#Johnny soap MacTavish x reader

[soapysoapysoapysoapy]

Being with Johnny MacTavish felt like stepping into something bigger than you. He was older, more grounded, had seen things that gave his smile that edge—like he knew the punchline to a joke you hadn’t caught on to yet. And he never rubbed it in your face, not really. He just watched you with those steel-blue eyes, arms crossed, letting you talk yourself into trouble before stepping in and pulling you back with a muttered, “You're cute when you think you're in control, you know that?”

He never made you feel small. He made you feel young. There was a difference. You could be bratty, pushy, impulsive—and he'd let you have your little fire until it burned out, then reel you in with a firm hand on your lower back and a low, amused, “Alright, love. You done now?” He never yelled. He didn’t need to. His voice could drop just an inch and your legs would lock up with instinct alone.

He took care of you without making a show of it. You’d wake up and find your car filled with gas. Your kitchen stocked. The lightbulb you forgot to change—fixed. He never asked for credit, just gave you a look when you thanked him like, Why wouldn’t I? It made your chest ache a little. That quiet kind of love, the one that said: I see what you need even when you won’t say it.

Sometimes you’d try to test him. Act like you weren’t affected. Like he didn’t have you wrapped around his finger. But he’d catch your wrist mid-sentence, lean in, and say something soft in that gravelly accent—something like, “You can keep playin’ if you want, but I already know how this ends.” And it always ended the same way: you, breathless, underneath him, wondering how a man could be so gentle with his hands and so filthy with his mouth.

And when he held you afterward, it was like the rest of the world didn’t matter. You’d press your ear to his chest and listen to the steady thump of his heart, his rough fingers tracing lazy lines along your back. “Y’know,” he’d murmur, voice heavy with sleep, “you make me feel young again too.” And it didn’t matter that he was older, or that he’d seen more of the world. You were his peace. His trouble. His girl.

And he was your anchor. Solid. Unshakable. A little bit dangerous—and exactly where you always wanted to come home to.

[rawme-price]

Being gazs shy little bunny hybrid!partner that hes desperately trying to socialize. You just prefer to stay in ur den and tend to ur hobbies or play video games. No need to meet new people and be uncomfortable when u have gaz and a warm bed, right?

Except gaz doesnt think so, and u love ur boyfriend so maybe u should meet new people. Unfortunately gaz chooses soap, a big dog hybrid whos overly friendly to meet u. Its totally uncomfortable and tense at first, but hes so persistently *friendly* that you cant really find a reason to leave.

You guys get closer, and soon enough u feel okay having him in ur den as long as gaz is there too. Gaz just grins, his plan working out without you even noticing. Its not until ur heat rolls around that you realize why gaz was so insistent on u properly meeting soap.

Ur fucking *boyfriend* is getting soap to fuck u through ur heat bc gaz was worn the fuck out only a third of the way last time. Fuck, you love gaz though and if he says Johnny is trustworthy then you decide to at least try. Thank god you did.

Literally the best heat of ur life. You get to kiss and make out with gaz as much as u want, fuck him plenty, and Johnny takes over whenever gaz gets tired. Ur never left empty or wanting, and soap seems to have damn good stamina bc hes always ready to go.

By the end ur blissed out and warm, happily cuddling both of them and thinking abt offering to help soap with his rut next month.

[girlfromflor]

your flatmate johnny just loves to leave little voice notes for you to listen.

it really doesn't matter the subject or where he is – or where you could be, too –, whenever there was something he needed to tell you he'd voice message you straight away.

"we're outta milk, lass. buy us some on yer way back, will ye?"

"jus' got at work, so i'll put my phone on silence mode, aye? if i don't answer, that's why."

but then his messages started to grow sweeter, his words and initiatives started to carry more meaning even though, mostly, it just seemed like he wanted to check in on you.

"ye wan' t'grab some food after work, bonnie? i'll pick ye up. we're outta dinner at home and i don't wan' t'cook."

"didnae see ye today because i left early, so: good morning, bon. i've made coffee and i left ye some toast too."

all sweet voice notes became a part of your routine, you got used to it. he was always sweet with you, but these felt like little, special gifts you received everyday.

it made sense that he was a voice actor. his honeyed, practiced voice always made you feel so comfortable and welcome, you wondered how it'd be to receive a more intimate type of voice message.

blurb from ALL FOR ME: COLLECTION

[superhoeva]

ghost jerking off a leaking, squirming, teary-eyed soap from behind. he's been nearly there more times than he can count but simon won't budge. not after finding out johnny's the culprit behind your missing underwear. you'd been in a frantic search because you know you put them in the hamper for the wash.

imagine your surprise when you and gaz–such a sweet thing for helping you look–find them badly hidden under johnny's pillows. one stuttering soap and a talk with price later, here you are. smushed between kyle and the captain as they take turns fucking you drunk with hard cocks and sweet praises. johnny forced to appreciate your pretty sounds from afar while simon sits behind him, a snug grip around the younger man painfully-hard dick.

the poor guy is too horny and hazy-minded to ask if he gets to pump simon until he's purple... after all, he's the one that told the sergeant to swipe your garments.

don't judge. they just like the smell of you.

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[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?"

[itllbeoneofthese]

Soap x Reader Drabble **

It surprises Johnny just as much as it surprises you when he says he wants to "make love". It's the type of phrase your grandma would use to describe the act. "Make love" just seems so cheesy, doesn't it?

How would you even make love, how do you create love? Is it different when you're making love to when you're having sex? Is it just a softening to the things you two already do?

Maybe that's what he means; doing everything you do but with the heavy breath of love on your neck beside every thrust.

He want to hold your hand when he licks the love that flows from you. And he'd like to kiss your thighs and quietly whisper worship to the soft skin. If making love is to create it he thinks he's gotten damn near close when you've looked up at him with love dripping down your lips and made a stupid joke.

You have to laugh just so you don't think about what making love can be. Shoving at his shoulder with the creeping heat of embarrassment crawling up your neck you nod, "Alright, Johnny boy we can make love."

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

141 x reader reacting to incel/redpill content?

Poison in the Algorithm

Pairing: Poly!141 x Reader

Warnings: Misogyny/redpill content (as a narrative device), emotional distress, swearing, comfort, light suggestive references, mentions of toxic internet culture, soft polyamory, fluff, hurt/comfort, domestic dynamics, protective!141

Author's Note: This one-shot explores the impact of redpill/incel rhetoric when it bleeds into everyday life—and how love, trust, and shared warmth push it back out. Featuring your favorite grumpy-soft boys being protective, supportive, and just a little bit petty.

Summary: A spiral of doomscrolling lands you in the middle of a redpill echo chamber. Your boys aren’t having any of it—not with you, not in this house.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The video’s thumbnail was obnoxious. Red text. Squinting man in wraparound sunglasses. Buzzwords like “WOMEN OVER 25” and “HIT THE WALL” punched across the screen like it was selling a political thriller. You pressed play.

Ten minutes later, your stomach hurt.

You didn’t even realize Johnny was home until he was suddenly standing behind you, towel still looped around his neck, a scowl etched into his face.

“What the fuck is that?” His accent sliced through the audio before you even registered he was there.

You startled, flipping your phone over. ”Just—something that popped up. I was curious.”

“Curious?” Johnny snatched the phone like it personally offended him. “Jesus, babe. This is Andrew Tate’s discount cousin.”

You laughed, thin and nervous. “I didn’t think it’d mess with me this much. I just wanted to see what people are watching.”

Johnny scrolled. “They’re not watching. They’re inhaling this shit like it’s gospel.” His voice was sharp, but his eyes were worried. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The content was stupid, you knew that—but somewhere between the charts, the smugness, and the cold detachment with which women were dissected like faulty products, something inside you cracked.

And Johnny saw it.

“Hey,” he said, voice softening. “Don't you dare believe a fuckin’ word of it.”

From the hallway, Kyle’s voice carried in. “What’s going on?”

“She’s watching incel videos,” Johnny called.

Kyle appeared in seconds, dishrag in one hand, brows raised. “Oh, hell no.”

You gave a weak smile. “It’s not like I agree—“

“Doesn’t matter,” Kyle cut in, eyes kind but firm. “That shit gets in your head. You let enough of it in, it’ll start whispering lies in your own voice.”

You tried to brush it off. “I just wanted to understand it.”

John’s heavy footsteps hit the hardwood floor before you heard him speak. “You don’t need to understand it, sweetheart. You just need to stay away from it.”

He walked in wearing an old army tee, sleeves tight on his forearms, mug in hand. He looked like he’d seen this before—like he’d dealt with more than a few young soldiers who came back from leave parroting the same poison.

“They want you to question yourself,” he said, sitting beside you. “That’s the whole point. Convince you you’re not enough so they can sell you the illusion of control.”

You stared at the muted video still playing on your phone. “But what if I am too much? Too opinionated, too independent, too—“

“You’re ours,” Simon interrupted.

He was leaning against the doorway, black hoodie, hood up, mask half pulled down. His voice was dead calm. Dangerous.

“If you ever repeat that shit about yourself again, I’ll break every one of their microphones and necks.”

You blinked at him.

“They want you insecure because insecure people are easier to manipulate, he said. But you? You’ve got four highly trained men wrapped around your little finger. And not one of us would change a damn thing.”

John leaned over and kissed your temple. “Exactly.”

Kyle knelt in front of you, hand on your knee. “You’re not ‘high-value’ like some commodity. You’re just you. Funny. Fiery. Gentle. Smart. Real.”

Johnny nudged your shoulder with his own. ”Also ridiculously hot. Don’t forget that part.”

That got a chuckle out of you.

Simon crossed the room and sat on the arm of the couch beside you. “Tell me something, he said quietly. Do you think I’d share a bed, a life, with someone who didn’t make me feel safe?”

You shook your head.

“Exactly,” he whispered. “You’re the only soft thing I’ve got left. And I’m not giving that up for anyone’s idea of what’s ‘marketable.’”

Kyle grinned. “Besides. If you were some ‘obedient tradwife’ type, Johnny would spontaneously combust.”

“I would,” Johnny said. “I’d set the fuckin’ kitchen on fire out of spite.”

“I’d help,” Kyle added.

“And I’d be recording,” John muttered.

You were laughing now, tucked between them all like you’d never left. Warm. Safe.

Johnny looked at your phone again. “You want me to throw this against a wall?”

Simon held out his hand. “Give it here. I’ll queue up some actual content—cat videos, maybe. Slow cooking. Paint mixing.”

“You’re such a softie,” Johnny teased.

“No. I’m just anti-bullshit.”

John’s arm slid around your shoulders. “You know what I think?” he murmured. “Let them sit behind their cameras preaching loneliness. Meanwhile, you’ve got four men who’d die for you—and live for you, too.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Kyle leaned up and kissed your cheek. “You’re so much more than they’ll ever deserve.”

You let the phone slide off the couch and buried your face in Johnny’s chest. The video kept playing, muffled by cushions. But it didn’t matter.

Because you couldn’t hear it anymore.

Only the heartbeat of the men who loved you—four anchors holding you above the noise.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[ilibelle]

Imagine that your uniform is made up of several layers of different types of fabric and bulletproof shields. In addition to the extra fabric, you wear a mask and helmet that cover your entire face. Your costume makes it impossible to identify whether you are a woman or a man, and to top it off, you never speak. This leads people who aren't part of your squad to believe that you're just a short man who never speaks.

You work for the squad led by Colonel König. Recently, there were some situations that resulted in Kortac temporarily joining Task Force 141, two squads united to capture a terrorist.

You are not and have never been a sociable person. You don't talk to people you don't know and you always let someone else do the talking for you. As much as you are an adult woman, mature enough to make decisions on your own, you are shy. Very shy.

It's not unusual for other people to ask your teammates about you, always wondering why you don't speak up. They ask about the many layers of fabric that make up your outfit, whether you don't suffocate from the excess cloth and pockets.

And these people always refer to you in the masculine.

Always.

Soap is a bit of a curiosity when it comes to mysterious people who don't interact much with others in the room and who just stand in a quiet corner, far away from any living thing in the room. No wonder he made Ghost his best friend.

So believe me when I say that he's intrigued by you. The mysterious, masked guy in the dark corner of the room, who so far hasn't interacted with anyone since he arrived. You've caught his attention, but he won't talk to you because something inside him tells him not to come up to you out of the blue.

Something inside him tells him to take it easy this time, because that something inside him thinks that the outside of that guy should be molded slowly to reveal the inside. Does that make sense?

The first person Soap will ask about you is König, because them strangely hit it off, much to the unhappiness of Ghost, who didn't like König. Perhaps it's because he's taller and has stolen the role of being the tallest in the room from Ghost.

And also because he saw König talking to you about something, but you didn't use your voice and just nodded. Which led him to think that maybe you were mute.

Soap approached König with a smile, bringing up some other subject before starting to ask questions about you. He doesn't want to sound weird.

"Hm... You know, I keep asking myself..." Soap begins, waiting for a signal to continue.

"What is it?" König asks, crossing his arms and smiling beneath his mask.

"That guy in the corner... Why doesn't he join the others?"

"Oh." König straightens his posture and looks at you, standing in the corner of the room and staring at an interesting spot on the floor. "She's a bit shy, don't worry."

The gears turned slowly in Soap's head after this information.

"IT'S A WOMAN?!!??!!!!?"

It wasn't Soap's intention to draw the attention of everyone in the room, Including you, to him and König. But it just happened.

Hello:)) it's my first time posting something written by me and my English is terrible, but I tried my best with a translator 😞

[sillyswriting]

: ̗̀➛ father johnny 'soap' mactavish - 02

cw : angst, comfort, can be read in the same universe as this.

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  collection

The house was quiet.

It was a rare moment of peace in the Mactavish home. Seven kids, it hadn’t been easy, but there was nothing Johnny would change about his life. He loved the noise, the mess, the laughter, the tears… all of it. If anything, he would’ve had even more kids. But that hadn’t been possible.

The last pregnancy had taken a heavy toll on you. After six deliveries, anyone would’ve thought your body was used to it. And with modern medicine, it should’ve gone smoothly.

But it didn’t.

You lost a dangerous amount of blood. The baby had nearly died, choking on his umbilical cord.

It had been a nightmare, for you, and for Johnny. It changed everything. Any desire for another child vanished overnight. He went as far as getting a vasectomy. He wasn’t going back to condoms, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to put you through any contraception that might mess with your body.

So, a vasectomy it was.

Now Johnny was enjoying a cigarette, sitting with a cup of tea in the middle of his kitchen. The night was winding down. His babies were safe in their beds, his wife sound asleep, warm, soft, waiting for him.

Only one was missing.

Callum had gone to a party tonight. He was due back in ten minutes, so Johnny waited. He always waited. He needed to know where all his bairns were before he could close his eyes. That nagging feeling never went away when one of them was out for the night—sleepovers, school trips, didn’t matter.

He couldn’t help it. It was just in him.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of keys in the front door, right on time. He’d raised them well, his babies.

Johnny smiled softly, but the smile vanished the second his fifteen-year-old son stepped into the kitchen. Callum looked devastated, tired and scared. Johnny’s heart cracked at the sight.

He stood up quickly, hurrying over to him, eyes scanning from head to toe, searching for anything, an injury, a burn, a scratch, anything that might explain why his boy looked like that. His hands landed gently on Callum’s shoulders as he met his son’s tear-filled blue eyes.

It happened in an instant, Callum burst into tears and threw himself into his father’s arms.

If there was one thing Johnny had always been good at, aside from demolition, it was being a dad. He never raised his voice, never laid a hand on his bairns. He hugged them, kissed them, made sure they knew they were loved. Even his teenage boys weren’t ashamed to ask for a hug now and then. That’s how Johnny knew he was doing something right. His was his kids' safe place. 

He held Callum tight, steady and strong, the way he always had.

“What’s going on?” Johnny whispered, anxiety chewing through him like acid. He’d take a bullet to the head a second time if it meant keeping his babies safe. “Are ye hurt, baby?”

Callum shook his head between sobs, his whole body trembling. He clung to Johnny like a drowning boy clutching a lifeboat, desperate and terrified. Johnny could feel the panic radiating off him, could hear it in every broken breath.

Something had happened. Something bad. And Johnny’s gut twisted with a fear he hadn’t felt since his days on the battlefield.

That’s how they stayed for a few minutes, standing in the kitchen, the clock ticking toward midnight, while the youngest cried heavy, aching tears into his father’s shirt.

It was a sight Johnny never wanted to see, one of his grown bairns breaking like that, crying their heart out. To him, they were sacred. Precious. Pure souls who shouldn't have to carry pain of any kind.

Not his kids. Not ever.

“Tell me what happened,” Johnny asked gently, his voice low and steady. “Ye ken you can tell me anything.” He whispered again, softer this time, trying to soothe his boy. 

One hand moved slowly up and down Callum’s back, the other gently stroking his hair, reassurance in every touch.

“It’s Ethan…” came the answer, barely louder than a breath. If Johnny hadn’t been listening so closely, he might’ve missed it.

Ethan. Simon’s son. Callum’s best friend.

“Is he hurt?” It was the first thought that hit Johnny like a punch to the chest.

Those boys were tied together like true brothers. He couldn’t imagine Ethan ever doing anything to harm Callum. And he couldn’t imagine Callum breaking like this unless something serious had happened.

Johnny trusted Simon, he knew the kind of father he was. A bit more stern than Johnny himself, maybe, but firm in love and always ready to listen. Their sons had grown up in that shared foundation.

If something had happened to Ethan, Johnny needed to know. He had to.

“No,” Callum whimpered, barely above a whisper, looking up at his father.

There was something in his eyes. Something Johnny hadn’t expected. Fear.

Johnny’s chest tightened. It wasn’t fear for something, it was fear of him. And that shattered him.

For a moment, he just stared, eyebrows furrowed deep, trying to understand. Hadn’t he always been gentle? Hadn’t he held them through every scrape and heartbreak, never raising his voice, never judging? Hadn’t he proven, time and again, that he would protect them from anything?

How could his boy—his boy—be afraid of him?

“Tell me, baby,” Johnny whispered, his voice thick as he pulled Callum’s head back against his chest. He wasn’t ready for his son to see the tears gathering in his own eyes. That look, that fear,had cut deeper than anything else ever had. “Ye dinnae have to be scared, Cal. Not with me. Never.”

After those words, Johnny felt his son’s arms tighten around him, so tight it was almost suffocating. Callum clung to him like he was the last safe place in the world, and the tears didn’t stop. His sweet boy, always the pleaser, was trying to stifle his sobs, biting them back so he wouldn’t wake his siblings or his mum. Even in his own pain, he was thinking of others.

That only broke Johnny’s heart more.

“I’m scared to tell you, Dad,” Callum murmured into his father’s chest, his voice shaky and muffled. He still couldn’t bring himself to lift his head from the comfort Johnny gave him. “I don’t want you to think different of me.”

Johnny sighed softly, shaking his head against his son’s hair. “What are ye on about?” he whispered. “Ye could kill someone and ye'd still be my sweet son, Callum.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his boy’s head, slow and steady, hoping it would soothe him enough to speak.

“I need to ken, son,” he added quietly, not wanting to push, but aching for answers. “It’s killing me to see ye like this. Ye can tell me anything. Me and yer mum, we’re never gonna judge ye. Never.”

Callum took a deep breath, sniffing one last time before finally pulling back from the embrace. He looked up at his father, eyes wide and glassy, big tears threatening to spill down his flushed cheeks. His eyes were bloodshot, his nose red from all the crying and rubbing.

“Ethan, he…” he started, voice barely a murmur. Johnny could see how much it cost him to even begin. “Me and Ethan… we, um…”

Callum closed his eyes, gathering the last of his courage. His chest rose with another breath, this one deeper, shakier.

“I’m gay, Dad.”

The words slipped out in a whisper, hanging in the stillness of the kitchen like a secret finally set free. The clock ticked quietly past fifteen minutes past midnight.

After a few seconds of silence, Johnny let out a long, relieved sigh.

“That’s it?” he asked, brows lifting slightly.

“What?” Callum opened his eyes, blinking in confusion. “You’re… you’re not mad?”

Johnny frowned, but this time not out of confusion, this time, it hurt. Deeply. That his boy could think he’d be angry, or worse, disgusted just for loving someone. There was nothing his kids could say that would ever make him stop loving them. And certainly not who they loved.

“Baby,” Johnny murmured, shaking his head. He reached for Callum again and pulled him into his arms without hesitation.“I dinnae know what I did, or didnae do, that made ye think I’d be angry because ye like boys,” he said gently. “And I mean this in the kindest way, I truly dinnae care who ye love, Callum. As long as they’re good to ye, good people… that’s all that matters to me.”

He pressed another soft kiss to the top of his son’s head, holding him close like he had when Callum was little, like he always would.

“I was so scared, Dad,” Callum whispered, another heavy tear sliding down his cheek. “And Ethan said he didn’t want to hide anymore, but I didn’t know what to do… so he left, so angry. And he hasn’t been answering my texts…”

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Johnny cooed softly. “Everything’s going to be fine, Cal. If Ethan’s anything like his dad, he gets angry fast… but then the guilt eats him alive.”

Johnny chuckled, remembering all too well how Simon’s temper could flare.

“You really think so?” Callum looked up at his dad, eyes wide with hope and trust.

Johnny brushed a stray tear from his son’s cheek and nodded slowly, a soft smile spreading across his face. “I ken so.”

After a few seconds of silence, Johnny gently guided his son to sit at the kitchen table. He filled a small cup with the still-warm tea, adding just the right amount of milk and sugar—just how Callum liked it.

The moment the cup was set in front of him, Callum’s phone buzzed. Then again. And again.

Messages. From Ethan.

“Told ye,” Johnny smirked, pressing one last kiss to his boy’s head. “Don’t forget to turn the light off. I love ye.”

And with that, Johnny headed upstairs, feet quiet against the floor. He crept into bed, careful not to startle you as he slid in beside your warmth. Slipping an arm around your waist, he pulled you close, breathing you in. He had longed for this all evening, the comfort of your presence.

But even as he lay there, wrapped in everything he loved, one thought refused to leave him. Callum had been scared to tell them he was gay. And that, that would sit with Johnny for a long while.

“You alright?” you murmured against his neck, your hand slowly caressing his chest, feeling how damp it was with the remnants of your son's tears.

“I dinnae think so,” Johnny sighed, nuzzling his nose into your hair. “Callum was scared to tell me something… and it broke my heart a little.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his neck and tightened your hold around him.

“They’re kids, Johnny. They’ve got a whole world outside this house. So many voices in their heads, telling them horrible things. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Your voice was thick with sleep, but still steady, still sure. “Society’s just pure shit, my love.”

Your words made sense. Johnny could shelter them all he wanted, but the outside world would always be vicious. All he could truly do was be their safe place, their comfort, their reassurance. Just like tonight. That was what really mattered.

Because in the end, Callum had come to him. Scared, vulnerable, but trusting. He’d still sought out his father’s arms, his love, his words.

And that meant everything.

“Yeah… yeah,” Johnny whispered, his voice thick with sleep. “Ye're right, my darling.”

happy pride month !

[soapysoapysoapysoapy]

Won’t Go Home Without You | Soap x Reader

The pub door slammed behind him, the bitter taste of whiskey still stinging his throat. The streets of London stretched dark and wet under yellow streetlights, but Johnny MacTavish barely noticed.

She left. She really left.

His boots hit the slick pavement hard as he paced the block, scanning every passing face, every car. He knew you’d walked out not ten minutes ago, your voice breaking as you told him you were finished, done trying, done waiting for him to figure out what he wanted.

But he knew. God, he knew the second the door shut behind you.

And now he couldn’t breathe.

Pulling his jacket tighter against the cold rain, Soap shoved his phone in his pocket without dialing. You wouldn’t pick up. Not tonight. Not after the way he’d snapped—after the careless words that cut deeper than a knife.

"You deserve someone who doesn’t live like this," he’d said. "Someone who’s not broken."

But you didn’t want someone perfect. You wanted him. Even broken. And he’d been too blind, too afraid to let you in.

Not tonight. Not like this.

He turned the corner toward the river, chest tight, every breath burning like guilt. There you were, standing under the flickering glow of a streetlamp, staring out at the water, hair clinging wet to your face, arms wrapped around yourself like armor.

“Lass.”

Your shoulders stiffened, but you didn’t turn.

“Don’t,” you warned, voice low and raw. “Don’t follow me. Just let it go, Johnny. Please.”

He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat choking him. “I can’t. I won’t.”

Silence. Except for the rain pattering on concrete.

“I said things I didn’t mean.” His voice was rough. Honest. “I thought pushing you away’d keep you safe. But all I did was lose you.”

You finally turned, eyes shining—not with rain. “I begged you to let me stay. You shoved me out.”

“I was wrong.” He stepped closer, slow and careful like you were glass. “I thought this job meant I’d never be good for anyone. But I’m worse without you. I can’t go back to that flat, that life... not if you’re not there. I won’t go home without you.”

The fight in your chest wavered. His hand reached for yours—hesitant, shaking like he never did on the field.

“Johnny—”

He gripped your hand tight, pressing your palm to his chest. “I’d crawl, I’d beg... hell, I’d bleed if you’d stay. I’ll do it right. I swear.”

The rain ran down both your faces like quiet tears. Your heart stuttered, cracking under the weight of him—all his regrets, laid bare and trembling.

“Take me home, then,” you whispered.

His breath hitched, a broken sound of relief as he pulled you close, rain and guilt and hope mixing between you.

“Never lettin’ you walk away again,” he murmured into your hair.

And he meant it.

[rawme-price]

Reader with healing magic and the 141, BUT the healing magic feels like, really fucking good. As such you avoid using it at all when u can.

Price is a bit snippy, why the hell did they get someone with healing powers if they refuse to heal? Sure, ur a damn good soldier, but you'd be even better if you'd actually use ur powers.

It's not until soap gets shot in the stomach on an op that they learn why. He's bleeding like hell and there's no way to get him to a proper medic so u steel ur nerves, peel his shirt up, and press a warm glowing palm to the wound.

Soap outright moans, loud and very clear over the comms. And its not just one moan either, he sounds like hes getting fucked over there.

"The hell are you two doing?!" Price sounds both baffled and angry.

"Im fuckin' healing him." You retort, trying to be heard over the outright slutty sounds coming from soap "its a side affect of my magic."

"Fuckin' hell. Mute your comms, we need to focus."

Anyways soap cums like that lol. Maybe ill continue this, I actually quiet like the idea🤔

(Pssst I made a pt2)

[cod-indulgences]

Johnny Mactavish x reader, sub!Johnny, chastity cages, Dom!reader, implied Johnny x tf!141

Johnny's face is glowing red, all the way from ear to ear, and you can see him squirming from the corner of you eye as you hold the little gold key up to Price.

"Emergencies only," you say, "he can piss through it fine. I'm talking medical, contacting next of kin shit. Don't let him beg it off unless he's bleeding."

Price accepts the key with a sort of bemused half-smile, slipping it onto his dog tags as you watch. The match to it is on a chain around your neck.

Besides Soap, Ghost and Gaz are smirking, eyes flashing between you and Soap, the way he's trying desperately to avoid everyone's eyes, lingering on his groin. Nothing can be seen, of course- but they know.

Key transferred, you lean into Johnny, kissing his cheek even as he tries to straighten up, pretend he's not brick red, shaking a little. You hand slides right down his front, and he bites back a yelp when you cup him through his jeans. A nice, solid little palmful, the ridges of the cage just tangible to your fingers.

"Fuck, love, give it up," he hisses, and you grip him tighter.

"Not on your life, MacTavish. You're keeping that cock of yours right here where I know it's behaving," you say, and wink over to Gaz. "I'm sure your friends will be happy to check and make sure it's fitting well. What do you think, is that alright?" You turn so you're clearly addressing the others, Soap not even given a choice. "Mind helping a girl out here?"

Ghost claps a hand onto Soap's shoulder. You can see his cheeks curving with a grin through the mask. "With pleasure, love," and Price even chuckles as Soap fucking whines, "we'll send you photos even, if'n you like. Show you how we're taking good care of your lad and all."

You beam, getting up on your toes to kiss his cheek. "Thanks, Simon! I know he's in good hands."

You kiss Gaz and Price as well- Soap glaring and blushing and just trapped- before you cup your man's face in both hands and take his mouth for yourself, licking into him even as he grumbles and tries to fidget away, making sure he gets every suck of your lips and flick of your tongue, right there in front of his team, all of them knowing now that any attempt to chub up is going to be stopped by rings of solid surgical steel.

You can't wait to hear about their reaction to the little gold bow decorating the tip, matching the little golden keys, the first time they have a "check."

-

The first few photos are simple enough, close up snaps of Soap's cock red and swollen, straining in the cage, clearly worked up and regretting it.

The first video, though, is much more interesting.

[leyavo]

Sergeant!Reader that’s normally assigned as Soap’s shadow. Where he falls back, you step in. Even finish each others sentences over comms, Gaz and Ghost stumbling over their words as they try to the do same. A bit of rivalry between the four of you.

Price is forever mumbling down the line and threatening to split you two up. He’d love a bit more silence.

“Might need to trim that moustache captain, can’t hear a word ye’ saying.” A string of curse words echoing in response and a “can ya hear me now Soap?”

What they didn’t plan on though was you both being afraid of big dogs. Johnny and you cornered by a group of rabid hounds. “A pack of demon dogs.”

Johnny’s murmuring prayers, confessing his sins and apologising for eating that yoghurt you left in the fridge. So he did see the label.

You can hear Ghost telling you to just shoot. “Can’t shoot a dog a L.T,” you say, nudging Johnny forwards because he’s got more muscle on his bone than you. Gaz ends up swooping in and saving you from the snarling beasts, you don’t step out of his shadow till you’re back on safe ground.

Johnny can’t shut up about how you tried to feed him to the dogs. “They should have sacrificed you, wouldn’t have to listen to you go on mate,” Kyle mumbles, which turns into a debate on what flavour of dogfood you’d all be.

He complains so much that Price makes you both work at the kennels till you learn to be around dogs. “I hang around with you guys, isn’t that enough?” You may have earnt yourself another month there.

Ghost and Gaz pop by for moral support (to see you two squirm and later help you).

[Masterlist]

[rock-star-pill-bug]

Soap, of course

i haven't really thought a whole lot about training, like the clicker that you train your spouse to cum, y'know? but...

what if you had some old boyfriend who was into that and ended up doing it to you. you're broken up now, of course, but it's still subconsciously there, though you don't really fully realize it's still ingrained.

...until you're with Soap on a mission, its quiet, just you and him. unfortunately, when it's this quiet every noise is that much louder, and him reloading his gun mimics the sound of the old clicker.

have fun trying to be quiet and holding position knowing damn well you just came. how close Soap is to you, mixed with his own heavy breathing isn't exactly helping the situation either.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

I love your short fics, love when they come across my dash, they live in my head rent free 🤭

Thinking about one (or all, your pick) of the 141 boys getting called in because their kid is in trouble at school, but when they arrive they learn that their kid was only standing up for someone else who was being bullied. Bonus points if it's their little girl standing up to a big mean boy.

They learn this by walking in on their non-confrontational, normally pacifist partner (the other parent) absolutely ripping the headmaster a new one for putting their child in this situation.

The boys thought they were going to be the bad cop in this scenario, but instead they are the ones having to rely on their hostage negotiation training to get their little loves back home.

(It's hard not to feel something at the sight of the mama bear energy... It might be pride but it's probably something else 🤭)

Xoxoxo

Daddy’s Little Defender

Pairing: Poly!141 x Reader

Warnings: Mild language, parental rage, school bullying mention, protective reader, found family parenting, soft domestic tension, lots of heart

Author's Note: Domestic chaos meets protective firestorm. This one’s for the softies who would go feral for their kid. Based on a beautiful request about mama bear energy, nervous dads, and a little girl who refuses to let injustice slide.

Summary: A call from school sends the 141 into panic mode—your daughter’s in trouble. But when they arrive, they find you already handling it in a way none of them expected. What was supposed to be a parent-teacher meeting turns into a standoff... and maybe something a little more emotional.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

It started like a perfectly normal Wednesday.

Toast crumbs scattered across the kitchen counter, Kyle and Johnny bickering over whose turn it was to pack the lunchbox, Simon groaning at the sound of Peppa Pig playing in the background, and John sipping his coffee with the paper tucked under his arm like he was already ten years into retirement.

You kissed foreheads, wiped faces, and reminded Bonnie for the third time to wear socks that matched. Your little girl—seven years old, gap-toothed, and bright as a firecracker—grinned up at her dads like she was the queen of the castle.

Everything felt routine. Cozy. Soft.

Then Simon’s phone rang.

He frowned at the screen, answered calmly, then froze halfway through “This is her father.”

John looked up. Kyle stopped stirring the oatmeal. Johnny leaned off the counter slowly.

Simon’s face didn’t change—but something in the room did.

He ended the call, voice tight. “School. Something happened with Bonnie.”

No one wasted a second.

They loaded into the SUV with terrifying efficiency, each man scanning the situation like a mission. John drove. Johnny had his arm slung around the passenger seat, tapping his fingers. Kyle checked the school address twice even though he knew the way. And Simon just stared straight ahead like he could will the truth into existence.

“She’s a good kid,” Johnny murmured for the third time. “Wouldn’t start nothin’. She’s just like her mum.”

That much was true.

Your girl had your heart—sunshine-bright and gentle-handed, always the first to share her juice box and stand up when someone cried. But when they arrived at the school office, the secretary’s expression was pinched.

The principal was waiting in his office, awkward and pale, fidgeting with a folder.

“I’m afraid this is a behavioral issue. Bonnie kicked another student. In the shin.”

The room went still.

“She what?” Kyle blinked.

“Apparently, he was pushing another boy. And she intervened. Verbally at first. Then physically.”

The principal adjusted his tie. “She told him—verbatim—‘Do it again, and I’ll break your nose like my Papa Simon did to that man in Berlin.’”

Johnny wheezed. “She what?”

Kyle covered his mouth, eyes wide with barely contained laughter. Simon looked like he was deciding whether to be proud or terrified. John’s jaw clenched.

“She’s suspended for the remainder of the week,” the principal added, as if it was the only logical outcome.

Then—

Boom.

The office door burst open.

And you were there.

Not the quiet, honey-voiced version of you who made bedtime tea and hummed lullabies.

No.

This was war.

“Who the hell do you think you are suspending my daughter for protecting another child?” you snapped, voice low and crackling with fury.

The principal flinched. “Ma’am—”

“She didn’t start a fight. She ended one. Where were your staff when a third-grade boy was getting pushed around hard enough to bleed? You want to discipline someone? Try disciplining yourself.”

“Mrs.—”

“Not MacTavish. Not Garrick. Not Riley. Not Price. Just Mama. And Mama is pissed.”

The room crackled with tension.

Outside the door, Bonnie sat cross-legged on a bench, head bowed, chewing her sleeve.

You didn’t even wait for a response. You stormed out, dropped to your knees, and pulled her into your arms.

“You okay, baby?”

She sniffled. “I didn’t mean to get in trouble.”

“You’re not in trouble,” you whispered fiercely. “You did exactly what I taught you. You stood up for someone who couldn’t. That’s bravery, Bonnie. That’s being a good person.”

Behind you, the boys emerged one by one.

Johnny knelt first, ruffling her curls. “Shin’s a solid target. You alright, little one?”

She nodded into your shoulder.

Kyle crouched next, eyes full of admiration. “Didn’t think you’d use Berlin as an example.”

“She listens,” Simon muttered.

John crouched in front of her, calm as ever. “You scared us, sweetheart. But we’re proud of you.”

“Even though I kicked him?” she whispered.

“Especially because,” he said.

You stood slowly, heart still hammering in your chest. All four men turned toward you with something unreadable in their eyes.

Admiration. Awe. Maybe something else.

John reached out first, brushing your wrist with his fingertips. “Didn’t think I’d walk in and see you going full recon mode.”

“I was livid,” you muttered. “They were blaming her for doing the right thing.”

Kyle slipped an arm around your waist. “You were amazing.”

Johnny leaned in with a low whistle. “Honestly, might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Simon, of course, deadpanned, “You did use my Berlin story. I feel oddly honored.”

Back in the car, Bonnie happily sipped her juice box from her lunchbox, swinging her legs like nothing had happened.

You sat sandwiched between Johnny and Kyle, your hand in John’s, Simon driving up front.

And in that moment, everything settled again. The storm passed.

Your girl was safe.

Your boys were here.

And they’d all learned something important today.

No one—no one—messed with your kid.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[littlefreya]

You can't even see his shape, can't identify the form. But your subconscious knows him, knows everything about him. The mask. The scars. The pain. You can feel a shaky tether, not enough tension in the rope to draw him to you for real.

Excuse me while I collapse into an ocean of tears. This is so beautiful!!!

Imagine Johnny is a dream walker.

He can insert himself into your mind while you sleep and share thoughts at varying levels of intensity depending on his intentions, but only if he has an intimate physical connection with you.

Imagine he's home on leave, fresh off a particularly harrowing tf141 mission, but too new into his situationship with Ghost to make it a thing. Not quite sure how to get Simon to let anyone else know; still uncertain how to make him believe it's meant to be.

Imagine he finds you at your lowest, but sees something in your jagged edges, something so broken and familiar. And he's drawn to it. Drawn to you. Props you up, embraces your pain, finds a way to soothe it. Through whispers in the night. Secrets woven into the fabric of your subconscious.

As his relationship with Ghost solidifies, his time on leave includes fewer and fewer meetings with you, but the time is always worth it. Imagine feeling refreshed and healed every morning despite the way he ravishes your body in the nights before.

Imagine knowing the moment he's gone. Feeling the filament of his bright light pop deep in your soul. It's sudden and disorienting, but nowhere near as unnerving as the moment you finally fall asleep after sobbing all your heartache away and find yourself dreaming of a man you've never met in your life.

You can't even see his shape, can't identify the form. But your subconscious knows him, knows everything about him. The mask. The scars. The pain. You can feel a shaky tether, not enough tension in the rope to draw him to you for real. But you wake knowing Johnny left him for you (and you for him) and you spend every evening muscling your way into the depths of the billions of miles of neurons in your mind to find the clues he left. A face. A name. Anything.

Imagine when you find it. The shock of awaking inside his dream giving way quickly to relief as you realize how you got there. Johhny blazed a trail for you, all those quiet secrets and whispered promises. You know he had to have done the same for Simon.

Imagine sensing his alarms going off; the way Ghost thrashes in his sleep, trying to rid his dreams of your intrusion. Imagine how he slowly calms as you call out to him silently from thousands of miles away. Recount stories only one other person should know to prove your worth to him.

The wet dreams are an added bonus. And they hold no candle to the reunion when Simon finally figures it all out for himself and finds you, the real you, knocking on your door and taking up where Johnny left off.