#Soap Fic

[luxcuriousao3]

Officially broke 10k words of pure Soap torture on my current WIP.

Poor guy.

[lilolram]

God knows his mammy wouldn't have let him out off the house in the state he returned in. He was 100% the kid whose shoes sole was hanging off like a tongue by the end of the year..

Army straightened him up rightly

!Secondary-school Johnny x Reader

Shooting across the road, ready in your school uniform, shoes untied with a bowl of cereal in hand. Juggling the task of opening the door and calling on Mrs. MacTavish if she was up and footering about.

Always assuring the 'breadwinner', Mr. MacTavish, you'd brung your own milk. God knows he's not paying for some skiver from across the street, even though he'd known you since you were just a tote.

His wee sister would be watching early morning CBBC in the sitting room. You'd chat with his mammy and elder sisters as he bustled downstairs fighting with his School tie, watching over your shoulder with a grin on your face - He knew the look in your eyes when his mum lost the plot watching him, tying it for him like he was a child. He'd never live moments like that up.

You'd be in a small headlock by the time you were out the door, and unless you were rushing for the bus and pushing the clock, the local corner shop was your stop before school with Johnnh obnoxiously slurping his lucozade, school-bag slung of his shoulder, pockets funny with change and god knows that shirt would be untucked before the bell rang for break..

[sillyswriting]

: ̗̀➛ forsaken

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  ₊✩ˎˊ˗ masterlist

highlander johnny 'soap' mactavish x princess reader

synopsis : Marriage was meant to be a dream come true, but when betrayal strikes within the house of God, fate weaves a different tale for the forsaken princess.

series tw : mention of sexual assault, soft smut, loss of virginity, angst, violence, deaths, graphic descriptions, gore, insecurities, injuries, suicidal thoughts, self-injuries in the name of religion, blasphemy, eventual pregnancy, talks of religions and faith, religious guilt, chubby reader, historical facts and inaccuracies, (johnny wearing kilts, yes, it's a warning of its own) each chapter will have its own warnings.

moodboard ⋆ hair visual ⋆ playlist ⋆ ao3

no taglist ( @sillysarchives for updates)

𖤓 01 - am pòsadh

𖤓 02 - an turas

𖤓 03 - a' chinneadh

𖤓 04 - na sacsonaich

𖤓 05 - an neach-brathaidh

𖤓 06 - am peanas diadhaidh

𖤓 07 - a' bheatha nuadh (coming soon)

status : on going

[corpsypher]

|| Gymrat!Soap x Fat!Reader ||

Fat!reader that hates gyms (not exercising), hates the judging face staring back at her from the floor to ceiling mirror.  Fat!reader that pushes out of her comfort zone to fulfill the needs of her body, and her New Year's resolutions (even if the first trimester of the year is already over).  Fat!reader who finds the perfect female instructor, a personal trainer that knows what it feels like to be inside a big body and understands her goals.  Fat!reader that after a few weeks forces herself to get used to the 10am crowd, and to not feel as self-conscious about wearing tight sportswear out in public.  Fat!reader who's so skilled in avoiding people's eyes on her, accustomed to expecting the worst, that doesn't notice the lustful gaze of a gymrat.  Fat!reader who's had the help of a handsome Scottish man spotting her when her coach was called to the front desk. Felt his groin subtly brush against her ass, but dismissed it as an accident because she takes up more space than most people are used to.  Fat!reader that's completely oblivious to the fact the buff highlander with the ridiculous Mohawk, and icy blue eyes has synced his routine to match hers strategically.  Like when she does her cardio (jogging on the treadmill or climbing the stairmaster), he is always by the weights, dead-lifting her exact body weight while looking at her jiggling and bouncing, making him salivate.  Or when she's stretching at the end of a session, doing all kinds of poses that make her groan and moan because of the ache in her muscles. He's close by the benches, hip thrusting several heavy disks, sweating and cursing under his breath. Fat!reader who is unaware of the warnings the staff have issued to him, for public indecency. Making him switch from using his usual gray sweatpants to black loose workout shorts.  Fat!reader that didn't think a guy as jacked as Johnny could be so friendly, and sweet to a girl like her. After speaking a few times, they became spotting buddies, and they do cardio together. Just not the one that he wants… yet.   She has no clue that he's now obsessed with the sound of her labored breathing, along with the rhythmic thud of her feet hitting the mat of the treadmill, and the choked groans she sometimes lets out while lifting. He can't stay away. Fat!reader who hits the 8-week mark of consistent attendance, and is frustrated to see the scale stay practically the same, her measurements are not different either. Even with the help of the dieting shakes Johnny recommended.  The silver lining is her new-found stamina, she feels stronger and with more confidence all while looking the same, she's content with the routine. But that doesn't last.  Her trainer is no longer available to work with her, and the gym assigns her someone else while they find a substitute. And he is not friendly at all. 

I just love pervert-with-a-plan johnny, who wants to fuck an unsuspecting bae. And then you have someone showing up and pissing all over his plans...

[springtyme]

Hi spring! I really love your 141 baby fics, especially the soap ones. for your autumn challnege can you write reader telling soap that she is pregnant ? pretty please🥺

𝐀 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 ♡

John "Soap" MacTavish x reader || Main Masterlist || Spotify

summary: After a month apart, you can finally tell Johnny the secret you've waited to reveal.

word count: 1.3k

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟖) 𝐅𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

You lie curled up in the soft warmth of your blankets, the gentle autumn sunlight streaming through the curtains. You dwell in the faint sound of breathing beside you—steady and deep. It’s calm and comforting, a sound you have missed so much. Johnny had returned home last night after a month-long deployment, and you still can’t quite believe he’s finally back, in your cosy little bedroom, right here next to you. 

As the dim light dances across his face, you take a moment to admire him. The shadow of his stubbles outlines his strong jaw, and you can’t help but trace the line with your fingers, careful not to wake him. His features have softened in slumber, though even in sleep, there’s a distinct aura of strength about him. A sense of joy swells in your heart, and you lean closer, resting your head on his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of him—warmth mixed with a hint of clean soap and something uniquely Johnny.

But despite the content, happiness blooming within you, your mind is racing with thoughts you can hardly contain. A life altering revelation you’ve kept for weeks, a hidden truth that has grown heavier with each passing day. You can almost feel it pulsing beneath the surface, begging for release.

You have spent countless nights these past weeks imagining what it would be like to share the news with him, but now that the moment is finally here, your heart races. You can hardly believe that just two weeks ago, you had taken that little white stick from the chemist, waited under anxious breaths for it to change, and when those two lines appeared—joy flooded through you like a tidal wave. You are pregnant.

As you listen to Johnny’s rhythmic breathing, you bite your lip, torn between letting him sleep peacefully and the burning desire to spill your secret, to share this monumental news that will forever change both of your lives. You know how much he wants this, and the thought of his reaction fills you with excitement and nerves in equal measure. In this moment you regret not having told him last night, but you didn’t want to overwhelm him right after he’d come back home, to give him a chance to reacclimate and enjoy the sweetness of being back home, yet the weight of the truth feels unbearable under the tenderness of this moment.

You carefully push yourself up onto one elbow, leaning in closer to him. You brush a strand of hair from his forehead and plant a gentle kiss there, hoping to rouse him from his dreams. His eyes flutter open, their deep blue locking onto yours. There’s a short moment of groggy confusion, followed by blissful clarity, a slow smile breaking across his face as he takes in your tender gaze. He pulls you closer in his embrace, almost instinctive, as if anchoring both of you in this fleeting moment.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his deep voice thick with sleep. There’s an undeniable warmth in his gaze, the way the blue of his eyes brightens as they sweep over your face.

“Hey,” you reply, your heart racing as you lean in to plant a gentle kiss on his lips. “Welcome home,” you whisper into his mouth before pulling back. 

“God, I missed you,” Johnny breathes, his voice still husky with sleep. He pulls away just enough to look into your eyes. You can see him trying to read the emotions swirling in your gaze, and it makes the weight of your secret even heavier.

“I missed you too,” you say softly, brushing your fingers along his jawline again, wanting to memorise every minute detail of his face after being apart. 

“Did I really sleep through the night with you next to me?”

You chuckle softly, nodding. “Yeah, you did. I think you were pretty tired.”

Johnny stretches, his muscles taut under your fingertips. He sighs contentedly and shifts his weight, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you more closely. You can see in his eyes that he has noticed the tension beneath your calm demeanour. The way he studies you makes your heartbeat quicken; his gaze is unwavering, filled with a mix of love and curiosity. “What’s going on in that bonnie head of yours?” he asks, his brow slightly furrowing with a mix of curiosity and concern as he studies your expression.

You chew your lip, the moment of truth dawning on you like the sunlight spilling into the room. “I have something important to tell you,” you say, your voice steady despite the thud of your heart.

He tilts his head, eyes glinting with curiosity and apprehension. “You’re scaring me a little now,” he admits, a playful smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “You know I’d take on the world to protect you, right?”

The sincerity in his tone makes your resolve strengthen, and you smile softly back at him. “I know, and that’s why I’m so excited to tell you.” You take a deep breath, steeling yourself, and let your hand cradle the side of his face for assurance. “I’m pregnant.”

The words hang in the air, swirling around you like a gentle breeze, and for a moment, silence envelops you both. You watch as his expression shifts from surprise to a grin that splits his face wide open, his eyes sparkling with an emotion you can barely decipher.

“Are you serious?” he breathes, almost as though he’s afraid to believe it.

You nod, biting your lip to suppress your own excitement. “I took a test two weeks ago… and then a few more after that to be sure. I wanted to wait to tell you in person.”

He sits up fully now, something electric weaving through his features. “Really?”

“Really,” you confirm, your voice steady and filled with warmth as you find your grounding in the gravity of the moment.

In an instant, the surprise morphs into pure elation. Johnny’s smile widens, his eyes shimmering with light, and he lets out a breathy laugh that resonates through the space between you, bright and rich, a sound filled with joy and disbelief all at once. “Love, you’re really serious?!” His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as he inspects your face for any sign of jest. The sincerity in your eyes reassures him that this is no joke. “I cannae believe it! This is—this is pure brilliant! He wraps his strong arms around you, lifting you off the bed, making you squeal with a mix of surprise and joy, and spins you around in a joyous whirl, as you laugh along with him, both of you lost in the sheer magic of the moment.

When he finally sets you back down, he holds you tightly, his face buried in your neck, and you can feel the tremor of his excitement in the way he hugs you. 

“We’re having a wean,” he breathes, and there’s an awe in his voice that sends shivers down your spine. You can hear how much this means to him, to you both, and it ignites a fire of hope and dreams that you carefully begin to weave together with him.

“We are,” you reply softly, a smile breaking across your face as his words wash over you like a soothing balm. You can feel the warmth radiating off him, and everything beyond your embrace fades into oblivion. “I know we have talked about it, but I never imagined it would happen so soon,” you admit.

Johnny pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes alight with wonder. “Do you know how far along you are?” he asks, a mix of concern and excitement lacing his tone.

“About seven or eight weeks,” you reply, the reality of the timeline settling in, although it feels strangely surreal. “I was going to schedule an appointment for that first ultrasound, but I wanted to wait till you got home.”

A blend of awe and protectiveness washes over Johnny’s face as he absorbs the news. “Aye, we’ll make the appointments together, figure everything out. You, me, and our wee one.”

[criminalamnesia]

so after comparing price/simon to tolerate it, I’ve been wondering what song to compare gaz/johnny to

may I present: Johnny and Gaz giving lover vibes

(also I am working on ending 2 for tolerate it!)

he’s obsessed with you. the first time he saw you, in some dingy little bar he couldn’t believe someone as beautiful as you would be in— he was hooked. hopelessly in love, already throwing back a shot and sauntering over.

you’re alone at the bar, and he thinks that’s a damn shame. tells you that in those words. you laugh, and he cracks a smile— and the conversation starts to flow.

has he known you twenty seconds, or twenty years? there’s a natural spark between the two of you, something that makes it feel as though you hadn’t just met.

he buys you a drink, and before you know it, the two of you are on the dance floor. a slow song is playing, and you smile as his hands find your waist. his grip is gentle, reassuring.

he spins you around and you laugh, throwing your head back as he nearly drops you. by the time the song ends, the two of you are flushed and laughing like newlyweds.

an older woman comes up to you and tells you that you two are the cutest couple she’d ever seen. you play into it, giggling and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek while he slings an arm around your shoulders.

needless to say, he goes home with you that night.

and when you wake up in the morning, he’s still there. standing in his boxers in your tiny apartment kitchen, cooking eggs and brewing coffee.

you swear you fall in love right then and there.

the two of you eat, and the conversation is easy. you almost don’t want him to leave— you have to fight the urge to ask him to stay.

you think it’s a little ridiculous— you don’t know him! but it feels like you do. and you think he feels the same way, because he taps his number into your phone and tells you to call him later to talk about a proper date.

you’re fucking done for.

the first date is perfect. he brings you flowers when he comes to pick you up, and you roll your eyes but can’t hide the blush that rushes to your cheeks.

you swear you’ve never met a man this nice. never gone on a date with someone so kind, so charming. sure, he’s a flirt— but it’s not distasteful. he’s a people person, that’s what he tells you. you believe him.

he pays for dinner, of course, even when you try to pay for your half. he walks you home afterwards, and gives you a kiss goodnight, and you feel like you’re living in a fucking movie.

all your friends think you’re crazy. they start to talk some sense into you— he’s just luring you in! just trying to get in your pants! he’s hiding something!

their words creep into your brain, and the next date you have with him, you’re quieter. more detached, more calculating. and fuck, if your friends weren’t completely wrong.

you go on date after date, and before you know it, you’ve been with him for a year. you’re moving into his flat, and although you know you’ll be home more often than he will, you don’t mind.

when he gets deployed for the first time during your relationship, the honeymoon phase starts to crack. you try to cope with the loneliness; with the boredom that his being away brings. you didn’t realize how much time you spent together until he left.

you call when you can— but it’s not often. he’s somewhere he can’t say, and the cell reception isn’t exactly spectacular. you send letters, and receive a few back, but communication is few and far between.

and then he surprises you one day by bursting through the door, nearly giving you a heart attack as you jumped off the couch.

you scold him as you jump into his arms, complaining “I thought you were a robber! I was prepared to kill you!”

and he just laughed and gave you a kiss.

your life together isn’t perfect. you have fights and disagreements. you refuse to let him meet your friends for the longest time because “they still think you’re playing the long game of deception.”

but you make up because you can never stay mad at each other for long. you finally get your friends to come around to the idea of him, and they instantly hit it off with him once you force them into the same room.

he wrangles his squad into meeting you, and they make sure to embarrass him. (they also love you, and when you excuse yourself to the bathroom, they tell him how happy they are for him.)

“so, you’re the one he never shuts up about, aye?”

he proposes after three years. it seems short to some, but you don’t care. you’ve loved him three summers now, and you sure as hell want all the rest of them, too.

so you get married and it’s nothing huge. an intimate ceremony with family and close friends. his teammates are his groomsmen. they each takes turns spinning you around the dance floor later that night, and they tell you that if he ever breaks your heart, they’ll kick his ass. you throw your head back and laugh.

at the end of the night, after all the guests have gone, he asks you for one last dance.

it’s to the slow song you’d danced to the first night you met so long ago, in that dingy little bar. he spins you around, and you step on his toes because of all the wine, but neither of you care. all you care about is each other.

he’s deployed a week after your wedding, and you hate to see him go, but you’d never put yourself between him and his work. his team promises you they’ll get him back to you safely. you trust them with all your heart.

when he returns months later, he’s sporting new scars and stitches. he’s the most beat up you’d ever seen him, and you hold back tears as you patch him up. only when he’s soundly asleep do you let the tears fall.

but life continues. you make the most of his time on leave, and anxiously await his return on deployment.

and although you would never dare utter the words, you know that the day he doesn’t come back to you is the day a piece of you dies, too.

you didn’t believe in soulmates until you met him.

[gloomwitchwrites]

What Are We (4 of 4)

John "Soap" MacTavish x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: light angst, brief mention of alcohol, possessive Soap, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected piv (wrap it up irl)

Word Count: 942

Always deflecting the question, you push John for an answer.

Imagines & What If Series

ao3 // main masterlist // what are we masterlist

John is not an angry drunk. Nor is he a sloppy one.

In fact, John is exceptionally gifted in holding his alcohol. But what John is after a few drinks can only be described as mischievous. He loves pushing at the right buttons, teasing until you’re hot with carefully concealed embarrassment, constantly touching, constantly grabbing until you’re playfully smacking at his hands.

John loves riling you up. He does it on purpose. He pushes until the gentleness becomes quiet discontent, until your tone becomes argumentative, only for John to kiss you, and then fuck you until you shut up and forget all about it in the first place.

While it’s a game between the two of you, you’re not particularly feeling it tonight. Right now, you’re slightly irritated, uninterested in all of his advances. It’s not because you’re no longer attracted to him, but because you have a task before you.

Your friends all the say the same thing. To confront John and ask him what this is between the two of you. You and he are always together, always a pair, and yet there has been no solid commitment. Whenever it’s brought up, he’s usually the one to quickly dismiss it, especially in a group setting. In the beginning you thought nothing of it, but now, after months together, you need an answer.

John lounges on the couch, legs spread, one arm draped over the back of the sofa. His eyelids are soft, almost closed. The arm not resting on the back of the sofa is in his lap. John’s large hand rubs up and down his covered thigh.

“Come here,” he murmurs, indicating where you should sit with a soft tap of his palm.

You’d give anything to slide into his lap. To wrap your arms around his neck and forget the world for a bit.

But your heart is beating wildly in your chest, the anxious need to ask him a fiery thing.

“What are we, John?” you whisper, glancing up to his face, seeking an answer.

The playful smile on his face drops slightly. John slowly rubs up his thigh and back down again before lightly squeezing. “Come here,” he repeats. “We can talk while you’re in my lap.”

If you go to him, the two of you will not talk.

“No,” you reply, crossing your arms over your chest.

The playful demeanor melts away, replaced with that of a hunter. John leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. He holds this position for a moment, staring at you intently. With an exaggerated unhurriedness, John stands and then strides forward into your space. There is no chance for you to step away from him or to give yourself room to breathe.

John is right there, grabbing the back of your neck, hauling you into a passionate kiss that rips your resolve from your throat. You open for him, and he enters, claiming and kissing and tasting until your fingers dig into the front of his soft, cotton t-shirt.

When he breaks the kiss, the wetness between your thighs is stark and unforgiving.

“You need to answer my question,” you murmur, some of that strength returning.

“Do you think you’re not mine?” he asks, tone serious.

“No. Just—you never admit what we are. You always brush it off, especially in front of others.”

John frowns, his thumb rubbing across your cheek. “They don’t need to know what this is. This is just between us.”

You shake your head. “I understand but that’s not what I’m asking.”

John’s hold on the back of your neck strengthens. He draws you even closer, just until the tips of your noses are touching. “Then let me show you.”

He closes the distance, and you melt completely, forming to him as you always do. With one arm snaking around your waist, John guides you over to the sofa. You’re so wrapped up in him that his abrupt breaking leaves you momentarily dazed. It’s brief. A flash. And then you’re bent over, knees sinking into the cushion, arms and hands digging into the sofa’s armrest.

“John—”

You don’t even get the question out before he’s shoved up your skirt, pushes your underwear aside, and places his mouth on your pussy. His tongue swirls and tastes, expertly moving up and down and then stopping to tease your clit.

Everything clenches. Everything shakes. And it isn’t until your small death appears suddenly that you realize how good John is with your body. He sucks and sucks on your clit until your voice goes hoarse.

Then, you’re yanked flush against him, his chest pressing into your back, John’s hand wrapped around the front of your throat. You feel his hand between your bodies opening up the front of his jeans and shoving them down enough for his cock to slide between your thighs.

You whimper and push back on him.

“You’re mine, love,” he murmurs into your ear.

The head of his cock presses against your entrance. It hovers there before sinking in. John groans as your fingers find his skin, digging in.

“Your cunt is mine,” he growls, retreating a bit before thrusting forward harshly, completely burying himself inside you.

The hand at your throat twists a bit, forcing you to look at him.

“Your lips are mine,” he says just before kissing you, his lips meeting yours as he rolls his hips.

His other hand reaches between your legs to play with your clit. It’s over. You’re done. You will give him anything.

“Everything about you belongs to me,” he whispers against your mouth. John’s thrusts increase in pace. “And I am all yours.”

[serialkilluh1996]

⌕Soap fluff

This thought came to me months ago when I was daydreaming, but now I'm gonna apply it to my hyperfixation.

Imagine Soap giving you a cup of heavy alcohol, knowing you'd be too prideful to decline. Of course, his lovely darling could handle some simple drinks. You never shy from drinking, especially when it's a matter of proving your strength.

"Atta girl." He cheers you on as you bring the glass to your lips, earning him a smug eye roll from his beloved. It couldn't be THAT strong. And yet, the tears began to prick at your eyes. It felt like all of hell was swimming in your throat.

As much as you want to play tough and force it down, your body reflexively spits it all back in the cup, allowing you time to choke and gasp, struggling to catch your breath. "Damn, you alright?" He teases, which only angers you further. But it wasn't like you could fuss under these conditions.

Soap smirks, pulling the cup closer to himself before pouring the entire thing down his throat. Your face held much emotion, a harrowing look of pure shock and disbelief in your teary eyes. "Did..did you just– why the fuck would you–" you began to cough again. You couldn't believe he just drank that after you spat it out. You couldn't even decide if you were disgusted yet. "You taste amazing," he pats your back, hitting it just enough to knock out whatever cough you had left in you.

That would be one of the many times you questioned why you were dating him.

[msilwrites]

Trouble - ( Johnny 'Soap' Fic)

Hot, whatever size/colour/ethnicity you are, you are hot in Johnny's Eyes! Reader, Soap is smitten with you! Reader, Agent! Reader, Reboot! Johnny, Reboot! Soap, but he is Captain! Soap (Now!!), Captain! Johnny, Captain! Soap, Fuckboi! Soap, Manwhore! Soap, Judgemental! Johnny, Judgemental! Soap, Shameless! Soap, Cocky! Soap

Soap x Reader , Soap x Y/N ,

Edit: This is Part 1 | Click here for Part 2 | Part 3 ( In Progress)

Summary: Captain Johnny Soap MacTavish never believed in love at first sight—until he saw you at the pub. A vision of confidence, beauty, and allure, you had his attention from the moment you walked in. But Johnny, ever the impulsive Scotsman, couldn’t help jumping to the wrong conclusion. He misjudged you, mistaking your grace and poise for the airs of a spoiled rich princess or, worse, the temptations of a high-end escort.

Yet, even as he wrestled with his assumptions, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting you—craving you. His fascination with you became a stubborn obsession, and Johnny MacTavish was never one to back down from a challenge. No matter how many mistakes he made or how far you tried to run, he was determined to prove one thing: you were meant to be his, no matter what it took.

A/N:

FIRST—

This story is part of the Midnight Snack Mystery and Papa Bear Material universe. (If you’re Ghost or Price’s wife, feel free to identify as whichever one you are—this is your world too!)

The character in this story is still You (Y/N), but that is only if you identify as Soap’s “birdie,”!!

Soap’s already been promoted to Captain here, so feel free to enjoy that new title. Actually, everyone’s been promoted. Yep, Soap survived Makarov’s shot to the head—deal with it, that’s our canon now! (In this universe!! Lol!!)

Enjoy Soap’s audacity and the smutty goodness ahead!

Genre: Comedy / Smut

Warning : SMUT, MDNI! and Soap's audacity

----------

Soap leaned against the pool table, cue stick in hand, half-heartedly watching the game. The pub was lively as always, but his attention kept wandering. Roach lined up his shot, muttering something about taking his time, while Gaz leaned on the wall, spinning a cue in his hand like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Soap’s eyes drifted to the booth in the corner, where Price sat with Mrs. Price, sharing a crawfish boil with Ghost and Mrs. Riley. The sight would’ve been unthinkable a few years ago. Ghost—Ghost—was married now, cracking shells and laughing softly at something his missus said. And Price? The man who’d had nothing but the job his entire career was now semi-retired, director of SpecGru, and properly tied down.

Gaz was engaged, for goodness’s sake. And even bloody Roach, who swore he’d “die a free man,” had found a girl.

Soap huffed, lining up his shot but not really seeing it. “Look at ‘em,” he muttered, his accent thick with irritation. “Big, scary bastards all soft now ‘cause they’ve got a lass at home. Gaz, Ghost, Price—bloody hell, even Roach. What’s the world comin’ to?”

Gaz chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Maybe the problem isn’t them, mate. Maybe it’s you.”

Soap snorted. “Aye, right. Next thing I know, you’ll be tellin’ me tae go pick out curtains.”

Roach laughed, sinking his shot. “Don’t worry, Johnny. You’ll catch up. Eventually.”

Soap grumbled, shaking his head. He couldn’t help but grimace, thinking about the path that got him here. “Catch up,” he muttered. “More like they bloody dragged me up.”

When Price stepped back, and Ghost finally accepted promotions to Captain, then Major, and eventually Lieutenant Colonel—shocker of the century—the entire team dynamic shifted. Ghost, the man who’d spent his whole career avoiding a desk, settled down and took on a higher rank just before getting married. Meanwhile, Price transitioned from Captain to Director of SpecGru, semi-retired and making it look effortless.

And then there was Soap. They wouldn’t leave him alone, dragging the whole squad up to higher posts and hauling Johnny along with them, whether he liked it or not. Price and Ghost had pushed him—no, threatened him—into Sandhurst. His Lt. Col had personally shoved him into the officer training program, with Price backing it up and General MacMillan himself throwing in his weight.

The memory made him scowl. He could still hear Ghost’s dry tone, clear as day: “Get yer act together, Johnny. We’re not leavin’ you behind.”

Soap sighed. He didn’t mind being Captain, not really, but the way they’d strong-armed him into it still stung. Especially now, watching the lot of them with their missuses, their lives looking settled and... content.

They’d gone from being his squadmates to practically running the show—Price as Director, Ghost as a Lieutenant Colonel—and it was like they’d made it their mission to drag their Sergeant up the ranks with them. Now here he was: Captain MacTavish, earning more money than ever and still too stingy to spend it on anything but his motorbike, cheap pints, and the occasional takeaway.

Not that he couldn’t afford a girlfriend now—hell, he could’ve afforded one when he was a Sergeant—but back then, he’d been more about quick flings and less about commitment. Now? Now he didn’t even have that. Just the ghost of his own damn jealousy watching his mates turn into family men.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but damn it, he envied them. Even Ghost, who’d been the least likely candidate for settling down, had found someone who could see past the mask—literally and figuratively. Price, Roach, Gaz—they all had someone. And Soap? He was still here, drinking cheap beer and pretending it didn’t bother him.

Then the pub door opened, and all thoughts scattered.

She walked in like she owned the place. Her wavy hair caught the dim light, and the way she moved—confident, smooth—drew his eye immediately. The corset top she wore hugged her figure in ways that made his pulse hitch, the sweetheart neckline daring him to look too long. Flare jeans accentuated her curves, her slingback heels clicking softly on the floor.

Soap froze, his cue stick forgotten. She looked expensive. The gold earrings glinted as she turned her head, catching the light like they had something to say, and that bracelet—that bracelet—he’d seen it before on women who liked their champagne vintage and their shoes handmade. Even her hair, styled but not fussy, screamed class. She didn’t just walk into the room; she owned it, every measured step deliberate, every soft click of her heels loud enough to turn heads.

“Christ,” Soap muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Roach, quick to notice, smirked. “What’s the matter, Johnny? You look like you’ve seen a goddess”

Soap flicked him a sharp look. “Shut it.”

But Roach wasn’t one to let it go. “Lost yer nerve, have ye? Go on, Captain. Talk to her.”

Soap’s eyes drifted back to her. The corset top, the jeans, the way she held herself—confident, but not in a way that begged for attention. No, she was the kind who knew she didn’t have to. He tried to peg her. A spoiled rich girl slumming it? Or maybe... Christ, was she an escort? High-class, no doubt, but still... The bracelet gave him pause. Women with money wore those; women who liked to make sure you knew they had money.

Gaz straightened from his lean, his sharp eyes cutting toward the woman. Something flickered across his face—a flash of recognition that vanished almost as quickly as it came. He didn’t speak, but Soap noticed the subtle shift in his demeanour. Gaz wasn’t just watching her; he was clocking her, analysing.

“Forget it,” Gaz said at last, his tone even.

Soap frowned. “Forget what?”

Gaz rolled his shoulders, leaning on his cue stick. “She’s not your type, Johnny. Way outta your league.”

Soap’s brow furrowed. “What d’ye mean by that?”

Gaz shrugged, giving him a knowing smirk. “Look at her. Probably costs more than you’d ever spend on a date.”

Roach barked out a laugh, slapping the table. “He’s right, you know. You’re tight as a drum, Johnny. You’d ask her to split the bill on a pint!”

Soap turned, his glare sharp enough to cut. “Oh, aye? Tight, am I? And who’s the one always payin’ for your rounds, eh?”

Roach’s grin only widened. “Doesn’t mean you’re takin’ her home, mate.”

Gaz chuckled, still leaning on his cue stick. “Don’t get yourself into trouble, Captain.” His tone was light, but there was an edge to it, almost a warning.

Soap huffed, his gaze drawn back to the bar where she now stood, her fingers brushing the counter as she ordered a drink. Trouble, eh? Maybe they were right. She probably was trouble—the kind you couldn’t walk away from. But something about her made it hard to care.

His grip tightened on the cue stick. He tilted his head, gaze fixed on her like he was sizing up an opponent. “Aye, maybe I do like trouble,” he muttered, the corners of his mouth pulling into a grin.

With that, Soap set the cue stick down, adjusted his jacket, and strode toward the bar.

Kyle groaned under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as Soap walked away, clearly on a mission. “Ah, shite,” he muttered, his accent laced with frustration.

Roach, still grinning like a man who’d just lit a fuse, turned to him. “What? He’ll thank me for it later. Might loosen him up, y’know? Johnny’s been too wound up lately. Could do with a lass to set him straight.”

Kyle jabbed a finger in the direction of the bar, where the woman stood, her poised demeanor giving nothing away. He leaned in closer to Roach, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “She’s workin’, mate.”

Roach furrowed his brows, confused. “Workin’? Like, you mean…?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, a sly grin creeping back onto his face. “Well, that’s perfect, then. Johnny gets his fun, spends a bit of that paycheck, and maybe he won’t be so bloody tight. Win-win, aye?”

Kyle slapped a hand to his forehead, exhaling like a man dealing with a hopeless case. “No, you idiot! Not that kind of workin’. She’s an informant. Undercover. Probably collectin’ intel, and if Johnny gets involved, he could blow her cover.”

Roach blinked, processing. “Wait. Hang on a sec.” He glanced back at the woman, squinting as he gave her a proper look. “She does look a bit familiar... Is she a regular here or somethin’?”

Kyle tilted his head toward her, his voice dropping even lower. “No, mate. We’ve worked with her info before. Think about it. The reports on that arms deal a few months back? That was hers. She’s good at what she does, but Johnny swaggerin’ over there like it’s a bloody Tinder date isn’t gonna help.”

Roach’s eyes widened, realization dawning. “Ohhh.” He glanced at Soap, who was now halfway to the bar, his confident stride making it clear he wasn’t about to change course. “Should we, uh… I dunno, drag him back here before he makes a right fool of himself?”

Kyle folded his arms, his expression a mix of resignation and exasperation. “At the right moment,” he said, his tone heavy with experience. His eyes tracked Soap’s progress as the Captain closed in on the woman. “Knowing Johnny, he’ll need to stick his foot in it first.”

----------

Soap reached the bar with his signature swagger, his broad grin in place as he sidled up next to her. “Evenin’, lass. What’s a woman like you doin’ in a place like this? Slummin’ it, are we?”

She glanced at him, then raised an eyebrow with a sly smile. “Slummin’ it? Bold of you to say that. Even bolder to approach me.”

Soap chuckled, clearly unbothered. “I’ve got plenty of boldness to spare, love.”

Soap leaned in, still wearing that cocky grin. “Johnny MacTavish, by the way. And you are...?”

She shot him a look, the smile still playing on her lips. “Name’s not your business,” she said, voice light but teasing. “But you may call me whatever you like.”

Soap couldn’t help but chuckle at her tone. “Oh, I’ll keep that in mind, love.”

He tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes with mock curiosity. “So, what’s a lass like you doin’ in a place like this? Surely this isn’t your usual haunt?”

She arched a brow, meeting his gaze with a challenge in her eyes. “Why can’t I be here? Have a pint like the rest of ‘em?”

Soap smirked, giving her the once-over. “You look a little too posh for this joint. I’m guessin’... rich spoiled brat, or a high-class escort?”

Her smile didn’t fade. Instead, she leaned in, her voice smooth and cutting. “Bold of you to say. Maybe I am, but if I am, either way... you can’t afford me.”

----------

Back at the pool table, Gaz and Roach were barely holding it together. They exchanged amused looks, stifling their laughter, as they whispered among themselves, not wanting Johnny to catch on.

Roach shot a smirk at Gaz. “Bloody hell, Johnny’s got no shame.”

Gaz snickered quietly. “Aye, but she’s givin’ him a run for his money, isn’t she?”

----------

Soap’s grin only grew wider, his voice low and teasing. “Well, if you’re that expensive, love, I reckon I could afford you for a night, but you’ll be getting more than just a view. How about I show you how wild a Highlander can get? I promise you, it’ll be... less polished, but a whole lot more memorable.”

She glanced up at him, and despite the heels, she was still dwarfed by his towering figure. His broad shoulders, the way his muscles moved under his shirt—it was all there, every inch of him commanding attention. And those blue eyes. Electric. Like they could strip her bare with just one look. He wasn’t just good-looking; he was the type of man you wouldn’t say no to if you were brave enough.

Her lips curled into a smile, and she leaned in just enough to make sure he caught her next words. “Bold of you to think I’d be interested in that... But go on, keep talking. I’m listening.”

Soap chuckled, loving the fire in her eyes. “Oh, I’ve got plenty more where that came from, love. Just say the word, and we’ll see if I can’t show you a wild side you’ve never even dreamed of.”

She arched a brow, her smile teasing, but the way her eyes held his made it clear she wasn’t backing down. “You really think you can handle someone like me?”

“Love,” he said with a smirk, his voice thick with the accent of his roots, “I’ve handled far worse. And I don’t back down from a challenge.”

She met his gaze, her own confidence matching his as she spoke again. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that... after you buy me a drink first.”

Soap leaned in, ordering her drink with a wink. “Whatever you like, love. It’s on me.”

The bartender returned shortly with two drinks, placing them on the bar with a polite nod. Soap slid one toward her with a confident grin, his eyes never leaving hers.

She took the glass, her fingers brushing against his. “Cheers,” she said smoothly, her voice almost a purr. Soap raised his glass in response, clinking it lightly with hers before taking a long sip.

----------

Meanwhile, not far from the bar, at the booth where Ghost and Price sat with their wives, the scene was unfolding just as expected.

Mrs. Riley, ever the character, popped a piece of fresh crawdad meat into her mouth, chewing with evident enjoyment as if she were snacking on popcorn. Mrs. Price took a slow, thoughtful sip from her pint, clearly entertained by the situation unfolding before them.

Price, leaning back slightly, gave Ghost a sideways glance. “What do you reckon, Simon? Is Johnny gonna manage to take this lass home, or is he gonna make a right fool of himself?”

Ghost raised an eyebrow, watching the exchange intently. “Aye, he’s got the charm for it, but we all know how Johnny is. He either gets what he wants, or he trips over his own feet trying.”

Price chuckled softly, eyeing Soap with a knowing look. “I’d say he’s got no chance of walking away from this without a few bruises to his ego. But, then again, she’s holding her own pretty well, eh?”

Mrs. Riley looked up from her seafood, her eyes twinkling as she smirked. “You both bettin’ on Johnny? I reckon she’ll either take him for a ride... or leave him in the dust.”

Ghost gave a small nod, glancing at Soap as he chatted up the lady. “Looks like the lady’s a tough one.” He turned to Price. “Should we step in? Drag Johnny back to the table before he makes a fool of himself—or worse, ruins her night?”

Mrs. Price, always one to watch the drama unfold, leaned in a little closer, eyes fixed on Soap and the woman at the bar. “Let ‘em be. It’s too entertaining watchin’ Johnny try and work his so-called 'charm.'”

Price chuckled quietly, raising his pint in a small toast. “Aye, you’re right. If she’s handling him this well, she’s got him wrapped around her finger already.”

----------

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a teasing smile. “And if I am a spoiled rich princess, what would you say then?”

Johnny’s grin spread even wider. He leaned in a little, his voice low and mischievous. “Well, if that’s the case... I’d say I’m the wildest adventure you’ll ever have. The kind you’ll never forget.”

She giggled, shaking her head, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You might just be all talk, though.”

Johnny sighed dramatically, then chuckled, leaning back in his seat with a playful challenge in his tone. “Ah, well then, lass... you could always come with me and find out for yourself.”

She leaned in closer, her lips almost brushing his ear. “And what if you disappoint me?” she asked, voice dripping with playful skepticism. “What do I get? I’m not doing the walk of shame in the morning, am I?”

Johnny gave a theatrical sigh, his grin never fading. “Well, if I disappoint you, I’ll make it up to you with breakfast in bed. But either way—disappointed or not—I’ll pamper you in the morning, love. You’ll be spoiled.”

She smiled, the thought of a leisurely morning in bed tempting her. Truth be told, it had been a while since she'd gotten laid, and this handsome MacTavish stranger seemed like just the thing she needed. A little adventure, some fun, and maybe a good night to get her back into the swing of things.

Single? Definitely. Needed to mingle? Absolutely. And well, if she was going to enjoy herself tonight, why not with a bloke who could keep up with her banter? A laugh, a good time, and possibly more? She could certainly get on board with that.

“I like the sound of that,” she said, her smile growing as she slid her fingers around her drink. “Might just take you up on that offer...”

She raised an eyebrow, a sly grin playing on her lips. “What if you’re a serial killer, though? I mean, with that mohawk and your good looks, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Johnny chuckled, his usual confidence not faltering. “Serial killer, huh? Well, I promise you, love, I’m no murderer.”

But she didn’t let up. “I don’t know... that mohawk's a bit suspicious. Still, I gotta admit, it suits you. You’re still handsome despite it.”

Johnny blinked in surprise, then a sheepish grin tugged at the corners of his lips. Did she just—? No one had ever dared to compliment him like that before, especially after the whole “wild man” routine.

"Well... thanks," he muttered, a little flustered now.

She grinned wickedly. “You're welcome, handsome. But seriously, how can I be sure you're not one bad night away from chopping me up and turning me into stew?”

Johnny let out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to shake off the awkwardness. “Alright, alright, what can I do to prove I’m not some serial killer, then? You wanna see my ID or something?”

She tapped her chin thoughtfully for a moment, before smirking. “Yeah, actually, that sounds good. Hand it over.”

Johnny dug into his pocket, pulling out his driver’s license. He handed it to her, and in a quick motion, she snatched it from his hand, raised her phone, and snapped a photo.

Johnny’s brows furrowed. “What are you doing?”

She smirked, showing him the screen. “Sending this to a trusted friend. You know, in case something happens to me tonight. They’ll know exactly who to look for.”

Johnny’s eyes widened in surprise. “That’s... smart,” he said, nodding appreciatively.

She then snapped another photo, this time of him, and he raised an eyebrow. “What’s that for? Sending it too?”

She shook her head with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Nah, not sending this one. I’m keeping it for myself.”

Johnny blinked, his heart skipping a beat as he realized she was serious. “For yourself, eh?”

She winked at him, the playful spark in her gaze undeniable. “Oh, yeah. It’s not every day I get to keep a picture of a handsome guy like you.”

Now, Johnny was definitely blushing. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, but the warmth creeping into his cheeks betrayed him. “Well, I suppose that’s fair enough.”

She took a sip of her drink, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Seems like you’re finally caught off guard, MacTavish.”

He let out a chuckle, shrugging. “You’re not making it easy, love.”

After a brief pause, they both finished off their pints, the air between them charged with flirtation. She set her empty glass down first, a playful glint in her eyes. “Well, looks like we’ve both had our fun for tonight.”

Johnny followed suit, his own glass hitting the counter with a soft clink. “Aye, reckon so. What do you say, we call it a night? I’ve had enough of this place... might be time for something... less crowded.”

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smile. “Sounds like a plan, MacTavish. Lead the way.”

They both stood, an unspoken agreement between them. Johnny offered her a confident smile as they headed toward the door, ready to take the night wherever it would lead.

As Johnny and the woman stood up to leave, Gaz and Roach exchanged glances. They made half-hearted moves as if they were about to stand up and stop him—an awkward, wordless attempt to intervene. But as Johnny turned around and caught their gaze, his usual cocky grin faltered just a fraction.

His eyes narrowed, and he shot them a look that could melt stone. The boys, momentarily caught off guard by the intensity of his glare, quickly backed down. They sat back down in their booth, giving him a silent, almost apologetic shrug, their faces filled with that familiar "we tried" expression.

Price and Ghost shared a similar moment of hesitation, both standing up as if to offer some sort of assistance, but seeing the look on Johnny’s face made them rethink. They sat back down, shaking their heads with a knowing chuckle.

Without another word, Johnny placed his hand possessively around her small, curvy waist, guiding her out the door. She glanced up at him with a smirk, enjoying the rush of walking out with him, feeling his confidence radiate off him like an aura.

They stepped into the cool night air, the warmth of the pub already fading as they made their way down the street. Johnny’s hand never left her waist, his grip firm, and she couldn’t help but feel a thrill from how he held her close.

Gaz glanced at Roach, his expression a mix of concern and disbelief. “I’m kinda worried for Johnny…”

Roach snorted, rolling his eyes. “Aye, worried he might actually get lucky tonight?”

Gaz shrugged. “More like worried he’ll be too embarrassed to show his face tomorrow.”

Roach chuckled, shaking his head. “Either way, it’s gonna be bloody entertaining.”

----------

SMUT here....

They decide to go to Johnny's flat instead, entering the front door laughing and kissing. The kissing turns passionate, clothes start flying off in every direction, and before she knows it, she's swung over his broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Johnny, put me down!" she laughs, playfully smacking his back as he carries her to his room.

"Not a chance, love," he grins, giving her a light smack on the bum. "You're mine now."

As they tumble onto the bed, she can't help but appreciate the view. Johnny MacTavish might be a cocky bastard, but he's got the body to back it up. And as for his... equipment... well, let's just say she's impressed.

"Bloody hell, Johnny," she murmurs, her eyes widening as she gets a glimpse of what's to come. "That's... that's not going to fit."

Johnny chuckles, a wicked glint in his eye. "Don't worry, love. I’ll try to be gentle.”

And true to his word, he doesn't rush things. He takes his time, worshipping every inch of her body. He's surprisingly patient, which she wouldn't have guessed from his usual demeanour. He starts by kissing her deeply, his hands exploring her curves with a gentle but firm touch.

He moves down to her neck, planting soft kisses that make her shiver. His hands find her large, soft breasts, squeezing and caressing them until she's gasping with pleasure. He takes his time, sucking and nipping at her nipples, making her arch her back in response.

"Johnny..." she moans, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Aye, love?" he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

He continues his descent, his lips trailing down her stomach, his fingers expertly rubbing her clitoris. She gasps and writhes beneath him, the sensation almost too much to bear. He takes his time, building her up, his touch both fierce and gentle.

When he finally reaches her most sensitive spot, he doesn't hesitate. He dives in, his tongue licking and teasing her until she's on the brink of ecstasy. He sucks and nips, his fingers working in tandem with his mouth, driving her wild with pleasure.

"Johnny... you're... you're actually quite good at this," she admits, a laugh escaping her lips.

Johnny grins, looking up at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, I do aim to please, Birdie."

He intensifies his efforts, his tongue flicking faster, his fingers moving in rhythm. She can't take it anymore. Her body convulses, her hips bucking against his mouth as she cums hard, a wave of pleasure crashing over her. She tries to push him away, the sensation too intense, but he holds her firmly, riding out her orgasm with her.

Her body arches, her breath coming in heavy pants. She shakes and squeaks, the sounds escaping her lips a mix of pleasure and desperation. Johnny finds it hot and cute, his grip on her tightening as he continues to lick and suck, drawing out every last tremor of her climax.

"Johnny... oh gosh, Johnny..." she gasps, her body finally relaxing as the waves of pleasure subside.

Johnny looks up at her, a satisfied smirk on his face. "That's just the beginning, Bonnie," he says, his voice husky with desire.

The room fills with the sounds of their passion—laughter, moans, and the occasional playful smack. Johnny might be a "wild Highlander"(what he claimed), but he's also surprisingly tender, his touch both fierce and gentle.

"Johnny, please..." she whispers, her voice desperate.

He grins, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Alright, Bonnie. Let's give it another go."

He moves down her body again, his tongue and lips tracing a path of fire. He licks and sucks at her clitoris, his fingers teasing her entrance until she's soaking wet and begging for more.

She looks at him, her eyes filled with desire. "Johnny, let me please you too," she says, her voice husky. "I want to reward you."

Johnny's eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn't hesitate. He flips them over, positioning himself so that they're in a sixty-nine, his mouth hovering over her pussy, her lips inches from his cock.

He dives back in, his tongue licking and sucking at her clitoris, his fingers working their magic. She takes him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around his length, her hands gripping his shaft. They move in sync, each trying to outdo the other, their moans and gasps filling the room.

What shocks him is how she takes his full length, deep throating him despite the struggle. She's so into him, her enthusiasm driving him wild. He doesn't want to disappoint, so he gives as good as he gets, his tongue and fingers working feverishly to bring her to the brink again.

The competition is unspoken but intense. They're both determined to make the other cum first, their bodies writhing and bucking against each other. The room is filled with the sounds of their pleasure, their moans and gasps echoing off the walls.

Johnny can feel his own orgasm building, his body tensing as she sucks and tugs at him. He redoubles his efforts, his tongue flicking faster, his fingers moving in rhythm with her mouth.

She's close too, her body trembling, her moans growing more desperate. They're both on the edge, their bodies coiling tighter and tighter.

With a final, intense suck, she sends him over the edge. He cums hard, his body convulsing as she swallows every last drop. At the same time, he sends her crashing over the edge, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm.

They collapse together, breathless and satisfied, their bodies still entwined. Johnny looks up at her, a grin spreading across his face.

"Well, Bonnie," he says, his voice husky. "That was... incredible."

She smiles back at him, her eyes shining with satisfaction. "You're not so bad yourself, Johnny."

He pulls her close, his arms wrapping around her. "And I promise, Birdie, that was just the beginning."

----------

Seeing that she was already prepped and soaking wet, Soap kisses her passionately, pinning her down on the bed. He leans back, admiring his handiwork. She's sweaty, her skin glistening beautifully, her petite but voluptuous frame a sight to behold. Her beautiful face, framed by messy hair, makes her look even sexier. He couldn't help but want her more.

Slowly, he enters her, and she gasps, sighing at how large he is and how tight it feels. Soap holds her waist, his thumb reaching across her swollen clit, rubbing it gently as he moves deeper inside her.

"Oh gosh, Johnny..." she moans, her fingers digging into his shoulders. The sensation of him filling her is almost too much to bear, but she wants more. She wraps her legs around him, pulling him deeper.

Johnny groans, his eyes locked on hers as he begins to move. He starts slowly, giving her time to adjust, his thumb circling her clit in rhythm with his movements. Her moans grow louder, her body arching to meet his every thrust.

"You feel so good, Bonnie," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

She can feel the tension building again, her body coiling tighter with each thrust. Johnny's movements become more urgent, his hips driving into her with a fierce intensity. He leans down, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue mirroring the movements of his body.

The room fills with the sounds of their passion—moans, gasps, and the occasional playful smack. Johnny's relentless, his body moving in perfect harmony with hers. She can feel every inch of him, every powerful thrust driving her closer to the edge.

"Johnny... I'm close..." she gasps, her voice breathless.

He increases his pace, his thrusts becoming more powerful. "Come for me, Birdie," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "Let me feel you."

With a final, deep thrust, she shatters, her body convulsing with pleasure. He follows soon after, his own release washing over him. They collapse together, breathless and satisfied, their bodies still entwined.

Johnny looks down at her, a satisfied smirk on his face. "That was... incredible," he says, his voice husky with desire.

She smiles back at him, her eyes shining with satisfaction. "You're not so bad yourself, Johnny."

He pulls her close, his arms wrapping around her. "And I promise, Bonnie, that was just the beginning."

----------

Johnny wasn't done yet. He guided her through a night of endless pleasure, each position driving her to new heights of ecstasy. She came hard, shaking and even squirting, which he found incredibly hot. By the end, they were both overstimulated, but it was worth every moment.

First, he positioned her on all fours, her head buried in the pillow. He mounted her from behind, his body pressing down on hers, just the way she liked it. He rubbed against her, his nose nuzzling her neck, inhaling her scent. He grabbed her chin, turning her face to kiss her deeply as he moved in and out of her. The sensation was intense, her moans muffled by the pillow.

Next, he lay behind her, his pelvis moving in a fast, pistoning motion. His hard length drove in and out of her, his fingers expertly rubbing her clitoris. She could only gasp and whine, her body trembling as his strong arms held her waist. Soon, her legs began to shake, her toes curling as she came hard, squirting. Johnny continued to rub her clit and piston into her, drawing out every last tremor of her orgasm.

They moved to the floor, the chair, against the wall—each position more intense than the last. She came hard every time, her body convulsing with pleasure. When it was finally time for him to cum, she begged for them to do it together. She asked him to cum inside her, assuring him she was on contraceptives. Johnny liked the idea, feeling her so deeply.

And so they did. They came together, gasping, shaking, and panting. Her body writhed beneath him, and he let out a primal growl, shuddering and releasing inside her. They collapsed onto the bed, breathless, her smiling weakly, and him smiling back at her, cupping her face.

"Bonnie," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You're incredible."

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with contentment. "You're not so bad yourself, Johnny."

They lay there, entwined, their bodies still tingling with the aftermath of their passionate night. Johnny pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her, feeling a connection he hadn't expected.

"That was... something else," she whispered, her voice soft.

Johnny chuckled, his chest rumbling against her. "Aye, it was. And Bonnie, there's more where that came from."

She smiled, her eyes fluttering closed as she drifted off to sleep, safe and content in his arms. Johnny held her tightly, a sense of peace washing over him.

----------

Johnny woke up the next morning, his eyes fluttering open to catch his Birdie trying to slip out from under his large arms. He playfully tightened his grip, pulling her back to him with a low chuckle.

"Where do you think you're going, Bonnie?" he murmured, his voice still husky from sleep.

She giggled, turning to face him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Nowhere, it seems."

They shared a passionate kiss, their bodies already responding to each other's touch. Johnny couldn't get enough of her. He rolled her onto her back, his hands exploring her curves as he moved inside her once again. Their lovemaking was slow and intense, each touch and kiss building the tension between them.

After another round in bed, Johnny scooped her up and carried her to the shower. The hot water cascaded over their bodies as he pressed her against the tiles, his hands roaming over her slick skin. He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he entered her again. The steam filled the room, their moans echoing off the walls as they lost themselves in each other.

Johnny couldn't believe how much this girl was driving him crazy. She was sexy, beautiful, cute, petite, and voluptuous—everything he could want. They eventually stepped out of the shower, their bodies still tingling with pleasure. Johnny dried her off gently, his touch lingering on her skin.

They slowly got dressed, Johnny unable to keep his hands off her. He found himself forgetting that they weren't a couple, his actions more intimate than he'd ever been with a one-night stand. He carried her back to the bed, asking her to wait while he made breakfast.

Humming quietly to himself, Johnny headed to the kitchen. He cooked with a sense of contentment, the scent of bacon and eggs filling the air. When he returned upstairs with a tray of food, he found the bedroom empty, the window leading to the outdoor fire escape wide open.

He stood there for a moment, his brows furrowing in confusion. For a moment, he thought everything had been a hallucination. Had the head injury from Makarov's shot, years ago, affected him more than he thought? He had survived it and gone through therapy, and meds, but this felt too real to be a hallucination.

His eyes fell on the bracelet she had left behind, a tangible reminder that she had been there. Johnny picked up the bracelet, a mix of relief and determination washing over him. He felt a possessive urge, slightly offended that she had run away after such an incredible night. He swore he'd find his Birdie, but then he remembered—he had forgotten to ask her name or any information about her.

Well, he'd find a way. Johnny was never one to back down from a challenge, and this was no exception. He'd find her, no matter what it took.

A/N:

Oh no, Y/N, looks like Johnny’s offended you ran off after everything that went down. But don't worry—he’s not the type to let things slide. He swears to find you, and he’s not going to rest until he does. So, you might have left in a hurry, but Johnny's on your trail now, and he’s determined to get answers… and maybe a little more. 😏

What will happen when he catches up with you? Well, let’s just say, the chase is about to get real interesting. Stick around to see how Johnny handles getting his Birdie back.

Edit: On to the next chapter!! -------->

[redfadedghost]

intoxicated by the taste on your tongue

13,764 words

By: gallybobally71 on Ao3

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.” Ghost tells him, all gravely. His eyes are intense, clocking Soap’s every move.

“Like what, sir?” Soap pushes, lowering his voice on the honourific. It earns him a squeeze to his throat and his eyelids flutter at the pressure.

Ghost growls low in his chest and his eyes narrow. “What you said, under your breath.”

“What?” Soap asks again. He reaches up and hooks his arm around Ghost’s neck and pulls him back down, until Ghost’s face is next to his. He drags his bottom teeth along Ghost’s jaw and whispers in his ear, “Fuck me?”

“Yes”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62238742

[sillyswriting]

: ̗̀➛ love in photographs

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  ₊✩ˎˊ˗ johnny "soap" mactavish x reader

synopsis : Johnny goes through your relationship, pictures after pictures. Memories after memories. Or three times Johnny wore a kilt.

cw : soft smut, angst, insecurities, injury, toxic behaviour, chubby reader, poorly translated Scottish Gaelic. words : 8.5k

moodboard

People were chatting outside, laughing at stupid jokes—a stark contrast to Johnny’s state of mind.

He was scrolling through pictures on his phone, each one a snapshot of the two of you. For minutes now, he had been staring at the same photo, his entire body numb. An old one—the very first you ever took together. He was in a hospital bed in the dead of night, and you were there with him.

The picture was a mess; he remembered being pretty out of it. But the moment had been extraordinary, so unexpected, that he’d wanted to capture it forever.

It was the night you met.

You didn’t really know why you were here. The pub was kilometers away from the fancy bars you were used to, but your girlfriends had insisted on coming. They never explained why, no matter how many times you asked. Overall, you were having a good time, even if the cocktails were shit. The music was better than you’d expected from a place like this—a playlist of old rock bands like Pink Floyd, The Rolling Stones, The Clash…

Time passed, and you were all a bit tipsy now, dancing in the packed pub. You’d decided to let loose—no work tomorrow, the drinks were cheap, and the staff was kind enough to give you free shots. Your group didn’t go unnoticed. You were loudly singing in the middle of the dance floor, all jumping up and down in time with the music. Yet, no men made any weird moves. No one approached you to rub against you. No one passed behind you, hands on your hips, pressing you against them. No one tried to slip anything into your drink. Your friends told you it wasn’t that kind of pub.You had laughed at their faces. Men were still men.

"Oh! They’re here!" one of your friends screamed, jumping around in excitement. Turning around, you were met with a group of men making their way inside. They would have looked like any other group of friends—if they weren’t wearing… skirts? Your drunken brain didn’t immediately register that they were kilts. You burst into laughter.

They didn’t even look silly. If anything, they looked bloody hot—hotter than any men you’d seen before. Now you understood why your friends wanted to come to this bar. They must have been regulars, judging by the way they chatted with the staff. Charismatic and exuding confidence, they were undeniably intriguing. Big, burly men in skirts. You laughed again at the thought. Why the fuck were they wearing skirts in the middle of winter?

"It’s not skirts, girl. It’s kilts!" one of your friends corrected. Oh. You’d asked the question out loud. Shaking your head, you tried to get your thoughts back in order. You really needed to slow down with the drinking.

It made sense now—the kilts. After all, you were in Scotland. You weren’t Scottish yourself, so you’d momentarily forgotten that kilts were a tradition here. Looking back at the group, your eyes locked onto one of them—the most handsome of the lot. He had a strange mohawk that somehow suited him, thick, strong arms, a slightly pudgy belly that you were sure was still solid muscle, and the most powerful-looking thighs you had ever seen.

When he caught you checking him out, he raised an eyebrow. But instead of looking away in embarrassment, you held his gaze, lifted your glass, and winked. If you had been sober, you would have run away in shame. But drunk you? Drunk you was fearless.

You turned your back on him, but you could still feel his eyes on you. The thought that he might actually be interested sent a thrill down your spine, your thighs clenching instinctively. You weren’t ugly—far from it—but you weren’t conventionally pretty like your friends. A bit on the chubbier side, men usually overlooked you, choosing to flirt with your friends instead. Maybe a bit more liquid courage would get you to talk to him.

Excusing yourself, you made a beeline for the bar. Another cocktail ordered, you reached for your purse to pay when a deep voice interrupted.

"Thon's on me, Louis." His voice was like honey to your ears—low, deep, and rich with that unmistakable Scottish accent. It was almost unfair how good it sounded. You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off. "Dinnae worry aboot it, bonnie." Then he winked at you before turning back to the barman to pay.

You, on the other hand, were speechless. Whatever liquid courage had fueled you back on the dance floor had completely evaporated, leaving you floundering. You had no idea how to flirt anymore—it had been so long. And besides, he was way too handsome. He was watching you now, smirking as he took a slow sip of his beer, clearly waiting for you to say something. Panic set in.

"I love the skirt." The words tumbled out before your brain could catch up. You physically cringed the moment you heard yourself, your drunken incoherence making it even worse. Desperate to escape your own embarrassment, you turned away and took a long gulp of your cocktail, hoping the alcohol would somehow erase the last ten seconds.

Beside you, he let out a deep, amused laugh.

"It's no a skirt, or else i'd been wearin' somethin' under it, birdie." The man answered, still laughing a little. Even in your state, you could tell he wasn’t making fun of you—his laugh was genuine. Then, his words registered. Blood rushed to your cheeks the moment you understood what he meant. "The name's Johnny, lass."

However, you didn't hear that last part. Your eyes had a mind of their own and were now fixed on his crotch. God, you were so embarrassing. When he repeated his name, you snapped your gaze back to his. Your name tumbled out of your mouth in a weird whisper. How did he make you horny? He had barely spoken to you. There was just something about him—something magnetic.

Before you knew it, you had spent the entire night talking—at the bar, at his table with his friends, outside sharing a cigarette. And now, at his place, on his couch. Normally, you would never do this—go home with a stranger—but he had talked so much about himself, his life, his friends, his family, and his job that it felt like he had a genuine interest in you. If you were wrong, well, at least you’d have a good view while you died, right?

You had sobered up a little, but Johnny still had you spellbound. From his messy hair to his massive thighs, and those deep blue eyes that seemed endless—everything about him radiated an effortless, rugged charm. He was way out of your league, so why the fuck were you here? You should have said no when he asked, but you couldn't resist him. 

You were trying to sit a certain way so he wouldn't see your stomach bulging, your hands on your thighs to make them look a bit thinner, pulling your shirt down over your arms. You had eyes—you could see he was also a bit chubby, but it was all muscle. That much was clear when he mentioned he was in the military. He was built like a rugby player, making him even more breathtaking.

Truth be told, he had been talking for the last few minutes, but you weren’t listening. You didn’t mean to be rude, but between the alcohol and the overwhelming attraction, your brain was struggling to focus. Your gaze was fixed on his thigh—the one closest to you—and all you could think about was biting it. His words from the pub echoed in your head, and with his kilt resting so high on his thighs, you found yourself silently begging him to move just a little more so it would rise again. 

Johnny had noticed the look on your face, the way you weren’t hearing a word coming out of his mouth. He smirked slightly—he was used to those kinds of reactions to his body—but with you, it was different. You were just too cute. He liked the way you adored him so much that you couldn’t even concentrate.But he had also noticed the way you were trying to hide yourself—your curves, every part of you. And that, he hadn’t liked. Every inch of your skin was perfection. From the moment he’d seen you in the pub, he’d been done for, and getting to talk to you had only confirmed it. You were a dream.

Other than being really beautiful—and, frankly, really hot—you could hold a conversation. And you weren’t afraid to disagree when you thought someone was wrong. You had even screamed at one of his pals when he claimed contemporary art was bad, which, to an art history major like you, was as absurd as saying the Earth was flat.

You had been so confident back then, so seeing your insecurities surface in the quiet of his place wasn’t something Johnny was going to ignore.

Next thing you knew, he had you in his arms, pressing you against the wall with his tongue deep in your mouth. It was messy, but you weren’t about to complain. His hands held yours against the wall, and that’s when you realized—he was lifting you using only his hips. Panic set in. You told him to stop, insisting you were surely too heavy, wiggling to get down, ready to leave after such an embarrassment.

However, Johnny had other plans. With a push of his pelvis against yours, he made sure you felt just how hot and bothered you were making him. Seeing that you were about to argue some more, he shut you up by kissing you senseless again. 

Once he was satisfied, he said: "Bonnie, I've hauled soldiers twice yer size fer miles an’ didnae even break a sweat."He made sure you were looking into his eyes, seeing how genuine he was. His tone left no room for argument. "Now, A can fuck ye here gin ye want, but A think the bit is more comfortable." When you didn’t answer, he smirked, noticing the neediness in your eyes. You wanted him just as much as he wanted you.. 

"Guess we can dae both aye?" He concluded, taking off his own shirt at the same time. He didn’t bother removing any other clothes—he simply lifted your skirt, his hands going straight to where you needed him most. 

He had spent minutes doing magical things with his fingers while whispering dirty words in your ear, praises spilling from his lips. No one had ever spoken to you like this, no one had ever made you feel like this. And he had done it all in mere minutes.Unknown to you, Johnny was good at this because he listened—to you, to your body. All the men before him felt insignificant now, none of them coming close to this—and none after would, either. In this moment, your pleasure-dazed mind convinced you there would be no one after him.

After you had orgasmed, he didn’t stop—groaning about how you needed more to take him. If you had thought his hands felt good, you weren’t ready for his cock. You hadn’t seen it, but you could feel it was perfect—the ideal length and girth—and god, did he know how to use it. Johnny was a man on a mission, his hips slamming into yours in a way that hurt so damn good, his mouth relentless against your neck and collarbone. At some point, your shirt must have bothered him because he simply ripped it off you.

"Want ye tae ride me bonnie, make yourself feel guid." He spoke before moving you both to his couch. Sitting himself down, he moaned upon feeling your weight on him. You were gripping him tight and warm. You were a dream, and he never wanted to wake up. 

At first, you were shy—none of your ex-boyfriends had really liked you being on top. But after hearing Johnny’s moan, you were positive he loved it—a lot. You felt him throb inside you. With the help of his hands, you began moving. At first, you followed the rhythm he had set, but soon, you moved on your own, fueled by his groans. His grip on your hips was bruising, his lips attached to your breast. It was an intensely erotic sight—seeing such a burly man at your mercy—and you loved it. 

It had been clumsy—this was almost your first time in this position—but you thought you were doing great. It certainly felt incredible for you, and the look on Johnny's face told you all you needed to know. Even if you were blind, the filthy words spilling from his mouth would have been enough. Your pelvis rubbed against his, creating just the right amount of pressure on your clit to make you see stars, and his cock was hitting the perfect spot. Everything was pure bliss—so intense that, for a fleeting moment, you felt yourself drift outside your own body as you came. 

Your ears were ringing, but you heard his scream—and it was not one of pleasure. Opening your eyes again, you saw that his face was not twisted in ecstasy; pain was written all over it. His grip had become painful as he tried to carefully get you off him. Oh fuck, you had messed up. Big time. 

His cock had softened the moment he screamed, and you had no idea what had happened. As you hurried off him, he let out a strangled noise of pain. Both of you looked down—and yeah, that was definitely not how it was supposed to look. It was weirdly bent and already swelling. You weren’t a professional when it came to penises, but this was certainly not normal. 

None of you knew what to do. Johnny tried to carefully scoop it in his hands to assess the problem, but even the softest touch made him wince in pain. Yeah, that was not good. 

"Have a drivin' licence, bonnie?" Johnny asked softly. Even though he was the one in pain with a broken penis, you looked like you were about to pass out at any moment. He had to be gentle with you—he didn’t want you thinking it was your fault. Well, technically, it was, but Johnny really didn’t care. 

When you hummed, tears in your eyes as they remained fixed on his broken penis, Johnny added, "Need ye tae drive me tae the hospital, lass. Can ye dae that for me?"

His accent was thicker now, making it harder for you to understand him, and your panicked state wasn’t helping. Still, you nodded, quickly getting dressed and helping him put his shirt back on. He asked for frozen beans from the fridge before you made your way to his car. Walking was painful, but he had been through worse. Watching him, it was almost unnoticeable that he was hurt. In a way, that reassured you.

He was glad you weren’t American because his car was a manual. Even through his pain, there was something oddly sexy about watching you drive it. The way you handled the gear shift made him imagine filthy scenarios—ones he really shouldn’t be thinking about while suffering from a broken penis. Every time his mind wandered to you, a fresh wave of pain shot through him, and he almost came to appreciate it. He made a mental note to himself—this was a kink worth exploring. Hopefully, with you. 

The nurse at the front desk looked at you with annoyance, as if you were just another person clogging up the emergency room with a minor issue. Meanwhile, Johnny had gone to sit down—standing up seemed to hurt even more.

Everyone in the waiting room was staring at him. He understood why. A burly man, wearing a kilt in the middle of winter, holding something suspiciously close to his crotch—it didn’t look great. He probably would’ve thought the same if he were in their shoes. Trying to ease the awkwardness, he offered a gentle smile to the teenage girl sitting across from him. But as soon as he did, he realized how it must have looked. Yeah, not his best moment.

Back at the front desk, you weren’t sure what to say. The nurse had asked what your emergency was, and at first, you mumbled something about your night out—how you met Johnny and everything leading up to this moment. But you quickly realized that none of that was relevant. Taking a deep breath, you got straight to the point.

"I think I broke his penis." It was almost a whisper—too quick and too quiet for anyone to understand. The nurse's confused expression made it clear she hadn’t caught a word of it. 

So, in the dead silence of the waiting room, you repeated yourself—this time, much too loudly. "I think I broke his dick." As if that wasn’t bad enough, you had also unknowingly pointed at Johnny at the same time.

A completely shameless Johnny. The moment the entire waiting room turned to stare at him, he simply pursed his lips into a weird little smile and gave them a casual wave. He didn’t mind that they all now knew he’d gotten injured while sleeping with the goddess currently shouting about a broken dick at the front desk. When he looked back at you, he caught the exact moment you realized what you had just done—your eyes widening in sheer horror. His smirk deepened, and he winked at you. Yeah, he was going to marry you. 

That’s how he ended up in a hospital gown, ready to go into the OR for the doctors to fix his dick. They had explained that without surgery, he risked long-term erectile dysfunction and a whole lot of other unpleasant complications. They had sedated him a little to calm his nerves—he might have been military, but he was still just a man.

A man about to undergo penis surgery.

You had been standing in the corner of his room, biting your fingers out of stress. He was getting surgery because you broke his dick. The worst part was that he didn’t seem to mind at all. He was having the time of his life while you anxiously waited for the doctors. He kept telling you he couldn’t wait to get his hands back on you, promising to treat you right. How could he still want to see you after this? You broke his dick. Surely, the pills were working.

"Want tae tak' a picture, lass?" he had said, a loopy smile on his lips. Yeah, he was definitely high. Still, you indulged him—he looked cute in the hospital bed. His sheer size made the bed seem small, even though you knew it wasn’t. You really shouldn't be turned on right now. Especially since you were the reason he was in that bed to begin with.

The picture was a mess—stress and worry etched across your face, while Johnny grinned wide, all teeth and childlike mischief. You'd made the mistake of snapping it with your phone, which he promptly snatched from your hands to send himself the photo. You didn’t know it yet, but Johnny having your number was the start of something you weren’t ready for.

As the medical staff was taking him to the OR, he felt the need to add : "Airson cuimhneachadh air an àm seo airson nuair a phòsas sinn." 

It took you a moment to realize he was speaking Gaelic. You had no idea what he said, but when one of the nurses turned to you with a big smile on his lips, you assumed it had been something cute—until the said nurse spoke.

"Congratulations on the wedding !"  

Johnny smiled at the memory. Any normal guy wouldn't have called back the lass who had broken his dick, but Johnny wasn't just any guy. For some unknown reason, he had found it to be the hottest thing a chick had ever done to him. You had been the hesitant one—always politely texting back, but every time he tried to coax you into a date, you drew the line. Until you gave in.

Johnny kept swiping through the pictures, even though he shouldn’t. It only made the pain worse, not easier to bear. Your relationship had begun with its fair share of hurt, but nothing had prepared him for this—the soul-wrenching agony of the void, the emptiness. A part of him missing. 

The next picture was harder to look at than the ones before. Neither of you had taken it—it was in a pub, well into your relationship. Johnny had spent months begging you to meet his teammates, and you had finally given in.

The picture was a bit blurry and poorly framed, as if an old man had taken it. You were dancing in the middle of the bar, a fancy one, gazing at each other with so much love that no one could have denied what you meant to one another in that very moment.

Everything felt wrong—the dress clung to your body in all the wrong way, your hair was a mess, your makeup was uneven. You knew you were going to embarrass him. In front of his second family. Tears started gathering into your eyes as you suck up your stomach, trying to make the dress look a bit better. You needed to change. 

Johnny was patiently waiting on the bed, longing for you as he waited. He had been ready for an hour now—showered, shaved, and dressed. When he heard the bathroom door open, he sat up, eager to see you. But his brow furrowed when he watched you make a beeline for the walk-in closet, still in your underwear. He knew you had taken a dress with you when you went to shower—the same dress that now lay discarded on the floor.

"Bonnie?" Johnny said softly, approaching the dresser. You were frantically opening drawers, searching for something. Your movements were rushed, and he could see you were starting to hyperventilate. He moved toward you gently, careful not to startle you. In his mind, you were like a little hurt animal at this very moment—anything could trigger you.

Your back was to him, so he took the opportunity to hug you from behind, wrapping his arms around yours to still your frantic movements. He shushed you quietly when you tried to wriggle out of his embrace. You had been together for almost two years now—Johnny knew exactly what this was. He let you calm down a little before gently asking what was wrong, never once loosening his comforting hold.

"Nothing fits, Johnny," you whispered, tears streaming down your cheeks, taking your mascara with them. "It's an important moment for you, and nothing fits. I look ugly in everything," you choked out, your voice breaking with your sobs. You didn’t know what had come over you. Sure, you had always been a bit oversensitive, but this was new. You blamed it on the stress. 

Truth be told, ever since you’d been with Johnny, you had gained a little weight. Nothing drastic—you had always been a bit chubby—but you noticed. And from the way Johnny’s eyes lingered on your stomach and hips, you knew he had noticed too. Neither of you ever mentioned it. You were too afraid to hear that he might find it unattractive, and Johnny was too afraid you’d take it the wrong way if he said anything.

But the truth was, he loved it. To him, it meant he was taking care of you—that you felt safe with him, that he was feeding you well, that you were his.

That’s when you noticed Johnny’s hands moving toward your bare stomach. Panicked, you grabbed his forearm, trying to stop him—but he was stronger. His hands settled there anyway, unfazed by your restless attempts to push them away. He didn’t waver, didn’t pull back.

"Ye won’t believe me, but I’ll tell ye every day if I have to—ye’re the bonniest, hottest lass I’ve ever set eyes on." Johnny’s gaze never left yours in the mirror, his tone firm—his army voice. No room for doubt, no hesitation. He needed you to know. He wasn’t lying.

To drive his point home, Johnny grabbed your hips and pulled you back against him—that’s when you felt it. Felt him. 

Hard against your arse. And you’d been crying just minutes ago, mascara smudged, makeup ruined. Yet somehow, this was what turned him on—not the effort, not the artifices, just you. Don’t get him wrong, he loved when you dressed up, loved the little things you did to feel beautiful. But the truth was, Johnny loved you no matter what. You could be having the worst day of your life, looking rough and worn down, and he’d still find something about you that drove him mad.

He wasn’t just horny. He was horny for you.

You had arrived late. Not like you at all, but Johnny had insisted on settling your nerves first—by slowly devouring you, then fucking every last shitty thought out of your head. By the time he was done, he had praised you so much you couldn’t even name a single flaw about your body.

You had picked your dress up from the floor, redone your makeup, and rushed out the door. You hadn’t even bothered trying to cover the hickeys Johnny had left behind. There was no point—these men were military. Even with concealer, they’d spot them instantly. And besides, you knew Johnny loved when you walked around wearing his marks. He was just a man, after all. A dog-like one at that. Marking his territory.

You had been a nervous wreck at first, but oddly enough, the big, intimidating, burly military men turned out to be some of the nicest people you’d ever met.

From the moment you joined them, you could feel the deep bond they shared—something unshakable, forged through years of loyalty and hardship. They had wasted no time teasing Johnny about his kilt, to which he had fired back without missing a beat. "Aye, well, no’ a single one o’ you jealous bastards could pull off a kilt like me." 

Now, with a bit of a buzz, the alcohol had done its job in settling your nerves. And damn, those men could hold their drink. You could tell Johnny was drunk—but only because you knew him so well. It was subtle. His hands started moving more when he talked, the same way they did when he was pissed off. His accent thickened, words slurring together just a little. And sometimes, without even realizing, he’d slip entirely into Gaelic, his brain switching over like English had never existed. 

By the look of it, his teammates were used to his drunk behavior. They told you a bunch of embarrassing stories about Johnny, just as if they were his brothers. In a way, they were.

It didn’t take long for you to understand their dynamic. 

Captain John Price—his title said it all. The leader. The dad. The calm, steady presence of the group, and the so-called old man. He was surprisingly easy to talk to, happily telling you all about his wife and kids. A proud husband and an even prouder father—it was endearing. You never would’ve guessed it just by looking at him, with that gruff exterior and sharp gaze. Your heart swelled when he pulled out his phone, showing you a picture of a tiny baby. "My second son, born a couple of months ago." The proud smile on his face was enough to warm your heart.

Sergeant Kyle Garrick. The one spilling all the embarrassing stories. The moment you saw him, you understood exactly why Johnny always joked about how hard it was to get girls when Kyle was around. He was handsome—not in the same way as Johnny, but a different kind of beauty. Softer. Kinder. His smile was gentle, never overstepping, never making you uncomfortable. And his eyes—warm and sincere—held the kind of attentiveness that made him seem like a man who truly listened. And he was. Once he’d finished roasting Johnny, he’d listened intently as you told him how the two of you met—minus a few key details, of course.

And then, there was Lieutenant Simon Riley. At first, he simply watched you, silently scrutinizing—observing. He was, without a doubt, the most intimidating of them all, though you figured the skull balaclava covering his face played a big part in that. When he drank, he’d push it up just past his mouth, downing his whiskey in one go before pulling it back into place. Not a single word left his lips. He just watched. But his eyes weren’t cold. If you paid close enough attention, you could see it—the flicker of amusement when Johnny cracked a joke, the flash of anger when they spoke about missions gone wrong. For someone who barely spoke, he was surprisingly expressive. You just had to know where to look.

You knew he and Johnny had a special bond, and it pained you that he never spoke to you beyond a polite hello. You paid it no mind but reminded yourself to ask Johnny if you had done something to offend him.

The night had turned out better than you could have imagined. Once the drinks had fully settled in, tipping you past tipsy and into pleasantly drunk, you took it upon yourself to drag Johnny and Kyle onto the dance floor. Coordination had long abandoned you, and Johnny—spinning with reckless enthusiasm—had definitely flashed the pub more than once. But none of it mattered. Laughter bubbled between you, the music pulsed around you, and for the first time that night, you felt completely free. The stress and tears from earlier were nothing but a distant memory.

Johnny was thrilled to see you smiling this much. His mates adored you—he could tell by the way they interacted with you, even Simon. He hadn’t mentioned it, but he’d been nervous too. He never doubted they’d like you, but he worried you might not feel the same about them. Not that the 141 was difficult to be around, but you never really knew how things would go until they did.

Thankfully, his worries had faded almost instantly. Now, he watched as Kyle jumped around with you on the dance floor, the two of you laughing uncontrollably. The three of you were well past tipsy, fully hammered at this point, while the older members of the team exercised a bit more restraint—though even they couldn’t help but crack a few smiles at your antics.  

"Dinnae try tae steal ma lass now, Gaz" Johnny joked, wrapping his arms around you. His gaze was gentle, holding no real threat—just pure affection. There was no jealousy in the 141, only brotherhood.

Kyle’s eyes zeroed in on your neck and collarbones, where the marks of Johnny’s love were on full display. “Don’t think I could, even if I tried, Soap,” he chuckled.

You turned to face your boyfriend, the need to kiss him outweighing the usual shyness you felt in public. So you did. Once. Then twice. Then your lips wandered, pressing soft kisses across his face—his forehead, his closed eyelids, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, his chin—everywhere you could reach. By the time you were done with your little assault, both you and Johnny burst into laughter, the kind that bubbled up from deep inside, warm and full of love.

Once you were done on the dance floor, you made your way back to the table, settling in with John and Kyle while Johnny joined Simon—yet another drink in his hand. He had even brought one for his lieutenant. 

Simon hadn’t said much. That was just how he was with new people—quiet, watchful. He had trust issues, preferring to observe first before offering anything of himself. Johnny wasn’t bothered by the silence; he expected it. He knew he’d have to explain Simon’s behavior to you later, but he also knew you’d understand. It wasn’t you. It was just him. After a few moments of comfortable silence, Simon finally decided to speak. The only words he would say about you that night.

"You gotta marry that one, Johnny." Simon’s voice was gruff but certain as he watched you laugh with Kyle at their captain’s expense. Johnny didn’t need more than that—he could read Simon like an open book. Of course, he liked you.

A smirk tugged at Johnny’s lips as he downed the rest of his drink. "Copy that, L.T." And with that, he pushed off his seat, ready to join in on the fun of mocking Price.

Laughter pulled Johnny out of his memory. It had been one of his favorite moments with you. The team had liked you—how could they not? But most importantly, you had liked them. You had told him how lucky he was to have people like that in his life. At the time, all he could think about was how lucky he was to have you.

He should stop. He knew the pain would only deepen if he didn’t. But he needed this—it had been so long since he’d seen you. He was like a junkie craving his next fix. He should have known better. 

He hated this picture—the last one he had with you. Christmas Day at the Mactavish family home. It should have been a joyful memory, surrounded by the people he loved. But looking at the photo, he could see how fake your smile was, how much weight you had lost, how exhausted you looked. You almost looked sick. This wasn’t a pleasant memory. 

You watched through the window as Johnny tossed his nieces into the air, their laughter ringing out in the crisp winter air. He looked so handsome—his hair a bit longer than usual, his frame a little fuller since coming back, but he looked good. And his thighs. Even after almost five years together, you couldn’t take your eyes off his stupid thighs. Why did he have to wear a kilt? 

"Formal wear i' a Scots family, bonnie," he had explained with a wink when you asked back at your apartment. Yet, his smile hadn't reached his eyes.

It was cold outside, but you didn’t mind—you needed a bit of fresh air. You loved the Mactavishes, but coming from a small and dysfunctional family, being surrounded by so much love and warmth still felt unfamiliar. You couldn’t shake the feeling of being a foreigner. It wasn’t their fault—his parents and siblings had welcomed you with open arms from the very beginning. You just didn’t quite know how to fit in. 

No one had noticed you slipping away—not even Johnny. That had become a pattern now, him not seeing you the way he used to. And that was part of why you needed these moments alone. It hurt. He’d been back for over two months, yet all his time was spent with family or on calls with his teammates. No dates, barely any intimacy, and hardly a conversation. 

You were there, but it felt like he wasn’t.

Sometimes, it happened when he came back from a difficult mission. He would close himself off, trying to isolate himself so he wouldn’t "corrupt" you—his words, once. You had a hard time making him understand that he was a part of you, no matter what he did. Of course, his work was hard, and there were so many things he couldn't tell you—or anyone—but you had hoped he trusted you enough to find solace in you. 

And he had, at first. He'd tell you all he was allowed to, and you'd helped him come back to the world. But lately, things had been different. He would return, but it was as if his mind was elsewhere. At first, you thought it had just been a particularly difficult mission, but it kept happening. His deployments grew longer, his temper shorter. 

At that point, an ugly thought crept into your mind—Johnny had found someone else. You had no proof, and he had always been the one to swear he’d never cheat. But you couldn’t find any other explanation. You didn't confront him though, you went into self-loathing. Loosing sleep, loosing weight, worrying about him constantly when he was away just to get angry when he didn't call. Sometimes, you'd get news from his mother and you'd pretend you knew about what she was talking about. 

It hurt even more when you’d have normal moments—those rare glimpses of the Johnny you had fallen in love with. They became scarce, fleeting. Most of the time, they only surfaced when you were in bed together. He would make love to you like you were the most precious thing on earth, murmuring how much he loved you. But then, when he fell asleep, you’d lock yourself in the bathroom, muffling your sobs so he wouldn’t hear.

It had happened again last night. And it was the last straw.

You couldn’t keep going like this. It made you physically sick, and the worst part? He didn’t even notice.

Flicking your cigarette to the ground, you took a deep breath, bracing yourself before heading back inside. You hadn’t wanted to ruin the holiday spirit, but it was getting harder to pretend everything was fine. His mother and sisters had noticed—the dark circles under your eyes, the way your cheeks had hollowed, how your dress looked two sizes too big. They had asked questions, and you had lied. Just like you had been for months.

And you were tired.

Dinner was a blur. You sat next to Johnny, but his usual hand on your thigh was absent. It felt like a phantom limb—something that was supposed to be part of you but wasn’t anymore. He laughed at his dad’s jokes, thanked his mother for the meal, and bickered with his siblings—a normal dinner at the Mactavish home.

Until one question.

"When are ye gonna make the birdie a Mactavish, Johnny boy?" The question came from his father. The silence that followed was deadly. Your heart pounded so hard it felt like it might rip out of your chest. Your legs felt impossibly heavy. You didn’t know why this question made you so anxious—it had always been a common joke in this household, a running gag ever since you told them about the day you met—leaving out a few key details, of course. But now, it felt different.

All eyes were on you and Johnny. You watched him closely, trying to predict what he was going to say. Usually, he'd chuckle and say, "Soon, Pa', real soon." But this time, you felt it in your gut—his answer was going to be different.

You just hadn’t expected this one.

"Dinnae ken if I fancy gettin’ married. My captain’s goin’ through a divorce—dunnae think I want that kind of hassle, ye know?" At that very moment, Johnny might as well have stabbed you in the heart. The pain would have been the same.

You didn’t know how to react. Johnny had never mentioned anything about a divorce, and he certainly hadn’t told you he didn’t want to get married anymore. It wasn’t the idea of marriage itself that bothered you—it was the feeling that he didn’t want to marry you. Like you were the problem. 

All his sisters’ eyes were on you, but you couldn’t look at them. You weren’t ready to see the pity. No one had spoken since Johnny did. He had gone back to eating as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb mere seconds ago. You felt the tears welling in your eyes—you needed to get away. Now. 

"Excuse me," you whispered as you rushed to the bathroom. You didn’t hear much—your ears were ringing—but you managed to make out his mother’s voice scolding her son.

This felt too familiar—you, quietly crying in the bathroom. It left a bitter taste. You were tired of crying, of hiding, of hurting. You had been locked in here for about ten minutes now, and you no longer cared about ruining Christmas. As you sat with your back against the door, you heard a rushed knock.

"Bonnie?" Johnny's soft voice echoed in the small bathroom. He had to be kidding you. "Everythin' alricht? Ye feelin' okay?"

You let out a humorless laugh. You couldn’t believe he was this oblivious. He had just humiliated you in front of his entire family, and now he had the nerve to ask if you were feeling sick. You couldn’t deal with this.

"Go away, John." 

John. You never called him John. No one did.

Hitting his head against the door, Johnny knew he had fucked up. He shouldn’t have said it in front of his family—but it was how he felt. His captain had been with his wife for a decade, they had two kids, and still, they were getting divorced. What was the point of marriage? He could love you just as much without being your husband.

In his mind, you were just being dramatic. He sighed, ready to knock again—until he heard your quiet sobs. Normally, the sound of you crying would soften him. But not this time. 

Lately, something had shifted. The anger, the frustration—it was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. He didn’t know what had changed, only that it was building inside him. He had tried not to snap at you, protecting you from his outburst—keeping his distance instead. Work was getting harder, and his mind just couldn’t keep up.

So he snapped. 

"Can ye no just stop bein’ so sensitive for once? Yer ruinin’ the night." Johnny started. He heard your gasp through the door, but his frustration was stronger. "We're all waitin’ on ye, givin’ ye time tae do God knows what. Cut the crap and get out here."

He didn’t wait for an answer; he just made his way back to the living room, already thinking of an excuse. He’d say you had your period, that you just needed some time alone.

On the other side of the door, tears ran freely down your cheeks—you couldn’t stop them. This wasn’t your Johnny. This wasn’t the man you fell in love with, the one who had once wanted to marry you even after you’d broken his dick. He was a stranger in Johnny’s body. 

Entering the empty apartment, you took off your shoes and locked the door behind you. It had been impossible to step back into the living room, so you’d called an Uber and made your way home in silence. You made sure no one noticed you leaving. It was rude, but you didn’t care. You needed to get away from him. He’d called you three times already, and three times, you declined. 

Rushing to your bedroom, you knew you didn’t have much time before he’d come running through the door. You had to be quick and methodical. Your mind was clouded, and the tears blurred your vision. Work clothes, underwear, pajamas, comfort clothes—you made sure to go over all of Johnny's old shirts that had become a part of your dresser. Shoes were next, and then you made your way into the bathroom. 

In fifteen minutes, your bags were packed. Most of your things were neatly put away. You were picking up some books in the living room when Johnny stumbled into the entryway. Fuck. You thought you still had some time—you had been quick. Your heart was racing, and your hands were shaking from the stress. 

Johnny looked around the living room, confusion and anger flooding his mind. Bags filled with what he imagined to be your things, and there you were, frozen, putting books into yet another bag. What the fuck? He had thought you had gone home because you were angry, but he never imagined you'd be leaving him. And certainly not while abandoning him at his family's house during Christmas. 

He went into combat mode real quick. Something about the situation awakened the sergeant in him—he was in hostile territory.

"Whit are ye doing?" was the first thing he said. You were frozen like a deer in headlights, completely unprepared for a confrontation. Your plan had been to leave a note, saying you weren't coming back. It wasn’t the best move, but you were mentally drained. You didn’t have the energy to fight with him.

But now, it was inevitable. 

"I'm leaving, Johnny," you said quietly.

You had never been afraid of him before—he had never given you a reason to be. But now, you were. It was the way he stood, his body rigid, fists clenched at his sides. And then there was that look on his face, the same one you were sure he wore on the battlefield.

It terrified you to think of how he might react.

"Just 'cause I dinnae want tae get married anymore? Are ye really that shallow?" Johnny asked, his anger getting the best of him. His words were meaningless, only filled with frustration and hurt.

For the past few months, his team had been hunting a terrorist organization threatening the country with multiple attacks. It was relentless—every time they cut off one head, three more would take its place. Leads went cold, missions failed, and the pressure from command only grew heavier. Sleep was scarce, patience even scarcer. The weight of it all settled deep in his bones, frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

And without realizing it, he brought that frustration home. The exhaustion, the tension—it all spilled over, and you became the easiest target. He snapped more often, pulled away without meaning to, let silence take the place of the warmth he once gave so easily. But in his mind, you were the one who had changed. You were distant, on edge, always questioning him. It never occurred to him that he had been the one who started it. That his own actions had driven a wedge between you. And by the time he finally saw it, it was already too late.

You let out a hollow, humorless laugh, your eyes brimming with tears. "I'm just tired, Johnny. Tired of you. Tired of the way you are, the way you treat me," you said, your gaze locked onto his, unwavering. The sadness was still there, but now, anger was creeping in too.

"The way I treat ye?" Johnny let out a sharp, bitter laugh, his face twisted with frustration. "Aye, sae now I’m the bad guy? Thon makes it easier for yer wee sob story, daes it?"

"As if you didn’t just humiliate me in front of your fucking family?" you shot back, voice shaking with fury.

"Ye're sae fou o' shit!" His voice grew deeper as his volume rose. "Ye're the ane wha humiliatit me! Hou the fuck wis I supposit tae explain thon, ma girlfriend juist up an' left without a word?" He was shouting now, full of anger, full of something he couldn't even name. His accent was thicker than ever.

He paused, seeing you weren't going to answer. Then he added, "On Christmas?"

His hands had shot up as he shouted, and you flinched. If Johnny’s heart hadn’t already been broken, it certainly was now. You were afraid of him—afraid of what he might do. And the fear in your eyes shattered something deep inside him. How did it come to this?

Slowly, he stepped back, putting space between you. He forced his body to hunch slightly, trying to make himself smaller, less threatening. His arms hung stiff at his sides now, as if any movement might push you further away. He had never wanted this. Never wanted you to be scared of him. You’d had your fair share of arguments before. He had shouted, lost his temper—but this was different. This was something else entirely.

He didn’t recognize himself. So how could you?

Realization struck him all at once. The past few months flashed before his eyes—the distance he had created, now coming back to haunt him. He hadn’t communicated, hadn’t reassured you, and in that silence, you had been left alone with your thoughts, imagining all the worst possibilities. You hadn’t been dramatic. He had been an arsehole.

And now, there was nothing he could do.

He just stood there, watching as you rushed to your bags, still shaking with fear. Watched as you walked out, dropping your key onto the table by the door.

Watched as you left him.

Watched you—for the last time.

Shaking his head, Johnny tried to push that final moment with you out of his mind. It had been two years. Two long, lonely years. He had never reached out—not once. You deserved better than him. Better than someone who couldn’t see when they were crossing the line until it was too late.

Johnny stepped out of the room he had locked himself in, rejoining the festivities—a mutual friend's wedding. Out of habit, his eyes found you. You and your boyfriend. 

You were beautiful, the dress hugged your curves the right way and you were glowing. At the end of your relationship, you had been a shadow of yourself, Johnny saw it now. Now, you looked just like that night in the pub. It was impossible for him to take his eyes off you. You were the pollen, and he was the bee—drawn to you not just by desire, but by instinct, by need.

As he was about to approach you, if only to say hello, a sudden glint of light momentarily blinded him. The sun had caught on something in your left hand—something he hadn’t noticed before. But as you lifted your hand to brush your hair from your face, he saw it.

A ring.

happy valentine's day, i guess

[corpsypher]

Soap used to be a porn addict. Just so you know.

He stopped when you first met, because he couldn't watch porn and think about you accurately. So then he stopped watching it all together and just relied on his filthy imagination.

He never thought of it as a problem, it was a thing since his teenage years, he just assumed all guys were like that.

[wishful-sinful-9]

I read this soap x reader fic a while ago where the reader's bf works w Johnny and he wants the reader to make a sex tape w him, so Johnny and reader fuck on the couch and record it – can someone help me find it lmao

[babybatgrimm]

New Years Party

Summary: The night of the New Year's party.

Warnings: Fluff, GN!Reader, PDA

A/N: Happy New Year everyone! Hope you enjoy the mini party~

Johnny ‘Soap’ Mactavish

He's taking a deep breath and fiddling with his shirt cuff as he steps up to your door, the dress shirt feeling tighter than usual around his throat as he gently knocks his knuckles on the wood. “Just a minute.” He hears you call from inside.

He waits patiently, doing his best to control his heart rate as he stares down at his shoes. Moments pass by before the door creaks open, and his eyes are now met with your sleek black shoes. Trailing his gaze up your figure, noting the dark jeans and emerald green shirt, before his eyes connect with yours.

“Well don’ ye’ look dandy,” he smiles down at you, glad he wasn't the only one who chose jeans. “Shall we be off then?” And with a nod the pair of you leave for the party.

The hours passed by fairly quickly in the livelihood of the crowd. Soon enough, someone shouted it was time for the countdown to midnight, and of course, Soap being the social butterfly he is, had managed to lose you in the crowd.

His eyes scan every face before they land on you, standing off to one side with a drink, calmly chatting with someone.

He made a B-line to you, weaving through the various bodies in his best efforts to get to you. “I'll be damned if I miss this.” He internally scolds himself for being so far away so close to the moment he'd invited you for.

The countdown had gotten to ten by the time he'd made it to you, and with a strong grip he gently pulled you by the wrist to his chest, drawing you away from your conversation.

“Johnny?” A questioning gaze up at him as a warm blush heats your cheeks. The shouting of the crowd counting down in the background almost drowned out his reply.

“Almost missed the moment.” he says, and as the crowd shouts one, he dips you low, away from most everyone's eyeline, and connects your lips in a soft, but somewhat messy kiss.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

His posture is stiff as a concrete wall as he almost robotically knocks on your door, his hand falling back by his side as he waits, hearing you shuffle behind the door before replying “Hold on a second” before your footsteps get louder.

As the door swings open, his eyes lock onto yours before taking a quick scan of you. His gaze lingers on your shirt for a moment, studying the words printed on the front before connecting with your eyes again.

You giggle at him, raising a brow for a moment. “At ease, LT, it's just a holiday party.” You tease before stepping past him and closing the door. Your words pull a quiet grumble of a laugh from his chest before he motions for you to lead the way.

The night passes somewhat quietly for the pair of you. Ghost being the way he is, preferring to stay out of the way from most of the crowd, instead opting to sit at a table, drink in hand as he listens to you chatting away.

When the countdown begins, Simon stiffens, realising it was now or never for the moment. In a quick motion, he has you on your feet and in a darker corner of the room, away from prying eyes.

Before you could get a word out, the countdown ends, and the room erupts in cheers around you as Simon slips his balaclava up over his nose, planting a soft, but rather ungracious kiss.

He holds it for a moment before pulling away, peering down at you with unusually tender eyes. “Happy New Year.” His voice is quiet but loud enough amongst the cheering crowd.

John Price

He's already knocked on your door by the time it's in range, a little too eager, before fixing his shirt cuff. It only took a moment for you to open the door, your smile bright up at him as he gazed down at you, his eyes scanning down you for a moment before he smiles back. “Ready to go then?” He asks, gesturing to the side for you to step out.

Your smile grows as you giggle softly, you reply “such a gentleman today,” with a tease in your tone as you head down the walkway.

“Am I not every day?” He questions, following quickly behind you, now needing an answer to his, clearly very important, question.

The evening is shared with drinks and the smell of Price’s cigar smoke lingering in the air by the window you sat by. As the last of his cigar burns to ash, the countdown begins, prompting him to crush out the last of the smouldering ash.

He moves to your side, sliding across the edge of the table. “You know kid, I think you should stick around the team for a while longer.” He says, rather quietly next to your ear.

“Oh yeah?” You ask, looking up at him in question. The crowd shouting the countdown reaches zero, and as cheers erupt in the room, Price pulls his hat off, using it to hide your faces from the crowd as he connects his lips with yours.

A moment of surprise makes you stiffen before melting into the kiss, warm but controlled, measured. After a beat passes Price pulls away.

“Yeah, I do.” he says with a husky chuckle by your ear.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

He shuffled on his feet outside your door, revving himself up before finally making contact with his knuckles on the panel of wood. He listens to your shuffles behind the door for a moment before it swings open, and he's met with you smiling up at him. “You're late.” You tease with a small smirk.

He chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Only by a minute.” He retorts with a grin. “Ready to go?” He asks, taking in your form and noting the dark blues in the fabric with a quick once-over glance of you.

You nod, moving out of the doorway and heading off toward the party, Gaz following close on your heels.

The pair of you spend your time chatting with others and occasionally dancing for the evening. The music loud and the crowd dense as everyone shuffles around each other. Gaz manages to guide you both away from the bulk of the crowd, finding a somewhat clearer area to stand in.

He gazes at you, a small grin pulling his lips as the countdown begins. “What?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

“I ever tell you how much I like your face?” He asks nonchalantly, grin growing slightly as he studies your expression. Your cheeks flush with heat as he scans over every detail of your face.

“N-no, you haven't.” You say slightly stunned at the question, leaning back slowly as Gaz continues to get closer.

“Well I do.” He says as the countdown ends, pressing his lips to yours in a hasty crash of soft skin. His hand snaking to the top of your hip as he holds the kiss for a few seconds, listening to the cheers from the crowd before pulling away.

Konig

He'd shown up earlier than he'd intended, too eager to get to the end of the night, so he decided to stand nearby. 'Until a more appropriate time.' He affirms himself, denying that he was just stalling.

A few minutes pass by before he finally knocks, harder than he meant to, hearing you call from the other side. “Hold on.” You say, moving around the room.

He takes a small step back to give you space when you open the door, looking up at him with a smile. His eyes crinkle at the corners of his eyes, peering down at you through his hood. “Evening. Ready to go?” He asks in his thick accent.

You nod, stepping out and closing the door behind you, “ready,” you say, smiling a little wider before walking away, Konig easily keeping up with, and then sort of struggling to walk slow enough for you as you make your way to the party.

Konig being the quiet creature he is, the evening was spent near the edge of the crowd near the large windows at the side of the hall. He'd listen to you talk the whole night, about whatever you wanted to, and when someone among the crowd shouts it's time for the countdown, the room cheers before the numbers are called out in unison.

Konig looks over at you, piercing blue eyes staring you down as he straightens up slightly in his place. Tilting your head in confusion, you look up at him and ask “you okay Konig?” He nods.

“You know, I invited you here fo’ a reason.” He says simply, turning to face you fully, towering over you with his stature.

“O-oh?” You question, a bit taken aback by his statement. “Well I didn't think there wasn't one I suppose.”

He chuckled softly, leaning down closer to you, encircling you against the window, shrouding you from the crowd behind his frame. Your eyes widen slightly at the proximity, leaning your head back to peer up at him.

“Koni-?” You're cut off before you can finish, the crowd erupting in cheers as the countdown ends, his hood pushed up to his nose and his lips colliding with yours, small stubble scratches at the soft skin as you melt into the kiss. You lean up onto your toes to reach him better as he pulls away, breaking the kiss with a chuckle.

“Yes, Liebe?” ‘Yes, Love?’

A/N: Sorry for the late post today, had a few things to fix before I could post it!

[gloomwitchwrites]

By the Belt (3 of 4)

Mechanic John "Soap" MacTavish x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: married couple, oral sex, unprotected piv, creampie

Word Count: 1.2k

Soap needs a distraction, and you’re going to give it to him.

Imagines & What If Series

ao3 //main masterlist // by the belt masterlist

It’s Sunday. John’s shop is closed on Sunday.

Even so, he’s always working on something, his hands unable to lean into idleness for a moment. They desire something to hold, to tinker and learn and explore.

It’s the late afternoon, and you stand in John’s personal garage located at the back of your shared property. His actual shop is nearby, just a mile or so down the road. This is sacred space. The place he goes to work on all sorts of personal projects. You are off to the right of him beside his knees. John is on his back, partially submerged beneath a lifted car.

That always makes you nervous, even though you know he’s careful about his safety. You always imagine the machine keeping the car aloft breaking, sending the vehicle down to crush him. The car itself is vintage, a special project that John has been working on for months. The paint is stripped and its mostly bare bones.

Beneath the car, you hear John sigh heavily. He rolls out from under the car, the wheels on the rolling bed squeaking as he does so. When he notices you standing there, he immediately grins.

“Hello, wife,” he croons, sitting up and draping his forearms over his bent knees.

“Hello, husband,” you reply, matching his tone. His smile widens and a warmth blooms in your cheeks. “Thought you could use a break.”

Grinning, he pushes up to standing, crossing his arms over his chest. “What kind of break?”

With boldness in your blood, you reach out and slide your fingers in the belt loops of his dirty jeans. John stumbles forward, nearly knocking into you. That grin briefly transforms into surprise before settling into a sultry smirk.

“Oh, aye. I could use a break.” He leans in, your mouths meeting in a lovingly gentle kiss that warms you right down to your toes. When he breaks apart, that lovely grin is back. “But I’d hate to dirty your pretty skin with my hands.”

You tug on his belt again, smiling. “What if I want to get dirty?”

John laughs, his stained, oiled fingers hovering just shy of your skin. “You sure, love? Because I can do that.” Your answer is a brief yank on his belt. John shakes his head. “I warned you.”

You unthread your fingers and John makes a turn-around gesture. You comply, eagerness in your bones.

“Bend yourself over that table.” John points directly in front of you. It’s a workbench. There are a few tools but they’re off to the side, leaving the middle completely open.

Stepping up to it, you place your hands flat on the surface, bending forward, the angle forcing you up on your toes. John leaves you there. Lingering. Hanging. You have no idea if he’s watching you and enjoying the sight, or if he’s simply turned around and walked right out of the garage.

But you have your answer when John’s voice floats toward you.

“Lift up your dress,” he instructs, some rasp in his tone. He does not touch you, but you feel his presence. He’s close. You swear that you can feel his heat of the backs of your thighs as you reach back with both hands and lift your sundress up to your hips.

You are exposed to him. Utterly bare.

“Fuck. You dirty girl,” croons John, and you know exactly what he sees—or rather, what he doesn’t. “All bare under there. You knew what you were doing. Didn’t you?”

You did. You absolutely did.

Still, John does not touch. You hear the soft crinkle of his jeans as he goes down on his knees behind you, his warm breath brushing lightly against your pussy as he exhales.

“Spread for me a bit.” You shift your legs apart slightly. “Good,” he praises. “Like that.”

The moment you’re in position, John’s tongue parts your pussy with a slow stroke. He begins at your clit, moves upward, dipping the tip of his tongue into your sex before retreating. His hands rest on the table on either side of you, unmoving. Staying true to his word, John isn’t dirtying your pretty skin, but doesn’t mean he might not lose some control and touch you anyway.

Really, that’s what you want after all.

Using just his tongue, John traces circles, swirls up and down your sex, moves in languid motions that have you guessing. Every nerve is burning up like a sparkler. Your husband is teasing you, and fucking enjoying that he’s doing so.

He leaves nothing untouched, nothing untasted. Whimpering, John lightly kisses your clit, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. It’s not nearly enough.

“Stay still,” he chuckles, when your hips buck with wanton irritation. “Let me finish my meal.”

John’s mouth promptly returns, and you know you’re done. Utterly done. Brain dead. Air rapidly leaving a balloon. He sucks on your clit, then penetrates you with his tongue, only to do it all again. With each, he sucks just a bit harder, bordering on painful pleasure.

The next one has you nearly coming off the table.

“I’m gonna fuck you after this, love,” groans John. “Bloody hell, you’re sweet.”

He dives in and your nails dig into the tabletop, your voice cracking as you orgasm. You feel his smile against your flesh before his mouth disappears from it, only to be replaced by the familiar sound of unzipping jeans.

The head of his cock presses at your entrance but doesn’t penetrate. John lightly guides the head back and forth through your slickness, the sound of it echoing loudly in the garage.”

“Will you be a good girl and take it?”

You nod enthusiastically, strands of your hair shifting to stick against the back of your neck. “Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

With a low moan, John starts to press in, your body not resisting, only wanting him inside. You both groan loudly as he bottoms out. Adjusting, John places his hands firmly above your head, anchoring himself.

He breathes deep, and reaches for your wrists, one at a time, trapping them against the table. John rolls his hips, thrusts lightly against you. It’s the perfect angle. You feel everything.

John increases the pace. Those light, almost shallow thrusts become languid and long, hitting deep when your bodies come together. From there, his thrusts turn sharp, a smacking pace that stings your flesh. You hardly care. John’s cock inside you is heaven, the thing just to ease the lust in your bones.

Every stroke is lovely, sending shivers of pleasure through your limbs. Your little moans become breathy exhales, your words leaving your lips silently, delivered only to the quietness of the air.

John’s head dips, his lips brushes over your exposed shoulder as he continues to thrust. “Gonna come inside you, love.”

It is not a question, and you will always say yes even if he asks.

His last few thrusts shake the table, the legs scaping against the concrete just before John holds his hips flush to yours. The groan as he finishes comes from deep within his throat. It’s a primal sound.

Glancing up, you watch as his grip on your wrists shift. He’s left some of that grease behind from working on the car on your skin. He said he wouldn’t mar it, but he couldn’t resist, and that feels like a victory.

John presses a kiss to your shoulder, and you tilt your head in his direction, seeking his gaze, even as he keeps himself inside you.

“Good break?” you murmur.

John chuckles. “Oh, aye.” He shrugs, nods toward your wrists. “But we need to get clean.”

[letmedownslows]

i just wanted some complex fics of soap but it's so hard to find! the only ones i get are the ones where he's either too dumb or annoyingly (don't get me wrong) optimistic

the complex character ones always are for ghost, and i really get it, but like... why can't we get more of those for soap too???