#soap cod x reader

[daoshay]

i love how everyone collectively agrees that soap is the horniest mf alive and a complete MUNCH

[chamomiletealeaf]

There’s nothing the 141 boys love more than a fat pussy. Like I’m talking no thigh gap, thick thighs, cushioning and hiding your pussy away nice and snug until they open your legs to eat you up. They’ll thank you for keeping their meal warm too.

Better yet if they’re fucking you. Holding your legs together and pushing your knees to your chest so they can watch your juicy pussy take them nice and deep.

They love when you wear bikinis, tight little shorts, anything that frames your pussy nice and pretty when you bend over.

Pussy jobs 100 percent. They love slotting their thick cocks between your puffy pussy folds and watching how cute it looks getting teased.

You bet they have cheeky little polaroids of you bending over with a cute shy expression on your face showing off your pussy. And don’t be surprised if they share them with the rest of the team 🫣

[7s3ven]

German Shepard hybrid! Reader who used to work as a bomb detector but was medically discharged due to PTSD.

Laswell who hires you as a supervisor to teach other hybrids how to sniff out a bomb but tells you to take it easy.

Task Force 141 who take a liking to you and find your long twitching ears adorable.

John Price who brings you a pastry every morning, knowing fully well you have yet to eat.

Simon Riley who calms you down from a panic attack when you think you hear the ticking of a bomb (it’s a clock).

Jonny McTavish who likes to play with your ears and talks to you in a way he would talk to an actual animal or baby (you secretly like it).

Kyle Garrick who brings you cups of tea and is always restocking the cupboards in the shared kitchen with your favourite snacks.

Task Force 141 who enter the office smelling strongly of nicotine and ash after a long mission. You mistake it for the familiar smell of a bomb and before Simon can react, you’re tackling him with your ears pressed flatly against your head.

“Bonnie, ay! It’s alright, it’s alright. There’s no bomb. You’re alright, lass.” Jonny eases you off Simon, letting you bury your face in his neck as you shake.

Kyle rubs soothing circles on your back as Simon stands up, slowly walking towards you.

“No bomb, see love? Nothing.” He removes his vest, shaking it. When you’ve finally calmed down, you nod.

“No bomb.” You whisper but it’s mainly to reassure yourself that you’re safe.

Task Force 141 who adore you, even in your panic-stricken moments where you act on pure instinct.

[gothghostiie]

soap who watches pornstar!reader religiously, he cannot help but want to get his hands on you and show you what a real man fucks you like, instead of these stupid actors. he knows youd never just say yes if a random fan asked you to collab so what does he do?

he makes an onlfyfans too and speedruns his way to the fucking top, to the point it would be stupid of you to decline him.

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Continuation of Soap using military talk on you, let's change things up a bit

When you use military talk it always makes Soap crack up.

The first time it happens he's playfully chasing you through the appartment. "You little shit! You ate the last one, don't deny it!", he is shouting after you. And when you just giggle he can feel his heart skip a beat.

"Can't prove it Johnny, maybe you ate it and forgot!", you counter. And you can hear the soft thumping of his feet speed up.

You're sqealing in delight as you try to rush around the couch to have a barrier between you and him. Before you can do that, there's fingers on your waist and Soap grabs you. Your body abruptly changes directions, being thrown onto the couch instead of running behind it.

You land with a soft "oof" and Soap immediately holds your wrists down. His cheeks are tinted a lovely shade of pink and he's panting.

You wriggle in a mock attempt to get free and say: "Captain! There's been an ambush!"

He grins: "Yeah? Captain, really?"

You laugh a bit and answer "Captain we got a Situation Alpha over here!"

Your heart soars when he barks out a laugh. "That...", he tries to stop laughing and fails "That's not how it works."

Now you're both breathless with amusement and you get out between huffs of breath: "We need backup! Got a charly foxtrott here! Need an evac right now, or we'll be in a deep code red!"

Soap absolutely wheezes in laughter above you, his entire body shaking and he finaly collapses onto you. His voice mocks you between his bursts of laughter. "In a code red...", he's near hysterical as he throws your words back at you "Got a charley... charley..." He gives up trying to repeat you, rolls off of you and falls to the soft carpet next to the couch with a thud.

You lean over the side still giggling and watch him, as he clutches his ribs while shaking with laughter.

"Ow, ow, ow it hurts.", he wheezes between laughing and your grin grows soft and fond.

Finally he calms down and smiles up at you, both your expressions mirroring the affection of the other.

He crawls up to you again, caging you in between his arms and leaning down until his lips brush yours. "Better rescue you from your dangerous situation then."

The following kiss if full of smiles.

[amaryllis-3]

Word count: 1.3k

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x Reader

Soap had always been proud of his dog hybrid nature. Who wouldn't when they could count on better senses and physical abilities than the rest of the human population, instincts that had proven true on too many occasions to be considered a fluke, and a pair of puppy-dog eyes that increased the chances of slipping out of tricky situations by a good 90 percent? Hell, he could look like a terrifying beast during operations, only to turn into the most endearing and lovable being in his everyday life. Not to mention all the extra cuteness points he could benefit from.

It was a double win.

Thus, he'd never found a reason to complain about his circumstances, not until that evening.

He'd caught it after a full day of training, one of the few that had managed to undermine a bit of his restless energy. The most heavenly and enticing scent he'd ever detected had passed right in front of his room. The man was on his feet before he could realise it, his quick legs bringing him to open the door far too dramatically just to peep out with his head, as if suddenly wanting to appear more subtle.

The corridor was completely deserted, no trace of the person who had so utterly captured his interest, except perhaps simply for the faint trail left by your perfume, still lingering in the air.

Johnny didn't let it drag him down. Instead of going back to his quarters and forgetting about it, his body moved without a second thought to search the area, nose needing to work overtime to try and pinpoint your exact location. Your essence was unique, new, and therefore easier to identify among the others he was already familiar with. Or should have been, in theory.

He'd ended up circling around the same corners and halls, tracking a trail to then get stuck in a blind spot and have to start over again, but nothing. He'd found absolutely nothing. A total fiasco.

You seemed to have dissolved into thin air as quickly as you had materialised.

Soap felt his mood plummet, fatigue setting in after the thrill of the hunt had subsided. The doggy ears flattened on his skull, lips pouting a little as he returned on his steps and settled to call it a night, for now.

He wasn't giving up; it wasn't really his style. This was purely a tactical pause to rearrange his strategy.

Johnny told himself that things would work out. They lived in a guarded area, where access was restricted and supervised. Surely you couldn't have sneaked in without a proper motivation, and had you become a stable resident, he would have met you sooner or later. So it was merely a matter of time.

Too bad that between thinking it and actually applying it there was a big ocean to bridge.

The man was going crazy. Not even a week had passed, and still there wasn't a single spot in the entire facility that wasn't soaked in your aroma. It was addictive, and it haunted him like a ghost, only to elude him if he decided to chase it. For a highly developed olfactory sense such as his, it was a real curse being able to smell you everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Being affected so much was foreign to him, a little alienating if he had to be honest. He'd tried asking at other hybrids if they'd noticed anything out of the ordinary, anything that might explain the reason for his strange behaviour. Maybe you simply had a more intense fragrance than average, and it might have similarly hit them. He hoped this was the case because otherwise he would have seriously begun to believe that he'd lost his sanity. Yet he'd received nothing useful other than a pat on the shoulder and the advice to not stress over it.

As if it was that easy.

He didn't know your appearance; he wasn't even sure whether or not you were someone he wanted to associate with, but one thing was clear: he needed to figure out who you were and fast. Every fibre of his being screamed at him to hurry up, to plant his hands on your hips and push you towards him, to lap your skin with his tongue, pointed canines sinking into it with the sole intent of marking you, making you his—

God, he was raving.

Luckily, it appeared some pious soul up above had chosen to not abandon him in complete delirium, since after sleepless nights spent tossing and turning, body sweating and mind clouded by heated fantasies, you had finally showed up.

He was hanging out with his squad, arms crossed at his chest and dark circles barely visible, when your scent hit him for the umpteenth time. There was, however, something different about it: it was stronger, more consistent, more real than it had ever been. His head immediately spun towards the source, his gaze fixed on the centre of his thoughts. You.

"Who's that?" He enquired before he could truly ponder it through. He was oblivious to what force was holding him back from throwing himself at you like a madman, but from now on he would certainly have to give some credit to his self-restraint. "New medic," came Ghost's dry reply first, followed next by Price's grunt. "Specialised in hybrid care, I 'eard."

Soap's heart did a little flip. His attention was solely on you as you crouched on the ground to check one of the young recruits who had been injured. You were actually more attractive than he could have imagined and also seemed a kind-hearted individual, if he could take as an indicator the diligence you were putting into your approach.

Well, that wasn't enough though, was it? He needed more to come up with some sort of justification as to why he was so drawn to a complete stranger.

Now that he was aware of your name and looks, discovering your routine and adapting it to his own was the inevitable next step. Of course he hadn't spoken to you, not yet at least. He merely stalked you around the base like a guard dog, supervising your every action and pretending to be doing something else whenever the sneaking suspicion of being watched led you to turn and check if that was true.

Could it result creepy? Yes. Would he be bothered by it? Not exactly.

What had started out as simple curiosity (lies; he was down bad from the beginning) was morphing not quite subtly into another feeling.

His cerulean eyes never left you; you were the first thing they lingered on when he walked into a room and the last from which they reticently parted when he moved away. The urge to constantly keep track of your whereabouts soon became a condition he was unwilling to renounce, not with the way sharing your spaces made him feel. Learning your preferences, habits, and mannerisms then had proved so effortless, so natural that not a single doubt had arisen in his mind.

Ah, he knew it. You couldn't be a horrible human, not with the way your being inebriated his consciousness, and your face pushed him towards total adoration. Johnny was falling in love all too fast, and he didn't regret it one bit. You were the most wonderful person who had ever stepped on this earth (he would have fought anyone who tried to say otherwise), the one he could share his future with.

And it looked like he wasn't alone in that, with the way more and more blokes had begun to crowd your space. Who did they think they were? Couldn't they see how you were well above their league or how clearly he'd already committed to keeping you for himself? Hell would freeze over before the Scot had given up what he considered naturally his, and you were no exception. It was the moment to carry on the perfect plan to win you.

➮ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[oldrainfall]

Did'ya Miss Me?

MDNI 18+

Gn!Reader, (Implied) Civilian!Reader, established relationship, not beta read

CW: NSFW, general shenanigans regarding my interpretation of Soap. (Which is warning all of in itself, really) Mild degradation and praise, sub-y Soap, humping, wanking, and just generally bratty Soap behaviour. Oh and mild fluff, as always.

Ao3 version

Summary: As much as Soap lives, breathes, and thrives on attention— he likes getting ignored just as much.

Johnny is very needy when he’s on leave. After being away for so long, and starved for your presence, he comes back eager to soak up all of your attention— to the point he’s fairly glued to your side once he’s back in your shared flat. And it always takes a couple of weeks for him to settle back in properly.

So, during those initial weeks, or anytime he’s vying for your attention, if you ignore him he takes it as a personal challenge.

Johnny is a stubborn man, and extremely competitive. And earning your attention is one of his favourite rewards (as long as you’re in a good mood for it and haven’t told him to hit the bricks, of course).

One evening, you’re both sprawled out on your worn couch that’s just barely big enough for the both of you — you have to tangle your legs together to sit relatively comfortably, not that either of you mind — it has a blanket draped over the back that you both bought when you first moved in together, that rarely ever stays where it’s supposed to, often ending up wrapped around one of, or both of you. The telly drones on quietly in the background about some rugby game or another, it’s glow casting over the room, barely weakened by the lamp to your right. Your focus is mostly on the book in your hands. Johnny’s attention flickers between the match and you, it’s a bracket he doesn’t particularly care about, so he doesn’t mind letting his eyes wander. The rough pad of his thumb circles the top of his empty beer. His gaze lingers on you, taking in the little furrow of focus between your brow, travelling lower over the slope of your nose, down to your lips, which occasionally twitched or pursed, depending on whatever it was that you were reading on the page. A cheer erupts from the telly’s speakers, one of the teams getting a goal, but he doesn’t bother to look, too busy taking in the way your lashes are spread as you look down at your book.

Something warm churns in his chest, drawing him closer, wanting that focused expression on him. With how yours and his own legs are tucked — yours between his, with your feet resting in his lap, and his bracketing your own — he easily can nudge his foot against your thigh, trying to gently draw your attention to himself. He waits for a moment, continuing to study your expression, but when you don’t react in the slightest, he lets out a soft huff, and he does it again, slower this time, more purposeful in the way he drags his inner foot against the side of your thigh.

When that still doesn’t earn him your gorgeous eyes meeting his own, Johnny scoots closer, draping himself more over you to the best of his ability, inadvertently pressing himself more against your legs just so he can reach you proper. “Luv.” He murmurs, dropping his head onto your shoulder, and putting on his best pout as he looks up at you from under his lashes. Still no response, just the quiet sound of you turning the page. “Luvvy.” The beer bottle clinks as he lets it down on the cluttered coffee table, filled with books, baubles, and a few things lugged in from the car that never quite made it to where they were intended to go.

With each iteration of a pet name that falls from his lips, Johnny can feel the steadily growing presence of something in the back of his mind, pacing back and forth restlessly.

Eventually he gives up on verbally trying to gain your attention, and his hands come to rest on either side of your waist as he kisses a little trail up your shoulder to your throat, mouthing at your skin there with slow, referent movements, savouring each drag of his lips against your skin, how your skin warms with his ministrations, flushing under his unwavering attention. It’s enough to earn him a soft pleased hum from you, which has him positively melting; the sound sending something warm down his spine, urging him to continue, to pull as many of them from your lips as you’d be willing to give him.

One of his hands wanders higher, tracing the lines of your body all the way up to the neckline of your sleep shirt, his fingers hook into the fabric of your clothes, gently tugging on it to bare more of your skin to him. Hungrily his lips latch onto your collarbone, the kisses turning into soft sucking and light drags of his teeth as he laves his tongue at the spot, trying his best to make a mark.

His body jerks as your arm winds around him, tangling your fingers near the base of his mohawk and tugging on the strands, a warning. “Behave, Johnny. Or you can go sit on the floor.”

A low groan passes his lips as he leans into the touch, tipping his head to the side as he shifts his hips. “M’behavin’, m’behavin’—” He assures in a rush, despite the fact he’s starting to rub his chubbing cock against the underside of your calf, keeping his movements slow, as if that somehow will make it more inconspicuous. “M’a perfect fuckin’ angel, honest.”

That of course gets you rolling your eyes, and you pull on his hair again, making his hips stutter for a moment as he lets out a quiet breathy whimper. “Really?” You force as much scepticism into the word as you can possibly manage. “Because you’re acting awfully like a randy mutt at the moment.”

He shakes his head, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, as his hands find your waist, squeezing you gently under his rough hands before doing his best to press his body as flush to yours as he can manage in this position— which admittedly, isn’t that flush, but it does let him grind up against your leg easier; at least until you draw your leg back, propping it up so you can press your foot against his cock. Johnny’s breath comes out a little unevenly as he stills. “I’m going to finish this chapter,” it’s a statement, firm and unwavering, boarding on an order, “and you’re not going to disturb me while I do, if I don’t get to finish it, then you don’t get to finish either, yeah?” Pointedly you dig your heel into him, if only to hear the soft hiss he lets out at the stimulation.

“… Aye, luv.” He murmurs, unable to completely mask the sulking edge to his voice. Looking far more like a kicked puppy now, Johnny lets his head drop back down to your shoulder, going back to pressing apologetic little kisses to your neck and jaw. One of his hands soothes back and forth over your waist, before sliding lower to squeeze your hip. You know what he’s doing, he knows you do, trying to get you to take pity on him. Luckily for him that doesn’t make it any less effective.

It’s only when you glance at him out of the corner of your eyes, to see his wide and hopeful looking back at you, does he know he’s getting somewhere. When you let out a playful long suffering sigh, he knows he’s won, and has to hide his self pleased grin by fixating on a little patch of skin on your shoulder. After a second or so, though it feels much longer, you give him two rules. “… You can’t do anything that will make it harder for me to keep reading, and you can’t come.”

Something warm and absolutely giddy floods through him as he rocks his hips against you again, grinding himself against your foot as you keep your heel dug in. “Thank ye— thank ye. I’ll be so good fer ye, luvvy, won’t even notice ah’m here.”

A doubtful look flickers across your features, before your eyes return to your book. In the back of your throat you hum noncommittally. “M’sure you will. You’ll be absolutely perfect for me.” While you say it mostly as a tease, Johnny has a penchant for pushing the boundaries of the rules you set during a game after all, he latches onto it anyway, hissing out a soft curse as he drags his cock against you slow and purposeful. As much as he craves your attention, he wants to please you even more, wants to hear the way your lips curve around soft whispered praises as you reward him for being good.

His breath is unsteady and warm against your shoulder as he forces himself to keep his movements measured and deep. Distantly he hears boos and cheers coming from the telly, but by this point he hardly even registers it in the slightest, focusing far more on the ridged friction from the zipper of his jeans that’s sure to leave him a bit rubbed raw when this is done, not that he’s in the right mind to particularly care. “I will,” he mumbles, tucking his head under your jaw, and staring unseeingly at your book, only occasionally making his eyes focus enough to see what page you’re on, “gonnae be so fuckin’ perfect fer ye, pet.”

You just hum noncommittally, absently playing with his hair as you read, but otherwise completely ignore him.

A low whimper passes his lips as one of his hands reached for his belt, pausing just long enough to see if you’ll stop him, before he fumbles to get it open with one hand, pulling on one side to ease it from his belt loops, and dropping it uncaringly behind him on the couch. It only took a few seconds after that before he pops the button on his jeans. Johnny turns his face towards your shirt, burying his face there, it does little to muffle the sounds slipping past his lips.

Each rock of his hips is driving him a bit mad, he can feel the way his cock is drooling into his boxers, the slow friction is enough to send warmth oozing down his spine, lazily winding into a taut ball of tension, but it’s not nearly enough to satisfy the want thrumming through his veins, urging him to go faster, harder, to rut against you until he’s coming in his jeans, so you’ll grab him by the hair, and put him in his place kneeling on the floor in front of you. “Shite— fuckin’ hell.” He hisses softly, his muscles jerking slightly before he forces himself to still.

But Johnny had made a promise to you, and he was a man of his word, so he waited for a moment, then another, waited until his breathing wasn’t as heavy, and the tension in his gut wasn’t as taught, before moving his hips again. It’s not enough, not by a long shot. He shouldn’t, he knows it’s only going to make this harder than it already is, but maybe you’ll take pity on him if you see how worked up he really is— Johnny lets out a little grunt as he sits upright to fumble with his jeans, tugging down the zipper and shoving them down his thighs. His boxers don’t make it half as far, he simply pushes them down just enough to free his cock and balls, tucking the waistband under his sack, before easing back on his haunches.

“… Steamin’ Jesus.” Exhaling sharply he wrapped his hand around himself, thumbing over his slit as a shudder works its way down his spine, the soft slick sound his precome makes as he smears it over his is barely audible over the sounds of the telly. “Almost done, luv?”

It takes you a moment to respond, wordlessly flipping forwards in your book before returning to your spot. “About a quarter of the way there.” You allow. One of your brows arch as you glance at him out of the corner of your eyes. “You?”

Shite. Johnny sucks in a breath between his teeth, as he rolls back his foreskin, using the pads of his fingers to drag along the underside of his glands, before forcing a cocky smile onto his face, albeit one that wavered oh-so-subtly around the edges. “Aye, jus’ gettin’ started meself, could go all night.” He brags in a false bravado.

“We’ll see about that.”

When you turn back to your book he has to swallow down another sound, while his free hand drifts down to wrap snuggly around the base of his shaft.

Fuck, he just went and made things worse for himself, didn’t he?

I have no idea if I’m shit at writing smut, tbh. Suppose I just have to keep writing it and see. Y’all are absolutely distraught about that, I’m sure.

Might be a bit slow going for a bit, my free time isn’t as free as I’d like for it to be, got some personal things and stuff afoot keeping me busy. Don’t worry though, I am still chipping away at some more posts, and I’ll upload again when I finish something.

As always, feel free to send me asks/requests, and hope y’all have a lovely day/evening/night. :]

✨My Masterlist✨

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

You know I'm sitting here thinking how fun it would be to date both Ghost and Soap at the same time. You would literally have a black cat boyfriend and a golden retriever boyfriend in one.

I'm talking you have Johnny who would die if he did not get to be cuddled every day. Man who have to get regular physical contact with you throughout the day because he might just throw a tantrum if he doesn't. So you best believe that he's pulling you into dim hallways for a make out session. Coming up to just grab your face and smash one good Irish kiss on your lips. And if he can hold your hand during the meeting he so would.

Then we have Ghost. Who's attention starved but also freaks the fuck out if you smother him too much. So when he comes to get love from you or when he allows you to get vulnerably close to him it feels so special. Hits a whole way different because you have this stern male curled up on your lap while you rack your nails through his scalp.

Picture this. You three are back at the rooms you share. It's like 2am. Ghost is probably still looking through paper work for tomorrow's meeting. You rock up because you can't sleep so you just place a quick kiss on his cheek as you walk by, not in the mood to distinct him but also you can't just go past him like he's not there. You pull a tub of ice cream and are more than happy to eat it in silence when sleepy Johnny rolls up because he can't sleep alone in that massive bed. Boy gets all pouty but that soon changes when you offer him some ice cream. And then god knows how but you two end up in a twerking competition with each other. And it's literally you two trying to throw it back while Ghost just shakes his head watching his two crackheads.

I doubt you would need a blanket with two radiators sleeping next to you as well. Like peeing isn't an option at night because girl how are you slipping out of a tangle of limbs. And you're always in the middle. God forbid you trying to take the side of the bed. They need you in the middle. Need not want. Knowing you are safely tucked between them is the only way both of them can sleep.

Also Soap would be down for anything. Face mask? Sure. You want to put oils in your hair? Count Soap in. I feel like my boy would even agree to get his nails painted. He is the coolest of the bunch leave him alone. With Ghost at least at the beginning the only thing you would be allowed to mess with would be his eyebrows. Giving him an eyebrow cut or just plucking out a more clean shape, while he holds onto your hips.

But then you have moments where you three are just sprawled on the sofa. You are resting against Simon, slowly running your fingers up and under his mask. Soap is laying practically on you both and Ghost is brushing his fingers through his hair. And it's just one happy mess of tangled bodies enjoying an evening off.

God, did I needed to get this off my chest... guah..

[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.

[chamomiletealeaf]

Johnny would sketch how he imagines your tits to look like in that little notebook of his.

God forbid you find it by accident one day and see the skimpy, sexy drawings of you in tiny little spaghetti strap tops that barely cover your tits spilling out of the top and sides of it. As well as detailed drawings of your bare tits smushed together…

[7s3ven]

FILE LOADING. TF 141 x hacker! Reader, pt 1

( full master list) (intro to this series)

IN WHICH… you needed a way to lessen your prison sentence and TF 141 needed an efficient hacker… as well as someone to spoil.

Notes: hacker! Reader, reader has a criminal background, reader has piercings, tattoos + tooth gems

A/N: first cod series finally lol… please like this post guys, I finished it right after I slipped while practising a taekwondo kick and body slammed into the tiled floor 😭.

—

The air inside your prison cell was muggy and overall unpleasant, causing beads of sweat to form on your forehead as you fanned your face.

The pathetic excuse for a window was not helping, letting only a small amount of oxygen enter the tiny room.

In all honesty, you weren’t treated as badly as other prisoners. A coworker of yours had pulled some strings the moment you were arrested, which meant you got better food and some perks.

But as always, life in jail still sucked.

You were too busy staring at the blank wall in front of you to notice the metal door keeping you locked up was now creaking open.

“Get up.” The warden harshly nudged your shoulder, barely giving you a moment to compose yourself. Your hands were yanked behind your back, the cool metal handcuffs digging painfully into your soft skin.

Your jaw clenched as you were dragged down the dimly lit hallway. You knew better than to ask questions as they would not be answered. All you could do was walk in the direction the warden shoved you in.

The breeze from the well-ventilated interrogation room was the first thing to hit you as you entered. You arched an eyebrow at the woman sitting at the table, her hands gracefully clasped together.

“And you are?” You didn’t recognise her as you slumped into the seat across from her, purposely sending the warden a biting glare.

“I’m Kate Laswell, a CIA operative.” She didn’t waste time before she spoke, leaning forward to catch your attention.

Your lip peeled back into a sneer, “The worst kind of people.”

She ignored your jab. “I’ve come here to give you an offer. You see, SAS is in need of a hacker and I’m told you’re the best fit for the job.” You watch as she opens a slim folder, spreading out the images for your careful gaze to study. They’re printouts of your exploits, files nobody was supposed to obtain. You had deleted your digital footprint after hacking databases, you were sure of it.

“You’re good. Too good to waste in a cell." You hear her softly sigh.

“I did what I did. The justice system isn’t so flattered by my ability to retrieve their sensitive information. Plus, I did murder someone… a few people, actually. So in all honesty, this isn’t an unfair punishment.” You leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, crossing one leg over the other.

“We are well aware of your long record.” Laswell sends you a pointed look. You merely grin, your canine teeth glinting in the light.

“Did you see my arson report?” Your lips spread into a grin, “Because that’s the best one. Set an ex-boyfriend’s car on fire and it just lit up. It was great. You should read it sometime.”

Laswell cleared her throat, reminding you of the situation at hand. “As I was saying, I can lift your jail sentence with a click of my fingers but only if you agree to work for me.”

“Thought I was working for SAS.” You interrupted.

“You’ll work for an elite team called Task Force 141… but you’ll answer to me. I give you the orders.”

“And the catch of this job?”

Laswell’s lips curve into a faint smile. “This is not a job offer, Miss L/N, it is a uniquely presented opportunity. You will get no pay for your services. The reward it reaps, however, is greater.”

You paused for a second. What could possibly be better than money?

“Freedom.” As if reading your mind, Laswell spoke again. “If you do this, you’ll be free before next year. This is possibly your only shot at freedom, do not throw it away. If you stay locked up here, you’ll only rot while the world keeps spinning.”

Now she had your attention. “You must be desperate if you wanna hire me.” A chuckle slipped past your lips but it was mainly to ease the awkward tension that had settled. “What would the job include?” You tilted your head, subtly shifting forward to hint your interest.

“You’ll be working alongside Task Force 141, giving them intel on possible threats and making their jobs easier by gaining access to classified information. I hear you don’t work well with other people but really, what choice do you have?”

Her words prodded at you and the teasing smile on her face aggravated you but she was right. You had no other choice.

The room was silent as you weighed out your choices. The walls seemed to close in on you, a stark difference to the freedom you were promised mere moments ago.

“So I risk my life for this so-called elite team… and in return I get some vague promises of freedom? Smells like bullshit. You lot will probably stab me in the back.” You scoffed.

“You’ve already painted a bright red target on your back. It’s only a matter of time before people realise you’re worth more dead than alive. With us, you’ll have protection. And a purpose.”

Laswell stood up, pushing her chair back with deliberate calmness. The legs scraped against the concrete floor as she did so. “Make no mistake, L/N, people like you don’t simply disappear. Someone will come for you… someone who wants your head on a stick.” Her words hung heavily in the air.

There was a flicker of fear in your eyes and like a feral predator, she ate it up.

“Okay.” You slowly murmured. She had convinced her with her carefully concealed threats. “I’ll do it.”

Laswell smirks. "Good. Pack your things. Your new team will be picking you up in an hour.”

—

The loud roar of the helicopter blades filled the air as you stepped onto the tarmac, shielding your eyes against the bright sun. You rubbed your aching wrists, clicking your tongue at the bruises the tight handcuffs had left.

A few soldiers are waiting for you into the chopper, their silhouettes barely visible through the dark tinted windows.

“Couldn’t just send a car?” You grumbled as you climbed into the helicopter. Laswell followed close behind, unbothered and seemingly used to such a commotion.

“Always for the theatrics, John.” She jokes with the man sitting across from her, eyes crinkling as she grins.

You glance at the man’s name tag, reading Captain John Price. He’s handsome… for a man his age. In a ruggish and rough sort of way. A cloud of smoke slips past his lips as he calmly puffs on a cigar, not at all caring how the chopper unsteadily tilts to the side.

“This the hacker? That pretty ‘lil lass over there?” A voice, thick with a Scottish accent, cuts through the silence. Your eyes dart to stare at the burly man with a Mohawk as he looks you up and down. “Thought the hacker was a bloke. Ain’t complainin’ though.”

You stiffen at the comment, running your tongue over your top row of teeth. It unintentionally gives him a view of your shiny tooth gems. “Thought you lot were an elite crew. Y’all don’t fact check?” You lean back into the cushioned seat. It’s surprisingly comfortable, much better than the stone-hard mattress back in your cell.

The Scot laughs, unbothered. “She’s got bite. I like ‘er. Name’s John McTavish but most call me Jonny. You can call me Soap if ya want.”

You sarcastically laugh. “Soap? What kind of muppet name is that? You had a reputation for eating soap as a kid?”

Soap’s eyes light up, not what you were expecting with your insult. “Ay! The cap’n said the same thing! Called me a muppet too!”

“You still are.” Someone chimes in from the front. You didn’t even realize there were two more people squeezed in to the seats in front of the controls.

The one in the passenger seat turns around, smiling. With his soft brown eyes and gentle features, you can’t help but find him pretty.

“Y/N L/N, right? Nice to meet you. I’m Kyle Garrick.” His voice has a slight British accent to it. “This is Ghost next to me.” He jabs a thumb at the man wearing a skull mask who’s doing a poor job at steering the helicopter.

“Ghost?” You question, “What sort of name is that?”

“Simon Riley.” Ghost grunts out. His British accent is somewhat aggressive, evident in every syllable he barks out.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. For some reason, he annoys you. It’s more like the way he’s looking at you through the eye-level mirror.

The chopper shakes again. You watch as Kyle grasps his seat, his grip so tight it almost cracks the delicate leather. “Sorry.” Simon gruffly replies.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward. “What’s up with him?” You nod your head in Kyle’s direction.

“Fell out the bloody helicopter when Ghost was last flying.” Kyle replies. You almost laugh. It’s not something that should be amusing but your lips quirk into a small grin.

“So… does this whole arrangement cover my food and accommodation?” You question, suddenly aware of how hungry you are. Laswell slips out a small folder, handing it to you.

“Your accomodation will be one of our safe houses twenty minutes away from base. We considered having you live on the base itself but socialising isn’t part of your job. You’ll be living with the Task Force to ensure you don’t run. And all your costs will be covered. You will be given an allowance for your own expenses such as impulsive purchases.”

“Thought you said I got no money.”

“Once you have completed what is necessary, you will no longer have access to the allowance.” Laswell clarifies.

“And I walk free.”

Laswell nods, “Then you are free to go. If needed, CIA will pay to transfer you to another country so you can start anew. Most do not get second chances, L/N, so be careful.”

You lick your cracked lips, aimlessly playing with the hem of your oversized shirt. Maybe you could go to Europe; it had been a little dream of yours as a kid.

“Should go to Scotland, lass.” Jonny pipes up above the loud helicopter blades.

“London’s better.” Simon retorts, “Can actually understand what they’re saying.”

“What about Korea?” Kyle butts in.

“You aren’t even Korean.” Jonny argues back, lightly scoffing.

“Yeah, but I wanna go. Is that a crime, Soap?”

Their pointless bickering was comforting in a way. You had spent the last few years of your life locked away, isolated most of the time and alone. It was nice listening to people talk again.

Simon landed the helicopter with surprising grace, being the first to unbuckle his seatbelt and jump out. Kyle was next. Laswell unlocked the sliding door, stepping aside to allow you to slip past first.

You merely stared at her before muttering a tense thanks.

“Watch your step.” Kyle warned you as he held out a hand to steady you.

“It’s literally three feet. I can manage.” You snap back, effortlessly stepping out of the chopper. Jonny lightly chuckled while Kyle slowly withdrew.

“Feisty.” Kyle muttered.

You stared up at the safe house, tilting your head. “It’s… cute.” You hummed. It was a cottage, not the first thing you expected as a safe house.

“Were the pink roses your idea, Riley?” You joked, pointing at the pretty flowers.

He grunts, a sound you’ve suddenly become familiar with. “I prefer Ghost.” He corrects you.

You shrug. “Used to call inmates by their last name. Helped me ignore them when they tried hitting on me in the early years of prison.” You stepped forward onto the stone cobble path, admiring it.

“A small cottage… bet this is a military dream, huh?” You kicked a pebble.

“It is, actually.” Jonny pipes up, “It’s every man’s dream to retire in a cute little house with a pretty lass.”

You lightly scoffed, “I ain’t here to play work wife, McTavish. Can’t even cook.”

“Thank goodness we have Gaz then.” Jonny retorts, “Bloke should be a chef if this career doesn’t work out.”

You take a moment to study the house and its surroundings while the others file through the door. There’s a small white Pickett fence wrapped around the land, bright green blades of grass wrapping around the neatly painted wood.

The cottage is clearly old but well renovated. Rows of vines adorn the side, a surprisingly aesthetic sight. There’s a garden filled with sweetly smelling flowers and the same pink roses sitting at your feet are also perched on top of the porch.

The windows are the favourite aspect of yours. They decorate the stone walls, a sharp gothic detail to them.

It’s almost too pretty for a criminal like you.

“You comin’ in?” It’s Kyle who notices your absence, peeking his head past the doorway. For a moment, he thought you had made a run for it but he was relieved to find you standing among the garden.

You clear your throat, pulling at the bottom of your shirt. “Yeah.” You step onto the rickety porch, the wood creaking under your weight.

The interior of the house is so different from your tiny cell. Walking past the door almost feels like walking into an entirely new life.

Jonny is scavenging through the fridge, pulling out a tall bottle of beer. “Want some?” He offers it to you.

“I can’t drink, warden’s orders.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“It’s just a beer, can’t hurt ya. ‘Sides, you ain’t in jail no more.” Jonny insists, shaking the bottle. It’s tempting but on instinct, you glance at Laswell.

She’s sitting beside Price, talking to him in a hushed tone and going over a file, presumably one containing details about you.

“I ain’t stopping you from drinking, kid.” Laswell says, feeling your stare on her face.

Hesitantly, you snatch the bottle from Jonny, popping the lid open with practised precision. You haven’t tasted beer, or any other alcohol for that matter, in a long time. You’ve never liked beer… but the first burning sip feels heavenly.

“You got any vodka?” You ask, glancing into the top cupboards.

“Do we look Russian? Nah, can barely drink that shit straight.” Jonny’s face scrunches up at the thought.

“Bourbon then.” Your words catch Simon’s attention.

Jonny grins as he reaches up, grasping a fancy-looking bottle. “Only other person here who likes bourbon is the LT. Guess he isn’t alone anymore.” He pours you a glass, handing it to you in exchange for your bottle of beer.

“Don’t understand how you lot can stand beer. Too bitter for my liking.” You mutter, pacing around the room.

You hear Simon quietly hum in agreement. “Finally someone smart.”

COD TAGLIST (comment to be added/removed): @jenepleurepasbaby @rm25711 @talia-the-gemini @margaaaa30 @mixplara @alex—awesome—22

@lunamoonbby @little-b33 @ghostswife-8 @tea-drinking-nerd @certainlygay @lucienofthelakes @supaturtl3 @pr3ttypupp4 @royalz658 @whoreforfictionalmen18 @ashy-akuma @1bucky-barnes-wife1 @chloepluto1306 @voguiing @eyeless-kun @joshwashingtonmybeloved @fuzzyducky3 @childishname @angel-bugz @kee-0-kee @undercover-smutlover @10honeybee01 @kat247 @munson24 @sweetlittleblackrose @babybimbo777 @wfinniegenx @galactict3a @hyperfixatedcatlover @creepumiku @yoontoons @moraxnomora @1ckyfairy @lunerbitch @tizylish

[gothghostiie]

thinking about johnny cominh home after a hard day, you're sitting on the couch and want to ask him how his day was and how hes doing, but before you can even say hello hes pulling your pants and undies down, getting on his, hooking your legs over his shoulders and nuzzling into your bush :((

[shinoko-oshi]

Simon fixes your sleep schedule

Simon hadn’t realized just how fucked your sleep schedule was until he moved in with you. His birdie.

Waking up in the middle of the night or at the ass crack of dawn only to find you curled up on the couch, blanket wrapped around you, phone in hand, eyes barely open. Sometimes, you’d be watching a show, other times scrolling mindlessly, and on rare occasions, half-asleep but refusing to actually get up and go to bed.

And then, without fail, you’d spend the next day complaining about how tired you were. You’d drag yourself around the apartment, yawning every five minutes, rubbing at your eyes like a petulant child. And when he told you—plain and simple—that you needed to go to bed earlier, you had the nerve to roll your eyes at him.

“Okay, dad,” you’d say before walking away, completely ignoring his advice.

No amount of reasoning could convince you. If anything, the more he brought it up, the more stubborn you became.

So, Simon took matters into his own hands.

First, he switched out your usual tea for chamomile, hoping it would knock you out easier. Every night, he handed you your favorite mug, tea bag steeping inside, always a different flavor, something new to throw you off. Just in case you started getting suspicious.

You never noticed. Never questioned it. Just sipped at it, curled up in your blanket, completely oblivious.

Then came the melatonin sleep spray. He practically doused the corner of the couch where you always nested, soaking the blankets and pillows in the scent, ensuring that once you settled in, sleep would come whether you liked it or not.

And slowly, it started working.

You began dozing off earlier. The nights where he found you awake at ungodly hours became less frequent. You stopped yawning every other sentence. Stopped rubbing at your eyes like you were seconds away from passing out on your feet.

The dark circles under your eyes faded. Your complaints about exhaustion became fewer and farther between.

He never said anything about it. Never told you. Just watched in silent satisfaction as his plan worked.

But his favorite part? When you passed out on the couch instead of the bed.

Because that meant he got to pick you up, carry you to bed, and watch you sleep peacefully for a moment before pressing a kiss to your forehead and climbing in beside you.

It was selfish, really.

Because, sure, fixing your sleep schedule was technically for your health. But he couldn’t deny that he loved the way you curled into him when he slipped under the covers. The way you nuzzled into his chest, warm and pliant, letting out a soft sigh in your sleep as he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer.

And, well better sleep also meant more cuddles.

And Simon loved that most of all.

Ik your sleep schedule is fucked. Go to bed.

[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.

[thebookbutterfly]

fanfiction isn’t enough, I need to chew on him

[oldrainfall]

Cw: Soap being Soap, I suppose? Desperate/clingy Soap, and light NSFW, (though that’s mostly just a very brief mention/allusion to it)

Lots of fluff. And a gn!reader.

(just to be safe MDNI, 18+)

So, hey, I love a good ol’ puppy to Soap comparison as much as the next person— but I feel like people skip over a lot of fun characterization with it.

Listen— listen, look, I’m not saying that I don’t enjoy puppy-esc Soap, quite the opposite, I would love to see more of it, to be honest (and I am going to be most certainly writing my fair share of it in the near future) I just think people aren’t leaning hard enough into it.

I’m officially outing myself as a certified pathetic man enjoyer (a shocking development I’m sure).

So far I’ve seen/read a lot on the nsfw side of it— lots of whimpering, collars, degradation, you know, just general subby Soap things. (All good stuff, love it, if you’ve written it, know that you give me life, and I’m manifesting cool pillows and good hair days for you.)

But, hear me out, what about everyday pathetic Soap?

I’m talking, you leave your place for a few hours, maybe for work, or maybe you’re just running errands or hanging out with friends, whatever it is, it has you leaving him at home (how dare you, btw, you know he has separation anxiety :[ ). He keeps finding reasons to get up, hovering and lingering by the door as much as possible, or sitting perched on the edge of the couch, intermittently shooting forlorn looks at the closed door. Maybe he does a bunch of chores to keep his hands busy and try to distract himself— but rest assured, no matter what he’s doing, he’ll drop it and come straight to the front door to welcome you home as soon as he hears it open, fussing with your coat and taking it from your hands to hang it up for you the second you get it off. Soap will never stop you from going out— even though he prefers being by your side — he’s just not that kind of guy, but you’ll have to be ready for him to follow you around, finding any excuse to cling to you while asking you about how it went afterwards, he has time to make up for after all.

He likes when you scratch him— Soap has a bad habit of chewing his nails, which means they’re always extremely short and aren’t the best at getting rid of an itch satisfyingly, which is where you, and your nails, come in. So, when you’re both sat on your couch, his head against your chest or pillowed on your thighs, he’ll wordlessly take your hand and guide it to his head, or his back. If you feel like teasing him, or just aren’t overly paying attention, you’ll just play with the hair near the nape of his neck, or absently rub your hands over his his shoulders, respectively. For a while he’ll tolerate the touch, enjoying the closeness even though it’s not exactly what he had been angling for. Eventually he’ll squirm around a little, and let out a huff that slowly warps into your name, or at least an exasperated approximation of it anyway. “Yer so mean tae me, luvy.” Soap will grumble, as his hand finds your arm, squeezing it softly as he looks up at you with a bit of a jut to his bottom lip. By then you’ve usually realized what he’s on about, and will roll your eyes, before relenting, using your nails to gently work against his skin.

A soft little groan would pass his lips as he slumps further against you; his eyes fluttering shut as a blissed out expression dawns across his features. Once you start, he won’t move until you stop; and sometimes not even then (course usually by that point either Soap or both of you will have fallen asleep).

When you have to get up early in the morning, he always wakes up. It can’t be helped, you have stuff you need to get done, and he’s a surprisingly light sleeper. As you untuck yourself from his tangle of limps he’ll let out a soft whine, which is usually placated easily enough with a kiss to his cheek or temple. He’ll lazily flip his body back and forth to keep you in his sleepy line of sight for as long as possible as you move about getting ready. By the time you’re done, he’s managed to wiggle his way over to your side of the bed, and has burrowed into the blankets with his face pressed into your pillow, leaving only parts of his head exposed. If you remember to give him one last quick kiss before you leave the room, he’ll let out a rough pleased hum, and may or may not attempt to guide you back into the sheets with him.

He’s still not fully awake, and he’s not trying overly hard, so it’s easy for you to shake his hands off if you wish, though it’s usually more preferable for you both if you decide to placate him with one last kiss before you pull away.

Of course some days you let him have his way, and he’ll tangle his body back around yours, kissing at your throat softly, his stubble gently scratching at your skin. His little show of affection will gradually slow, and before long he’ll have dozed off again. And well, sorry, you’re stuck now— thems the rules. Whatever you had to do will just have to wait a few more hours.

Bit of a shorter one this time— but hey, after my last behemoth of a post I just wanted something simple, fluffy, and 120% self-indulgent.

I might post a oneshot for mermay (it’d be a poly!141 thing, with octopus mer!Ghost, a lionfish!Price, and overboard fishermen! Soap and Gaz) if I can get around to it. But I’m toying with a hurt/comfort Ghost thing too (just can’t decide if I want it to be just GhostGaz, or if I want it to be a poly!141 thing— either way Ghost is getting stuck in an elevator, for angst purposes me thinks). I also have this nsfw Soap idea I’m trying to work out that involves jealousy and a sharpie, and I dunno if I want it to be another x reader, or if I want to try my hand at some Ghoap.

I’d love to hear what y’all would like to see next, or feel free to just go feral with me about Soap. Either way—

Hope y’all have a good day/evening/night.

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