#johnny soap mactavish

[timetravellingshinigami]

Me at Soap Mactavish

Man is built like a dream

[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.

[thisnoah]

Smooching my cat

[decaffeinatedcandycane]

Annoying task force members - pet peeves - headcanons

Soap hates the heat. He blasts the AC on cold and buries you in blankets if you complain. Then, of course, whines when you refuse to remove the blankets. And don't even try to deny him access to your body when under said blankets.

He will whine worse than a husky being forced into a bathtub.

Same goes for when you are not butt naked for him. Yes, Soap has the absolute audacity to expect you to be nude when he is keeping the room a suitable habitat for polar bears.

Ghost hates everything that is not minimalistic. He ain't a hoarder, lovie. He is the dude with a single chair and a PS4. His apartment has the same furnishing, the landlord left. If you attempt to add something he will start an argument you eventually win.

Yes, Simon I need a second fork. People have more than one bloody fork.

People are wasteful, lovie...

This is my home too.

I own it.

S'that so!

Yes.

Fine. *starts packing*

Shit. No. Lovie. Stop that.

Don't touch me.

Eventually he makes it up to you. And tries to do better. But it takes time for things to get through his thick skull. This is why you opt to bouncing on his thick cock. Maybe your pussy will knock some sense into your boyfriend. Judging by the gone expression on his face... it won't be anytime soon.

Kyle is judgmental. High morals/high standards amrite?

You cover all his standards, but some of your opinions are wrong...

At least in his eyes.

Neither of you back down in an argument l which inevitably happens, and when things are desperate you call his captain, who is more than happy to help after hearing glass breaking.

Have you seen the vine of a dude who puts on a wig and fight a woman who says "You can't hit a girl" - yeah, that's Garrick for you.

You do fight each other. Never aggressively - more like petty hisses and cat swats. But you do. And on occasion, stuff are being throw - nothing too dear, just stuff. At least it gives the perfect opportunity for the squad to shop for gifts for you too rebels. And keeps Price's blood pressure moving.

Price is a stubborn old goat.

I don't like that.

Yes, you do.

No, darling, I don't.

You ate it last week.

You are confused.

Are you gaslighting me?!

No-o.

C'me here. Stop running! I-Just.Want.To.Talk.To.You.

Our dear captain, NEVER admits defeat. He will fight for whatever he wants and NOTHING will stop him... And this is why you chase him around with a shoe on a daily basis. Or refuse physical contact. Or steal his reading 'prescription' glasses, he definitely doesn't need, and watch him struggle.

Eventually he breaks when he realize his unnecessary stubbornness drives a wedge between you two thus breaks your beautiful heart.

When the smile on your face is replaced with even the slightest discomfort, it reminds him of the pictures he saw of his mother before she met his father. She was radiant, warm and happy. After she married, she gradually faded into a hollow version of herself - a version Price will not let you turn into. He will never allow himself to suck the life out of you the way his father did his mother.

[tojisteddy]

Soap who has full conversations with your baby.

The man was so addiment about being there every step of the way of your pregnancy since you were rightfully scared. He read up on childcare books in the middle of missions, signed you up for couple classes, even got you a doula. You two were smooth sailing from then on.

But, my goodness would that man talk his head off to your unborn baby.

Those last 4 months, he would snuggle up right to your adorable, growing stomach and talk about anything that came to mind. The weather, the new bassinet you two argued over for thirty minutes, how uncle Gaz and Uncle Simon were both evil brats and hoe the baby (little chicky) couldn’t be around them for too long.

The baby knew Soaps voice, turning or kicking with excitement whenever they heard his voice. But the turning and kicking got so bad you’d waddle your cute butt away every time Soap would come talking even when it was casual conversation.

He’s right on your heals, easily catching up to you, “But baby, how’s I ‘posed to know chicky would come to love ma voice soooo much?”

“Johnny I don’t know, but it hurts! Back up ten feet from now on!” You giggle in a playful annoyance.

“Poor mama,” he coos, pecking your lips before kneeling down right at your belly, hand touching it and immediately feeling a kick that made you wince. “Johnny!” You keened. “Looky ‘ere chicky, ye can’t go bullying ma wife every time ‘m near. That ain’t fair, is it?” The man looks up at you, eyes glistening with laughter and giving your round stomach a kiss. “Ease up on ‘er, will ya?”

Oh did that baby ease up alright, not giving you a moments rest after that “talking to” if chicky didn’t hear Soaps voice. You’d call, three in the morning, praying to God he wasn’t doing anything.

“What’s wrong? You okay dove?” hes panicked, quick to answer those last two months, always.

You sniffle, “Just say somethin Johnny! The baby’s trying to kill me!” And that man can’t help the grin that forms on his face. Chicky hadnt even been born yet but was giving you hell. Like father like child, Johnny’d done the same thing with his mother. She’d be happy to hear about this.

And then, little chicky was born, a beautiful thing with a head full of hair, two eyes, two ears, ten fingers and toes. both of you two cried with joy. The baby clung to Johnny every chance they could, which started the babbling. Chicky would talk up a storm to the both of you as soon as they were able to hold their head up by themselves. Firsts clenched, drool every where, eyes wandering, always had so much to say.

In came Soap who had to feed them at 7 am (sleep trained to a tea by yours truly), the baby in the high chair, red baby food surrounding its mouth while Soap cleaned up the mess of a kitchen from the night before. Going on and on about the people he had to work with.

“Oh honey, I knoooow. Carol told me tha’ Evan’s been bein a little bitch to everyone on base. Annoyin yer poor Da while he tries to do his work! Cannae ‘ave that, can we?”

And your sweet baby babbles back, squealing and gripping onto the spoon in his hand.

You, who’s been watching the entire scene from the archway of the kitchen, scoffs, “Jesus, don’t curse at my kid!”

“Dove it’s not me!” He threw his arms up in defense, giggling, “the babe just won’t stop tellin me how much a gobshite Evan is.”

Soap bends down, face level to your baby. “Yes he is! Yes he is!” He coo’s, and chicky grins, as if they know what’s going on. Just like always.

a/n: reader x soap and their baby chicky is so cute to me.

most recent masterlist

[decaffeinatedcandycane]

This is soooo Soap. I can't. 🤣

[goatgoesmbe]

f!reader x Soap

Being insecure with how your pussy looks, so you made sure to do whatever needed to present yourself nicely before spending the first night with your boyfriend, Johnny.

You spent days taking care of your pussy. putting on oil, moisturizer, essence, and of course.. shaved it clean. Because you heard most men like that..

So imagine the look on your face when his reaction wasn't what you wanted.. but rather- what the mean voices in your head had told you what would happen.

You have done all that effort to make yourself feel pretty.. to mask the nervousness and insecurity.. hoping he would appreciate it but all he said was-

"..Whit way dis she look like that??"

He knew that came out wrong when he saw you tearing up, pouty lip trembling as you held back a sob.

Oh, hen- he didn't mean to insult you, it's just that.. he's upset of her being bald 😔

[pascallllllll1]

Simon grabs a hand full of hair, fingers digging into Johnny’s scalp painfully. “If you cum in her I’ll slit your fuckin’ throat while you’re still inside her solider.”

Johnny is straining to hold back his release. The veins on his throat popping out. But you feel like heaven, too god damn tight and squeezing the life out of his cock. Sweat runs down his chest and arms.

Simon’s words set something off within you. Something primal that even with another man’s cock filling you- stakes a claim that you are still his. It’s the final thing you needed to set off the building euphoria within you. With one more deep stroke, Johnny has you screaming out in pleasure as your peak comes hurtling through your shaking body.

“F-fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He whines.

Simon wraps his remaining arm not in use around Johnny’s torso. Aggressively pulling him out of you and down the bed. The interruption has you crying out, “noooo,” before Johnny’s face is shoved between your thighs.

He eagerly begins sucking on your clit and stuffing three thick fingers inside you, curling them just right as you ride out the remainder of your orgasm, suffocating the man with your legs wrapped tightly around his head in fear of him stopping.

Simon watches in sick satisfaction. What’s the fun in having such a pretty bird if you don’t share her with your best mate?

——————————————-

I started a new job a couple of months ago and have been so busy with it that I’ve had the worst brain fog and writers block.

I promise survival of the fittest chapter two has been in the works it’s just been slowly being written. Thank you so much for being patient with me🤍

[cod-indulgences]

Johnny Mactavish x Kyle Garrick x female!reader, threesome, facesitting, oral, overstimulation

Thinking about riding Soap's face and yanking him around by his mohawk while Gaz blows him, watching his eyes roll as his hips buck and tongue fucks into your hole, smearing slick all over his face, driving him into overstimulation as he begs to come, cock leaking and Gaz lifting your hips to spit a mess of precome and saliva into his mouth before you sit back down. Gaz swallowing him all the way down and milking the come out of him with a finger in his ass, mercilessly pressing on his prostate as he shouts against your clit.

Letting him lay there moaning and come drunk as Gaz drags you back onto his cock, pounding into you, the both of you coming hard, Gaz moaning and biting your shoulders as you lick into Soap's mouth, sucking on his tongue, his hands squeezing roughly at your breasts.

Gaz licks sweat from your neck as you lift up off his cock, and you wait until he has Soap's arms pinned before you slide your cunt back over Soap's face. His moan is garbled, bubbling up through the mess of slick and semen, drowning between your thighs as you get your rhythm going again, Gaz working two fingers into him this time, using his strong gorgeous body exactly the way he wants.

[tobeholyistobeempty]

HE CAN BE SENT TO HELL BUT NOY WITHOUT KNOWING HEAVEN FIRST STOPP THIS KM CLAWING AY THE WALLS

there’s something really compelling about johnny as a devote catholic who has hyper sexual tendencies.

sign of the cross over the man he just shot. reciting the hailmary while defusing a bomb. a thin chain that attaches to a crucifix (first communion gift from his grandfather) around his neck at all times.

and i’d like to think to most, he appears normal. model, even. a good man. straight shooter. level headed. faithful.

but catholic guilt bites ferociously at his desire for sex. capped off with a horrific feeling of contagion. filthy, lust filled thoughts- where he is the only origin. by letting another get close enough to him, he’s damning them.

but then he meets you, and cannot bring himself to care.

fucks you ceaselessly. tries every thought he grieved over and you let him. sex becomes his church, because it’s the only thing that’s seemed to welcome him for what he is. why would he pray to a god when he could fuck them?

you feel the crucifix on your back while he takes you from behind, and when he collapses onto you to rut deeper, it burns. brands the both of you in sin. and johnny, forever changed by the shape of your body, could care less.

he can be sent to hell, but not without knowing heaven, first.

[multific]

The One He Writes To

Johnny MacTavish x Reader

Summary: You were only meant to write one letter. A gesture of support. But when Soap writes back, it begins a chain of letters.

You never thought anyone would read it.

The paper felt too clean. The words are too stiff.

But you wrote it anyway, one letter, addressed “To any soldier who needs it”

You wrote about the sky that day. The rain on your window. You thanked them for their service. You told them, whoever they were, that you hoped they were safe. And then you signed it.

Sincerely,

Someone who still believes in letters.

You never expected a reply.

Until one arrived a month later.

Dear ‘Someone,’

Didn’t expect a letter like that, not gonna lie. Most mail we get is dull as shite, but yours made me laugh. Real rain-on-the-glass kind of stuff. I liked it. Made things feel a bit more real. Anyway. My name’s John, but everyone calls me Soap. No, I won’t explain why. That’s classified.

Write back? It’s quiet as hell out here when the bullets stop flying.

Yours (sorta),

Soap.

That was how it began.

One letter turned into two. Then three. Then dozens.

You never even saw his face, he never sent a photo, but his handwriting became something sacred. The sharp angles.

The occasional smudge from a dusty glove.

The way he always signed off: “Yours.” Sometimes “Yours, always.”

He was funny. Witty. Crude in places.

But sometimes, something deeper slipped through. Memories of home. Things he’d lost.

The way he’d describe the sky over foreign mountains like it was poetry, even if he claimed he was shit at writing.

And over time, you started writing about yourself too.

The real things. The ache of being alone. Your fears. Your dreams. Your secrets. And he listened, even through ink and distance.

And then… the letters stopped.

A week went by. Then two. Then five.

You checked the mailbox obsessively, fingers trembling every time it was empty.

You told yourself he was fine. That maybe the base moved. That maybe mail was delayed.

But there was a part of you that wondered if he’d died.

If your last letter, the one where you wrote “I think I might be falling for you” in shaky script, had never made it.

It had been two months.

You were on your porch one late afternoon, arms wrapped around yourself, rereading his last letter.

The sky was gray. Your chest felt empty.

And then you heard it.

Boots on gravel.

And there he was.

Soaked in rain. Hair shorter than you'd imagined. A duffel on his shoulder. Drenched, exhausted, and very much alive.

You dropped the letter.

He didn’t say a word at first.

You barely breathed. “J-John?”

A flicker of relief crossed his face. He nodded, once. “It’s me.”

You ran to him before he could say more, arms flying around his shoulders as he dropped the bag and caught you. You were crying. He was shaking.

“I thought y-you…” you choked.

“I didn’t,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’m here. I’m okay.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him.

To really see him. His eyes were tired but they lit up when he saw you.

“I got shot,” he said quietly. “So, I couldn’t write. Thought about it every day, about you.”

You touched his face, breathless. “I d-didn’t even know w-what you looked like.”

He gave you a soft, crooked smile. “Disappointed?”

You laughed through tears. “N-no. Never.”

His hand found your waist, gentle. “You said in your last letter that you were falling for me.”

You nodded, afraid to speak.

“I fell too,” he whispered. “Months ago.”

He kissed you before you could reply.

It was slow. Real. The kind of kiss you only give someone who knows your soul before your face.

When he pulled back, you were smiling.

He brushed your cheek with a calloused thumb. “Write me again?”

You took his hand and pressed it to your heart.

“Stay,” you said softly. “And I’ll say the words in person from now on.”

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[timetravellingshinigami]

If Soap had lived longer the entire TF 141 team would get to call him Johnny.

[eleu22]

i have a staffy and my dad was explaining how because of the way hes bred the more u hit him the more adrenaline he gets and it like “charges” him up and it made me think of soap

[everlyblaar]

Artist!Reader who have seen too much nudes to the point of immune and Soap who is sulking naked because he think you’re not turned on.

Like, babe, I’m sorry but I gotta sketch your thigh. The light hit just the right way.

Maybe after you told him, the two of you could sketch each other naked. Then fuck nasty on those sketches afterward.

[f0xyanon]

I feel like there’s a very specific reason for this, too- walk with me-

I feel like names are very much attached to personalities. Such is the same with call signs. 

I’ve gone by my first name my whole life, but given things that have happened in my young adult years, I’ve decided instead of to start going by my middle name. It’s a redefining of my identity. 

Call signs might work in a very similar way.

Johnny is the loudmouth jokester, the man always cracking lighthearted jokes. The man who flirts his way into the good graces of women. Soap, however, is the slightly more calculated and meticulous Sergeant. He makes darker, more sarcastic jokes with more gruesome undertones.

Simon is a man who’d fall to his knees for the touch of the right person. Soft, and kind; Quiet and caring. He’s the type of man to read to you while you doze in his lap. Ghost, however, is the lieutenant of his Captain. He kneels for no one but Price. He’s hard-edged and loud shouts and no nonsense. He's the man to call when you need to bury a body, not cry over your ex. 

Kyle is the man who values morality above all else, even if he bends his own rules sometimes. He has integrity and honesty. He doesn’t exactly abhor dishonesty, though; sometimes he’ll use it himself. He’ll flirt with a girl for fun at a club, but she’ll know it’s nothing serious. Gaz, though, he’ll break his personal morals if it means completing a mission successfully. He’ll use innocents to further an interrogation effort. He’ll flirt to further an agenda. 

So- I feel like we really see a difference here-

But Price is just Price. 

He’s in control. Always. He’s strong, and reliable and fair to his men. He has his own morals, and he sticks to them. Religiously. He won’t let a bad guy get away. He won’t let his men be threatened or killed without consequence. He's steady at all times. That’s what makes him a good leader.

He maintains these characteristics, these constant truths, on and off the field, unchanging. That’s why Price is just Price. That’s why even when he’s John, he’s Price.

The other three compartmentalize, separate themselves from the job. John can’t. (More opinions on that later.) That’s why John will only ever be Price. because in all his years, he's never learned how to be anything more, how to separate himself from the job in any real and meaningful way.

The dynamic of callsigns vs given names is so delicious to me I love using it in fic. Soap wanting something vs Johnny wanting something. Ghost doing something vs Simon doing something. Gaz believing something vs Kyle believing something. There’s a sincerity to their given names that’s raw in a way their callsigns aren’t.

[skyrigel]

Tf!141 gang bang with reader but Johnny is there because he could use a pretty cunt and Kyle just loves the way Simon gets all riled up when he's fucking you and John just really wants you and Simon to finally get together ( and he loves your mouth so win win )