#soap x you

[beloveds-embrace]

(dark poly 141 x single pregnant reader, very rushed)

You don’t know when they first appeared in your life. Maybe it was the day at the grocery store when your feet ached, your belly heavy with the weight of your unborn child, and a stranger- a man too broad, too still, lingering in the same aisle as you- offered to load your bags into the car. Maybe it was when you were late getting home from work, the weight of exhaustion pulling at your limbs, and a burly man with sharp, blue eyes and a thick Scottish brogue insisted on walking you to your door, just to “make sure ye got in safe, bonnie.”

Or maybe it was before that, when your landlord suddenly decided not to raise the rent, when the lights in your apartment stopped flickering despite you never calling maintenance.

You don’t know when it started.

But by the time you notice them, it’s too late.

They come in pieces, never all at once. Maybe that’s why your focus never quite catches them when it should’ve.

Johnny is the easiest to trust. He’s warm, friendly, a constant presence that doesn’t seem out of place- until you look back and realize you don’t remember ever properly speaking to him for the first time. He’s always just there, standing behind you in line at the pharmacy, offering to carry your bags when you struggle. He calls you “bonnie” and clicks his tongue when he sees the exhaustion on your face.

“You’re pushin’ yourself too hard, lass.” His voice is teasing, but there’s something firm beneath it, much like his hands on your shoulders. “Should be restin’.”

Then there’s Kyle. He’s the one who keeps showing up at the diner you work at, at first just another regular, but then a fixture in your days. He leaves tips that are too big and stays long after he’s finished his food, asking you questions- small, harmless things.

“How far along are you?”

“Got any family around?”

“You shouldn’t be on your feet all day. You got someone looking after you, love?”

There’s concern in his voice. It feels nice, being cared for, so you don’t let yourself worry about why he asks so many questions.

But you don’t notice the way his eyes track you when you move. The way he listens too closely, storing away every detail you give him.

Simon is a shadow. A presence you feel but never see too clearly. When your apartment door’s lock sticks one night, it’s mysteriously fixed by morning. When your feet swell too much for your shoes, a new, comfortable pair appears in a package at your door- no return address. When you wake up in the middle of the night, you think you hear movement outside your window, but when you check, there’s nothing there.

He introduces himself to you once, silently joining your side when a group of young men had attempted to follow you. You’d been to grateful to consider that he had been following you, as well. And thus, that had been your first meeting as far as you were aware.

And then there’s John. He comes last, when you’re already too exhausted to question why they’re all suddenly in your life.

“You shouldn’t be working like this,” he tells you one night when he shows up at the diner, sitting in your section like he belongs there. He watches you, steady and unshakable, like he’s waiting for you to break. “Not in your condition.”

“My condition?” you scoff, but you’re too tired to be indignant.

“You’re pregnant,” he says simply. “You need to rest.”

You want to rest.

But there’s rent to pay. Bills. A baby coming soon, and no one else to help.

Except, suddenly, there is someone. Maybe more than one person, even if you don’t notice the changes at first because they start so small.

Johnny shows up when you’re struggling with your bags, even when you don’t remember telling him where you’d be. Kyle appears at your work just when you need an extra hand. John tells you he has “connections” when your hours get cut and suddenly, your landlord is more lenient about late payments.

When your doctor’s office calls to confirm your next prenatal appointment, the receptionist mentions your “husband” already checked in about your test results.

You don’t have a husband.

But when you try to ask for details, the woman on the phone just laughs. “Oh, don’t worry- he said everything’s fine. Had a lovely Mancunian accent! You’ve got yourself quite a lovely man, mrs.”

You never get a name, and you don’t know what to do about your suspicions.

And you don’t notice the cameras.

Not when Johnny pulls you into a hug, his hands lingering a little too long on your back. Not when Kyle helps you rearrange your furniture, brushing his fingers against the edges of your walls. Not when John “fixes” your heater, or when Simon sits silently in the corner after he’s given you a teddy bear for your little bean, its eyes beady and gleaming.

But they’re there. Tiny, black dots tucked into the corners of your home. A microphone nestled near the nightstand. A wire running under the couch.

They see you.

They always see you.

You wake up one night to the sound of your apartment door unlocking.

Fear grips you instantly, but before you can move, a voice rumbles in the darkness.

“Shh. It’s just me.”

John. How-?

Your heart is pounding, but he sounds calm. Steady. You hear the door click shut, hear his boots move across your floor, even when you wheeze in fear and press your back against the headboard of your bed.

“You forgot to lock up again.” He says, a quiet reprimand. He was always telling you to do that, but-

“I- I don’t think I did-“

“You did,” he assures you. “Anyone could’ve walked in.”

Like him.

There’s a shift in the air, something heavy settling between you. You swallow hard, pressing a hand to your belly, eyes teary from fright even if he is calm.

John exhales softly, and his face softens. Then, a warm hand rests over yours, heavy and possessive.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he murmurs. “Let us take care of you.”

The words settle into you like a brand, curling around your ribs.

You should say no. Demand what the fuck is going on, why is he here, why them-

But you’re too tired. Too scared.

And his hand is so steady.

[writersdrug]

If you make Johnny a loaf of chocolate banana bread, warm, sweet, dense, and moist (srry), it's like you've put a ring on his finger. He'll watch with a giddy smile, leaning against the counter as you slice off a piece for him (it's his loaf, why can't he just rip off a chunk and eat it?), equally full of adoration and anticipation. That first bite of soft, chocolaty bread has his eyes rolling back, lids closing as a deep, satisfied groan rumbles through his chest. Savors the taste as your face lights up with pride, watching as he shoves another bite into his mouth.

"You like it?"

Hw scoffs. "Gonna get ye a fat, shiny rock for your pretty lil' finger, Christ-"

"That good?!"

"Make me another one 'n I'm puttin' a bairn in ye"

[codnasties]

Massive ghoap vibes here (with ghost being the one doing the deed and soap giving head lol)

https://x.com/guyseatingpussy/status/1885090440975671387?s=19

ghoap x reader 👻🧼 (🌽 link)

it's no secret soap is a horny dog. everyone knows it, especially ghosts, who ends up being on the receiving end of him telling his little sex-capades with whatever poor person happened to end under his big nasty paws.

but for some reason, it seems like johnny has lost his charm because he hasn't been able to get anyone into his bed in some time, and he's getting desperate. and ghost is again on the receiving end, hearing how fucking horny and needy he is.

and that's how he ended there, sitting next to you in bed and simon fucks you, as a mercy from his lieutenant. because he understands how hard it is to not have a sweet thing waiting fot you at home. and also that the seargeant craves the sugary tast of a woman's pussy on his tongue.

bending over the lower half of your body, his beard sratching against your soft skin as his longue flicked at your pulsing clit. all of it while ghost keeps fucking you. that's what he was there for, to eat some pussy. however, when ghost accidentally popped out of your cunt, he couldn't hold himself back from giving his angry red and leaking tip a bit of a suck.

and simon alowed him to. let's say he learnt something new about himself that day.

[rileyreverie]

this has probably been said before but soap is one of those guys that acts like they're dying when they have a slight fever and i will not accept anything that says otherwise

[waves-against-a-cliff]

Soap putting you in a headlock when fucking you into the mattress, his chest against your back as his hips snap against the fat of your ass. You're clawing against his forearm which only makes him chuckle and comment about how feisty you are while he hits so deep inside you that you damn near scream.

Biting down hard enough to leave indents on his bicep and not letting go until he uses his other hand to wrench your head away by your hair with a snarl. Snapping your jaw at him while he stares down with feral blue eyes, "Ye wannae play rough?"

[sprout-fics]

Soap being bitten by a weird looking attack dog on mission and does the usual rabies shots treatment/whatever. All his tests came back fine so he's not really worried about it.

It's just that....

Was he always this hairy? Like yeah sure he's never been sleek exactly, always had a dense bit of hair across his arms, legs, and torso. But recently it feels thicker, coarser.

Did you start wearing a new perfume? Weird he didn't notice until now. It smells amazing on you, he can't help but bury his face in your neck given any chance to do so, nibbles at your neck as you giggle and swat at him.

Everything's louder now. He mentions to Price that he can hear conversations from three offices over, and Price just shrugs and asks why he's complaining- his hearing has been damaged by so many close proximity explosions. Maybe it's just healed on its own somehow.

He keeps having to trim his nails for some reason, and doesn't miss Ghost's weird, observant stare as he sits next to the trash bin for the third time that week trimming his toenails. "Giving yerself a pedicure, Johnny?"

He's so hungry all the time. Gaz jokes he's going through a growth spurt the way he devours his meals, piles on the protein and craves red meat. Soap tells himself he was planning on going on a high-protein diet anyways so he can bulk out a little, so it's not really an issue.

You complain about the love bites he gives you, how he's biting harder than he should, and Soap swears up and down he isn't. The welts on your neck and shoulders tell a different story though, and when you frown at him Soap whines, wanting to tuck a tail he doesn't have under him in apology.

It's weird, but it's mostly explainable.

That is, until the next full moon, when you wake in the darkness of your bedroom to the low, dangerous growl of something wild and feral as he slowly creeps up your body and lets instinct take root.

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Price, texting: Can you come collect your freak of a boyfriend please Price: He's doing things Y/N: No I set him loose on purpose Y/N: He needs enrichment

[littlelunababi]

Dating Mctavish 🧼

I imagine he’d be just a bit tame at first. He didn’t want to scare you off with his antics. He’d be a gentleman nonetheless. He’d hold and open doors, help you with your heels, all the works because he’s in love.

He would then, start getting comfortable, and you’d see he’s a bit of a tease and an asshole, but you love it though. It’s kinda cute when he does it.

I also feel like he’d be handy and handsy. The door is squeaking? No problem, but he WILL grab a handful of your ass on the way to fix it. And on the way back to grab his tools, after seeing what he needed. And when he finished. And when he went to put his tools away.

I also feel like he’d be the type to DOG you out and count that as one round, and be ready to go again. Like- you cannot tell me his drive and stamina are not high.

He would have your hands pinned above your head, your legs wrapped around his waist as he fucks you into the broken bed. He’d bite your neck and lips before kissing you. He’d mutter in his accent too, “ya feel tha? Yeah? It’s makin’ ya drool Bonnie”, and trust he licked it right up too.

After you both came, he would slide between your legs and eat you quite literally like a starved dog. You’d grip his hair trying to pull him away, your cunt raw and sensitive but nothing is stoping this man, not unless you actually tell him to and you haven’t so.. womp womp.

Later, you’d be lying with your legs spread, letting the air cool your freshly cleaned body and sore cunt. He’d be grinning at you. Not at all sorry at your state and quite ready to worsen it. Yes, he’s addicted, and no, he can’t get enough, and yes he is a hound about it.

One thing he would LOVE though, is when you’re both in bed, and you ask him stories about some of his missions. More so, the blowing up bits. His eyes always sparkled a little when talking about it.

A cute little pyro-puppy 🥹

[beloveds-embrace]

(Poly 141 x neighbour!reader: the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach! (Or in your case, the way to four men’s heart is through their stomach))

It started with cookies.

You’d been in the middle of baking a double batch- oatmeal chocolate chip, your personal favorite- and realized halfway through scooping them onto the tray that you’d made far too many for one person. It wasn’t unusual. Baking was how you coped with stress, and ever since you’d moved into this apartment building, stress had been in no short supply.

The guy in 4A had blared music all night. Your hot water barely lasted five minutes. And your smoke detector had developed a habit of chirping at odd hours.

But there was one bright spot- your neighbors in 4C.

You’d seen them coming and going. Tall, broad, and always carrying duffel bags that looked far too heavy to be legal. They kept odd hours, too, but never caused trouble. One of them- Johnny, you’d learned later- had even held the door open for you when your arms were full of groceries.

Which was why you’d stood outside their door that evening, balancing a plate of cookies and feeling like an idiot as you knocked.

Not-Johnny had answered first, blinking down at you in surprise, though his smile was warm and he was beautiful. You couldn’t blame him; you had barely spoken to them more than a few short words.

“Uh… hi?”

“Hi.” You forced a smile. “I’m your neighbor from 4B. I, uh… made too many cookies?”

His eyes dropped to the plate immediately, and you swore you saw something primal flicker behind them. Still, you worried.

“I mean, if you don’t want-”

“No! No, we want. Come in- Johnny! Get over here!”

And that was how it started.

The second time had been lasagna.

You’d just finished assembling it when you realized- again- that you’d made too much. So, after psyching yourself up for ten minutes, you’d knocked on their door for the second time in as many weeks.

Price, who had introduced himself along wuth Simon the day you dropped off the cookies, had answered that time, his expression guarded until he saw the foil-covered pan in your hands.

“You’re joking,” he’d said, but when you started to retreat, he’d stopped you with a firm, but gentle hand on your back. He had such a nice, big hand. “Don’t be ridiculous, lovie. Get in here.”

That night, you’d sat at their table, sharing stories and laughter while they cleaned the dish down to the last crumb.

After that, it became routine.

You started “testing recipes,” and they became your eager guinea pigs.

And they never seemed to mind.

And now…

The smell hit first- roasted garlic, browned butter, and something rich simmering low and slow. It snuck out from the slightly cracked kitchen window and spilled into the shared hallway of the apartment building. For men used to MREs and takeout, it was practically siren song.

Gaz was the first to notice, lingering just outside the door labeled 4B- your door- with an almost predatory focus. He wasn’t proud of it, but his stomach growled so loud that Soap- rounding the corner with a gym bag slung over his shoulder- laughed outright.

“You stalking the neighbor again?”

“Shut up. You smell that?”

Soap inhaled deeply. His eyes fluttered shut for a beat before snapping open.

“Jesus wept- what is that?!”

“I don’t know, but I’m this close to knocking.” Kyle held up his fingers, barely an inch apart.

“She already fed us last week, mate. Dinna push it.”

“But what if she’s testing another recipe?”

Gaz wasn’t wrong. You had a habit of showing up at their door with dishes too good to refuse.

They hadn’t stood a chance.

After the cookies and the lasagna, it wasn’t long before other dishes followed: casseroles, soups, pies, and even homemade bread. And the worst part? You bow always prefaced it by saying you needed an opinion- like they were doing you the favor.

It wasn’t until Price called you a “bloody saint” over a pan of enchiladas that Ghost finally put it together.

“You’re using us as taste testers,” he’d said flatly.

You’d grinned- too cute and too smug for your own good. “Is that a problem?”

Not a single one of them had said no, just as stated before.

Which led them here, hovering outside your door and pretending they weren’t waiting for another offering.

“… Fine.” Soap muttered, raising his hand to knock.

But the door swung open before he could, and there you were- apron on, hair pulled back, and flour dusted across your cheek.

“Hi!” You chirped, eyes bright. “Perfect timing!”

Gaz’s grin was pure relief. “Tell me you need opinions. Please, love.”

You laughed, stepping aside to let them in. “I always need opinions. Come in!”

Inside, the kitchen was chaos. Cutting boards and mixing bowls were scattered across the counters. A Dutch oven bubbled on the stove, releasing clouds of savory steam. Plates of food- half-assembled sandwiches, stuffed peppers, and what looked like chocolate tarts- sat waiting.

“I… might’ve gone overboard.” You admitted, and if you hadn’t spent all day in the kitchen, your cheeks would’ve gone warmer.

Soap whistled low, eyes raking over every dish. “Not complainin’.”

Price arrived just then, texted by Kyle, trailed closely by Simon, who took one look at the spread and froze. His eyes swept from the roasted chicken resting under a blanket of fresh herbs to the still-warm biscuits stacked beside a bowl of honey butter.

“What’s the occasion?” John asked, smile amused, but you just waved him off.

“Practicing.”

Gaz was already halfway to the table, trying to decide what to start with, but Simon lingered, watching you carefully. He had his balaclava on, though you haven’t yet dared to ask why he wears it.

“Practicing for what, exactly?”

You hesitated, fiddling with the edge of your apron. “There’s this… thing next week. A community bake-off. And I thought it might be fun to enter.”

Soap arched a brow. “You’re entering this in a bake-off?”

“Well, not all of it. I’m still deciding which dishes to use.”

“You’re winning.” Kyle said immediately, filling his plate.

“Definitely.” Johnny added, already reaching for a sandwich.

Simon, still lingering, crossed his arms and stared down at you. His height will never, ever not make your breath hitch. “You’re testing all of this on us?”

You looked up at him through your lashes, pouting just a little. “You don’t mind, do you, Simon?”

His gaze darkened- not in anger, but something softer, heavier. It made your stomach flip.

“No,” he said simply. “We don’t mind.”

You swallowed and turned quickly to the oven to hide the heat rushing to your cheeks.

The next hour passed in a blur of taste testing, arguments over which dish was best, and repeated assurances that you were going to “blow the competition out of the water.” But beneath the laughter and teasing, you failed to catch the way they looked at you- how Price lingered by the stove just to steal extra bites, or how Johnny kept offering to help, hovering close enough that you brushed elbows more than once.

And Simon? He was the worst of all. He didn’t say much, but his eyes tracked your every move, following the way your hands worked the dough or wiped flour off the counter. He was the last to leave, hanging back as the others helped clear plates.

“You’re serious about this bake-off?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “Thought it might be fun.”

“You don’t need it.”

“… What?”

He gestured at the now-empty plates. “To prove anything, I mean. You’re already…” He trailed off for a few seconds, and though you were left blinking at him, you didn’t rush him. “Good enough.” he murmured at last.

The compliment hit harder than you expected, and for once, you didn’t have a clever response.

“Thank you, Simon. That… means a lot to me.” you said softly.

And just like that, the others reappeared, breaking the moment. Johnny patted Simon’s shoulder with a knowing smirk, and Kyle slung an arm around your shoulders, while Price merely watched. Your kitchen was now spotless, cleaned by them.

“When’s the next test run?” Gaz asked.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Well, let us know. We’re free anytime.”

“Yeah,” Soap added. “Anytime.”

You laughed but this time, you didn’t miss the way Price was looking at you- thoughtful, like he’d already made up his mind about something.

The door clicked shut behind them after that, leaving your apartment quieter but no less warm. The scent of roasted garlic and herbs still lingered, and you found yourself smiling as you surveyed the spotless kitchen. They’d made quick work of the mess, trading jokes and lighthearted jabs as they wiped down counters and stacked dishes in quite the uniform style.

You didn’t know what you’d done to deserve neighbors like them, but you weren’t about to question it.

You caught yourself humming as you tucked away the last plate, the sound of their laughter still echoing faintly in your ears. It was easy with them- comfortable in a way that felt rare and almost too good to be true.

And maybe it was.

Because what you didn’t know- what you would probably never know, such a sweet and trusting thing- was that your apartment had been wired within days of your first visit to their door.

To them, it had started with a conversation.

“She’s alone,” Price had said after the second time you’d brought them food, leaning back in his chair with a contemplative frown. “No sign of anyone else coming or going.”

“Security’s shite.” Gaz had added, gesturing vaguely toward the shared hallway where your lock barely functioned half the time.

Soap had shrugged, easygoing as ever, but his eyes had been sharp. “Better us keep an eye on her than let some arsehole get the chance.”

And that was that.

Price had ordered the equipment, Ghost had handled the installation, and none of them had lost sleep over it. Not when it meant keeping you safe.

It wasn’t just the cameras, either.

Simon had reinforced your locks under the guise of “fixing” them after you mentioned a struggle with your key. Johnny had talked you into letting him check your windows “just to be sure they latched properly.” Gaz had set up an app on your phone to “monitor deliveries,” though it also let them track your location if needed.

And Price? He always lingered at the door just long enough to ask if you needed anything else- subtle, but enough to make sure you knew they were there.

You never questioned it. Never noticed the way they moved like a unit around you, anticipating problems before they could arise. Never caught the glances they exchanged when you mentioned a repairman or the way Simon hovered near the window any time a car idled too long outside.

You just kept feeding them, trusting them in ways that only made their resolve deepen.

Price was the worst.

He’d leaned against the counter tonight, watching you laugh at Johnny’s jokes and swat at Kyle when he tried to sneak extra bites, and the thought had hit him harder than he expected, while Simon watched on in amusement and was the only to successfully swipe a few more bites.

They could’ve had this already.

If life had gone differently- if timing had been better- you could’ve been his. Theirs. Someone to come home to instead of just someone they visited between deployments.

He hadn’t said anything, of course. None of them had.

But as they left, he’d lingered in the doorway, letting his hand rest lightly against the frame.

“Don’t let ‘em eat it all before the bake-off,” he’d teased, lips curling into a smile. “They’ll start begging if you do.”

You’d laughed, and God, it was dangerous how much he liked the sound.

“I’ll make sure to keep them in line.”

His smile softened. “Good girl.”

You didn’t notice the way Simon shot him a sharp look at that- or the way Johnny and Kyle exchanged knowing grins.

And later, when Price sat down in front of the monitors to check the feeds, he didn’t let himself feel guilty.

Because you were safe.

And as far as they were concerned, that was all that mattered.

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw (Humping, Simon and Johnny. please see reblog for Kyle, Price and König)

Simon loves dry humping, you lie on the bed, eyes droopy as you let his pin your thighs against your breast, your panties and his boxers still on as he grinds his bulge slowly against your clothed core. You both don’t say a word, looking into each other’s eyes with affection and increasing desires, only soft moans and occasional grunts ringing in the air. He won’t stop—nor that you want to—until your panties is all soaked, fabric darkened by your juices and stick to your pussy, showing the outline of your mounds and perked clit, and you’re whining pleadingly whenever he pokes his red tip against your entrance, let the wet fabric gets pushed in a bit before he pulls back, taps his hard cock on your clit and huff out a laughter. “All whiny and moaning now. Need this cock so bad, princess?”

Johnny’s always a bit kinky, so you’re not even surprised when he starts grinding his leaking dick against your foot like a horny dog. You’re on a call with your friend, and he was sitting beside you and scrolling his phone normally minutes ago. God knows what did he see that got him humping your foot right now. You’re wearing socks because it’s a bit cold, but it’s now stain with his precums because he shamelessly fished his cock out so it would feel better without barrier. You fake a cough when he groans out loudly, not caring if your friend will hear him through the phone.

“Johnny, what the hell?” Excusing yourself and mute the mic, looking down at him rolling his hips and meet your eyes “Need that pussy of yers now, please, lassie…” His voice low but begging you like a lost puppy, and you can feel arousal pooling in your panties too. Well, guess you don’t have any choice other than apologizing to your friend and hang up the phone, letting Johnny fuck you brainless and walk wobbly tomorrow.

[j0hnpr1c3sm1ssus]

Imagine Johnny coming back from deployment and he goes to open 'er (your legs) up and then all you see is horror on his face.

You shaved. That's it. No period, nothing scary down there. But to him?

Guys he's fucking BAWLING. I think if this was his first time since coming back from deployment he'd lose his shit AND ACTUALLY CRY.

"bonnie... Ye shaved 'er bald," he says, having to keep from crying, "what'll keep 'er warm in the winter?"

[codnasties]

more mlm with anyone tf141/los vaqueros? 👉👈

soap getting his ass filled 🧼 (🌽 link) - male reader -

soap is insatiable. he somehow is that kind of person who just gives and gives, he likes it, it's part of his character. but like everyone else, he loves to be on the receiving end as well, think of it as a little token of appreciation.

with that, soap like getting his ass played with and fucked, like a said, a little appreciation. but the bet of all for him is to have his ass filled with cum, to the brim, until it can take no more and it starts leaking out. he loves the feeling of it.

definitely trying hard to get himself a stud. a guy that can last multiple rounds, who's stamina matches his own and, on top of all that, someone that's able to cum multiple times. so when he got his hungry paws on you, he knew he wasn't going to let you go.

like yes, do creampie that hairy ass of his. one load isn't enough to fill him up as if you were trying to get him pregnant. pull out teasingly to cover his ass cheeks and his plucked hole with your seed only to push you cock back in. the continuous thursting making it leak out os his hole, making a mess all over it, cum running down his balls and onto the floor.

this nasty fucker for sure does collect some of the cum on his lingers and gets himself a nice taste of it.

[spurbleu]

it’s over the minute you start playing hide and seek.

johnny has a big family. his siblings have kids, his parents siblings have kids who also have kids, which means a holiday leave offers limited privacy and abundant chaos.

he’s learned to embrace it. adores it, even. kids stroke his ego like no other, and the more he can see his parents the less he pays attention to the new wrinkles and the reality he only has so much time to hold their hand. to be someone’s son.

but you? the sweet, unassuming bird who he met by happenstance, who’s the first person he’s brought home for an approaching decade? he winces as he grabs your bags from the trunk- already expecting the fawning- the embarrassing prattles they’ll throw your way.

he was not expecting you to navigate it though.

the adults love you. turns out all the same charms that had him whipped works fairly well with his relatives. three glasses of wine in and he can still hear his aunt laughing. genuinely. that’s a miracle.

and don’t even get him started with the nieces and nephews.

stole all his thunder and he isn’t even mad about it. watches as they chase you in the backyard, cartwheeling around while you catch your breath.

his sister nudges him in the side and he starts.

“how’d ye catch a bonnie like tat?”

you send him a lopesided smile from across bronzing grass. you’re glowing.

yeah, he’s a goner. “couldnae tell ye.”

[writersdrug]

Someone sent an anonymous ask about Soap being all whiny and jealous, complaining to Simon about how lucky he is to have such a pretty, curvy girl and Tumblr swallowed it 😫 (This is gonna be a 2 parter)

Warnings: nsfw, threesome, sub soap and reader, dom ghost, training, voyeurism

But I can imagine Ghost would be so sick and tired of it. Johnny's constantly yapping like the mutt he truly is: "Yer a lucky man, LT. Findin' a pretty bird like that." "Where'd ye get her? Need to find one for myself." "She as soft as she sounds?"

Ghost wants to snap at him for talking about you like that - he shouldn't be talking about you at all. But he knows the poor man is just lonely, aching to have something soft and supple like you. Your smiling face smushed between Ghost's fingers when you come to drop off the lunch he forgot. The jeans that fit snuggly around your ass and thighs, the shirt that hugs the swell of your breasts, stretched thin as it barely contains them... poor Johnny boy can't help but whine at the sight of something so appetizing, so soft and warm right there - he's jealous of his LT. How did someone so hard around the edges pluck something so sweet?

Simon hates to see him so upset, pouting in the corner like a scolded puppy as you stare at your boyfriend with stars in your eyes. Johnny could have a girl, but he gets overeager: fucking them on the first date, leaving them sore and bitten and tearful. He's too rough, and they're quick to excuse themselves, fleeing the next morning and blocking him from all social media.

Johnny needs to learn to be patient and gentle with his toys. He's nice enough to let the sergeant practice with his own pretty girl, and you're more than happy to assist Soap with his green-eyed monster.

After a nice dinner at his LT's house, served by you - along with some bronze, liquid courage - Johnny sits on the recliner, chatting with Ghost, who's relaxed on the sofa. You enter the living room and stand next to Simon, biting your lip excitedly and staring between the two of them. Simon wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you to sit on the arm of the sofa.

"Y' think she's pretty?" He asks Johnny, who blinks.

Gorgeous. Comely. Ravishing. "Course I do." He responds plainly, trying not to get worked up over the way you're perched next to his LT so prettily.

"Yea, you do..." Simon mutters, squeezing the flesh at your thigh. "What's it you said? 'She must look nice, spillin' out my hands’?"

Soap is nothing short of mortified. His eyes are wide, staring back at Simon - he doesn't know what to say. He said those things within the secrecy of his conversation with his lieutenant - he didn't expect him to repeat it outside of that bubble, let alone in front of you, the person in question.

"N' what else was it? 'Need t' have a pretty li'l wife with a rack like that to lay my head-"

"Simon!!"

Soap finally glares at his LT, his fingers digging into his own thighs. His heart is pounding in his chest. Is Ghost trying to get you to hate him?

You giggle and stand upright. "It's ok, Johnny." You coo, slowly walking over to him with your hands behind your back. "I like it. It means you like me."

Soap has little time to do anything but grunt when you swing a leg over his thighs and seat yourself in his lap. Your cleavage is right there, just inches from his face, and he can feel the bare skin of your thighs burning through his trousers.

"Help me take this off?" You tug at the skirt of your dress, looking down at him with those innocent, glossy eyes.

He can't breathe. His clothes are too hot and too tight, his cock nearly choking in the confines of his pants. He looks to his lieutenant for help - Ghost just smiles, like he's watching his favorite porn. He might be, depending on how this plays out.

"Go on, Johnny. Slowly."

Johnny wants to be anything but slow, once he realizes his best friend is showing you off like a collectible toy. He looks back up at you, watching the way your plump lip catches between your teeth. He carefully reaches around, grabbing the back of your neckline and tugging the zipper down - slowly, as he was instructed. He can barely focus on the movement with your breasts right there, imagining what they'd taste like between his warm lips. The shoulders of your dress fall away, revealing the lacy bra you're wearing. He looks up at you, drool pooling under his tongue as you slide your hands over his shoulders, one coming around to play with the base of his mohawk.

"You can take it off." You whisper.

He wastes no time, his hands smoothing up your back and unclasping your bra in one motion. He helps you pull it from your shoulders - your breasts, round and full, now pressing against his chest. He wants to touch. He needs to touch.

He shoots a hungry, pleading look to Ghost - he nods back at Soap, which is all the sergeant needs to absolve his filthy behavior. He closes your breast in his palm, eyes hazy as he takes your nipple into his warm mouth. He hardly has to move his head forward because you lean into his mouth, your fingers grasping at his hair and your back arching deliciously. Johnny groans, using one hand to dig his fingers into the thick flesh at your hips, and his other to press his palm against your lower back. He shifts himself down as his tongue swirls around your nipple, groans leaving his throat and reverberating against the bud, quickly hardening from his ministrations. You sound so sweet, high-pitched coos and soft breaths pouring from between your lips as you press your weight against Soap, shoving your breast as far into his mouth as he can take. You kiss the crown of his head, whispering a good boy against his skin.

He practically whines, bucking his hips upwards, relishing in how your body grounds him into the sofa cushions. He releases your breast with a pop and quickly takes the other one into his hand, sealing his lips over it with a hum. He looks up at you through wanting, begging eyes as you toss your head back, squeezing your thighs around his hips. His tongue undulates against your stiffening peak, slobbering around the underside of your breast as he gives you another experimental jerk of his hips. You gasp, rolling your hips back down onto him and staring at him with your lust-blown pupils.

His cock is demanding to be let free. He's going to fuck you hard, he's going to pound you into the chair until you're begging, showing his LT just how much of a good boy he is. He's never felt this blazing forest fire within his veins, setting off nerve after nerve and burning a trail right down to his hard, throbbing member.

He hooks his fingers into the hem of your soaked panties, fully intending to rip them off - but you quickly grab his wrist and yank his hand away. He looks at you, blinking through his trance as a look of confusion settles on his face. "Wha's wrong?"

You giggle his expression - the sound goes straight to his tip with another rush of blood. "These are for Simon." you whisper, slowly pushing yourself off of Soap's lap. He lets his arms fall to his sides with a desperate look, letting you back away, right into Ghost's waiting lap.

"Gonna show ya a thing or two, Johnny." he says, pulling you back to his chest. "Teach ya a few tricks, maybe you'll be able t' keep a woman longer than a day." he pulls a switchblade from his pocket and flicks it open. The blade drags down over your belly - you chew your lip as it electrifies your skin, the tip sliding lower and lower until he's running it over your pussy. The fabric is soaked as he lingers there, the sharp edge barely separated from your cunt by your flimsy, drenched panties.

You stare at Soap, not once breaking eye contact as Ghost slices through the fabric. Soap's mouth is agape in disbelief and lust, enamored by the sight before him. He can't tear his eyes from the view of your sopping, glistening pussy, watching as Simon slides his thick fingers over your folds. He catches his thumb under the hood of your clit and you jolt, shooting a hand down to grab his wrist - but he doesn't stop. You whine and mewl, leaning your head back against his shoulder as he flicks the bud, strumming over it slowly.

He stares Soap in the eyes, watching his reaction. "Alright there, Johnny?"

He's drooling, mouth hung open, hypnotized by the way your muscles clench with each stroke of Simon’s thumb. “… Aye…” he manages to say – his fingers dig into the cushions beneath him as he tries to control the urge to tear across the room and drive his cock into your cunt, fucking you against his lieutenant’s chest the way you deserve: rough and hard. Simon’s been teasing you too long; you need to be ravaged, orgasm after orgasm pulled from you, faster than you can think.

“Let me have a go, yea?” he says boldly, looking at Simon with desperation. “That’s what this is, right? Ye want me to fuck ‘er nice? I’ll do it. I’ll do it, sir – I’ll take good care of her-“

“No you won’t.” Simon interjects before the dog can get too riled up. His fingers are now strumming up and through your folds, and you’re panting and staring at Johnny with needy desire. “’S why you can’t keep anyone. You’re too eager.”

The truth shoots through Soap’s chest like an arrow, and he meets Simon’s gaze. He’s obviously rock-hard in his trousers, he won’t even attempt to hide it. Simon’s got a cocky, knowing smirk on his face, and you… poor you is just wishing Simon would spit out what he wants to say, so the three of you could get on with the show.

“Gonna teach you a few secrets, sergeant.” Simon says, and Soap isn’t sure what to think about having his rank used in this situation. “My girl needs to cum.” He pulls his fingers away from you – you whine in frustration, but are quickly silenced when two, thick digits are stuffed into your mouth. You obediently clean off your own slick with your tongue, looking back down at Johnny with a heavy, lidded stare.

“I’ll make her cum.” Soap says quickly. If this is a matter of whether or not he can make someone cum, he’ll pass that test easily.

“You’ll do it right.” Simon growls. “Need to understand the difference between getting’ your cock wet and pleasuring ‘er. ‘S my girl ‘n I won’t have you roughhousing ‘er. Got it?”

Soap’s throat bobs as he swallows. It was another task, another order from his superior. He clears his mind of any preprogrammed, lustful thoughts, sent straight to his brain from his achingly hard member – this wasn’t about him. It was about following instructions. He was a good soldier, he could do that much.

“Yes sir.”

Simon nods. He shifts hips, pulling his fingers from your lipsand grabbing your hips. You grab his forearms for support as he spreads his muscular thigs, forcing your legs farther apart as they rest on either side of his knees. Slick dribbles down from your pussy and onto Simon’s length, which is about to tear a hole through his pants.

“Then get to it. Sick of hearin’ you yap all day about not bein’ able to keep a girl. Put your mouth to good use – we’re about to fix that.”

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hey 😊👋 I love your Task Force 141 Imagines and finally had the courage to request one myself:

How would they react to the trend where their partner makes dinner but gives them the bigger portion and gives themselves only a small one with the excuse that "That's all we had left" ?

(I hope you understand what I mean)

I'm about 99.9% sure you're talking about the viral TikTok trend. That's what I interpreted the ask as (which is how I wrote it). Most of the time, those videos are pretty wholesome. Sometimes they aren't. But with regards to 141, they're gonna be wholesome about it. No body shaming. Not dismissive. Just walking green flags who are also done with your shit (because pranking them is just hilarious). Anyway! Enjoy!!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): established relationship, pranks & practical jokes, humor, fluff, married couple, mild suggestive themes

Word Count: 1k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

"Love, what is that?"

"That's all we had left."

"That's all we had left?" repeats John.

You shrug nonchalantly. There's plenty of food, enough for each of you and leftovers for tomorrow, but John doesn't need to know that...yet.

"It's fine,” you shrug. “I'm not that hungry so I gave you a bigger portion."

John's concern only worsens. "You did what?"

"I wasn’t hungry so I—"

“I heard what you said,” interrupts John. He points at your plate. “But there’s nothing on it.”

“I’ll be fine.”

"No," he says firmly, waving his hand. "No."

Without asking, he swaps your plates.

"John. Stop."

"I'm not that hungry," he says, repeating your own words back at you. "Ate more than enough at work. I don't need all this. You do."

You reach for the plate but he lifts it off the table, holding it out of reach. Part of you wants to scold him to carry on the rouse, but instead you're giggling.

"Not sure what's funny,” grumbles John.

"There's more,” you laugh, covering your mouth.

"There's—” John glances between you and the kitchen. John rolls his eyes but he's trying to hold back a smile. “You naughty fucking thing."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You place a plate piled high with food in front of Kyle.

“Thanks, babe.” He glances up at you, grinning. His gaze shifts to your plate, smile fading into confusion. You purposely gave yourself less just to see his reaction.

“I forgot forks.” You walk back into the kitchen. “You want a fork, right?”

“Yeah,” replies Kyle slowly, now pointing at your plate. “But…what is that?”

You return to the table. “That’s all we had left.”

Lies. There’s plenty left.

“But why is mine full and yours—” He gestures at your plate.

You feign confusion. “You work really hard. You need it.”

“This,” says Kyle pointing at his own plate. “Is a lot.” He then points at your plate. “That’s not.”

“It’s fine.”

“You’re taking some of mine.”

“Kyle—”

“Don’t argue with me.”

You pick up your fork, intending to eat, but Kyle is quick, snatching your plate right off the table and swapping it with his. He keeps your plate in his hand, shoving you away when you try to reach for it.

“Sit,” he commands.

“Kyle.”

He ignores you, clearing the plate in a couple of bites.

“Kyle,” you scold, but you’re giggling, dropping the guise.

“Why are you laughing?” he asks, glancing around.

Unable to keep control of your composure, you point in the direction of the kitchen. Frowning, Kyle follows your index finger. He takes a few steps into the kitchen and comes to a dead stop.

He slowly spins on his heel, his expression so exasperated that you burst out laughing. With a loud sigh, Kyle returns to the table, swapping the empty plate for the full one.

Dropping into his seat, Kyle shakes his head. “Get yourself a real portion and then come join me.” Then, with a smirk, “You little terror.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny reclines on the sofa, completely absorbed in the rugby match on the television.

With you, is dinner. Two plates, one for each of you. You’ve loaded Johnny’s plate, but have hardly filled yours. It’s just a prank. A test to see if he notices anything.

He has a knack for not paying attention to the smaller details. Sometimes Johnny is so distracted whenever there is a game on that he's oblivious to everything else around him. One time—just to see—you walked around completely naked. It took nearly a full fifteen minutes for him to realize it.

You casually take a seat next to him, offering Johnny his plate.

"Thank you," he says, taking it without removing his gaze from the television.

You keep your plate in your lap, casually moving the few bites of food around while taking incredibly small bites.

Johnny chews. Watches. Still oblivious to your tiny portion.

You purposefully bang your fork against the side of the plate.

He does a double take. "What’s that?"

"What’s what?"

"That.”

You shrug. "It’s all we had left."

With a growl that’s more groan, Johnny starts pushing his food off his plate and onto yours.

"Johnny. No. That's your food." He tuts, not saying anything. "I'm fine." you insist, trying to push his plate away.

“No, love,” says Johnny. He settles back onto the sofa and gives your cheek a quick peck.

You wait a beat. "There's plenty of food."

Johnny turns. Blinks. "Oh, aye?" He grabs your plate and dumps the food back on his.

"Johnny!"

"You’re having a right laugh.” He gestures toward the kitchen. “Go on.”

As you stand, he gives your ass a light smack. When you turn to swat his hand, you’re greeted with his cheeky grin.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

The plate you set before Simon is nearly overflowing.

"Thank you, love," he murmurs, placing his hand at your back.

You lean in, giving him a quick kiss. He accepts it with a soft smile, lightly squeezing your thigh before you step away to grab your own plate.

Compared to Simon’s portion, your plate is practically empty. It’s really only a few bites, but it’s just for kicks. There is plenty still left in the kitchen. You just want to fuck with Simon.

When you set your plate down and fall into your seat, Simon’s attention immediately focuses in on the lack of sustenance.

He leans forward a bit, staring you down, silent.

“What?” you ask, pretending that this is all perfectly normal.

He keeps staring.

“What is it?” you prompt.

“No.”

No. Just—no.

You blink. "No? No what?”

Simon sucks his fork clean and tosses it onto the table, still shaking his head. You’re losing. It’s hardly started and you’ve lost.

“It’s all that’s left!”

He shakes his finger at you, walking away and into the kitchen. “I know you,” he says over his shoulder. “You’re taking the piss.”

Goddamn it.

Simon sees right through you. Always does.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41

@saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36 @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@voids-universe @iloveslasher @talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel @haven-1307

@itsberrydreemurstuff @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld

@keiva1000 @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @waves-against-a-cliff

@ash-tarte @marispunk @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[oceantornadoo]

my FAVORITE johnny trope is touchy best friend!johnny. he tugs you into his lap while he’s working, one hand on your stomach pudge while the other does paperwork. sits his chin on the crux of your shoulder, scruff nuzzling your jaw as he softly reads out what he’s working on. no one really knows why or how it started; why it’s johnny instead of anyone else. two sergeants, two twin flames, never one without the other but somehow have yet to cross the line to anything more.

“jus’ platonic, bonnie” as you share a bed in a safe house, something about giving the captain more space (there was definitely a free comfy couch, not that it matters). his leg swung over yours, one hand that started on your stomach ending up on your tit, the other curving around your pillow. you’re so used to waking up to his morning wood, grinding against him in your sleep. sometimes he’ll hear you getting off next to him while he feigns sleep, fingers making a mess between your thighs. you’ll wake and hear him in the shower, the skin on skin slap of him jacking off. lines so blurry that you’ll use the bathroom anyways, brushing your teeth or using the toilet while he showers. he practically encourages it, tells you your routine comforts him. he’s your protector, always has your back, always listens to your whining. you both stop mentioning hookups and thirsty ex’s, quenching the need for intimacy with each other.

there’s definitely bets flying around the task force about when you’ll get together, but the lines have always been blurry so unless they genuinely see you fucking, they’ll never really know. you could show up one day with matching rings and it would be shrugged off.

inevitable.

don’t even get me started on when you’re both drunk.