#johnny soap mactavish
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druap · 11 days ago
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some recent sketches from twitter
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abusivegymrat · 1 day ago
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Being the only female in 141, but not in the 12 year old wattpadd writer “they all wanna fuck me uwu” way…
cute lil drabble (im sleep deprives as hell)
wc: 243
These men have no idea how to do the most basic tasks, taking care of themselves be damned.
They looked at you like they saw a ghost the first time you sat down with something on your plate that wasn’t a can of corn, beans, tuna or MRE’s. Holy shit, you’re eating from a plate, love!
And it was like you grew three heads when you wiped the table after Gaz spilled water, why didn’t you let it dry? Or that time you had to broom the dead mice out of the safe house. We could have lain down next to them, sweetheart! Oh when you made dinner for them? You won their hearts…
This wasn’t about gender roles, no, you weren’t doing this because you had to. You weren’t the problem for doing it, they were the problem for being so fucking dumb.
“Are you lot some sort of loyalty as in riches, or fucking rags?”
“Wha’?” Simon blurts.
“Are you this incompetent because you’ve never done anything and people did shit for you your entire life, or are you completely useless?” The genuineness in your voice is a shock factor itself, enough to make the captain’s eyebrows raise.
“Lass, are you okay—“
“Soap, you just told me you’ve never held a broom in your life.”
One time, Gaz was cleaning ketchup from the table with rounded motions, smearing it over the table. Your breath hitched. “GARRICK!”
They’re nervous around you since.
Check out my masterlist!
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goaskangel · 2 days ago
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how the 141 eat you out !!
price, ghost, gaz, soap headcanons ^o^
price likes to keep things easier for himself. augh, he’s just getting older by the minute and can’t keep up with your youth—doesn’t mean he’ll let his birdie down, of course. he’ll shush any overthought anxieties that come from you when he tells you to get up and sit on his face. 
laying down on your comfy, shared bed and patting the space next to him, praising you, “tha’s a good girl,” when you comply, hovering over his jaw. your clothed pussy’s drenched middle sends soft grins to the man below you, he takes a quick lick at the sweet slick seeping through and hums in delight. 
he wastes no time to rip them away to kiss and suck at his favorite girl. his big hands massage your thighs to keep them open as his beard tickles and scratches at your inner thighs, his obscene spits and skilled tongue’s noises are faint under the hearty moans you let out. you sure as hell won’t be strong enough to get up from the sheets when he’s pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you. 
ghost is just nasty with it. he doesn’t care where you guys are or what you’re doing, if he’s craving the taste of you on his tongue, he’ll go for it. his speciality being kneeled down and smothering his face into your cunt. in public, he’ll push you and seduce you enough into going into a bar’s stingy bathroom, “nobody will catch us, ‘ere, love. just follow me.” 
he’ll sacrifice his good jeans to kneel down on the dirty floor when he’s got you sat on the clogged sinks, your short dress coming up even shorter as he hooks his fingers down to get to you. simon lifts his cloth mask up just above his nose to kiss and suck at your sloppy folds. he could almost laugh at how nervous you were before to just how wet you were for him and how loud you were moaning, but he just shoves his face deeper into you. 
and some–most–of the time, he’ll get on his knees in the kitchen where you stand at the counter, jumping slightly with the surprise of your boyfriend behind you, lifting your little robe up to shove his tongue to your pussy. he loves spreading your ass, kissing ‘em gently as well before focusing on swirling his tongue on your clit. he’s definitely leaving bite-marks on your ass. 
gaz is awfully impressive with how he eats you out. from how his mouth tongue-fucks yours and his skilled fingers rolling waves in your cunt, he loooves combining the two when he gets the chance to kiss your pretty pussy. when you’re both home from a long day and he joins you in the bedroom, kissing up on your face as you hold him, giggling, before trailing down your body to your open legs.
he undresses you with smooth and romantic touches, his lips holding that same love. pressing little kisses around your slicked folds and finally frenching with your clit. he’s trying to hide his eagerness but he can’t help it, you instantly start writhing when he licks pressured tongue-kisses on your needy bud, waiting until you produce enough slick yourself to slither two fingers inside.
you gasp at the impact and involuntary feel your eyes roll back at the double satisfaction. the feeling of kyle’s fingers rubbing right on your gummy spot inside you while he’s sucking your clit right gives you an early climax. he sits up, licking his lips as his hand goes past his waistband, “needy, needy girl. how’s about your cunt kissing something else?” 
soap goes to you almost always the same way when he wants you. just comfy, what you think is plain and boring-old you. you’re lying lazily on the couch, watching some show that came on until johnny comes in with love-filled eyes. ( i mean when aren’t they??? )
he admires the pretty figure of your body just relaxing, your shirt loose but tight enough to emphasize the curves of your tits. maybe you’re not wearing a bra and he’s literally drooling at the nice plump shadow of your shirt. he finds his spot between your legs, pulling your shorts off with his teeth, “don’t mind me, bonnie. continue whatcha doin’.” but god it’s so hard to focus on the crappy tv show when he’s just lapping at your sweet pussy and stimulating your puffy lips with his tongue. 
your body moves in waves as you whine at his stupidity. but it’s not stupidity at all but rather the best fucking session he’s given to you. just random love he’s making to your cunt with his tongue. you pull and tease at the tufts of hair, climaxing immediately when he looks up at you with the same slyest and sexiest gaze he got you with.
want some more cod?
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spurbleu · 6 days ago
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tbi johnny who finds a new hobby. cw. stalking.
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after six months of progressive sessions, johnny’s recovery therapist gifts him a camera. resurrected from its grave in his basement- pristine condition, aside from the dust on the lenses.
“had it for years, barely used the thing,” he clears his throat, “might help you. picking up a hobby. I know drawing isn’t as easy as it used to be with the brain fog, so i thought that maybe…”
“tanks, doc.”
it becomes attached to Johnny by the hip.
goes with him everywhere. the park across from his apartment, on hikes because the asphyxiation reminds him he's still alive, subway stations that reek of rat piss and his new normal. capturing worlds he's unfamiliar with and stringing their polaroids across twine.
he has dozens of them- but there's not a collection that he likes more than the ones of you.
started when he caught you tending to the communal roof garden. honeysuckle fingers digging wombs in the soil. a gentle hum that covers the snap of his camera.
then it was doing laundry. watching the tele. reading in your bed. making dinner. a damaged part of him draws himself into these pictures, obsessing over how he'd complete them.
he has 14 of them now, the last being a lucky shot. it's the top of your hair against your headboard, hands between your raised legs, naked and sweating. mouth open in a paused moan.
he imagines himself there, too.
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moody-alcoholic · 3 days ago
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+18 MDNI
Something something.. Johnny making you ride his fingers as he presses his tongue against your clit.
He doesn't even have to do much, letting you rock your hips against him, making sure his fingers curl up inside you with each grind.
You like to think you're in control-Johnny makes you think you're in control.
'Thats it luv.. so fuckn' hot fer me.'
'This pretty little pussy, meltin' in me mouth.'
It's a string of endless praises and rough drags of his tongue, teasing your swollen clit. You're arching your back, gripping the beading and screaming his name.
'Joh-John-Johnny...'
Even when you cum-clenching around his fingers and throbbing in his mouth-he doesn't relent. He nibbles on your clit until you're shaking from overstimulation. His fingers pressing deep inside you as he fucks you through the orgasm.
The door to the room opens, you see Simon with an eyebrow raised taking in the scene before him. Johnny turns pulling his mouth and fingers off you.
'Alright love? Ya missed the show.' Johnny says getting to his feet leaving you-a half naked panting mess on the bed.
'Ready for the encore?' He asks wrapping his arms around Simon's waist and pressing his face onto his neck.
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thisnoah · 7 days ago
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After shower
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magisterialmorgan · 1 hour ago
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I AM CRYINGGGGG, this is so beautiful 🤩
the hand that feeds you
— “i take care of her, s’all.”
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johnny mactavish x f!reader
cw: 18+ work - minors dni; age difference; daddy issues (kinda the central plot); cooking as a love language; slow burn but in high speed; a breath of angst; power imbalance; canon divergence - regular/non-military life au // amazing divider by @gildui! // 6.5k words
extra notes: this is a very self-indulgent work. there are holes in the plot, 100%, so ignore those holes pretty pls </3 also ik this is more of a captain johnny-verse but midway through, i started projecting so i might’ve written him incorrectly and im really sorry for that!!
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being roommates with johnny is not as weird as it is; he’s amicable, at first, then full blown nice when days passed. he’s not loud, per se, but there’s always a constant chatter streaming from his space, like he physically can’t sit still through the silence which is great because you don’t fare any better with the stillness too, so reminiscent of how it was in the suburbs.
you moved to a neighbourhood just skirting past the inner city just because it’s a lot cheaper. but even then, rent was always high and your little box in a rundown complex wasn’t going to sustain you forever even if you wished it would. then, an opening in johnny’s townhouse was posted, almost half-price than whatever is up in the market, and it’s great despite your skepticism. hell, it’s more than great — it’s lifesaving.
your shitty job at the bookstore really can’t cover much of your expenses anymore, and sure student loans and the grant is great, but the growing debt makes you wince so it’s whatever at this point. you’re about to graduate soon anyway, pooling work experience from volunteering and club organizations, and it’s not like you can even go back to how it was.
(underway to law school, primed up before your father’s scrutiny but the burnout got to you before you could even write the LNAT. you realized that being a barrister wasn’t really what you wanted so you changed programs, midway, and switched to children’s education.
god, the disappointment in your pa’s eyes was so big, you knew to pack your shit before he could even kick you out.)
it’s… tough.
god, is it tough. none of your old friends and colleagues could stay in contact, which you don’t hold against them because most of them, by now, have graduated and entered law school. you’re straggling about two years back because of the switch in programs, and everything’s gone too tight. your budget. your social life.
your dating life.
johnny often distracts you from it all — he works in downtown, in one of those high-rise buildings often reserved for limiteds or holding companies, and has to travel off the city every three months. he makes good money, he said jovially, and you know it’s a nudge as to why your portion of the rent is cheap in the first place.
when you finally bit the bullet and asked why he put up one of the rooms in the market, johnny just shrugged and said he needed someone to house sit but sort off permanently. said something like last time he left, the pipes bursted and he couldn’t really fly back to help with the repairs.
it’s great being with him. he’s bright and bubbly, but also dependable in ways you never really thought about. like—
well, it’s all mundane things so listing them feels embarrassing, and it makes you feel as though you’re a touch-starved damsel and johnny just so happened to be the next older man to give you any attention and his time. but you can’t help it. god, you can’t help preen at the way he exists beside you.
he’s just so… beautiful, is what it is.
rugged and charming and loud and filling. the townhouse is too big for the two of you, but johnny makes it work. makes it feel like the two of you just fit into each other’s spaces.
early mornings are spent with him lilting between english and scottish, his exhaustion plastered onto him even after he’s downed two cups of coffee. he bumps his hip onto yours when he ambles out to prepare for his work, grumbling something like good morning and how’re you. afternoons are more lively and productive; it’s of you coming back from campus at six in the evening only to find him in the kitchen, fixing up dinner. it’s always something fancy and rich in flavour; something he always eats with wine on the side.
you, uh, you never thought he could actually cook, let alone feed himself well, but there he was, always a plate ready for you too like it’s expected that you’ll eat dinner with him. like spending time with him was just natural — the sky is blue, the ocean’s deep, and you and johnny fall into each other like there is an invisible string pulling you close to him.
it’s a beautiful change of pace, and there are more days now when you can breathe in a little easier, and you know it’s all because of johnny. it’s all him who pulled you out of your slump and out of that darkness and gave you the room, literally, to grow.
he’s beautiful, but you’ve said that already, haven’t you? he’s just… so good to be with.
then, johnny began picking up and bringing some home.
.
the first time it happened was shocking, really.
you had an early morning, something that’s so murky now in your memories so you’re unsure if it was anything uni related or work related, just that it was five in the morning and you were clambering downstairs as quietly as you could. you rounded the length of the hallway from the platform to the kitchen when you ran into someone.
“steady,” she’d said, voice hoarse and loud in her shock too.
you yelled, jumping, arms swinging because was there an intruder, and it took johnny physically subduing you for you to calm down. looking back now, you burn in embarrassment, but then you had been so worried, your body wound up so tightly in your fear.
“shh,” johnny had murmured with that wry grin. “s’just me, lass.”
your eyes danced between him and the brunette — pretty even in her rumpled shirt, with long legs and a small waist — trying to understand what was going on. you are sure johnny had told you before that he wasn’t seeing anyone so who—
“your girlfriend?” she asked johnny, turning to him with her lips pursed and her brow cocked up.
the question settled in your stomach, doing wonders to your already-fragile psyche. you’d just spent hours thinking about johnny and what he meant to you; what living with him meant. how it eased up something carved within the trenches of your being, like you’d always been waiting for someone like him.
the question was a reminder, like prickling you with icicles, leaving you to navigate the swoop. but johnny had laughed, nothing mean but so dismissive that you felt the curl of shame brandishing from the base of your spine like johnny was laughing at you.
“oh, nah,” he replied, arm still slung over your shoulders. “she’s sorta my ward, yes? i take care of her, s’all.”
that’s all. you’re nothing more to him but a ward. a tenant. not even a friend—
she hummed, then leaned over to kiss johnny, her eyes still drawn to you like she’s watching, waiting for a reaction, and when she got none, she trudged to the door. you and johnny watched as she bent down to slip in her shoes, some stilettos with red bottoms, before wordlessly disappearing into the darkened morning.
“pretty,” you chirped, trying to break the tension of whatever that was.
johnny laughed in that way that surely crinkled his eyes, only to steer the conversation away by asking why you were up early. you remembered what you had to do and you dived to the kitchen in a flurry, chatting about the deadlines and due dates — so it was a school thing — and johnny just watched, silent, humming, eyes still curved in his glee.
you left no sooner than his… paramour did and, for a while, that was that.
but your semester is coming to a close and your schedule is changing, but so is johnny’s. he’s coming home later and later, but always seemed to offer apologies in the form of easy-to-microwave meals for your dinner. they’re still homemade, probably cooked up in the morning before he left for work, and you’d messaged him to say that he didn’t need to worry about you. that, sure, you came to him amidst financial struggle, juggling work and school, and trying to decide if you would have to starve this month because of rent, but you can cook. for yourself and for him too.
johnny’s face did a terrible thing when you mentioned that in person, the first in a while after things got hectic.
“what,” you bit out, embarrassed.
“nothing,” he said, blinking like he was realizing things he shouldn’t. “s’fun doing things f’r you.”
then he clamped up, spooning soup into his mouth, some of it messily dribbling into his chin. it’s not like you were doing any better, with how your throat closed up at his words, eyes going wide.
it’s been a thing, is what it is, but neither of you two have ever acknowledged that it’s a thing. it’s been a wordless experience — of johnny taking over things when it comes to the house because of course he will, it’s his home, but he always covers things for you too. things you’re sure normal landlords don’t really worry about, but not johnny.
there’s always extra food in the kitchen, extra blankets when the weather dips. there’s even a new cooling machine for the summer even though you know johnny’s room already has an installed air conditioning. he’s even changed the seats in the dining room because he caught you once hitting your hip after an all-nighter on a project.
then, he refurbished the den to make it your office.
“you didn’t have to,” you told him, mind racing at your savings, wondering if he was going to increase your rent.
johnny just shook his head with an almost fond roll of his eyes and clapped your back, arm hovering there. “s’all yers, hen.”
everything he did always accounted for you. so why the women?
they’re all long limbed and trimmed waist, with eyes that sparkled even when all you’ve seen of them is always within the poorly-lit hallway. they have voices that curl teasingly, breathy like they’re enticing johnny for one more night. and they’ve always, always, treated you like a—
like a kid.
a burden, almost, of johnny’s.
and, hell, maybe you are. johnny’s almost twice your age; he’s also already well-established in his career, some senior position that you can’t really follow but one he talks about with fondness. he’s got land rover-money, the car in his garage big and black and almost military grade, and it looks so expensive especially beside the crappy civic you were able to snag for a cheap price because it’s got about three-hundred-thousand mileage already.
you’ve got nothing to give him, other than the lousy rent payment that he doesn’t even really need but is just asking for courtesy because it’d be so weird for him to offer a room, or two now given you have the den too, for free. you’ve got nothing on your name, and if it isn’t pity that makes johnny care for you, then you don’t know what.
maybe his string of one-night stands are right — you are just a kid.
that maybe you really are still too wet behind the ears for the real world that you go running to the next person that could protect you from it, stumbling into his life and licking up every drop of his attention, mistaking his kindness for devotion. his care for love.
.
you should have known, then, that the thoughts would ripple, leaving you to feel like the days are unnavigable. obsession quickly took root, growing fangs, and it ensnared you; a vice noose at what had been a pleasant coexistence.
hell, you can barely stand being with johnny because of the jealousy. it’s a shameful thing, but a part of you thinks you deserve johnny more than the others do.
you tell yourself that nobody knows about johnny’s nightmares and the horrors that spill from his lips when it’s twelve in the morning and the two of you have hit the bourbon. you tell yourself that nobody knows about johnny’s aversion to the windows in the living room; that the reason why the curtains are a deep green is not to match the new plants he’s allowed you to fill up his home but because they shroud the panels more than the cream ones had. you tell yourself that nobody knows that johnny can sing; that he can cook a mean tomahawk; that he likes reading; that his wrists were hurting so he’s currently scheduled for a surgery; that he’s soft to you.
the women don’t know this johnny, you tell yourself, nails clawing at the hems of your chest. they don’t know him the way i do.
it’s a pathetic whisper. it’s so laughable. so juvenile.
they’re right. they’re right.
(you’re just a—)
“i don’t see you anymore,” johnny murmured one morning, when things have gone quiet again, a cup of coffee sitting on the counter while he watches you throw orange peels into the garburator.
he just got back from a work trip in aberdeen, his exhaustion loud on his face. his hair is overgrown, the bottom ends of his mohawk curling along his nape. he was there for over three weeks, skirting almost close to a month — the longest he’s ever been away — and you had tried so hard not to message. not to drop casual check-ins because you’re sure no tenant ever does that to their landlord, but johnny had remained just as friendly; asking things like if you wanted another potted plant, a monstera or a dragon tree, or if you still had that swiss chocolate he brought home as a gift, or—
the list of his questions grew, but you’ve given him clipped replies, not knowing how to act right anymore since your quiet realization. even the “thing” that you thought you shared with him had fizzled at the drop of the women coming-and-leaving, and you are left to pick up the pieces.
it’s not like you’re broken or ruined or angry. god, no you aren’t.
but you feel unsteady, like now that you know that you liked him more than he liked you, you forgot how to breathe. how to live without that looming burden because your affection is nothing but a burden.
what will johnny do if he finds out? you can’t afford a new place to move into, not when you’re so close to graduating, the finish line just about to graze your very fingertips with how near it is. money is still tight, and johnny has already spoiled you rotten. has shown you how it is to live a comfortable life. and if he learns of your feelings, you would lose this. more than anything, you would lose him.
so you detached yourself from the noose, curling into yourself and using his work trip as a way to move on.
jesus — move on, huh? like there was a ‘you and johnny’ to even move on from. like there was anything there to read. like there was anything there to pull away from; twitching fingers drawing back into the spaces of your ribs, tucking yourself away from his warmth.
“i’ve been so busy, john,” you muttered, just as tired.
“yeah?” he said, still light. still jovial. “let me cook something nice for ye, huh? reward yer hard work and all.”
“i can’t.” you swallowed down the prickle lodged in your throat, eyes ducking away to avoid seeing his. “i’ve got a meeting with the club.”
(you missed the way johnny’s smile dipped.)
“oh,” he said.
you shrugged, internally wincing at your weak attempt at being normal, before gathering your thermos and your messily-wrapped sandwich. johnny was still standing by the counters when you turned around from the sink, his bulk so close to yours in ages. it had been so long since you could just reach over and feel his warmth; feel the soft pudge of what once were hardened muscles.
he’s looking at you with such sad eyes that it’s jarring to truly see because he’s looking at you like—
like he’s losing you.
“i’m gonna…” you trailed off, not really knowing how to end this truly awkward interaction.
“yeah, f’course,” he croaked out. “take care of yerself huh, lass?”
“thanks.” the smile on your face felt more like a grimace. “see you.”
he said nothing more after that, his eyes still searching; still furrowed like something’s changed and something’s happening, and it made your stomach drop because please. please don’t let him notice.
but johnny just watched as you went, his coffee all forgotten.
(something bloomed in the soft press of your heart, flickering like a young ember. you’ve never realized how longing could feel like your mouth is stuffed with cotton.)
.
johnny hasn't picked up since his return from aberdeen.
they’re getting a new firm so the shuffling has been brutal, leaving johnny to clamber out at five in the morning before coming back home when it’s pushing 11pm. the scruff on his face is becoming more unkempt, salt and pepper becoming more intense, but even then, he’s never looked more ruggedly beautiful as he is now.
it’s like he’s aged years and you shouldn’t be reacting so strongly to the change, but looking at johnny now makes you ache in a different way — core throbbing, throat parched and eyes stinging as you watch him. you’re so drawn to his gravitational pull, unable to detangle yourself now that it feels like he’s more back in your life than he ever was.
and you know it’ll end up hurting you. that you’ll go back to isolating yourself at the drop of a new girl in the house, the smell of her chanel or bvlgari perfume filling up the crevices that you’ve dutifully dusted every saturday morning while johnny’s out for a run. he’s made having casual lovers a cycle, one that you cannot blame him for because johnny doesn’t like you back.
but johnny’s been so attentive to you these days. he’s been a hovering presence even when he looks like he’s one blown wind away from passing out in his exhaustion, his warm hand always on the small of your back as he walks you to the door before chirping a hearty, “kick ass, bon!”
he’s back to fixing up food for you, like that blip in your schedule got him all creative because now, it’s not even just dinner. you’ve got breakfast waiting for you in the microwave, and packed lunch already in your bag, carefully tucked beside the manila folders and plastic envelopes for your capstone. it’s like he’s making up for something which is dumb and wrong because now, you’re all swooping stomach and prickling lungs.
“yummy?” johnny asked, catching you wriggling in excitement at the flavour bursting into your tongue.
your cheeks tingled, feverish, before giving him a shy nod.
he huffed, something so achingly fond, and rested his chin atop his crossed arms. you didn’t know what to focus on — the scruff on his face or the hard lines of webbing veins spilling from beneath his folded sleeves. then, he crooned, “good. that’s good.”
you ran upstairs to your room, throwing an excuse about finishing up your paper, before locking the door, and feeding your cunt two fingers to satiate the burn. the stretch was delicious, raw and sweet, and you humped your wrist, trying to douse the flames burning you up.
you thought of johnny, of the way he looked and how much nicer he’s been; of johnny and the way he was so kind to you, so caring like you’re up in his priority list again, overtaking his busy schedule and the firm restructuring, and his needs.
your orgasm felt like a ripping of reality, your mind splintering at the edges as you’re stretched thin. it felt like you’ve been pulled taut, then released with a resounding snap. it felt euphoric, like the explosion of something intoxicating. something wickedly addicting.
you knew that this could never be unmade. your affections had grown their tendrils, curling past the quiet admiration and spiralling into something unforgiving. into something greater than yourself.
“fuck,” you had rasped out, eyes prickling with tears as shame rushed into your chest. “fuck.”
you didn’t need this. you didn’t need any of this.
but it becomes a cycle — wash, rinse, repeat.
johnny continues to go unshaven; continues to pour his attention to you. and you soak it up, needy and soft, unable to turn away with your tail tucked between your legs. you fall back to the ease of how it had been, hip bumping his, morning coffee shared in the silence, dinner a filling affair once more. all that’s changed are the lingering looks, the resonating touches.
how johnny’s wide hand falls to the small of your back more often; how his fingers just slots against yours every time he passes you your cup; how his eyes rove over your face, always searching for something you dare not hope for.
the last time he flicked his eyes down to watch the way your tongue lapped at your lips, swiping away at the extra cream, johnny’s pupils had constricted before a quiet groan rumbled from his throat. your thighs had quickly clenched close as heat exploded in the pit of your belly, spreading like wildfire through your veins. the pressure on your nub made you hiccup, like a whine dragging itself from your trachea, and johnny had snapped his eyes back to yours so quickly, it made you heady.
“bon–”
“i have to go,” you murmured, clamouring to shaky legs.
you fucked yourself to a deafening point once more, ears ringing as you squirted, the gush of your slick pushing past your fingers. you had to gnash your pillow cover to muffle the moan rumbling from the base of your throat, trying desperately to be good. to not be heard. to be better.
but johnny’s burning gaze on your lips was seared into your memory, blazing on top of everything, and you imagined—
god, you imagined.
the way he’ll take you — beard rough on your chin, thicker fingers spreading you wider, reaching deeper, before finally filling you up with all of him, bullying the whole length of his cock until he bottoms out.
you pressed on your stomach, dizzy, thinking about how johnny would hit that far. you know he would. the women he’s slept with have told you, anyway, in passing, describing how he was in bed with dreamy sighs like they weren’t still reeking of sex and johnny’s aftershave.
(you still wonder why so many of them were mean, their noses tipped up every time they saw you. they were the ones that johnny chose, the ones who were fortunate enough to have been his lover, so you wonder why they still sought you out like you were competition.)
“johnnyyyy!” you moaned, loud and long, your fingers prodding at your walls, and you knew that you’d regret the wrangled cry later, but you didn’t care then, too busy swimming in the aftermath of your orgasm.
.
but johnny heard it anyway.
he told you that he had heard you. 
it happened so quickly — one moment you were bent over the espresso machine, fiddling with the levers with bleary-eyed attempts, then the next thing you knew was that johnny was crowding you, trapping you between the warm bulk of his body and the counter, his eyes furrowed so deeply which made the lines on his forehead run much deeper.
“whu’?” you asked, blinking tiredly at him.
johnny just did this shaky breath that rattled his whole body, like he was propped up by a couple of sticks instead of his whole mass. the mood shifted with that weak inhale though, and you turned to fully face him, ignoring the beeping machine because johnny was still looking at you with those eyes.
the ones that made you feel seen, read, and laid bare before him. like he could weave his eyes past the fabrics of your shirt to peek into the very jagged shards of your heart and see the cross that you’ve been carrying. like he knew things about you that he shouldn’t.
“johnny?” you prodded again, finding his silence alarming.
“yer too young for me, m’eudail,” johnny finally rumbled out, voice thick and deep.
and it’s—
what.
your mind was pressing into your skull, trying desperately to link your synapses together; for the fog to clear and for your coherence to rise above the pull of drowsiness, but johnny was faster. like now that he’s said the first words, the rest just follow, unstoppable in their force and in their meaning.
“i told myself i couldn’t,” he murmured, still breathing shakily; gaze still too fragile. “that yer lookin’ for nothin’ like me, and that yer just tryin’ to get out there with yer career.”
he lifted a hand, fingers twitching, before balling it back down to a fist.
“told myself i’ve gotta let go. found a way to cope and shit.”
johnny took another ragged breath in, and it startled you into gulping one of your own — you didn’t even realize that you’ve held your breath as he spoke to you, your chest clenching tightly as your mind began to link the passageways together, filling you in on what he wasn’t really saying.
“but carin’ f’you was so easy. christ, it was even delightful, hen.” he chuckled, something that was somewhat raw and pained.
you licked at your lips, blinking wide eyes open. johnny tracked the movement, his nose flaring like you’ve done something more than a subconscious thing, his shoulders going taut.
“i like doing all sorta things for you. liked seeing y’eat what i cooked; liked seeing y’use what i got f’you. liked watching y’come home to me. to me.”
a soft sound echoed between the two of you, and it took you an embarrassingly long time to realize that it was a breathless whimper that petered out from the base of your throat. you didn’t even realize that you’ve curled into yourself, almost like you’re trying your best to shrink before johnny, and johnny crooned.
callused palm cupped the round of your cheek, his thumb swiping just underneath your eye. “told myself yer too young; that surely yer looking for someone closer to yer age, but bon, i heard y’last night.”
you startled in his hold, a quiet gasp piercing through the heat. johnny’s lips danced with mirth.
“s’right. heard a loud thump against the wall and ran upstairs, all worried, but guess my surprise, yes? y’were moanin’ my name so loudly, it’s like y’left yer door open.”
“johnny, i–”
“tell me,” he said, moving closer, his chest pressing against yours. “tell me t’stop, bon, an’ i will. but y’ve got to tell me. y’ve got to push me away.”
you looked at him, your eyes trembling at what he was laying out thickly, and your throat going parched at the blanketing desire rippling from him. there were so many things you wanted to ask, but his breath was tickling the bridge of your nose, dancing so close to the bow of your lips, and your heart ached.
desire coursed through you in waves, dribbling from the cup, and you lurched forward, chasing after his lips.
johnny melted into you. his hesitant touch turned greedier, more possessive, mapping your body and pulling you closer into him. his mouth devoured your own, gulping down the pleased little sighs and keens spilling from your lips. he kissed like a man starved, but you weren’t any softer; all nippy and desperate, fingers digging into his hair and fisting at the thin strands.
it was feverish, almost to a boiling point, and you needed more.
god, you needed more.
“johnny,” you mewled when he pulled away just enough to slide his damp lips along the cut of your jaw. “johnny, need you.”
“christ,” johnny sounded so wrecked, his voice rumbling deeply from where his lips were suckling on the soft curve of your neck. “i’ve been dreaming of this, mo luaidh. i knew i shouldn’t but yer so sweet to me and i– i wanted.” he said that word like it was dirty; like he’d been fighting tooth-and-nail to suppress it.
it made you tremble to hear how johnny desired you just as much. he had always felt unobtainable; always danced too far from your grasp and was always bigger than what you knew you could handle — his lovers had always looked divinely; pretty, yes, but fierce in their own right like they knew how to live without johnny; and you know they could, because they didn’t need johnny the way you do. they didn’t look at johnny like you do, like he hung the stars with those thick and aged hands of his.
but as you stood there, feeling every word punctured onto your skin, you couldn’t help but begin to cry, the tears springing from your eyes to slip down your cheeks. johnny rubbed your back, soothing and gentle. 
“i wanted t’take you – make y’all mine,” he whispered. 
you hiccuped, shaky from the weight of your hunger, and nuzzled close. your hands fell from fisting his hair so you could claw at the sharp corners of his shoulder blades, feeling the muscles there rippling, all taut when he bent forward and kissed you.
“please,” you began, feeling your mind thinning because you wanted more. more. more. more. “i can be– johnny, s’always been you. nobody else but you.”
you tugged him away, cupping his jaw and forcing him to look at you. and god, johnny looked so devastatingly beautiful, his eyes all furrowed and his cheeks all flushed, and his lips spit-sheened.
“fuck me,” you whispered, tired of dancing around.
he groaned, something that sounded so pained, before he was tugging you with him, up the stairs and skirting past your room and into his. 
you’ve never been in johnny’s room before, just as he had never been in yours since you moved in, and until now you still don’t know what you had been expecting upon walking in, but the smell of johnny wafting through was almost gut-punching. he smelled so close, like he was everywhere — surrounding you from the ground-up, dousing every pore with him until even your mouth felt full.
and johnny, he smelt like home. 
there were no more words uttered as he stripped you off your pyjamas, sure fingers making their way down the buttons, unlatching them from the hemmed slits. you watched with heavy eyes, blinking slowly like everything had been wrung out of you, leaving you pliant and soft. johnny hummed, appreciative, and mapped kisses from your heaving chest, teeth nipping at the fat, before moving on, sprinkling every expanse of your skin with such reverence. 
your hands were balled to your chest when he reached the jut of your belly, his chin hovering just above your crotch. johnny flicked up his darkened eyes at you, asking silently.
you gave him a nod, not trusting your own voice too.
johnny’s eyes had turned into slits, pleased, and hefted himself up just enough to be able to fit his hands on your hips and tugged your pants down. you shivered, the warmth in his room not enough to suppress the winter chill, and it made you buck into him. johnny comforted you with a quiet shh, rubbing his palm on the pudge of your thigh in soothing circles.
you don’t know why that touch was what did it for you, but soft sobs finally spilled from your mouth, scrunching up the desire into something undeniably frail. johnny didn’t startle though, like he knew that you had been wounding up to this tipping point, and instead continued to touch you tenderly, almost like if he could, he would cradle you close. 
“i love you,” you said, sniffling, because that was the crux of your vulnerability, right?
you love him. god, you love him. 
you’ve loved him since the day he sat you down for dinner and told you that you’ve got nothing to worry about, not anymore and not with him around. you’ve loved him since the day he flipped the den so you can have your own space for work; don’t mind the fact that he didn’t know if you were going to even stay, just that he insisted that you deserved that room either way. you’ve loved him since that swiss chocolate, since that cup of coffee, since he’s begun filling your painfully lonely days with his care. 
you’ve loved him since and now—
“oh, mo graidh,” johnny breathed out. “i love you too.” he kissed your thigh, scruff ticklish. “gu siorraidh is gu brath.”
you wanted to ask what that meant but johnny was already moving, sitting back up to strip out of his own shirt. you trailed your eyes down his body, capturing your trembling lips between your teeth at how breathtaking he was — soft with fat but still heavy with muscles, fuzzy with hair with the smattering pooling just underneath his belly button before trailing down to where they were hidden underneath his pants. 
you twitched before finally braving enough to reach out and brush your knuckle over the indents of his softened abs. johnny hummed, something that curled with appreciation, before covering your hand with his and holding it there. 
“all of me s’yers, hen,” he said with such finality that you felt it settle deep within the marrows of your bones. 
you nodded, emotionally spent and johnny lilted something else in scottish, so soft that it was almost a croon. you let him manhandle you — pushing your hips up so he could slot a pillow under for your back; you were so malleable to his touch as he took over, bending once again for a kiss while his fingers danced past the laces of your panties and into the damp heat of your pussy. 
you moaned, eyelashes fluttering when he pressed one in, so careful and slow, but you were so wet that it slid in with no resistance, gobbling it up knuckle-deep. johnny had groaned like he could feel your rising euphoria, before nosing along your temple as he wiggled the finger around, stroking at your walls. you wondered if he was going to tease but then he was pulling it out, only to plunge two in the next thrust, curling and stretching, and oh—
oh, ssss’good.
you don’t even remember how long he’d been spearing you with his thicker fingers, rough and long and reaching far, far deeper than you could with your own, but you laid there, sobbing, feeling your slick slip out, pooling, making a mess of your thighs and his sheets. johnny had moved from suckling on your neck to taking a nipple in his mouth, teeth softly gnashing at the bud. you felt like you were on fire, burning from your core, aching for a release. 
“cum f’me, m’eudail,” johnny groaned, breathless himself, his cock poking underneath his boxers, the fabric all wet from where his tip was, leaking pearled pre-. “let me see you.”
“johnny, i’m gonna– i’m–!” you squealed, legs jumping, squeezing johnny’s sides as you jolted, hips twitching at the bloating ecstasy. johnny just pushed down on your thigh, not letting up with the pace of his fingers. he was fucking you so hard that his hand’s slapping against your skin, his palm grinding down on your clit just right, and the pleasure sizzled into something biting. into something that was almost painful.
it was catastrophic, pulling you into two directions. johnny’s everywhere — his scent in your lungs, his fingers deep in your pussy, his mouth hot and wet on your tits, and like this, like this, you felt yourself breaking. 
ripping—
then, your orgasm was punched out of you. 
your senses had gone awry — throat throbbing as you cried out, your eyes going blind as they rolled into your skull at the final curl of johnny’s fingers. white noise filled your ears, and it was like you were submerged underneath water, wading through the crashing tides of your climax.
you came back to johnny peppering your face with soft kisses, whispering something you couldn’t decipher past the croon of your name and something like you did good and so beautiful. he’d already pulled his fingers out, and used both arms to cradle you close. you felt so empty — god, that wasn’t even his cock, yet — but your body thrummed pleasantly, almost like the itch was finally scratched. 
“johnny?” you puffed out, voice all scratchy and weak. 
“i’m here, bon. i’m here.”
you hummed, curling into his chest, head pillowed by his arm. you wanted to ask what about his own euphoria, but johnny seemed so content just laying there with you, not really desperate or needy, so you let it go, losing the battle against your drowsiness before finally slipping into a quiet sleep. 
.
johnny’s there for your graduation, carrying a big bouquet of only eden roses. you didn’t even know that those particular ones were expensive until someone from the graduation party oohed and aahed to their friend. 
your cheeks burned when their friend chirped, “well someone’s clearly loved.”
you know that what they said would have had johnny agreeing loudly if he was allowed in the lineup because he is never one to be shy about what he feels; or not anymore, anyway. he loves so fully and openly that you still wonder why it took the two of you so long to get together, but the days since then had just been kind and filling that you have long forgotten how it was to not be with him. 
they’re going to call your name soon, and your stomach swoops, excitement and anxiety mixing in a dizzying tandem. 
you’re graduating with a bachelor’s degree in psychology and a diploma in early childhood education, and this is not where you thought you would be when you first started university, but it’s the happiest you have ever been. and sure much of your poli-sci courses were scrapped when you changed majors, and that’s also a lot of money wasted, but you have three job opportunities lined up already and it’s like the seismic shift in your life had finally corrected itself. 
(your mom said she’s sorry that she and your pa couldn’t come, but you’ve stopped longing for their acceptance and told her it was fine.
there’s a date saved in your calendar, though, for a brunch with her and that was enough.)
you ducked into johnny’s arms when the graduation ceremony ended, careful of the bouquet he’s holding. 
“congratulations, bonnie,” he says, a hearty laugh rumbling from his chest. “christ, i’m so, so proud of you.”
you never pegged yourself for a crybaby, but tears begin to pool in the corners of your eyes at the weight of his words. 
“thank you,” you reply, soft and raw, and honest. 
johnny pulls you in, his lips warm as they’re pressed on your forehead. 
and this, just like this, you know things will only get better from here on out. 
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girl-lostconnection · 9 days ago
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A lil thing because I’m feeling miserable and pain killers are slow to work
Husband!Johnny who anticipates your period, somehow acutely aware of when exactly it comes. The man is more accurate than any app, he just starts preparing a week before earning a cocked eyebrow from you and a kiss on the cheek.
Husband!Johnny who rubs your lower back or cups your lower abdomen, just holding in his big hot hands, chatting something in your ear — his voice softer, his accent thickening.
Husband!Johnny who absolutely loves being able to take care of you during your periods, surrounding you with snacks and making you as comfortable as humanly possible. And then some. Some might say it’s hell to be with your spouse on their period but Johnny would never agree. Not when he knows exactly how to dote on you in the state of heightened sensitivity and tenderness that borders on painful.
It’s okay, bonnie, just give the heavy thing to him. Yeah, you can do it yourself, but didn’t your favourite husband earned the privilege to help you out a little?
Husband!Johnny who spoons you and kisses your shoulders, his stubble pressing to the skin of yours — heated and oversensitive, earning him a hiss.
Husband!Johnny who murmurs “sorry, m'eudail, promise ah’ll shave, come back here” and scoops you back to press your aching back to his hot like a furnace chest.
Husband!Johnny who diligently shaves and comes back, peppering kisses and breathing out endearments, something in his chest aching at your pouting and the furrow of your brows. He kisses it too. As an apology.
He’ll be more careful, he promises. He’ll be so good to you, he presses with a kiss to your temple and wraps himself around you, content to have his spouse this close.
Maybe it’s wrong that he enjoys it all so much, but he simply can’t help it. There is a tender sort of satisfaction humming in his veins when you melt against him and fall asleep, when he can hear how you exhale in relief feeling hot hands of his that soothe the aching of your body.
Husband!Johnny kisses your cheek, his own smooth against yours, grinning when you smile in your sleep. Yeah, maybe he enjoys your periods a little too much.
But in all honesty, who could blame him?
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groboart · 1 day ago
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unmasked ghost u live forever in my head
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tiny bf x big hoodie core
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superhoeva · 4 months ago
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you nudge soap one night, and he turns to you with sleepy eyes.
“s’wrong, bonnie?”
you tell him it’s nothing. you just wanted to see if he wanted a midnight snack. the man is perking up before you can explain what you meant, smiling brightly and ripping the blanket off the both of you. ignoring your sputters, soap is in between your legs in record time, only having enough patience to pull the cotton to the side before dipping his tongue straight against your clit.
“fu-johnny, i meant food. actual food…” you trail off with a gasp, hurrying to grab at his hair, the suckle of his lips force a shiver through your legs.
“fuck yer food,” he smacks, spitting on your hole, and diving back in. “got the perfect meal right here…”
(gaz's version here!)
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xiixii · 8 days ago
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ghost x soap bunnies!!!
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goatgoesmbe · 2 days ago
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its 2 am, freaky hour, so imma write about piss
Johnny x f!reader
Tw : piss kink, dubcon
Woke up in the morning with an urge to piss, only to find yourself trapped under your boyfriend.
Strong arms wrapped around your body, in which their grip on you only tightened when you tried to pry them away.
Eventually, by some miracle, the owner of those arms started to wake. A smirk slowly formed on his lips when he heard your complaints.
But instead of getting off of you, instead of letting you go. He shifted so that he hovered above, while still pinning you to the bed before he went down.
Chapped lips along with rough stubbles caressed your skin, from your neck to your chest, teasing your nipples before he continued going down.
And down.
You squirmed, repeating your plea, about how you really have to go.
But again, your complaints fell on deaf ears as he wrapped his lips around your clit. Sucking and teasing, before spelling his name with his tongue.
You mewled, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you trashed the bed.
Even more so when he pressed one hand right below your belly while he pulled away to stick his tongue out before he started licking that spot..
Tears welling up at the corner of your eyes as you once again, tried to warn him. Voice high pitched, shaky, and pathetic.
But it only encouraged him, and you could only sob when you couldn't take it anymore and finally let go.
And he happily gulped the warmth between your legs. Wet, slurping noises, accompanied the sound of you panting.
He's so disgusting..
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solrabi · 5 months ago
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You’re eating fruit and your friends can’t stop watching. (Ghost and Soap)
Notes: suggestive, crack fic.
main masterlist
One would think that the two men were on the battlefield with the way they were intently staring at you.
Simon was focused on the way you’d take a bite out of your apple, lips wrapping around the curvature of the fruit as your teeth sunk into its crisp flesh.
So pretty and plump. Like an apple
Johnny was too busy staring at the droplets of juice that were trailing down your chin. He could almost taste the tartness as he imagined himself licking you clean. He had to bite his lip to keep himself from moaning when he saw you lick your lips to clean up the stickiness left behind.
You then disposed of the apple and grabbed a banana. Simon’s hand immediately latched on to his thigh. He began to shift in his seat as he watched you take a bite of the banana.
However, you didn’t chew the entire thing and kept a morsel of it in your left cheek, too distracted to chew because you were on your phone.
Simon’s fingers dug into his thighs at the sight.
He felt like a dog in heat.
Johnny began to imagine his own-
“What are you two fuckin’ idiots doing here? Get back to your work stations!” Price barked as he walked into the base’s lounge area.
But Simon and Johnny were too entranced by you to respond.
Confused, Price looked in the same direction as them to see what was so interesting.
“Oh,” The captain breathed out with a slight blush.
_
part 2 (no smut :/, but lots of kissing)
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emmster · 3 days ago
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COLLARBONE KISSES WITH GHOAP
ahhhhhh
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yeeee
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forsworned · 5 months ago
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Being the only female on TF141 is like Simon constantly scolding you for getting into sheningans with Johnny and Kyle while Price sits on his arm chair with a good book, whiskey in hand and him puffing out smoke like a chimney from his cigar like the daddy he is.
"Delete it."
"Why?"
"Cos I fockin' said so."
You cock an amused brow at him as you look up from the embarrassingly cute photo of the skull-masked behemoth fast sleep and cuddling your Hello Kitty plushie. "Cos y'fockin' said so?" You mock his gravelly Manchester accent and it sends Johnny and Kyle into a fit of giggles. And even Price is chuffed by it. It's contagious really.
It lets your guard down enough for him to yank your phone out of your hand deleting the picture with a swiftness that made your eyes ream and your heart jump. You all groan and jeer at him for being a poor sport but he's quite satisfied with himself. Little does he know, you have a few copies of it in your desktop.
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temeyes · 2 days ago
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oh my god what is he doing...?
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