#call of duty johnny soap mactavish

[pricegotmedickmatized]

Hi! New to your page but very much enjoying your writing!

I seen requests were open and had a thought about a prompt and while my immediate thought was Johnny for this prompt, any and all of the 141 are welcome, but them having a big crush on the girl that works in their favorite sex shop? (Johnny was the first thought because well toys...)

Anyways thanks for reading the idea even if it doesn't spark anything, I appreciate your time ☺️

nonny you are the SWEETEST omg and HELLO??!?! johnny with a SEX SHOP WORKER??? that's so good oh my god i love it lets dive in

johnny is admittedly a horn dog. he likes to fuck! what's wrong with that? it's him and doechii on a soapbox together declaring how much they like sex and he's chill with that reality. part of liking sex is liking sex with himself. just because he's masturbating doesn't mean it can't be fulfilling, or fun, or toe curlingly good. he goes to efforts to make it good, unlike some others he could name who half ass watching porn or who jerk the chicken in the showers like they're on a time limit. no. johnny likes to indulge himself.

and indulgence means toys. lots of them. enter his favorite sex shop. it's a small business sort of place, which he prefers over the massive corporate controlled spaces crowding out the sex industry with their clinical and minimalistic feel. nah, no thanks. he prefers places like this. its his favorite shop not just because of the wide selection, clean space (without being medical or clinical in The Wrong Way), and wide range of operating hours. nah, his favorite shop is his favorite almost entirely because of the staff, or really just the one.

he likes being able to go in and actually have a chat with the girl behind the counter and her perky tits bouncing free behind her shirt, how he can see the tiniest nubs on either side of her nipples that hint at piercings there. how she laughs and playfully smacks him every time he asks her (seriously, fuck, he's so serious about this) if he can have her demonstrate a toy for him. preferably naked. he likes how her eyes linger on him when he's handling the display models, testing how the sexdolls 'realistic' flesh bounces when he smacks it, how the clear fleshlights look taking his fingers, how she squirms and chews on her mouth and blushes a storm when he asks her to tell him her favorites, and then immediately purchases them.

but it's gotten to the point now that his self care time doesn't just include audio porn from his usual favorite creators. it's recommendations from his girl at the shop, and imagining that it's her pussy wrapped tight around his cock as he fucks the fleshlight she suggested with the lube he tasted off her finger has him coming fast and hard every time. but it never quells the ache in his gut, even when he's gone four rounds with himself in a single night and even the thought of touching his dick again makes him want to cry. no. he needs something deeper. something more. needs his girl from the shop to finally take him up on his offers and let him use his collection on her to have her cum harder than she ever has in her life.

maybe after that they could even do something really crazy like date and eventually get married. who knows?

[homosexualgirlandbags]

Also, also. I think Simon is going to be possessive about Johnny.

I mean, after all, he did spend a majority of his life alone and constantly jumping around from home to home. It's hard to find someone who actually cares and is willing to stay. And so when the sunshine to his life, Johnny walks in, it's almost hard not to keep him all to himself. You're telling him, that he finds a man that's practically the sun? And the man likes him back too??? Nar, you're most definitely joking. Except we're not. And Simon does find Johnny in his bed every night when schedules aling.

And much like a dog resource guarding, he's keeping Johnny next to him, preferably tucked by his side under a blanket. He's only human, with weird chemicals in his brain making happy chemicals whenever he sees Johnny after all. So what if he actually ends up buying flowers for Johnny on their first date (unaware that chrysanthemums means death in the flower language), it's his problem to deal with.

(Johnny thought it was a promise of death from his lieutenant, ends up almost switching teams because the fuck is he going to do against the 6"4 -193cm- man?? Try to bite him?? Fuck him??)

Simon doesn't even realise he has grown accustomed to Johnny being next to him until Johnny ends up training a new batch of recruits on a different base. He quite literally rots around that month on base, calling Johnny whenever he can to get life updates. (And maybe collect wank material. There's something about his heavy Scottish accent coming out after training that Simon shamefully finds hot). He also damn near scares the recruits when he shows up on the last day of Johnny's absence, standing by the doorway as he waits for his husband boyfriend to finish early.

His veins damn near pops when a recruit kisses Johnny on the cheek as she is leaving. Simon might have left finger sized indents on Johnny's hips from the resulting kiss he gave him.

He really is no different from a dog from how he was hoarding Johnny at that moment.

Oh well, god didn't give him puppy eyes for no reason, he supposed.

[hidingwhere]

141 with reader on their team

You’re a soldier like the rest of them, but know quite a lot about medicine and therefore share the role of both soldier and medic. You’d been with them ever since the task force had been assembled and the rumours flying about on base never really died down.

You, Kyle, Simon and Johnny. Were you friends? Lovers? No one knew. Some swore they’d walked in on you and another kissing, but none of you had ever denied or confirmed that. John didn’t comment on the whispers he heard so frequently, letting his children live peacefully.

Heaven forbid one of them saw John sitting on the sofa alone; because they’d join. If Simon innocently sat down beside him, Kyle would then find him and sit next to him. Then Johnny would find them, dramatically laying across the three of them who had already fallen asleep. Eventually, you’d sniff them out and lounge on top of Johnny, only lightly disturbing him as he rests a hand over your back.

The team worked perfectly together, like a puzzle with all the pieces. A father and his four chaotic children, causing havoc with one another as laughs and giggles filled his office where they lingered after missions.

Even some nights, when Johnny would complain about his sore muscles, he’d always convince one of you to join him in the shower. That’s why peoples opinions were always so mixed on the four of you; how could a group that close not be romantic? Others just suspected friends with benefits and left it at that.

During missions, if any of the boys got injured, you’d be next to them in a heartbeat, staying calm as you patch up a non-fatal bullet wound or force an oxygen mask over their mouth after suffering a concussion or close explosion. You’d kiss their cheek, sometimes with a little too much force, after you knew they were fine and would recover well. Johnny would sometimes ask for one on the lips (and you’d sometimes give it to him).

Gaz would demand massages everywhere after the mission, and Simon (although wouldn’t say directly) appreciated when you sat with him afterwards in silence, and enjoy when you’d yap about random things. It kept him entertained and focused on something other than his negative thoughts. He’d act annoyed when Johnny, Kyle and you would squeeze into his small bed on base and refuse to budge, all lying in the small space, limbs tangled and bodies pressed close together.

However, when they all went home, you’d never mention anything about what you were doing, if you were meeting anyone, seeing family. You were always quieter on the plane ride back to England, more distant and lost in your own head. They knew where you lived, on the outskirts of London, but wanted to know more. One day when Kyle asked if you’d be seeing family, you shrugged your shoulders. “Dunno,” was all you responded with.

So John invited you round his house. Then Johnny found out, claiming his apartment was too far away and convincing John to let him stay round his house as well. Then Johnny forced Simon to stay with them (he didn’t need much convincing); and when they arrived at the airport Kyle somehow ended up in Johns car as well (influenced by you).

At Johns house, the four of you ended up falling asleep over one another on his sofa as he cleaned up the mess of the food you’d nicked from his cupboards. Johnnys snoring woke you up multiple times, but he made up for it in his own ways.

————————————————

this was a random idea I had that I needed to get down 🙂‍↕️. Interpret it how you want, they could be just friends or they could all be secret lovers. Who knows? 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

[sweetstrawberryys]

Strawberries, please write Soap with quiet and shy reader. Maybe she’s depressed? 🫣 Kinda checked out and unenthusiastic about anything. Here comes fireball Johnny! 😉😘

“You Don’t Have to Smile For Me”

Summary: You're the new Analyst who got transferred after a horrible gruesome operation. You stooped talking or feeling anything. But that doesn't stop Johnny to fight tooth and nail to bring his girl back from the light.

Rating: Angsty with a happy ending. TW: Depression, emotional numbness, implied past trauma, comfort, slow-burn affection, Johnny being a sunshine pitbull.

Masterlist

---

The first time Soap meets you, you don’t say much.

Not in the shy, cute way people expect when they say a girl is “quiet.”

No bashful smile. No tucked chin or hidden glances.

You just… don’t say anything. Barely blink. You exist like wallpaper—flat, muted, unnoticed unless someone’s really looking.

Johnny? He looks.

---

You’re sitting on the corner of a folding bench at base, back straight, hands limp in your lap. You don’t scroll your phone. Don’t fiddle or doodle or talk. You’re not really doing anything. And that’s what catches his eye.

It’s unnatural, he thinks, how still you are. Like someone pressed pause and forgot to unpause you.

“What’s her name?” he whispers to Gaz at the vending machine, subtly nodding toward you.

Gaz follows his gaze. “New analyst. She got reassigned here after the Germany op.” He pauses. “Be nice. Heard it was messy.”

Messy. The word hangs.

Soap watches you blink slowly, eyes heavy-lidded like sleep doesn’t stick to you anymore. You don’t flinch when loud boots pass by or when someone slams a locker nearby.

You’re not skittish.

You’re not scared.

You’re just… gone.

---

It starts with stupid things. Johnny’s good at stupid things.

“Y’ever think energy drinks are just trauma in a can?” he says, holding up a neon pink can and making a dramatic gagging noise. “This one tastes like electric regret.”

You don’t laugh.

But your brow twitches. Barely. A ghost of an expression.

That’s all he needs.

Next day he brings a different flavor and gives you a full, tragic review:

“This one’s called Blue Lightning Deathstrike. I’m not saying I’ve licked a car battery before, but—”

Your lip almost curls. He sees it. Marks the victory down in his mental scoreboard with a gold star and a celebratory bag of chips.

You’re quiet. Withdrawn. Checked-out in a way that makes his chest tighten if he thinks too long on it. But Johnny MacTavish is not the kind of man who gives up.

You didn’t flinch when everything fell apart, sure.

But maybe you forgot how to feel.

So he makes it his job to remind you.

---

Some days, you don’t answer when he talks to you. You just give him these slow, tired glances like his words have to fight their way through fog just to reach you.

But he keeps talking anyway.

He tells you about the time he cut his mohawk crooked and had to pretend it was “a style choice” on a recon op.

Or how Ghost once fell asleep in a beanbag chair with his mask on sideways.

Or how he tried yoga once and ended up spraining his ego.

“You don’t have to talk,” he says one day, crouching next to your bench. “But you don’t have to be alone either, bonnie.”

Your throat works like maybe you’ll say something.

But you don’t.

Still. You don’t walk away.

He counts that as progress too.

---

The day you speak, it’s raining.

You’re both stuck under the little overhang near the barracks, him bouncing on his heels, you sitting silently with your knees pulled to your chest.

He’s rambling, as always. Voice warm. Scottish lilt soft, melodic. Like laughter under a quilt.

“Y’know, it’s weird how rain makes people feel clean,” he says. “When I was a kid, I thought maybe the sky cried for us when we couldn’t do it ourselves.”

You finally speak.

“…That’s stupid.”

Your voice is hoarse from disuse. Blunt. Barely above a whisper. But it slices through the quiet like lightning.

Johnny grins. Wide. Unbothered. “Aye, probably is.”

You stare at him, eyebrows drawn. “Why are you always talking to me?”

He shrugs. “’Cause you remind me of a cat. All quiet and bitey and half-feral. But I like cats.”

You blink. Your mouth twitches again. That almost-smile. Almost.

“You’re annoying,” you murmur.

“Consistently,” he agrees cheerfully.

And—for the first time in weeks—you smile.

---

He starts showing up at your door after that.

“Walk with me,” he says one morning, nudging a takeout cup of coffee into your hands. “We’ll go somewhere ugly and talk shit about it.”

Or:

“You look like you need to punch something. Want me to find Ghost and tell him you called him ‘Mr. Bean in a balaclava’?”

Or even:

“I’m not saying you should run away with me to open a flower shop in the Scottish Highlands, but I’ve got a business plan and I’m very persuasive.”

You never say yes. Not with words.

But your feet move. You show up. You follow. Every time.

---

The thing about Johnny is—he doesn’t try to fix you.

He doesn’t tell you to “cheer up.”

Doesn’t ask what’s wrong or push for answers.

He just stays.

He’s loud and warm and always within reach. A safe, solid kind of chaos. The fire that makes you want to come in from the cold.

You don’t know when the numbness starts to fade.

Only that one day you feel it again—the sharp pang of something. Like waking up with pins and needles after being still too long.

You cry. Not hard. Just a few tears sliding down your cheeks like they don’t know what they’re doing.

Johnny catches them with his thumbs, kneeling in front of you with eyes soft as rain.

“There she is,” he whispers, forehead brushing yours. “There’s my girl.”

You hiccup a laugh-sob. “I’m not yours.”

He leans in, gentle, unrushed. “You will be.”

And somehow, in the wreckage of your silence, in the weight of everything you’ve buried, you believe him.

Because if anyone could burn through your dark.

It’s Johnny MacTavish.

[kanescrochet]

Soap experienced with relationships ends up with the girl whos never even kissed someone. He`s more than willing to take things slow for you and doesn't try to push for more than you tell him you`re ready for. he lets you pick the wedding venue when he asks you to marry him a year after you start dating him.

[scoobywrites690]

Soap being a beg

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Johnny.” You warn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ghcstsoap]

Ghostsoap but it’s paper rings by Taylor Swift

[couldtheyescortelliewilliams]

Do you want to submit a potential protector for Ellie? Click here if you do!

[mutant-okuri-inu]

Extricated

"Finally got you, lass. You're safe..."

Yippie!! This drawing took a looooong time to draw, but it was worth it! Don't worry, Soap will take her somewhere safe ;)

Happy Halloween, friends! I hope you eat lots of candyyy. 🎃

Reblogs are appreciated!

[halo-crow]

I'm not that obssessive of this character

Okay maybe

[pricegotmedickmatized]

Johnny is a bit of a whore. he likes sex and he’s good at it, fucking sue him! he’s fucked most of the people he’s ever met (except his family and their list of ‘absolutely off limits’) and it’s great. incredible, even. he never has to work too hard to find a partner (or a few) for the night when the mood strikes him and he has free time, so he’s never needed to push the limits of who he was and wasn’t allowed to fuck

but he’s always been a bit of a rebel, and his sister’s best friend is real fucking cute

cw: cunnilingus, dirty talk, slightly mean, Soap (he’s a warning in and of himself)

so how can anyone blame him for lingering in his sisters living room when he knows she’ll be there, letting her see him eye her appreciatively, smirking as he tells her “look fucking bonnie today lassie” and makes her roll her eyes and turn her prim little nose up in the air, or when he leans in over her shoulder at a bar to feel her shudder and watch her nipples pucker as he stares shamelessly down her shirt to whisper in her ear how much he’d like her have her legs wrapped around his head and get a taste of her pussy to find out if it’s as tart as the expression on her face or if it’s sweet like her buns, and she every time flings around all firey and indignant and his cock aches as he watches her rage at him

but she never tells his sister to get him to back off and he knows why, so despite her pretense that she’s not interested he doesn’t relent. keeps teasing her with smirks and meaningful eyebrow raises, and whenever he’s home he’s always round at her bakery asking filthy questions about kneading and any other baking pun that Ghost supplies him with

he unrepentantly chases off other men who eye her up in the bar with a laugh and a too hard squeeze to their shoulder, winking as he tells them she’s got someone on the ropes and if they want they can get in line but he won’t be through for a long fucking time, if ever. and only when she hisses at him that at this rate she’ll never get laid again and it’s not like he’s serious does he actually stop smiling

“Lass, if you want to see just how serious I am, let me take you home”

he can see her mouth purse, eyes narrow, but none of it hides the way her pupils dilate and her nipples start poking through her shirt. she’s too stubborn to back down so she spins on her heel, nearly hitting him in the face with her hair before giving him a snide, expectant “well?”

he grins.

half an hour later in her flat he’s got her up against her door, blind and deaf to the world as he buries his face against her cunt. “Sweet, fuck, god, shoulda fucking known your cunt would be this fucking sweet” her hands are in his hair, her clothes all askew from his hands, barely hanging onto her, he’s got one of her legs hooked over his shoulder and one hand spread wide over her hip to keep her pinned down in place as he finally gets what he’s really been hungry for all along

shes obviously new to getting eaten out proper, cant even stay upright through one measly orgasm, and he of course catches her when her knee buckles, carrying her over to the sofa and teasing that he knew she’d be needy but not this needy, so needy she has to get head laying on a cushion like a princess. it’s alright though, he’ll indulge her, but she has to play with those nipples while he eats her out.

her thighs shake on orgasm two, three has tears gathering in her eyes, and by four shes a crying, sobbing mess beneath him, unable to speak, just gasps and whines and vague sobs that sort of sound like his name as she tears at her own hair and bucks against his face as he slaps her ass and reminds her harshly “I told ya ta ride it, hen, so fucking ride my tongue”

she made him wait this long to get under her skirt, he’s gotta extract his pound of flesh and make her beg for his cock. make her desperate for it. make her so wet and horny just at the sight of him she’ll need new panties and drag him into the nearest place to sit on it. so he doesn’t fuck her that first time, teases her that she was the one who thought he wasn’t serious, how else is he going to prove how serious he is other than not giving her the dicking down she so clearly fucking needs until they’ve had a proper date?

shes furious, breaking a lamp by throwing it after him as he leaves with her panties in hand and her honey all over his face and hands, whistling like an asshole even though she was the only one who got off (five times) but she calls him two days later, calmer, even unsure, and he’s quick to tell her again just how serious he is, grinning like a maniac at the smile, the relief in her voice when she tells him to pick her up at six.

his sister is pissed, but shes over it by the time the wedding comes around

[homosexualgirlandbags]

Johnny and Simon kissing on base will never not be funny for me, because A) fraternizing is illegal in the military and B) Simon has spite with John (over the man criticizing his writing skills) and wants to catch John kissing Nik first before ever getting caught with Johnny.

Just imagine: Simon leaning down to kiss Johnny, mask off with blush and all, and John walks in. The difference between the blushing Simon before, and Ghost standing at attention after is hilarious.

What's more, Johnny is in on it too, denying any rumors of the lieutenant showering with him (even though there are brown and blond hair mixed together in the drain of the second stall) and disputing any claims of him getting caught wearing Simon's jacket on base. (He didn't notice for an entire day, actually)

The masquerade ends when Kyle films them all at the same base party, Nik and Price drunkenly making out against his office door, the Price name tag damn near falling off the door when they stumble into his office. In the corner, you could see Simon and Johnny crashed out against each other on one of the frats couches, holding each other close.

The video is still one of the most sought after blackmail around base to this day.

[soapysoapysoapysoapy]

taking one (& another & another & another) for the team | soap x reader x ghost | inspired by: @softaestluv johnny's pent up blurb

It started as a joke. "I'm gonna die if I don't get my cock wet soon," Johnny whined, sprawled backward over the couch, legs spread, hand draped over his forehead like he was seconds away from his last breath. *"Swear I can feel it in my fucking molars, mate. I'm gonna explode."

At first, you and the others ignored him. Typical Soap — loud, dramatic, a walking sexual frustration PSA. But it didn't stop. If anything, it got worse: every mission debrief, every meal, every late-night sit around the barracks, Johnny lamented his poor, poor cock like it was a national tragedy.

When he started describing how tragic his wanks were — "My hand's too fuckin' rough, not the same, need something wet, something tight—" — you snapped. Loud enough for everyone in the room to hear: "Christ, Soap, I'll fuckin' take one for the team if it'll shut you up."

Johnny sat up like you'd just offered him oxygen.

Which is how you found yourself bent over the nearest flat surface, jeans yanked halfway down your thighs, Johnny pressed tight to your back, rutting into you like a man possessed.

"Fuck—fuckin' hell, love, yer savin' my life," he groaned, hips slamming into you like he was trying to crawl inside. "Warm 'n tight, fuck, could stay here forever."

You barely bit back a moan, hands braced hard enough to hurt. You weren't supposed to enjoy this, just do your duty to the squad’s sanity.

But then Johnny started whining again — not his usual loudmouth bitching, but these needy, half-choked sounds against the back of your neck.

"Need ya," he rasped, like he couldn't help himself. "Need yer cunt, fuck, not gonna be enough, need it again—'m not done—"

Even after he came — hot, messy, filling you to the brim — he didn't stop. Still rocking against you, still murmuring desperate filth into your skin, already hardening inside you again.

You realized then: You hadn't fixed the problem. You'd made it worse.

He barely pulled out before he was pushing right back in, thick and slick with his own cum, grinding into your overstretched walls like he could merge the two of you if he tried hard enough.

"Fuckin' perfect," Johnny slurred against your neck, teeth scraping along your skin. "Mine now, y'know that? Filled you up good—fuckin' claimed you—"

You tried to push him off, half-hearted at best — muscles trembling, brain fogged from how full you felt — but Johnny just wrapped an arm around your middle and held you there, hips rolling slow and filthy, fucking his own mess deeper inside.

"Nuh-uh, love," he muttered, pressing kisses to your shoulder, messy and possessive. "Said I'd lose my mind if I didn’t get to fuck you. Y’think one load's enough to fix this? After all that sufferin’?"

You whimpered, feeling his cock twitch again, fully hard despite just cumming. He chuckled low against your skin, voice dark and wrecked.

"Told ya I'd go mad. Now yer stuck with me, sweetheart."

He fucked you slow the second time — not like the frantic, desperate slamming from before, but a grinding, possessive rhythm, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you properly. Every time you clenched around him, he gasped, praising you in that ruined, filthy brogue.

"That's it, good girl," he breathed. "Take it all, take it like y'made for it. Fuckin' born to milk my cock, huh? Gonna pump you so full you won't remember what it feels like to be empty."

You felt him bulge even thicker inside you, grinding down into your cervix, every thrust stretching you wider, making you feel owned in a way that had nothing to do with orders or duty.

Johnny growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. You barely registered it before he was moving — hands gripping your hips, manhandling you onto your back like you weighed nothing.

"Wanna see," he panted, almost delirious. "Wanna see how fuckin' ruined you are for me."

Your legs were shoved open before you could think to protest, ankles tossed over his shoulders. Johnny leaned back just enough to look — and groaned, obscene and ragged.

"Fuckin' hell, look at that," he hissed, watching his cum leaking out of you, your cunt red and puffy, still clenching greedily around nothing. His cock throbbed in his hand, still wet, still ready.

"So messy, love. Drippin' for me already. Y'know what that means, don’t ya?"

You shook your head weakly, breath stuttering in your chest. Johnny just grinned, all teeth and danger.

"Means I’ve gotta fill you up again. 'Til you can't take any more."

Without warning, he lined himself up and pushed — forcing his cock back inside your sore, sloppy cunt in one thick, slow thrust. You cried out, back arching, and Johnny moaned like you were his whole damn salvation.

He didn’t give you a chance to breathe. Started fucking you immediately — deep, grinding strokes that had your whole body jolting with each brutal snap of his hips.

"That's it, that's it," he gasped, head tipping back, sweat dripping down his temple. "Take it all, pretty thing. Gonna make sure yer stuck full of me. Walkin' round leakin' my cum for days."

Your brain barely worked anymore. Just open-mouthed whimpers, toes curling, walls spasming around him like you wanted it — wanted everything he was giving you and more.

Johnny's pace turned frantic again, slamming into you harder, the sound of skin against skin filthy and wet between you.

"Belong to me now," he growled, words punching out of him with each thrust. "No one else. Fuckin' mine."

You couldn’t even pretend to fight it. Couldn’t think past the way he filled you so perfectly, the overwhelming heat, the way his cock dragged along every sensitive spot inside you until you felt tears spring to your eyes.

He buried himself to the hilt one final time, grinding down against you, hips jerking as he spilled deep again, thick and endless. You could feel it — the heat, the stretch, the way he pulsed inside you like he was branding you from the inside out.

Johnny didn’t pull out. Just collapsed over you, mouth hot and messy against your jaw, still twitching inside your wrecked cunt.

"Fuck," he whispered hoarsely. "Still not enough. Need you again, love. Gonna fill you 'til you’re round with me, swear it."

Johnny stayed buried in you for a long moment, hips grinding lazy, slow circles, as if trying to force every last drop even deeper. You could feel it leaking out around his cock — hot, sticky, obscene — and you whimpered, overstimulated and wrecked.

Johnny noticed immediately. Growled against your throat, feral.

"Leakin'," he muttered, almost offended. "Can't have that. Gotta keep it all in, love. Need you drippin’ full for me."

He finally, finally pulled out — and the flood of cum that gushed out made you sob, weak and broken. But Johnny didn’t give you a second to recover. He dropped between your legs, shoving two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them deep and obscene, scooping the mess back up.

"No wastin' it," he rasped, fucking his cum right back into your cunt with slow, filthy thrusts. "Take it all, greedy girl. You fuckin' need it."

Your legs kicked weakly at the overstimulation, but Johnny just grinned — wild and unhinged — before spreading you wider, his thumb pressing down hard on your clit while he stuffed you full with his fingers.

"Gonna breed you proper," he whispered hoarsely. "Fill you so deep you’ll be round with me. Belly all heavy, stuffed full of my fuckin' load—"

You sobbed, hips rolling despite yourself, body desperate for more even as your mind shattered into static. You should have known it’d be like this — Johnny didn’t do anything by halves.

He leaned down, mouth dragging messy, possessive kisses along your trembling stomach like he could will it to swell.

"Mine," he murmured. "All fuckin' mine."

And that’s exactly when you heard the door creak open. You barely had the strength to lift your head, vision blurry — but you saw a tall shadow in the doorway.

Ghost.

He stood there, silent, unreadable behind his mask — just watching. Johnny didn't stop. Didn’t even slow down. He curled his fingers inside you again, making you cry out, making more of the mess spill down your thighs.

Ghost's head tilted slightly, almost curious.

"Problem?" Johnny barked over his shoulder, voice wrecked but cocky as hell. Like he wanted Ghost to see — to know.

Ghost said nothing. Just crossed his arms slowly over his broad chest.

Johnny smirked and turned his attention back to you, dragging his fingers out with a wet squelch just to stuff them right back in — slow and possessive.

"That's right," he said lowly, clearly for Ghost’s benefit now. "Had to take care of it myself. Filled her up so good she's fuckin' leaking. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?"

You whimpered in response — too broken, too full, too wrecked to argue.

Ghost watched you for a long, heavy moment — chest rising and falling — before he spoke, voice flat and unreadable: "You better clean up after yourself, Soap."

Then, calmly — without another word — Ghost shut the door behind him with a click.

Johnny barked out a wild, breathless laugh against your stomach. "Come to help, mate?" he panted, fingers still lazily dragging through the wrecked mess of your cunt. "Think she needs it. Poor thing's so fuckin' stuffed already, can't hold it all."

Ghost didn’t answer. Didn't need to.

He stalked closer, heavy boots thudding against the floor, until he was standing right at the edge of the bed — looming over your trembling body. You watched through blurred eyes as he popped the button on his cargo pants, dragging the zipper down slowly, deliberately.

Johnny shifted you slightly, spreading your legs even wider, thumbs digging bruises into your hips to keep you open — presenting you like a ruined offering.

"C'mon, Ghost," Johnny muttered, voice rough and wild. "Don't leave the girl waitin'. Look how pretty she is—drippin' fuckin' ready."

Still silent, Ghost wrapped a hand around the base of his cock — thick, flushed, already leaking — and lined himself up.

He didn’t ease in. Just pressed the fat head against your already-used, dripping hole and pushed.

You screamed, body arching off the bed, overwhelmed instantly by the stretch, the pressure, the unbearable fullness of taking another man inside you without even a second to adjust.

Ghost let out a low, broken sound, not quite a grunt, not quite a moan, and buried himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

"There we fuckin' go," Johnny whispered against your ear, laughing breathlessly. "Take him, love. Take us both."

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Ghost fucked you without mercy — slow, devastating thrusts that forced Johnny’s mess and his own spit to spill down your thighs in filthy, wet streams. He said nothing — just breathing harshly through the fabric of his mask, hands brutal on your hips, using you like a living, breathing fucktoy.

Johnny kept whispering filth into your ear — encouragements, praises, commands — while Ghost destroyed you from the inside out.

"That's it, good girl," Johnny crooned, petting your hair while Ghost slammed into you. "Take it like you were fuckin' made for it."

You felt your mind fracturing — pure overstimulation, pure broken pleasure — as Ghost fucked you harder, grinding deep, his cock stretching you to the point of tears.

And then Johnny shifted again — ducking low between your legs to lick around where you were stuffed full, his tongue dragging over your overstretched rim every time Ghost pulled out just a fraction.

"Fuckin' hell," Johnny gasped, almost reverent. "Look at that, Ghost. Cunt's swallowin' you like she needs it."

Ghost let out another low, broken sound — and picked up the pace. The bed creaked violently under you, your body jolting with every brutal, punishing thrust.

You could feel it building — some dark, overwhelming climax you couldn’t fight — tightening low in your stomach, burning up your spine.

Ghost suddenly reached down and gripped your throat — not tight, just heavy, possessive — and that was it.

You shattered. Clamping down around him so hard Ghost actually groaned, thrusts going sloppy, brutal. And then you felt it — hot, thick, spilling deep inside you, Ghost’s cock pulsing violently, joining Johnny’s mess inside your ruined cunt.

You lay there twitching, barely conscious, as Ghost finally pulled out — slow, heavy — and watched as his cum immediately leaked out after him.

Johnny's hand was already there — catching it, stuffing it back inside you with lazy, satisfied fingers.

Ghost pulled his gloves back on silently, redressing with mechanical efficiency. Said nothing. Before he left, he pressed one gloved hand to your trembling thigh — firm, approving — and then disappeared out the door without a word.

Johnny leaned down over you, brushing your hair back from your sweaty forehead.

"Told ya, sweetheart," he whispered with a wicked grin. "Was gonna fill you proper."

And from the ache in your gut and the obscene mess between your thighs —you knew he wasn’t lying.

Morning hit like a slow, heavy sledgehammer.

You barely even remembered falling asleep — just flashes: Johnny fucking his cum deeper into you with lazy, loving thrusts while you sobbed into the sheets; Ghost’s heavy hand gripping your thigh one last time before disappearing without a word.

Now your entire body ached. Your thighs were sore, trembling even at the slightest twitch. Your pussy was a wreck — raw, swollen, still leaking a slow, lazy drip of milky white that soaked into the crumpled sheets beneath you.

You tried to shift — to roll onto your side — and whimpered immediately. Everything hurt. You could feel the mess drying on your skin, inside your cunt, coating your thighs.

And Johnny, of course, was already awake.

He lay stretched out beside you, arms tucked behind his head, a smug, satisfied smirk spread wide across his face.

"Mornin’, sunshine," he drawled, voice rough from use, eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "Sleep well?"

You glared at him weakly, too exhausted to even muster words. Johnny just grinned wider.

"Y’look wrecked," he said cheerfully, reaching out to brush a lock of hair from your sweaty forehead. "Proper job, that."

You tried to move again — a pathetic, sluggish attempt — and Johnny laughed, full-bodied and warm.

"Aw, poor thing. Can’t even fuckin' walk, huh?"

His hand drifted down — over your collarbone, the bruises he’d left, the fingerprints, the possessive marks — until he palmed your lower belly, pressing down just slightly.

You gasped, muscles clenching reflexively around the lingering mess inside you.

Johnny's grin turned wolfish.

"Still full, are ya?" he murmured. "Good girl. Holdin’ it all for us."

He sat up slowly, bare chest gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat, and pulled back the sheets.

You whimpered as cool air brushed your ruined, sore cunt — thighs automatically trying to close, to hide yourself.

Johnny tsked softly, spreading you open with two rough hands like you were something precious to be displayed.

He hummed low in his throat — a sound of satisfaction.

"Ghost’ll be pleased," he muttered, almost to himself.

You blinked sluggishly at him, confused.

Johnny chuckled and gestured toward the nightstand. There — sitting neatly next to a bottle of water — was a simple piece of paper. No name. No explanation. Just three short words, written in Ghost’s heavy, blocky scrawl: “Hold it in.”

Your heart hammered painfully in your chest.

Johnny laughed again — delighted, wrecked — and leaned down to press a filthy, claiming kiss to the inside of your trembling thigh.

"Guess we’re not done after all, love," he whispered against your skin. "Orders are orders."

And from the wicked glint in his eye, you knew you weren’t getting a break anytime soon.

[softaestluv]

Johnny who makes it everyone else’s problem that he hasn’t got laid in weeks, that he’s so fucking pent up he can feel it in his teeth. Won’t stop his Scottish whining that his hand isn’t enough, needs a warm cunt to fuck or he’ll go insane.

So, you take one for the team, let him fuck all his pent up cum inside of you because you don’t think you can hear another description of how sad his hand feels. Hope to get him to shut the hell up.

But now he just won’t stop whining about needing to fuck your cunt.

[kanescrochet]

soap would be the one that ends up with the soft-spoken nerdy girl that hates attention. their total opposites but manage to make the perfect couple

[hidingwhere]

John Prices wife coming to pick him up at the airport after he returns from a mission, but the car is now full of military men.

One look at the three boys, completely exhausted and pulling their phones out to book a taxi had your heart crying. Without thinking, you offered them all a lift to yours and Johns home for them to stay overnight.

So now there’s three men cramped onto your three backseats, John having the luxury of sitting in the front. Simon is on the end (still in his balaclava but luckily not the skull mask because you’d be a little creeped out seeing that every time in the rear view mirror), Johnny in the middle and then Kyle on the other end. Johnny complains for about 10 minutes that he’s squished in and has no room to move but after that he’s completely zonked out on Simons shoulder.

Your music plays quietly through the speakers and they’re happy to listen to anything that isn’t gun shots or explosions.

Once you arrive home, they all climb out the car, grabbing their bags from the boot and dumping them down in the living room.

“Place looks less lifeless than last time I was here,” comments Johnny.

“Finally got a woman’s touch to it,” adds Kyle.

You smile a little at the non-direct compliment. Price also looks around, noticing the little details that have changed or the things that have been added around his house, keeping a hand on your back. He leans down and kisses you gently, mumbling “I missed you” against your lips.

“I missed you too. But it looks like you’ve lost weight.” You glance down at his body. “I’ll fatten you up again,” you tease with a little giggle as he chuckles.

It’s around 9pm by the time you’ve cooked dinner for four people who have appetites of bears. They all look at you as if you’re an angel sent from heaven when they see the food, sitting down at the dining table silently and scoffing down the meal.

By 10pm, you go into the living room thinking they’re all watching TV but instead they’re all asleep. You grab some spare blankets from beside the sofa and cover them up except for John. You shake him awake and make him move upstairs into bed with you. There’s no way you’re letting him sleep on the sofa and not with you after weeks apart.