silence first.

“If I’d’ve grown up somewhere like this…” He pauses, twisting the wire tight before driving a staple into the post. “I think things would’ve turned ou’ different for me.”

The way he says it—flat, almost absentminded—makes you hesitate. You’re not sure if he’s inviting the conversation or just thinking out loud. You don’t want to pry, but something about the way his voice lingers in the air makes you ask anyway.

“Different how?”

Johnny keeps his eyes on his work as he answers, pulling the wire taut. “Would’ve been normal, I guess. Wouldn’t have joined up. Would no’ have spent years runnin’ toward shit other people run from.” He exhales softly, a ghost of a chuckle. “Think I’d have been calmer. More settled.”

You watch him work for a moment, the way his hands move with ease, deft yet steady. He doesn’t look unsettled, per se. If anything, he seems at ease out here, like he belongs in the quiet.

“You don’t seem unsettled,” you say finally, tilting your head to him.

Johnny huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he pulls the wire one last time, before giving it a final staple to secure it. “Then ’m doin’ a great job at pretending.” His voice is light, but there’s something underneath it, something that makes you press your lips together.

You watch as he finishes up, hammering in the last staple before brushing the dirt off his hands. “If you aren’t happy here, you can always leave, y’know,” The words slip out before you can really think them through. “There’s plenty of families that need help.” It’s not a challenge, just a simple fact.

That stops him.

He straightens up, turning to you with something between bewilderment and confusion, like the idea hadn’t even crossed his mind. Like he can’t quite believe you’d think that, let alone say that. 

“Ye think I’m no’ happy here?”

You shrug, glancing out toward the fields. “I mean…” you pause, exhaling as you look toward your boots, drawing shapes in the dirt with the pointed toe. “I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s isolating.”

Johnny sets the tools down in the grass beside him, his jaw tightening as he mulls over what you just said. It sticks in his head, gnaws at something deep in his chest. He hadn’t considered that you might think that—hadn’t realized he might’ve spoken in a way that’d made you assume he wanted out.

But when he looks at you now, perched on the fence, swathed in the gold, pink, and purple swirls of  light from the sun, he understands why you would.

You’ve been here your whole life. You know the weight of isolation, watching things in your life pass by and disappear before your eyes. You probably expect people to leave.

And maybe that should be the case. Maybe he should leave—move on to bigger and better things. But when he looks at you—really looks at you—it doesn’t feel that simple. It can’t be. It’s not. 

Your very presence buzzes with life, from your hair to the ever-present flush in your cheeks—from the heat or him, he doesn’t know. You’re sat on the fence like you belong here, like the land itself was carved around you. And maybe it was. Maybe that’s why he’s so goddamn unsettled. You’re everywhere; you’re in every breeze that brushes his skin, in each rooster crow that signals the wake of a new day. 

He’s spent his whole life moving, chasing something—war, adrenaline, a sense of purpose that’s always been just out of reach. He knows the weight of isolation just as well as you do. 

His throat feels tight as he finally speaks, his voice dipping lower, rougher. “I’m no’ unsettled because o’ the job. Or the farm.”

His gaze is locked onto you, unrelenting. Waiting. Willing you to understand—like he’s been holding this in for too long, and if you don’t get it now, he’s not sure what he’ll do.

And then it all clicks.

It’s not about the farm. Not about the work, the isolation, the long days under the southern sun.

“Oh.”

The word breathes out of you before you can censor it, before you can even feel it. 

You’re the reason he carries tension in his shoulders, the reason he looks at you like he’s already lost whatever battle he’s been fighting with himself. 

All at once you can feel the sharp pull in the air between you, the way his jaw tics, his breath slows, his fingers flex like he’s stopping himself from reaching for you.

And the worst part?

You wish he wouldn’t.

[devil-in-hiding]

childhood bully!Soap who became enamoured by you the first time you pushed you down, fascinated by the way your eyes well with tears, crying out and shoving him away when he reaches out to pinch your cheek

From that moment your tears are his and his alone. Pulls your hair, crushes the flowers you’re admiring, pushes you off the swings, anything he can do to provoke a reaction out of you, and if it doesn’t please him, all he has to do is squeeze your cheek until you wail

But if anyone else dared touched you? Dared to lay a hand on HIS cry baby? The first and only boy to ever pull your hair besides Johnny wound up with a broken wrist, and he never looked your way again

Forget about boyfriends when the two of you reach high school. The first time he ever stumbles upon one of the older boys kissing you in a secluded hall, the next time you see him his nose is broken and he avoids you like the plague

The first time YOU see Johnny kissing another girl, he locks eyes with you, and he is thrilled when he sees the tears spilling down your cheeks, but you never have to worry

none of these girls are HIS little cry baby

they could never be you

you were his

[hedgehogsaretheultimatelifeform]

Ghost who’s always refused to have any kind of personalised gear or clothing, until he meets Soap, and quickly loses every single one of his hoodies to the Sergeant

Ghost finally caves and gets ‘LT Riley’ printed across the back of one. He gets to wear it once before he has to put it through the laundry, and somehow it manages to never end up back in his room along with his other stuff. Quite a mystery, until he sees Soap walking around in it, and chases him halfway across the field to physically pull the hoodie off him

Only for Soap to bat his eyelashes and say ‘if you wanted to get me naked LT, all you had to do was ask’

[tealakko]

Call of Duty silly drawings by me ‼️❤

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

there’s definitely a bar that the 141 are regulars at, with a bartender they all want to fuck, and she knows it, and they all know it, but the mind games they play to get there first…

[katzenmas]

Simon who has never fallen in love before, so when he starts catching feelings for you he thinks he's sick. He was perfectly fine a few months ago, there was nothing amiss, even now he can't exactly pinpoint when his heart started palpatating or his palms started sweating. he was never uncomfortable in his own skin, but this felt just like that! he was fidgety, his throat went dry, his face was flaring up as if he had a fever. it always happened randomly, the only common denominator? you. It was crazy! you and Simon have been on the same task force for about four years now, he was doing just fine before. slowly befriending you and keeping a civil relationship with you. He thinks it could be an allergic reaction? but why wouldn't it flare up in the previous years. It just made no sense. Simon almost drove himself crazy trying to figure it out. Even know, he was sitting in the lounge area with his elbows on his knees, face concentrated in deep thought. It was Johnny who found him trying to burn a hole through the wall with his intense gaze. ' LT? you doin' okay there?' The sudden question ripped Simon away from his thoughts. He stared at Johnny for a few minutes, the latter slowly becoming increasingly more nervous as the silence stretched between them. 'alrighty then i'll leave ya to it' ' Johnny wait' even Simon was confused with his behaviour, but maybe an outside perspective is what he needed. 'i have an...affliction' Johnny took a seat and listened to his lieutenant start explaining the situation. slowly, the gears in his mind clicked. Simon kept on rambling about how his mind goes blank, his core temperature keeps rising, the clammy palms, the shaky voice and the sudden shyness not making sense to him. Johnny just laughs, hard. ' holy hell Ghost ya in love?' the question felt like a slap in the face. Simon looked at his sargeant in disbelief, almost offended by the question. Johnny just kept smiling and asked Simon a simple question. ' when do these uh, symptoms make themselves known LT?' So Simon tells him about how he thinks he might be allergic to you, or at least some perfume or body wash you use. Johnny listens and keeps nodding, a smile never leaving his face. ' You know Ghost? This might actually be an allergy. You should talk to her and ask her about it, maybe she has more answers?' Oh Johnny was going to enjoy seeing how this would turn out.

[scoobywrites690]

Soap being a beg

cw: pussy eating, fingering, begging, dirt talk, mature language

“Please, mamas.” Johnny begged, the most puppy eyed expression slapped across his face as he knelt on the ground beside you tugging at the hem of your shirt desperate to have your attention. 

You’ve been ridiculously busy with work recently meaning the attention Johnny normally receives has decreased massively. And you feel awful about it but a big breakthrough happened in your job and they desperately need as much help as possible. Johnny understood this of course when you first told him you’d have to do extra work at home, but that was three days ago and Johnny needed some sort of attention to keep him going. His tank was running dangerously low. 

“Just five minutes, you’ve been in here all day!” He whined as you sat at your desk typing an email out to your boss. “Please.” He pouts when you glance to look at him, somehow giving you even bigger puppy dog eyes. 

“Johnny I’m so close to having this finished, just give me a few more minutes, please.” You say turning to work on your email again. You’re met with a huff as a response as Johnny leans back onto his heels and crosses his arms frowning at you. 

“That’s what you’ve been saying all day.” He says, making sure to draw out the ‘all’ to add dramatic effect. 

“I know I have, but I really mean it this time.” You tell him, turning in your chair to look at him properly.  “Just a few more minutes, and then I’m done.” You say, reaching to cup the side of his face, the stubble on his face rough and prickly against your hand, as you press a kiss to his lips. 

Johnny, with his great wisdom, takes this as an invitation to try and sneak his hands under your shirt, desperate to get a feel of what he’s been missing and craving for three days straight. 

“Johnny!” You exclame, pulling away from him and swatting his sneaky hands away. 

“Wot.” He remarks, shrugging his shoulders whilst wearing the most butt hurt expression on his face as if you’ve just taken away his favourite toy. (which you kinda have in all honesty) 

“Just wait, have some patience.” You say, turning your attention back to the email on your laptop screen. 

“Yeah well you already know I’ve got none of that.” He remarks before shoving your chair out the way and crawling under your desk. 

“Johnny.” You warn.

“Just a lil taste.” He says, pulling your chair back under the desk. His hands running up and over your thighs. “Please.” He adds, already spreading your legs. 

“Johnny, this is a really important email.” You state, his hands running up the inside of your thighs, clearly paying no attention to anything you're saying right now. 

“Yeah I know, just pretend I’m not here.” He says, whilst his hands wander up to your waistband, unbuttoning your jeans before tugging at them. 

Letting out a sigh of defeat, you lift your hips so it’s easier for Johnny to pull them down. And hey you never know, maybe a distraction could help clear the fog that seems to have clouded your mind whilst trying to write out this email.

“Atta girl” You hear Johnny say from under the desk as he works your jeans down and off your body, bringing your underwear down with them before discarding both of them to one side. With you bare and on display Johnny’s quick to get a taste of the sweet pussy that he’s been so desperately missing. 

His tongue glides through your folds, dipping down into your pussy to lap at your slick, a groan leaves Johnny’s mouth at the taste of you on his tongue, it’s all he’s been wanting for days but he was respecting the fact that you had to work but he couldn’t do it any longer. He just needed a taste.

You lay back in your chair allowing you to watch as Johnny lazily circles your clit with his tongue, flicking it before sucking it back into his mouth. Moans and sobs leave your mouth as you grip onto Johnny's hair, bucking your hips up into his face as he flattens his tongue against your folds dipping back down into your pussy. 

Pulling away to coat his fingers in your slick before he pushes two of his thick digits inside of you, stretching you out around them. Curling them up inside of you before latching back onto your clit. His fingers move in time with his tongue as he flicks and sucks at the sensitive bundle of nerves in his mouth.

“Johnny!” You whine, your thighs squeezing around his head as he brings you barreling towards your release. 

“I know, come for me, mama” Johnny mutters against your pussy, only just loud enough for you to hear. His fingers pump into you as you cum all over them, clamping down around them before your body slumps in the chair. 

Johnny emerges from underneath the desk sucking his fingers clean of your release, with a big smirk plastered across his face. 

“You better hurry up with that email.” He says, signalling down to the obvious tent that has formed in his trousers before leaving the room. 

[cumikering]

Gym bro Soap x reader 3 (end)

3.7k | fluff You never had to ask again (part 1)

It was close to three months before you saw each other again.

Johnny was on the incline bench with his weights when you called his name. He froze. Nobody needed to know that soft voice still made him weak.

“H- Hi.” He turned to you, placing his dumbbells on the ground before searching your eyes. “I hope you’ve been alright.”

It felt forever ago, since the last time he saw your smile or heard you laugh at his lame jokes, since the last time you made tea at his. It had been forever since you wounded his heart.

“I have. I hope you are too.” Your gaze dropped to your feet.

“Aye. I’m fantastic, of course.”

“Right. Um- well, I didn’t mean to disturb.” You took a step back. “Sorry, I’ll leave you to it.”

You walked away before he could protest. He took a beat before picking his weights back up, surprised by the wave of emotions that rushed back from the innocent exchange.

He wasn’t facing the door so you could have walked out if you wanted to avoid him, but you went out of your way to greet him. Were you trying to be friendly? Why was it only a hello before you rushed away? Did you change your mind?

It was stupid, but he would be lying if he said he’d stopped thinking about you, let alone missing you. He wondered about how you were doing, about work and your fitness progress. How had you been shopping without him driving you? It was too far of a walk to carry your groceries.

But you must have already found someone. Any man would want you, and would claim you as his you as soon as he could – the way Johnny never had the balls to. He should have spat out the flickering hope out of his mouth and extinguish it under his heavy boot, so why was he walking over to you on the elliptical after he finished his set?

“I was wondering if ye’d like to get dinner? Just to catch up a bit?”

You should tell him he was insane, and break his heart once and for all. Maybe then he could finally let go.

But you smiled so gratefully at him instead. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Did he hear you right? He wasn’t helping himself, but he was a hurting man with a hole in the shape of you in his chest.

You spotted each other. It unwedged something from his chest, like a dead clock finally moving its rusted hands once more. Working out alone could never compare, and the satisfied smile on your face after each set still made him swell with pride.

Half an hour after the session, Johnny knocked on your door before strolling to the nearby kebab shop. He willed himself to not get ahead of himself, for his heart to stop fluttering as he pondered what the dinner meant – the dinner that hadn’t happened yet.

“Have you got a deployment coming up?” You glanced at him.

“Not yet. I just came back last week, was away fer almost a month.”

“And you’re alright? Not hurt?”

“Bruises here an’ there, but nothing time can’t fix.” He clasped a hand over his chest.

“You got a new haircut,” you noted, nodding at his hair.

“Och, aye.” He ruffled his short hair with a chuckle. “I… I needed the change. Somethin’ easier t’maintain.”

He used to enjoy standing out with his mohawk, but if you weren’t looking, it didn’t matter. He only wanted your attention.

“The beard too?”

He’d forgotten he’d let his stubble grow out. Was it ugly?

He rubbed a self-conscious hand down the side of his face. “Just tryin’ things out. Not sure I’ll keep it.”

“You look different, but I like it.”

He averted his gaze from your reassuring smile and continued his steps.

He let you split the bill that night, already thankful you said yes to dinner. At the table in the far corner, you popped open your meal.

”Erm- I finished the papercraft. I messed up a few times and had to paint over some parts so it took forever.”

“I hope you like how it turned out.”

“I do. It’s real pretty. I can take a photo fer ye.”

“I’d like that.”

That smile made his stomach flip again so he shoved another bite into his mouth. What kind of voodoo hold did you have on him? Someone please smack Johnny across the face, because how dare he fantasise that this was another Friday night date with his missus when before this, you hadn’t even spoken for over two months.

He cleared his throat. “Hav’ ye been? To Edinburg Castle?”

“No, which is weird come to think of it.” You laughed. “I love castles and Scotland isn’t even that far.”

“How so?”

“Oh, I guess I just never had a reason to go.”

“Well, it’s beautiful this time of year. Maybe my maw’s stew can be it,” he pretended to tease. Pretended, because how mad would you be if you knew he meant it?

You let out a small laugh as you held his gaze. “Maybe.”

Did you miss me too? The words threaten to claw up his throat and he forced them down with another sip of his drink.

You probably only spoke to him because it’d been long enough, thinking he’d have moved on. You wouldn’t think he was pathetic if you knew the truth, would you? That he was close to tears from how much his bones hopelessly ached for this, and how natural it was to be with you even after the void.

After the meal, he dawdled. Would time sit down and catch its breath? It didn’t have to hurry, really. His chest had just stopped bleeding, and he wanted to be here a little longer before it poured again.

He told himself to not think that maybe you lingered too. That you leaned back with that shy smile and toyed with the straw of your empty cup, pretty lashes flicking as your gaze went between his eyes and the floor… Like looking into his eyes too long would shift the stars and make you change your mind.

He didn’t mind at all.

Alas, the shop had to close. Johnny let out a resigned sigh as he pushed the glass door open of you, accepting that the magic would vaporise with your exit. At least he’d had another taste – his last. Maybe it would be easier now. Maybe in a few more months, it didn’t have to hurt anymore.

He dragged his feet to yours, bracing for the finality of the goodbye. His chest had started to ache again. The way you looked at him with a smile that didn’t reach your eyes – was that sympathy? Like an unspoken agreement that this was a bad idea all along, like this was only dragging the pain on.

Still, to him, it was not one to regret.

But the doormat squelched when you stepped onto it.

“Erm- hen?” He pointed at the puddle seeping from under your door.

You gasped and promptly unlocked your door, only to discover your flat pooled in an inch of water.

He hurried to the bathroom, learning that a trickle of clear water poured from the ceiling. “Shit, I think yer neighbour’s got a burst pipe or somethin’.”

“Oh, no, no no…” You ran a hand over your face. “I can’t afford the repairs.”

He grabbed you by the shoulders, eyes trained on yours. “Hey, it’s not yer fault. Call the landlord.”

Meanwhile, Johnny got your belongings off the floor. Thankfully, the water hadn’t ruined anything apart from the carpeted floors.

Your landlord lived a few floors down and promptly inspected the flat above yours. Your neighbour wasn’t home, but his sink’s pipe had burst and flooded his place too. The landlord assured you that the building was insured and that you didn’t have to pay for damages. If any, you were covered for yours.

She moved you to another flat, a bigger one for the same price, for how bad she felt. However, it was freshly renovated so it needed a major clean and some furniture hadn’t been moved back in yet.

You figured you could spend another night in your soggy flat, but Johnny insisted it couldn’t have been good for you, especially not in the weather. He promised to help you move the day after.

He could tell you wanted to say no, but the exhaustion gripping your shoulders made you pack your necessities for the night without a fight. When you said you’d take the couch, he firmly told you to take the bed. How could he let you have anything less than the best? It was the least he could do in such a misfortune.

While you cleaned yourself up, he hurried to tidy his room and change his sheets. Later when he emerged with a bundle of dirty sheets and shirts he’d picked up off the floor, you were at the kitchen counter, your back to him.

“Sorry fer the mess, but the room is good t’go now.”

You turned with a smile. “Thanks, Johnny, really. Here, I made you tea.” When you placed his mug on the table, you paused, gaze fixed on it.

When he realised what you’d seen, he sprinted to the dining table where he’d been sketching that afternoon. He didn’t plan on meeting you today, let alone have you in his flat.

“Aw, no, no- fuck.” He scurried to shut his sketchbook, clutching it to his chest with hot cheeks. He looked up at you, a stunned or perhaps even pained expression across your face. “I- I swear it’s nothin’ weird! I can throw em’ out-”

“Who’s that?”

“What?” he said incredulously.

“Who’s that, that you drew? Is she…” Your eyes darted to the ground before you continued in a small voice, “Are you seeing her?”

He blinked. Did you think it was someone else?

“I fockin’ wish I was!” He tilted the sketch he was working on towards you, the one where he was supposedly cupping your smiling face, mindless doodles of hearts piled in the corner of the page. “It’s you!”

“No, I don’t look like that… It’s not me.”

“Did ye just insult my drawing prowess?”

He flipped back to a page of smaller sketches from your last dinner. It was the night his lovelorn mind kept drifting off too, the only time you dressed up for him, the closest he had been to having you.

He did a full body sketch of your outfit. Next to it, you at the table across him with the prettiest smile. He drew each dish, even the one you didn’t like, as he didn’t want to forget a thing from that perfect moment.

“She’s beautiful,” you muttered, eyes softening as you took in the illustration.

“Because you are. I love looking at you. I love drawing you,” he confessed. “But I guess yer too busy avoiding me to care.”

Your eyes met his blue ones as your shoulders sagged. “Johnny…”

“M’ sorry. I wasn’t trying to make ye feel bad.” He closed his book again with a sigh. “But if I’m honest, it hurts. A lot. But at least yer not leading me on, so I’m just… trying to forget.” He chuckled humourlessly as he shook his head. “It’s stupid how I can’t stop liking ye.”

“You like me?” you repeated.

His brows furrowed. “Isn’t that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“No! Oh God-�� You held your hand over your mouth. “I was… I started liking you too much and I had to stop before it was too late, because you don’t like me like that.”

“Me? I don’t like ye!?” He pointed at himself. “Who the fuck said that?”

“Well, no one, but-“

“I can say with certainty ah’ve never not liked ye.”

You paused before your gaze shifted to the mug in your hand. “I didn’t think it would matter to you.“

“Of course it matters, hen.” He rounded the table and placed his hand over yours, lowering the mug onto the table. “It hurts, losing ye like tha’.”

“I’m sorry, Johnny. I didn’t mean to,” you mumbled.

“So do ye still like me or not? Because I like you a lot.”

You couldn’t meet his baby blues, but you gave a small nod as you supressed a smile.

He set the sketchbook down, a grin forming on his lips. “Will you finally let me hug you now?”

You reached out for his hand, your touch feather-light as you stepped in. He wrapped his arms around you with a content sigh. You felt better than what he’d always imagined – softer, warmer. He didn’t let go for a few moments as he smiled to himself, still not believing his mind-boggling luck that you liked him.

With his lungs full of your scent, he pulled away to cup your smiling face, just like in his last sketch. It was perfect in his rough hand. Was he allowed to touch something so beautiful with it?

He didn’t expect you to lean in as your eyes locked with his, but it was second nature to pull you closer. Your lips against his made his knees tremble. When your hot tongue swiped across his lower lip, goosebumps broke out on his arms. You lit him up with a zap up his spine.

His lips parted as he let out a noise, something between a gasp and a moan. Another pathetic whimper escaped him when his tongue swirled with yours. He could only hold onto you tighter as he melted against you.

This was how it was supposed to be like all along.

When he pulled away, he couldn’t help but bring his fingertips to his wet lips. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Was tha’ real or am I dreamin’?”

“Kiss me again, Johnny,” you said breathlessly, cupping his bearded jaw.

“You never have to ask again.”

Johnny didn’t think it would ever come to this, but you and him became the gym couple.

“Can I get a kiss for every sit-up, hen?”

“Bon, let’s make out between sets.”

“Do ye want to see how many times I can hip-thrust yer weight, love?”

You’d giggle, swatting his arm as he gave you a smug grin. But you were the one he pressed up against the far wall of the deserted gym, your hips squirming against his.

“So glad there’s no cameras here,” he muttered between kisses.

“I still would prefer no possibility of someone walking in.”

“Everyone knows not to walk in when we’re here.”

It was true. People didn’t take long to learn to give you space, lest the muscular Scot stared them down. That, and he imagined it was rather awkward to witness him smack your butt not-so discreetly.

You laughed against his lips, pinching his ass lightly.

“Ye know I like it when ye do that harder, bon.”

He should start wearing oversized shirts that hung past his groin again. He didn’t need a compression shirt anymore when he could rip his shirt off anytime to tempt you now that you were his - in the privacy of his or your flat of course.

Before his next deployment, Johnny gave you his key and let you drive his car in case you needed it. When he came back two weeks later, you greeted him with a new papercraft kit. He didn’t have enough time to thank you because he dove right into your lips. Did you have any idea how much he missed you?

Spending time at his sketching or crafting became a nightly routine as you joked and chatted about the day.

Across him, you hunched, laser-focused on attaching the conical roof to one of the castle towers with a pair of tweezers. The way you furrowed your brows in concentration always made him smile.

“Hen,” he said again, finally gaining your attention as you looked up at him. “I said I can take a leave next month.”

“Oh, how long? Have you got anything planned?”

“I wantae take ye t’see the real thing.” He nodded at the half-built Glamis castle in the middle of the table.

The smile bloomed on your lips. “Are you serious?”

“Aye, of course.”

“That would be wonderful.”

He shifted his attention to the piece of paper in his hand. “Ye know, I could- if you want to see my home, meet the rest of my family… Maybe have my maw’s stew.” When you didn’t respond, his eyes flicked up to your warm ones.

“I’d love to, Johnny,” you muttered.

He gave you a relieved smile and you continued the activity until you called it a day. You washed the tea set as he put away the papercraft.

He watched you for a moment, your back to him at the sink wearing one of his shirts. It was a familiar sight, you in his flat. It was silly, but even after hours of being with you, he grew clingy when it inched closer to bedtime on weekdays as it meant you had to go back to yours.

While he was grateful for each night spent in each other’s arms, it was never enough. These walls had never been this much like home before you. It was your home too, wasn’t it?

He shouldn’t have asked. He didn’t want to scare you or make you uncomfortable, but his heart belonged to you. How could he not be honest?

“Love,” he placed a gentle hand on your hip. “Would you consider moving in with me? It doesn’t have to be anytime soon, but later on. In the future, whenever you want to.”

You turned to him with a teasing smile. “You sure you won’t get sick of me?”

“Never, bon,” he said under his breath. “I’ll take care of rent, and you can use the savings to take that course you always wanted.”

You held his gaze for another beat. “I’ll only consider if we split rent.”

“In that case, I’ll just have to find more ways to spoil you.”

He planted a kiss on your forehead, making you smile. He’d make sure you’d never think of him as anything less than the best boyfriend.

Johnny couldn’t stop bouncing as you boarded the train to Scotland. He hadn’t been able to wipe that grin off his face either.

“I’m so excited, bon.” He gripped your hand with two of his, holding it against his chest as his eyes sparkled. “My maw’s going to love ye.”

Under the clear blue skies, the city tapered into a line as the train bolted through vast grasslands.

You turned to him with a small laugh. “Why are you saying that as if I don’t know her, like she hasn’t been giving us cooking lessons on video call?”

“Ah, well, that’s true.” He shrugged. “But she’s gonnae love ye even more. And my niece and nephews.”

“I can’t wait to meet them.”

“They grow so fast, some could only sit on my lap last year. Don’t know if they still can this time.”

“What if I also want to sit on your lap?”

He grinned. “There’s always space for ye between my legs.”

Johnny took you to his nan’s to meet his extended family, which included his niece and nephews who were devastated that their favourite uncle didn’t have a mohawk anymore. Looking at the dejection in their little cute faces, of course he promised he would return with it next time.

His mum and aunts gushed over how sweet you were together. His cousins included you in the conversation, asking about your itinerary in Scotland and recommending spots to check out. Of course they’d also asked how you two met. They weren’t surprised you found the rat in the gym.

After lunch, the energised kids took Johnny and you by the hand to the backyard to play. Because he’d been bench pressing you, he could swing the kids around as they latched onto his arms and legs, shrieking in glee. The others formed a line for their turn with a giggle while you gave his niece a piggyback ride.

Before heading back home, Johnny gave you a tour of the town. It was quiet, but he showed you his schools, the hip places he and his friends frequented as teens and the football field he used to play on. Lastly, he drove past his first ever gym - the one that started it all.

“Tha’ fine summer day when I was 15th, I decided I needed t’carry all my maw’s shoppin’ in a go,” he lamented in front of the small building. “Mr. Russel’s the owner. He was always so nice, gave me free protein shake every Saturday. He was so proud when SAS accepted me.”

You unbuckled your seatbelt. “Alright, let’s go.”

“Wha’?”

“I know you’ve been itching to lift. Come on.” You climbed out of the car.

He followed with a grin. Perpetually dressed in athleisure clothing had its perks. “This is why I love ye, hen.”

Mr. Russell was scribbling behind the desk when the door swung open.

“Hiya, welcome-“ His face lit up when he saw the sergeant. “Johnny!”

“Good t’see ya, Mr. Russell.”

The middle-aged man patted his shoulder firmly, looking him over with pride. “Looking huge, pal. Are you following a new split?”

“Ta, mate, but it’s the same as always.” He grinned. “Giza day pass, would ye?”

“Don’t be daft, Mactavish! Yer free t’walk in whenever.” He swatted his hand and turned to you. “An’ who’s the lady?”

“Och, sorry, this is m’friend.“ He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and shot you a teasing smile.

You frowned, but immediately recovered with a smile. “We’re super best friends actually, and flatmates. Nice to meet you.”

He laughed, his thumb rubbing your shoulder. “No, she’s ma pretty burd. We’re staying fer the weekend.”

“Hope ye enjoy yer stay, miss.” Mr. Russell chuckled along. “Go ahead then. Have a good session ye two!”

Past the turnstile gate, your hand slipped down to pinch his butt making him jump.

Yeah, he should stop teasing you in public, or at least wear baggy shirts when he did it.

Masterlist

Thank you so much for sticking around until the end :D I'm grateful for the support this fic has got, always enjoy writing for you guys. Hope to see you around again. Take care!

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[buttdumplin]

Polariods Pt 2: You’ve got intense baby fever and Simon makes a complete meal out of it, especially now that he’s got his trusty camera.

cw: poly 141, afab gn!reader, breeding, handjobs, this one has a lot more of the boys amongst themselves

word count: 1.8k

Part 1

One of Simon’s favorite polaroids is from a spontaneous session. It’s the night of your solo date and you’re both getting settled for bed when you reach over to him with a whisper.

“Can I confess something?”

“Anything,” he’s worried he messed up on your date, missed something or overstepped a boundary.

“I’m drowning in baby fever.”

He blinks at you, all the tension in his body suddenly gone.

“Do you… want to go raw? I know we haven-”

Simon’s on you with a bruising kiss before you can finish. The sheets are ripped aside and you can feel his fingers dig at the flesh of your hips as he scrambles to get your clothes off. He grunts and pushes at your knee with his to get you to lift so he can slide your bottoms off before he rips them, and you quickly oblige.

You’re laughing against his mouth when he finally pauses. He sits back up to look you over, his panting loud, the tent in his gray sweatpants proud and straining. Once he’s made sure you’re okay, that you do actually want this, he reaches for the little pink camera from the nightstand.

“Yes,” he finally answers, “and I’ll keep going until it takes.”

You gasp and immediately the flash goes off. He’s captured you perfectly: a high blush on your cheeks, your sweet lips parted in surprise, eyes shining with hope.

Simon does keep that photo secret for a while. He knows for a fact you haven’t asked the same of the other boys yet, still a bit too shy to bring it up casually. The picture, he thinks, serves as a reward for being so patient and careful with you as he’s taken the polaroids. He’ll let himself be a little selfish with it, at least for a short while. The boys won’t hear a fucking peep about this from him, not until he’s gotten your express permission to do so.

Once you give him the green light, he takes his time, going after the boys when they least expect it. He wants maximum effect, after all. He’ll meet with one of the boys per week, swearing them to secrecy, wanting to keep the suspense and surprise for each of them. And each time, he comes back to report their reactions in exquisite detail.

~

He is watching a movie with Kyle when he tells him. It’s just the two of them, snuggled together on the couch, Kyle’s head resting on his chest. The movie was innocent enough, one they’d seen a handful of times already, though it had quickly become a source of comfort. Simon launches directly into it.

“They want a baby.”

Kyle leans up enough to look Simon in the eye. He instantly thinks Simon is talking about you, but he forces himself to slow his thoughts a moment. Surely it’s his own hopeful thinking, his own desires speaking. The hesitation is clear on his face.

Kyle whimpers, his heart pounding so hard that Simon must be able to feel it against his own chest.

Simon pulls out the picture from his pocket, knowing it’ll answer everything for him. Kyle isn’t even thinking when he takes the photo from him, the snatching making Simon chuckle. He stares at the polaroid silently, eyes moving to take in every inch of you in it. When he turns to Simon again, the sweet warmth of his eyes has been swallowed by blown pupils. He licks his lips slowly, pressing his throbbing cock into Simon’s thigh. Poor boy got so hard so fast it must have hurt.

“I know, sweet boy,” Simon coos, “You’ll get your turn.”

“You can practice on me in the meantime,” he whispers into Kyle’s ear.

Two days later, Kyle is handed a polaroid of his own. Your hair is splayed out on the pillow, your mouth slightly open, your eyebrows turned up in what he knows must have been you begging, and your hand wrapped around the base of your neck. Shadows hide the rest of the image, but he’s already fully aware of what’s there. He asks Simon to repeat every detail of your reaction over and over again as he palms himself through his pants.

“Let me help you with that, love,” he gently pries Kyle's hands away.

~

Johnny is fresh out of the shower, hair still dripping and a towel that’s definitely too short wrapped around his waist, when Simon tells him. He’s pulling socks from a drawer, his back is turned to the room, when Simon speaks.

“They asked me to fuck them raw. Fill them up.”

Johnny whips around, some droplets flying to hit Simon gently in the face. He chuckles as he wipes his face, not missing the sound of Johnny stomping towards him. He opens his eyes to see Johnny’s towel barely hanging on, his cock now straining against the material and pulling at the easy knot at his hip. Simon takes the picture out of his pocket to show him, describing what exactly led to the moment he captured. There’s a quick flash of jealousy in those sharp eyes, desire temporarily blinding him to the fact that he’ll get to participate as well. Johnny takes a big steadying breath.

“No contraception at all?”

“None.”

He sees Johnny’s body tense, muscles clenching and releasing, his body swaying a bit from barely being able to restrain himself from lunging towards the living room where he knows you are. In the back and forth, the knot of the towel gives up, exposing what little it was hiding to Simon’s eyes. He can clearly see Johnny’s cock twitch with excitement, a fat pearl of precum already at his tip. Simon wraps his big hands around Johnny’s hips, forcing him the few steps forward to lick at his slit. Johnny hisses at the attention, hands fluttering at his sides until Simon grabs one of them and brings it to the back of his head.

“Give it to me for now,” and Johnny is lost.

Two days later, Johnny’s polaroid is delivered. Shadows keep their secrets again, but he can very clearly see you sitting and leaning towards the camera, breasts pushed forward and arms holding you up, lips swollen from kissing and glossy with spit, an eager smile on your face. Even with the brightness of the flash, your irises are completely gone. After long moments of admiring the photo, Johnny crushes his mouth to Simon’s, pulling him down and shoving him onto the bed to straddle Simon himself.

~

John is the last one to receive his. Simon knows exactly how explosive his reaction will be, so he wants to give John all the time he needs. It’s just the two of them in the kitchen, finishing up the last touches of cleaning before tucking in for the night. Simon waits until he sees John no longer has something fragile in his hands when he pulls out the polaroid. John’s interest is immediate and undeniable, hands clenching and yearning to touch. Seeing you half naked will always cause that reaction in him. But then Simon speaks.

“Wants to be bred. Properly.”

His head snaps up to look at Simon, eyes looking for even the slightest hint of this being a prank or a joke of some kind. When Simon gives a small nod and smiles down at him, John finally lets the words sink in. He looks back at the photo, his sharp inhale loud in the empty room. His chest swells, holding his breath from the excitement of just hearing it and having it confirmed. Simon can’t help himself. He gently nudges John’s face back up, pulling him in for a needy kiss.

“We all get a turn,” he says into John’s lips, drawing a long moan out of him.

Simon well knows John will never make a move without explicit consent, so he wants to make things as clear as possible so John can enjoy this. He can already feel John’s cock hard against his own, but he wants the man to fully have this moment.

“You’re next,” he presses the words to John’s neck, and the older man’s knees nearly give out.

Simon wraps him up in his arms and lifts John onto the counter, making quick work of his captain’s belt. John’s panting breaths are loud above him as Simon bites and sucks at the flesh of his neck. He doesn’t give his back a second thought as he bends lower to take John’s nipple into his mouth, using his teeth to graze it lightly, and sucking hard, just as he knows John loves. John’s already lost in the moment and Simon can see it. His own actions and the sheer potential of these news overwhelming John with desire. Still, Simon can do more for him. He reaches down with calloused hands, teasing John’s cock through his boxers, fingers focusing on the growing wet spot over his tip.

“So sticky for me already. Gonna stuff ‘em full, aren’t you?”

Simon spends the rest of the night with both of their cocks in his hand, making John cum over and over again, telling him about the lovely little sounds you make as you take his cum.

Two days later, Simon gives John his photo, the pride in his walk evident. John almost wanted to take the photo himself, but he wouldn’t dream of overstepping. He’s well aware that this serves as a bonding ritual for you and Simon. He’s also not sure he could trust himself to be able to still snap the picture.

John’s picture is of you already flushed and messy, hair clearly having had hands running through, eyes shining with unshed tears, and the single most euphoric smile he’s ever seen on your face, even with your bottom lip bitten raw. The base of the photo wrinkles a tiny bit in his grip, even as John holds himself back, not letting his own hunger crush the precious item. He takes in a big gulp of air, and launches himself towards the bedroom where he knows you’re waiting for him. John’s a man on a mission now, and he’s going to do everything he can to recreate the image with you. Maybe add a couple of his own marks on your skin along the way.

Once he’s able to take a break and give you a breather, John goes back to thank Simon by dropping to his knees and taking that big cock down his throat.

And they won't say it, because they don't need to, but one of their favorite parts of their pictures is the fact that it's clear Simon is fucking you senseless in every single one of them. He may not be in the pictures, but they don't need to see him to recognize his handiwork.

AN: Bless the saint that is @mikichko, she's seen this in every stage and was always beautifully encouraging. I appreciate the fuck outta you, girl.

Pictures of the boys are next.

[henwinchesters]

╰ CAPTAIN MCTAVISH is not some pillow princess. Sure he likes to be taken care of every now and then but he prefers having you tied to the bed while he bounces on your cock like a whore in heat. Letting you lie almost useless while he takes what he needs from you. Being a Captain is stressful, so you’ll allow him this once, and it’s not like you, a sergeant, have much of a say in the matter anyway right?

He gets off to your pathetic whines, the calling of his title. He will make you beg for it, tell him exactly what you want and he may give it to you. Mctavish’s thighs work overtime, hole keeping a nice snug fit around your cock—your pelvis damn near bruising with every drop of his hips and he won’t stop until he’s full of your cum, full of you.

Even if you were to pass out from the many orgasms he’s managed to pull, you’ll wake up with your cock in his mouth—those piecing blue eyes staring you down as he manages to grin with you nestled deep down his throat. The captain will pull off and jerk your spit soaked cock, letting his tonge drag along the sensitive veins.

“c’mon mate. we’re not done yet, you can keep goin’ for me can’t you?”

© HENWINCHESTERS ™

[v1x3n]

T O Y S

꒰ PAIRING : johnny 'soap' mctavish x reader.

꒰ SYNOPSIS : your boyfriend strapped you to the bed and punished you! how cruel is he! didn't even give you his cock!

꒰ TAGS : smut - toys : vibrator, dildo, nipples clamps. tying up, dubcon filming / recording (?), punishment, no penetration, overstimulation, praise.

navigation ⸝⸝ kinktober masterlist ⸝⸝ taglist

You could hear your boyfriends laugh as you weep out, trying to free yourself from the rope that holds your hands to the frames of the bed, your ankles in the same position, you try to wiggle but the restraints halt you. A vibrator strapped to your clit and a large dildo daring to escape your wet pussy, your eyes are covered with  a blindfold - not that you would be able to see anyways with the way tears flooded your eyes from both the lack of intimacy and the overstimulation. 

Your swollen nipples sting as Johnny's fingers hold onto the dangling nipple clamps, pulling them up and stretching your sore nubs. You whine and squirm, the pain jolting through your body. Tears wetten the blindfold even more as you hear the man, who you assume is ligering above you right now, laugh - again. “So pretty” he hums, letting go of the clamp and trailing his fingers along your  stomach. His digits moving over te bulge from the dildo deep inside of you. “J-johnny!” you whimper out, spit drooling from your lips.

Your body twitches as he turns up the vibrator using an app on his phone, your body jerks and back arches. Trying to get away from the buzzing that stimulates your overstimulated clit. Due to your wriggling the dildo slips, falling from your crying cunt. “Anyways, m thinking of going on a walk, so I'll be back, Bonnie,” he smirks and bends down to kiss your head. You gulp and shake your head, “w-wait no p-please” you sputter out, the vibrations running through you as your wetness drools down your arse. Probably staining the bed but right now neither of you cared. 

“Be a good girl” he smirks after grabbing the end of the dildo and shoving it so deep inside of you. You felt it deep inside of your guts, your eyes rolling back when it hit your gooey spot. Body twitches and your hands try to clench onto the bed sheets. You whimper out whilst your legs quiver, “d-dont- dont leave plea- hah!!” your spit pools beside you as your too fucked out to stop it! 

“You know the safe word” Johnny tells you before you can hear the door click closed, your tears fall and your face is left with a sticky mess of snot, saliva and tears. Its disgusting but it still made your boyfriends cock so fucking hard. 

He stands outside of the bedroom,, the door closed, looking down at the straining bulge that pokes from his trousers. Picking up his phone and opening the app connected to the camera inside of the room. He can see the way your legs squirm around, trying to close to slow down the repetitive pleasure but due to your ankles tied - you were unsuccessful. Your whines fill out the room, the sound of your pained moans echoing through the device. 

Everything was too much. The clamps that held your nipples so tightly, if it were any more painful it would turn your nubs into smush. The vibrator that stuck to your swollen clit, the sensitive bundle of nerves too overworked, the buzz buzz buzzing sending pleasure through your tired body. The dildo that was lodged inside of your guts, the feeling of being so full but not being pleasured by penetration was harsh, he knew you loved him fast and hard, but not moving at all was so horrible! And finally your tied up ankles and wrists, unable to do anything but take the punishment your boyfriend gave you. 

You shake your head and cry out loudly, harsh tears striking down your face, “johnnnnyy! Hhng!” your moans fill johnny's ears. All of the toys pulling orgasm after orgasm from you, yes they were orgasms but they felt weak. Johnny knew you couldn't properly cum without him, no matter how many toys he gave you - he trained you that your perfect cunt wouldn't be able to have a good, tiring orgasm without his fingers, tongue or cock. You just want your boyfriend!!

Your body went numb after an hour of constant torture, when you were on the verge of passing out, your eyes blinking shut thats when your body spasms awake when you hear the door opening. Johnny walked through it, shiving slightly due to the cold air outside. “J-johnny , i-is-” you hiccup, “that you?” your breathing was heavy as you felt your boyfriend's warmth next to you, his calloused hand wandering down to the vibrator hooked onto your clit. He quickly takes it off, causing you a gasp. “Been such a good girl” he coos. 

Wetness spewing from your cunt as he pulls out the soken dildo, he looks up at your face, lips bitten by your teeth were shown by the bite marks and then slight red tint. Taking off your blindfold and your eyes blink with tears, “j-johnny” you breathe out, “hiya baby” the man smiles, his hands trailing down to your breasts and the white nipples which were smushed to a rectangle shape. He chuckles and with a fast pace snaps the clamps off, your loud moan crowds his ears and your hips jerk back into the stained sheets.

“Youre so loud” johnny laughs and pulls himself on top of you, leaving the torture devices beside you two, “wanna help me with the mess you made?” he unzips his trousers, the bulging red tip leaking cum through his boxers. Fuck. Did he cum? “Couldn't help myself with the way you moaned and squirmed,” he  hummed, answering your question which you accidentally said aloud. He grabs his phone and shows you the recording of the two hours which you were tied to the bed,  he winks, “pretty little thing, saved it for later.” cheeky. 

[sai-int]

johnny loves taking you prone, savoring the skin-on-skin contact, the effortless way he can press in close, mouth at your ear, breath hot against your neck, drinking in your scent as he ruts into you. his chest flush against your back, the tickle of his course chest hair against your skin

his weight keeps you pinned beneath him, every slow, grinding thrust pressing you further into the mattress. he loves it like this, loves the way you squirm, the way your breath stutters and you clench around him when he mouths at your neck, when his fingers skate down your side, gripping the fat of your hips tight enough to keep you where he wants you, your ass sitting so perfectly as he fucks your dripping cunt

telling you to just take it, milk him dry, bon as he shifts, fucking his cock as deep as you'll let him go. the heat of him surrounds you, his scent, his touch, his low, breathy groans as he fills you up with his seed, how you whimper when he spreads you wide, just to watch how you drip all over his sheets

[tassodelmiele]

- That's the tightest you can do? -

- Stay still, and we'll see -

....

The more I look at it, the more I feel like I culd have gone...spicier?

Maybe next

But first, i need to work with Price again~

[witchthewriter]

Johnny: aw ye had a crush on me? thas embarrasin'

Y/N: ...we're married you shit

Johnny: *leaning against the counter top, looking at his naills* still

[feralforfrank]

task force 141 x fem!reader

they catch you singing. this was requested by the lovely @thicc-plum. hope it lives up to what you expected!

Sundays happened to be the laziest of all days. You usually get out of bed while your boyfriend is out for his morning jog, make breakfast and sing, and by the time he drags his sweaty ass home, his favourite meal is on the table.

Today was no different. You moved to the beat of Love by Keyshia Cole and flipped the half-burned pancake, wincing and placing it in your dear lover's stack. He'd never know.

"Oh, looove! Never knew what I was missing!" You belted the lyrics, using the spatula as a makeshift mic.

—

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY.

He comes in while you're lost in that Keyshia Cole moment and leans in the doorframe, staring.

Simon almost laughs at how long it took to realise you're not alone. He'll scold you later for not paying enough attention to your surroundings. He could've been a dangerous man, for Christ's sake and—

He pushes those thoughts away and just watches you dance and sing. He can't help but smile.

Eventually, your voice cracks and that's enough for him to stop you from bloody deafening him.

"Oi, stop it, already! Bloody hell, your voice is awful."

It takes everything in your startled self not to throw the spatula at him. You watch Simon take his sweater off and fold it like he's grown two heads.

"You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"You almost made me rip my ears out."

A towel smacks his head a second later.

—

JOHN PRICE

Can hear you from the moment he reaches your floor. He laughs to himself, pitying your neighbours.

John walks in and recognises the song that's playing. It's one of your favourites. So, he takes off his shoes and joins you.

He wraps his arms around you, and you jump before you realise who it is. He smells of cigars and coffee, and you wonder if it was he who put the half-empty mug on the sink.

"You scared me, John." You smile.

"I think you scared the pigeons off the window with your singing."

You elbow him, and he kisses you on the neck.

You giggle.

—

KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK

He definitely joins you!

He knows your love for this song is huge and watching you perform while thinking no one is around is adorable.

You jump when a second voice joins in, but a smile spreads on your lips, and you momentarily lose track of the lyrics.

Kyle offers his hand and you take it, allowing him to spin you around and dance with you.

His eyes hold extreme adoration for you as do yours.

When the song ends, you pull him for a kiss, mumbling about how cute he is when he tries to hit the high notes.

He blushes.

—

JOHNNY "SOAP" MACTAVISH

Johnny's a fucking menace ISTG.

He sneaks in the kitchen and due to you having your back turned to him you don't realise he's pulled out his phone and is filming you.

Johnny tries to muffle his laugh at your stance and the grip you have on the spatula/makeshift mic.

Once you realise there's another person in the room with you, you stop, heat creeping up on your ears, face and shoulders.

"Hey," you say meekly.

"Why'd ye stop, popstar? I was enjoyin' the free concert."

You punch his shoulder playfully, eyes widening when you notice the phone in his hands.

"Oh, tell me you didn't film that."

Johnny's wide grin is the only answer you need before you pounce on him, trying to pry the phone from his hands and delete the video.

Soon enough you're wrestling on the couch, and your breakfast is burning.

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

I see Ghoap corrupting innocent, angel-like Reader, but what about Reader corrupting minding-their-own-business Ghoap huh?

What about Reader giving them everything they need to the point that they’ll do anything for her?

What about Reader treating them so so good, treating them with kindness and patience and love, giving them what they’ve never had before, only to turn them into her guard dogs who’ll die (and kill) for her?