#soap x reader

[callsignpxnguin]

Me personally I find a man getting hard at like the lightest of touches really hot. I also like pathetic men. Like, Ghost getting a boner in public because you kissed his cheek. Or Soap having to excuse himself because you hugged him. Or Gaz already halfway to finishing because he saw you in your underwear before showering. Or Price’s jeans getting tight because you called him a good boy.

that’s just me though idk

[rawme-price]

141!reader that all of the guys are lowkey interested in. Its kinda hard not to be when you save their asses on the regular and do so with such confidence u look like a god.

But none of them make any moves to flirt with u, all too aware of how the others feel and not wanting to risk friendships over something that may not even work out. Or...at least they didnt until gaz and ghost overhear u chatting with some friends in the lounge.

"-No im serious, hes hot as fuck." You seem to be halfway through a very impassioned argument, if ur friends snort is anything to go by. "No! No. Hear me out- youve not seen the way his arms bulge when hes shooting. Or heard his voice over comms."

"I swear, I gotta hold back from offering a warm hole anytime I see him. Or offering a hand in marriage, im not picky." Suddenly their crushes become very important, its obvious ur talking about one of them.

"Remind me which one of them this is?" Ur friend asks, but before you can respond a phone rings. Your voice pauses, and sounds closer to the door as you say "hang on, I gotta take this, see you tomorrow!"

Just like that, ur stepping out of the door, phone to ur ear and waving at ghost and gaz as you pass. Completely unaware of what they overheard and the internal panic its causing.

[loves-alibi]

soap absolutely has a kink for nerdy girls and definitely gets hard when you play video games.

If you’re gaming, he’ll plop his ass down a respectable 3.5 feet away, just outside of touching distance. Don’t ask him why he never sits next to you, he’ll just shrug and say he doesn’t want to get in the way. (It’s because he’ll try to grind on you.)

No, instead Jonny sits a respectable distance, head in his hands, boner raging, and simply watches you with heart eyes. Never in a million years did he think he’d get someone like you.

The second you log off, he’s pouncing. Whimpering in your ear about how well you played and how good you looked doing it.

And if you decide to get on voice chat and trash talk? Yeah, Johnny’s cumming in his pants.

[lolplatzhalter]

Thinking about a female reader in her thirties who always cries about not finding a man again since the ending of her last miserable relationship. Men her age are either married, emotionally unavailable, fuckboys or losers who think women hit the wall at 30.

One day she wants to drink herself stupid after work and gets pestered by our favorite besties Soap and Gaz who find her in a bar.

After asking for the fifth time what's wrong with their precious little secretary she bursts out and rants about dating, men and that she's going to die alone. Get the cats ready.

Gaz tries to comfort her by telling her that she's beautiful, intelligent and a very amazing person in general. She WILL find a good lad. :)

Johnny suggests changing her target group since she told them she set her age range to 30-40. Why not try out younger guys? He rambles about all the benefits - some are actually pretty tempting and some are... questionable. Like okay, Johnny, Baby, stop telling us how younger, more inexperienced men are able to go several rounds in bed and are easier to mold into your perfect future husband.

After his monologue she agrees to try out a younger guy (to get him to shut up) and promises that she will take the next pretty 20-something man home who hits on her.

Soap just grins and excuses himself for a few minutes. Meanwhile Gaz looks at her like do you understand what you just agreed to? She's confused until he asks

"how old do you think Johnny is?"

Soap returns with two drinks in his hand - one she recognizes as her favorite - and asks

Whit's a bonny wifie lik' ye daein' in a shady boozer lik' that?

With a cheesy grin of course. :-)

[rottingpink]

a lack of boundaries

cw. hybrids, puppy! boy x bunny! reader, both have no clue what they're doing, frotting, mutual pining, neediness, sloppy french kissing, saliva, biting, marking

synopsis. college! puppy and bunny are thick as thieves! what happens when they get too close one evening?

a/n: there will be a part ii linked here!

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the two of you are the biggest scandal around. many, if not most of the male hybrids on campus think it'd be fruitless to court you, and the females to court him, since the two of you seem to be a mated pair.

you have the scent of puppy all over your skin, while he has faint bunny teeth marks dotting his collarbones and throat, dangerously close to his mating gland. you have matching ones on the soft parts of your body; your hips, thighs... breasts... ass. in a platonic way of course

the tall, floppy eared puppy hybrid with, dopey, shiny eyes trails after you like he's on a leash you're holding. he's so obsessed with his sweet bunny best friend, all warm skin and soft thighs covered in skimpy things like sheer tights or mini skirts or socks up to your knees/thighs with your bunny tail twitching right above your pert ass.

the only reason he can get away with touching you as much as he does is because you're so clueless and needy. instead of wondering why your little panties get damp spots in them when he licks and bites you, all you can think about is straddling his lap and bouncing on him.

you're always in his lap.

Sometimes you're just buzzing with excitement about a quiz you think you aced, and you throws yourself onto him without noticing the way his arms lock around her waist territorially. beyond being possessive, pup also has to hold you and himself still because otherwise, he might rut up into you like an animal, or sniff behind your floppy ears and hump you right there in the quad.

he thinks about it, a lot. what it would be like to frot with his pretty bunny, but he doesn’t do it because you're best friends. you just think he's sweet and affectionate in the puppies usually are, not realizing how his tail wags uncontrollably only for you and that when you're tangled up with him too long he runs to the bathroom for fifteen minutes not for a pee break but because his cock's gotten so wet and swollen that he can't last much longer without creaming all over you.

but then again, you're just as bad. you make a wet, gooey mess all over yourself whenever he grabs you by the hips when you're cuddling, and you get sooo warm and flushed all over when he pins you down in mock fights, tail wagging, tongue out, teeth grazing your skin to hold himself back from biting and breeding.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

your dorm seems to be way hotter than it needs to be. puppy's shirt is off, thrown somewhere under your desk, and his tail flicks back and forth behind him while you lay on top of him in bed, boobs squished to his face while you read your new book. your skirt's all bunched up and your thighs are bare and squishy where they press against him.

“you're so warm,” he mumbles, nose scrunching, glossy eyes blinking up at you.

“you’re the one who wanted me to sit here,” you pout in return, cheeks flushed. his hands are splayed on the outside of your thighs, rubbing over your skin back and forth. it's a tickly feeling that makes you wriggle on him a little to escape the sensation.

whenever you move on top of him, your scent spikes and it punches right into his senses. he groans and tugs you down on top of him to bury his face into your neck. “no squirming,” he pants, tongue peeking past his canines.

“why?" you tilt your head, bunny ears flopping to the side. "y'acting weird,” you say, petting his hair absently.

he mumbles something into your skin, licking once. “you smell like you’re gonna go into heat and it's making me react weird.” he growls, finally lifting his head, eyes wet and wide. he's panting. “you reek, bun. can smell y'pussy."

your thighs squeeze around his hips automatically, your whole body suddenly trembling. “don’t say that,” you whisper shyly, your voice high and scandalized, bunny tail twitching in little jerks behind you. your little nose wrinkles. “…you smell worse. i can’t even think when you smell like that.”

"stop," he yips, tail flicking frantically. “can't control it, been trying so hard not to jump you, i swear,”

“...you have..?” you ask curiously, looking down at him. he looks so genuinely desperate it’s embarrassing. he whines and gets warm in the cheeks, squeezing you against him tighter. he nods weakly.

"i have to hold back too," you mumble into his neck after a beat. you’re embarrassed to admit it because your thighs are sticky and your hips are grinding down into his lap in tiny, unconscious movements.

“you do?” he breathes. his ears twitch and flop down heavy against his head. “you hold back?”

you nod against his skin, cheeks burning. “when you pin me down or grab me like that, it makes my head go all fuzzy. i-i don’t know, mmm... just wanna… wanna rub on you or something."

the minute you admit the truth, he begins frantically nosing at your throat, nipping it, sucking, with a low, excited moans. you squeal, hips twitching up against him instinctively. “what’re you doing?”

“you said you wanted it!” he cries out, humping up into you once and nearly sobbing when the friction makes his ears twitch. “can’t help it. y'smell so, fuck, you smell so sweet, bun, wanna eat you.” his nose twitches and he’s panting again. his hands cup under your thighs, squeezing. his cock is throbbing.

"oh god," he moans, rutting into. his lips are sticky and swollen from biting them so hard. "ngh fuuuck i do this to m'pillow, bun. i think about you and i hump it,"

“pup!” you squeak, scandalized, but you don’t pull away. your hips match the slow, desperate rut of his under you, and despite there being barely any friction through your underwear, your cunt is soaked, and you can feel the outline of him right beneath your core. his cock is hot and throbbing with every grind.

“i hump it and pretend it’s you,” he gasps, squeezing your thighs tighter. his ears are flattened down, floppy against his flushed cheeks, and his whole body is shuddering beneath you. “i wrap your hoodie around it and press my face to your scent- nghh, i get it wet, just like this,” he sits up suddenly, arms wrapping tight around your waist and caging you in his lap. his forehead presses to yours. "bun... need, need, mmf-"

-is the last thing he mumbles out before he leans forward to capture his lips with yours. it's so messy and nasty. pup's tongue is huge and drooly and because he's so eager to finally finally have his lips on yours, he just ends up slobbering you because he's so excited. he bites on your lower lip, and you gasp into his in response, tugging on his hair sharp enough to make him yowl with pleasure.

he grabs yours hips and drags you down hard into his lap, mouth still locked with yours. his tongue rolls over yours when you moan again and grind back. he's panting into your mouth at the way your plump pussy grinds into his cock through your clothes. both of you are soaked, slick and pre leaking between the two of you to make squelching noises every time you rock down and he pushes up.

your mouth is glossy and swollen, coated in spit that clings in strings whenever he pulls back to breathe before diving right back in, tongue first, like a dog.

“stop,” he groans against your lips, licking into your mouth. “stop moving like that, i'm gonna- fuck! i’m gonna cum bun,"

“i know, want it s'bad,” you moan loudly, rolling your hips sloooow over his clothed cock, rubbing your folds over every single inch. his head lolls back stupidly.

“oh f-fuck,” he moans, thrusting against you again, the head of his cock sliding under the slick cotton of your panties with a disgusting wet sound. the bed creaks underneath you as he rocks, rocks, rocks into you.

pup sinks his teeth into the junction of her neck and shoulder, almost on your mating gland but barely holding back just before he permanently bonds you with him. both your glands have been seeping oil since he's started, opening up eagerly and hoping to be claimed. it's taking all of him not to do it. his cock presses tight and hot against the swell of your cunt through her soaked panties, and you keen, tears pricking your eyes from the sheer overload.

“gonna -shit- cum,” he pants, tongue hanging out to kiss the reddening bite mark he just left. “bun, i’m gonna come, gonna make a mess,”

you whimper and rub harder against him, cunt soaking through your thin panties and onto his boxers, until there’s a huge dark patch under your pussy. "y-you can!" you cry, face buried in his neck. “i want it, nnghhh fuck! want you, pup!”

he lets out this helpless, whimpering moan and then he grabs you by the hips, pulling you down hard just as he jerks up. his whole body locks up as his cock pulses hot and hard under you. your thighs become so sticky with slick as you start to cum with him, little cotton tail getting wet and sticky as your mixed juices start to drip down your skin, pooling in the dips where your thighs meet your ass.

he holds you there, panting through his teeth as his cock twitches repeatedly with more of his cream splurting out each time, staining both your underwear with thick, warm loads that don’t stop.

[konigslittleliebling]

when i’m reading an ‘x reader’ and he calls me his pretty girl

[ghouljams]

1860s Soap eating ass

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the shame. the absolute humiliation of it. the bare fisted heat that washes over you and trembles on your lips when his tongue circles your hole; wetness sliding around and around as his firm hands spread you open, squeezing just a bit too tight to be comforting. you make vague noises of protest, your brain working even when your body betrays you.

it feels good. it's dirty. his mouth is hot and wet. your cunt is empty and teased with the spit that drips down the short path between your two holes. johnny groans against your skin, presses sucking kisses to your asshole before attempting to wiggle his tongue inside.

when he can't he pulls back --you imagine the drool that must hang off his tongue, stringing back to your body like sin-- it's to press his finger against the tight pucker. easing with firm pressure that sings through your veins, stoking fires in the pit of your stomach that seem to burn with as much desire as they do embarrassment.

"look'it ya," johnny hums, "pretty puffy thing, so bonnie ah might cry."

you bite your lip hard, his tongue tracing around the edge of you as his finger pushes and pushes. sinking in and in. it hurts, the stretch burns. then he pulls it back and your eyes roll, your breath shuddering out of you. it slips in so easily when he pushes again, kisses peppered over your skin, tongue hot and wet as it continues lapping around the thick digit.

"ah ken." he coos when you sob, "cannae risk the wee one though, can we? have tae fuck ya like this-" he kisses your hole again, and you get the sense this isn't so much of a challenge for him as it is a cosmic reward, "-have tae."

[quarterlifekitty]

Lots of little curious babies around the beach at low tide today…. Gave me a bit of the fever…

Soap who sees you tide pooling with your little munchkin. You’re lifting rocks so she can look for crabs, holding onto a little purple bucket full of shells and such in one hand. Until there’s finally one that’s a little too heavy for mama to push after a busy day.

Of course, Johnny comes to your rescue. What good are the muscles if you can’t use ‘em to chat up milfs?

“That’s a right big one, there!” He almost gasps comically, seeing a huge crab scuttle sideways when he lifts the rock. Your daughter is, of course, extremely delighted and follows it all the way until it reaches a new crevice to hide in. He puts the rock back down and takes stock of you— your baby hands you another pretty shell to inspect before it joins its comrades in the bucket. You turn it over in your palm.

No ring, ey?

[tobeholyistobeempty]

ok i’ve thought about this for so long but i honestly think drunk confessions with soap would happen when both of you are equally as sloshed. like a full drunken horny spiral where neither of you can shut the fuck up - all of your filter is gone, and suddenly it’s turning into a game of who can confess the nastier thought first. mutual destruction type shit. just a casual descent into unhinged oversharing and both of you realizing - oh no. we’re the same type of feral.

like the bottle is almost empty. you don’t know who had the last shot. doesn’t matter. you’re both on your asses against a wall in some dim corridor, not even trying to get up anymore. your legs are stretched out and tangled, shoulders slumped together, heads bumping every so often when one of you snorts too hard.

you’re both cackling like lunatics.

soap just made a joke about ghost looking like the kind of bloke who asks for ketchup in a steakhouse, and you’re crying. actual tears.

everything feels warm. blurry. easy.

way too fucking easy.

“you’re insane,” you laugh in between trying to catch your breath. “fulllyyy fucking insane, johnny.”

johnny sways toward you. “aye. but yer the same. same fucken’ breed.”

you know you can’t deny that. you and the scot do nothing but cause shit everywhere you go. it’s effortless, with johnny. you two feed off eachother.

and so you smirk, lifting your cup in admission. “idiots with a loaded weapon and terrible judgment? yeah. we’re practically twins.”

he snorts. “aye, but you’re the hot one.”

you turn your head slowly. “did you just call me hot?”

he doesn’t even blink.

“donnae act like ye don’t know it.”

your pulse stutters, but you’re too drunk to even notice. “no, johnny, shut up - you’re the hot one-“

“ye dinnae wanne start this with me lass.” he says, cutting you off with a shake of his head. “ye’ll lose.”

you swat at him. “i won’t lose shit- i’ve thought about how hot you are for months. like months. i dream about it.”

there’s a pause, at that. one that tells you that might’ve actually surprised him and is proven by the way he opens his mouth then closes it. even drunk you see it, the gears that start turning behind his eyes as he exhales a ragged breath.

“ye dinnae even know what i dream of.” he whispers with the type of slurred inflection that surfaces when he’s long past the point of reason. “ive thought about shaggin’ ye in every storage closet on this base.”

you choke.

“johnny-“

“none o’that- listen proper. i mean every. closet.” he lifts a finger like he’s testifying in court. “the one near the gym? bent over the bench. one near the barracks? legs around my waist, beggen pretty in my ear.”

your jaw drops. because holy fuck.

“you’re just saying that?!”

he grins some clueless little grin that is so signature johnny it hurts. “we're bein’ honest now, aye?”

you squint at him, trying to find the bullshit. trying to find the lie or the twitch in his brow that tells you he’s only buttering you up in hopes to get laid. but you don’t find it - you don’t see anything except for the wild in his eyes, the flush in his cheeks that tells you - fucken hell. this might just be the most honest he’s ever been, and it’s exhilarating.

so just like you always do, you match him. this time in your honesty. because it’s always like this with you two. the dance of devils - yours and his.

you shift, head buzzing wild. “alright then. ive thought about you fucking me on the shooting range.”

he blinks. “…ye what.”

you shrug, chewing on your lip. “from behind. pants halfway down while you’re tellin me to shoot it straight.”

his face twists, eyes blaring. “tha’s fucken evil.”

you giggle, nose scrunching. “you started it.”

“nah - nah nah,” he waves a hand, scrambling to face you better. “ye donnae get te drop that and just move on. ive thought about ye - fucken hell - riding me in the armoury. tools clatterin’ everywhere. no’ a care in the bloody world.”

you gasp, pretending to be oh so very scandalized. “in the armoury?! johnny!”

“right on the table. my hands on yer throat te keep ye quiet.”

you’re breathless. flushed. completely fucked but never more alive in your entire life. “oh my god.”

“aye. oh my god is right.” he leans in closer, breath hot, accent slurred and taunting. “top that. i dare ye.”

you’ve never been one to back down a dare, especially when you’re this drunk, so you lick your lips. “you, in the showers, still half-dressed. water running. me down on my knees suckin’ you off while you lean on the wall grunting my name into your fist.”

his eyes roll back and he groans - actually fucking groans like you’ve just stabbed him and slumps back against the wall. something in you begs and your thighs twitch for it.

it’s one of your favourite fantasies to date.

“jesus fucken’ christ.” he grits after a moment of attempted recomposing.

“keep up, mactavish,” you purr, all smug now. “or you tapping out?”

“no’ a fucken’ chance,” he growls, shifting up again. “i think about benden ye over the mess table while everyone else’s sleepen’. pissin myself tryen te keep ye quiet while you’re so fucken wet fer me it’s drippin.’”

every word from his mouth is like fire, scorching your nerves alight. you’re certain you’ve never been more unholy in your life, but all you do is nod like you’re not losing your fucking mind.

then you lean closer. “ive imagined you pulling me into a closet just to put your fingers in me and tell me you ‘just needed to check something.’”

he gapes. fullstop. “oh you’re proper fucked, aren’t ye?”

you’re both hysterical now, half-laughing, half-melting, cheeks burning, equally breathing heavy like the airs gone thin and its burning between you.

“you,” you manage to recollect yourself, pointing a finger in his face, “you’d be the type to say some sick shit like ‘don’t cum until i say so.’”

“aye.” soap blinks slow. “tha’s ‘cause you’d fucken’ listen.”

you freeze, eyes locked. you don’t even realize that you’ve both gone quiet until he speaks again.

“…ye would, wouldnt ye?”

“course i would.” you breathe out, jagged and cracking now until you manage to snap yourself out of it with another laugh. “christ, you’re filthy.”

he flashes you that goddamn grin again. cocky and teasing and totally fucking evil. “ye love it.”

“unfortunate,” you mutter, smiling. “makes me wanna jump you for it.”

he hums. “mm. full offence, i’d let ye kill me with your thighs.”

you blink, then almost choke on your saliva. “you’d what?”

“dead serious.” he gestures at your legs, slurring slightly. “wrap ‘em around my head, cut off the blood flow, lights out. best fucken way te go.”

“well fuck.” you shake your head, but your grin is splitting your face. “i’d let you fuck my throat til i’m cryin. full tears. no air. fingernails bleeding my scalp.”

johnny leans his head back and groans again. “im gonna combust. gonna catch fucken fire.”

you wheeze, face buried in your sleeve. “we're disgusting.”

“we’re perfect.”

and then, quiet.

not awkward. not scared. just two people hovering over the edge of something they both know they can’t fall into.

you feel his shoulder still pressed to yours. feel his breath go slow and controlled like he’s thinking about all the ways this is wrong, and all the ways you both wish it wasn’t.

“im no gonna kiss ye,” he mutters.

you don’t look at him, just whisper back, “good.”

another long beat. then-

“…but if i grabbed ye by the waist right now and dragged ye toward my room-“

“id let you.”

another pause.

“…we shouldn’t,” he whispers.

“i know.”

“ye’d fucken end me,” he adds.

you smile. “right back at you.”

you sit like that for an unknown amount of time. taut, burning, wrecked. he tilts his head toward yours again. nose brushing your temple.

“ye tell anyone about this,” he breathes into your hair, “and ill deny every word.”

you snort. “we both go down with the ship, mactavish.”

he grins, and neither of you move.

you just sit there.

emotionally edged. spiritually wrecked. cockblocked by the entire universe and metaphorically blue-balled by your own drunken stupidity.

[clancycatears]

mdni (18+) thinking about a beach day with soon-to-be-dad!johnny mactavish.

"johnny, my belly is not that big!" you retort, crossing your arms over your chest, forearms resting on the swelling bulge of your stomach, where little baby angus was curled up inside—a month or two away from worming his way out of your maternal factory.

johnny was on his hands and knees, raw fingers digging into the sand, tracing a circle that had to be almost two times bigger than the roundness of your tummy. he begins to scoop up the sand with haste, particles flying behind him, a gleeful smile on his face.

"tha bigger, tha betta! wee bairn's gonna need all the space 'e can get, me love," he coos, sitting up on his knees once he was halfway done. "an' ah ken y'like to lie on yer tummeh. ye need it."

you exhale slowly, your entire body sagging. you watch patiently as johnny makes quick work with the rest of his outline, knees and hands caked in thick layers of sand. quite the gentleman in his own unique way, he was. always caring for his dearest wife and prepping for fatherhood the johnny way.

snacking on your pregnancy cravings alongside you, buying you a pregnancy pillow despite pouting about how you'd be further away from him in bed, setting up a makeshift bed—made of blankets and pillows—on the floor next to the small, freshly-built crib beside your shared bed to test his presence just in case angus fussed in the middle of the night to give you a break. because, surely, you'd be exhausted after carrying his wee lamb for so long.

and now here he was, making little angus is own special spot on the beach by digging it up like a search dog. though a smile kept his face bright the entire time.

he's quick to his feet, leaning to his side to tug your towel from the beach bag the two of you had packed, and draped it over the hole in the sand after a quick flick to keep it in shape. the fabric sunk down where the hole was situated, giving you space to lie flat on your tummy without worrying about squishing a thing.

"c'mere," urges johnny, rising to his feet and making his way to you in a few short steps, palms outstretched. with tender care, he took both your hands in his—sharing his accumulation of sand—and guiding you towards the towel. "lay down, yeah? y'need some sunscreen on yer bonnie skin."

without a word of opposition, you surrender, slowly descending to your knees with johnny's guidance—his hands sliding down to your hips until you're bracing and lowering yourself forward. your belly sunk into the hole perfectly, the chill sand underneath cooling your skin deliciously.

"look'a ye," he sighs fondly, fingers tailing up your back until they put pressure onto your shoulder blades, rubbing slowly—massaging. "yer fuckin' glowin'."

you groan softly, the caress a much-needed relief to your aching, labored joints. crossing your arms under your head, you drop your cheek onto the warm skin beneath, eyes falling shut with relaxation.

he retreats for just a moment, then there’s a muted click of a bottle of sunscreen popping open, a quiet squelch of the contents being squeezed out, and then johnny's hands return to run the slick goo along your back. you tense with the sudden intrusion, cool liquid contrasting scorching skin, until you settle when the mix fades to lukewarm pleasure.

"thereee we go," hums johnny, smoothing the rest of the much-needed lotion down to your hips, squeezing with appreciation, passing your thighs, to your calves—coating your body with a protective layer from the sun’s hot rays.

johnny gets to his feet again. you listen to them as they kick up sand, rounding the towel until he reached your head. his body shades your own momentarily when his form leaned over you, a hand falling to your scalp to card through your hair. "so tired, lassie. get some shut-eye, 'm gonna swim a wee bit. love ye."

"love you too, honey," you reply with a quiet murmur, your mind on the very cusp of sleep and awareness. there's a small peck to the crown of your head, and then his figure retreats as he returns to his feet to hobble off and do who knows what.

sleep came to you faster than you could stop it. you were unsure how long it lasted until you pried your eyes back open after a short kick from baby angus—vision briefly blinded by the orange and pink hue in the sky. the sun was setting. you'd come here just after it had reached its high.

"ah—'old on, pidge! don' move!" squeaks johnny from a distance, hurrying to your side once more. "look, look!"

craning your head in his direction, your brows crease, before raising when your eyes hand on a giant hole dug into the sand a few feet from where you lay. there stood johnny, sand decorating his overgrown mohawk, and a wide, proud grin on his face. "look'it that, honey," you sigh, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips. "can you stand in it?"

"sure can," he replies, running a hand through his hair—bits of sand falling to his shoulders. "well... up to mah knees."

inhaling the smell of the ocean breeze, you plant your hands over your hand and begin to lift yourself from your resting place. though you pause when you feel specks of cool over your sun-kissed skin—a puny drag. you shoot a look at johnny, and his smile drops into a sheepish simper.

"johnny," you deadpan.

"yes?" murmurs johnny, tone hopeful.

"what's on my back?" lifting yourself up, there's a faint handful of clinks that sound from your back, several bits of smooth mantle running down your spine until they scatter over the towel.

"...seashells," he admits, face tinting bashfully. "found 'em while diggin'..."

"pretty ones?" you coo, and he lights up instantly, padding to where you lay to drop on his knees.

"found one tha' kiiinda looked like yer eyes, lemme—oh."

he pauses just as he reaches for a shell, smoothing a hand over your back. "uh oh."

"what?" you tilt your chin to him, blinking slowly.

"er... should'a saved 'em fer a bucket..."

craning your head over your shoulder, you find spots of pale scattered over your back. all shell-shaped, varying in size and intensity—speckling your tan with bits of lighter skin. your smile drops to a faux frown, hooded eyes dragging back to johnny's face.

he shoots you a nervous smile, free hand clasping the nape of his neck. "oops...?"

angus is a part of sil's (@sillyswriting) dad!johnny mactavish series! definitely give it a read. also, kudos to the polycult for encouraging the voices.

[sugarcherris]

Blowing a kiss to Johnny “Soap” MacTavish is like pulling the pin on a glitter grenade—you never know where the spark’s gonna land.

It’s always a gamble.

You think you’re being cute.

You think he’ll catch it with a wink, maybe tap his heart like a gentleman.

One moment he’s beaming, catching it mid-air with dramatic flair like it’s a bloody dove, eyes glinting like he’s just intercepted enemy comms. Smacking it dramatically onto his chest with a proud “Ach! Right in the ticker! you spoil me, bonnie.” he’ll murmur, staggering backward like you just shot him with a Cupid .50 cal.

The crowd swoons. Children cheer. Birds sing.

The next time?

Public place. Full squad around. Briefing room. You blow that kiss and he catches it with two hands… locks eyes with you… then—with full confidence and zero shame—plants it straight on his crotch. Smack. Hands on his hips. Grinning like a menace. “That’s where I felt it, lass. Don’t lie.”

Everyone turns.

Gaz groans. Ghost doesn’t even look up. Alejandro claps. And Price? He sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and mutters, “For the love of bloody God, Soap…”

Soap just winks at you across the room like he did you a favor.

It’s 50/50 chaos. You blow that kiss, you’re playing Russian Roulette with your dignity.

[ontherunnt]

Hi! I'm so excited to read your soap post but I don't want to forget so I need to ask first, what would it be like for Soap to be with a touch starved reader, one who grew up hardly ever even getting a hug kinda touch well famished? Your ghost being touch starved was amazing! But like I'm so touch starved myself and we all know Soap is very touchy and I just... I need him to touch me please 🥺

hiii <3!! i understand what you mean lol, somebody HOLD ME. Soap is a cutie and i think he'd be super touchy and affectionate. it's a bit short, but hopefully you'll like it!! ♥︎

Boyfriend!Soap with a touch-starved reader

pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader

wc: 778

warnings: my beautiful Scottish husband (none!!)

Johnny grew up with nine aunts. Five on his mum’s side, four on his dad’s—all of them obsessed with pinching his cheeks. Being the only boy out of the six children was no easy feat, and he wore it like a badge of honour. 

Nine aunts meant nine women asking, every Christmas, when he’d finally start a family of his own—at the age of fifteen, mind you. Nine aunts, too, meant nine long, gruelling, entirely unnecessary embraces. Nine aunts equalled eighteen minutes of hugging, twenty-seven minutes of talking, and at least forty-five minutes of smiling like he enjoyed the situation. 

His entire family was touchy. His mum always hugged him before going to school, his sisters would pat the top of his head after tying him to a chair and leaving him in the closet, his cousins would pat his back after scoring a goal. 

Therefore, Johnny was touchy. 

He snaked your waist and kissed your cheek when you walked past each other in the courtyard. He lifted your chin and kissed you fiercely whenever you looked at him a second too long. He snuck into your quarters in the middle of the night just to crawl under the covers and feel your breath against his neck. 

You? You were odd when it came to it. He couldn’t quite figure it out. You hadn’t been together for very long, but it had been long enough for him to notice you craved physical touch the way a kid craves biscuits—desperately, albeit scared of consequences. Which consequences, he didn’t know. 

It slowly made sense as you shared more and more about your life. How there’d never been any warm embraces after scraping your knee, how no one had comforted you after a nightmare, how tears had always been met with silence. He’d asked, once, when was the last time you’d been held by anyone other than him, and had to change the subject when you looked away, eyes reddened. 

From there on, he made it his mission to hold you whenever possible. 

In the mess hall, while Garrick talked about something Price had said—or had it been Ghost? He wasn’t sure. All his focus was set on you. An arm draped over your shoulders, your hair tickling his chin. He could feel your laugh against his chest, and he pressed a kiss to your temple before he replied to something Gaz had said. 

Before an op, adjusting the straps of your vest for you while you hummed under your breath. He took a step back, hands on his hips, and gave you an approving nod. Before you could speak, he pulled you by the front of your vest and smothered you between his arms, laughing at your loud complaints. Still, you didn’t try to move away, rather leaning into the warmth of his embrace. 

During downtime, while you pointed at the clouds above you. He sat with his back against a crate, your back pressed against his chest. His long legs bracketed your own and his arms wrapped around your shoulders, his chin rested on the curve of your neck. He enjoyed the soft giggles that left your mouth whenever he’d press a kiss to the crown of your head, your jaw, the spot behind your ear that made every hair on your body to stick up. You tried to keep pointing at the clouds, but gave up after the third time you felt his warm lips on your sensitive neck. 

After a rough op, his hands still bloodied and his entire body sore from nearly dying. He was quiet, for once, as he pulled you closer to him like he needed it more than you did. He tangled one hand in your hair, taking in your scent in a desperate attempt to separate the hell he’d just survived and the haven he’d walked into. 

After having a nightmare, your chest rising and falling in a desperate tempo that made him fear you’d pass out on the spot. He found you in the dark, sitting on the bed, and pulled you onto his lap, legs around his waist, arms around his neck. His fingers dug into the softness of your hips, using the grip to pull you even closer. 

“M’here, bonnie,” he whispered softly, a sharp contrast to your ragged breathing. “Yer safe with me.”

He kissed every tear you shed, then your cheeks, your eyelids, your forehead. He kissed every inch of your face, over and over, until you fell asleep against this chest. 

Johnny held you a little longer, willing to make up for all the hugs you’d missed out on as a child. 

[rawme-price]

141!Reader and soap who are huge nerds but also insanely horny.

You'll be jerking soap off, mouth pressed to his neck while hes rambling about a recent bomb he defused. Everytime he stutters out too long or pauses so do you, forcing him to keep talking if he wants release.

All fun and games, right? Soap gets an amazing hand job and u get to listen to his hot as hell voice. This plan backfires when soap is trying to explain bomb defusal to gaz and starts to chub up halfway through. Gaz ofc notices and lowkey judges soap, knowing damn well what the scot is doing when he ducks into a bathroom.

[partiallysame]

Johnny strutting up to older!reader in a bar with the tired “can I buy ye a drink” and you just look him up and down and ask “oh baby. How old are you? Where’s your dad?” In the most condescending yet sweet voice he’s ever heard and the man is lowkey bricked up. He’s stunned just staring at you stuttering out “ ‘m 26” You look over his shoulder to the rest of the 141 sitting at a table. “Either come back in ten years or send your mutton chops daddy over. Ok sweetheart” your hand is shooing him away and he’s walking a little stiff bc you just unlocked a kink in him he did not know he had.

[arabellasfvv]

Johnny trying on your lingerie because he's a curious man without any fragile masculinity. And he quickly decides he loves the way soft lace feels around his body.

But he's a bit too big for your clothes so he tries them on another day when he's sure you'll walk in on him. And when your reaction is positive he is on his knees begging you to come shopping with him. He needs his dove's help with picking out whats just right.

And maybe watching him turn on all the pretty pieces and watching the way his eyes beam turns you on enough to go for a quick fuck in the changing rooms.

You better worship him in his new clothes once you get home. Send tweet.

[boowritess]

shitty friends and their shitty fucking boyfriends seemed to be a common denominator in your life.

your friend sits across from you with her boyfriend. her boyfriend she said would stay home. her boyfriend who changed the place they were going to a bar. an army bar. he wasn't a fucking soldier.

you can only watch with an eye twitch as the boyfriend crosses boundaries, your friend just blatantly letting him - excusing his behaviour as love and normal pda.

and then you were being ignored by your so called friend.

your mouth opened to say you were going to call it a night but then a voice, british, smooth like fucking silk spoke up. "what you having, miss?"

for a second you think they're not talking to you but when your eyes meet the rich, dark brown pair of a guy with a smile as sweet as fucking honey - good lord your heart stops.

"pardon?" you manage to squeak out. voice dry from - you know - not talking.

"let us buy you a drink. you don't look to fond of that beer." he says with a cheeky grin - wait us?

sure enough he sits with an intimidating lot of men. who watches you like you're a work of art. you glance down at the beer you'd been given. "uh... i'm not-"

you're cut off by your friends boyfriend who glares at the group. "she's fine." and your friend looks almost offended that you'd been the one offered a drink.

offered a fucking lifeline.

"she can speak for herself, mate." the one with a beard and beanie says. voice rough, low, older and experienced. his eyes met yours, there's a glint in them. an edge of darkness bordering the softness of his eyes. but his gaze drops before you can fully register what the fuck is happening.

"i don't think they have what i like here-" you say, trying to be friendly with a smile.

"great, we'll go elsewhere then." a scottish accent, with a chipper drawl isn't quite what you expected from the man who'd been deadpanning your friends partner, now looking at you with a friendly smile.

they're already moving, looking at you and half-expecting you to get up.

and shit, one glance at your friend and her shitty boyfriend. you do.

before your friend or her dumb boyfriend could say anything.

a tall, big fucking man, with a nasty scar on his face steps behind you to follow you. one glance over his shoulder at the couple and they shut right the fuck up.

simon follows behind you as gaz and soap draw conversation out of you. cute. simon thinks, catching the way the others look at you. and ours.