Dom!Johnny "Soap" MacTavish X Sub!Transmasc Reader
Soft Dom Johnny, begging, safe words, aftercare
TW: BDSM Dynamic
Hi! I've been trying to write part 2 to Boot Worship for like a while now but writers block sucks. So in the meantime enjoy this mindless blurb, courtesy of me being stuck in a car for 15+ hours. I think I'll probably do more with this but who knows when the brainrot will hit again to write something else.
For the one thing, he was good, like... really good. Sure, in the past you had doms that made you feel good, amazing even. But none of them could pull you apart quite like Johnny could.
Johnny wasn't like other doms you had had in the past.
It was an art, the way the Scottish man could pull every kink and desire from your lips.
The way he would lean close, his voice a purr- usually as he was doing something that felt unspeakably good to you: marking up your neck with sloppy kisses or teasing his fingers over the head of your sensitive tdick- and he would whisper, his voice vibrating the corners of your brain,
"What should we do with you pet?" Usually pausing to nip at your neck or draw a long stroke over your soaking folds.
"What's gonna 'ave you begging for me?"
And you would tell him- beg him to do something filthy to you.
Other times he wasn't asking what made you tick, he was finding it himself. You would find yourself on the end of whatever devastatingly pleasurable toy or activity he had devised for the night, usually having you overstimulated and wrecked out in mere minutes.
But no matter how torturous he could be, how much his eyes would light with smug joy at your begging, Johnny MacTavish was great at making sure you were taken care of, during and after your time together.
He was always asking your color, always telling you to make sure you told him if it got to much or you needed a break.
And his aftercare was on point, a bottle of Gatorade and being pulled into him as he mumbled how good you were, a guarantee for the end of any of your sessions.
You were his completely, not through any agreement of exclusivity but through pure infatuation. You wanted to be so good at being his, to please him, to hear the way he would praise you- his groans of how good you were and "That's it pet", having you reach a high you didn't know was possible.
You would do anything for Johnny. Anything.
Even if that meant saying yes to him sharing you with some guys from work.
Simon Riley × afab reader (they/them pronouns used)
TW: BDSM with no pre-set rules, consensual degradation, no after care
Words: 4,026
Some trashy smut by yours truly. Simon Riley catches you pleasuring yourself while clutching his shirt in the locker room and pushes you into telling him you want to be degraded by him. Title is pretty self explanatory.
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Simon always found himself frustrated with the non-comabt duties of being a Lieutenant, the monotony of paper-work and sitting at a desk making him feel like a caged animal.
He was able to avoid this for the most part, until he took a nasty fall during a mission, injuring his arm to the point where he needed a month of recovery.
Despite plenty of grumbled complaints on his part, he was taken out of commission and, even worse, saddled with a platoon of privates to train.
They were fresh, they were dumb, and Simon found himself taking his frustration out on any one of them who stepped out of line.
One Private in particular had caught his attention repeatedly. He wasn't sure what it was, but he found his eyes finding them day after day, berating them every time they fell over or held their gun slightly off.
He knew it was unfair, but something about standing over them and shouting them down was satisfying to him. The way they would quiver under his gaze as he got into their face, a pink flush spreading over their face.
He made excuses to himself, pushing it off as frustration or wanting them to do better. But every once in a while the thought nagged at him that maybe his focus on them was a little more then work related.
Sitting in his office one evening, trying to get some work done he glanced up to see them quietly walking past, a small bag held in their hand.
Just the sight of them and his frustration bubbled up, wanting to follow them and demand what they were doing up so late, walking past his office and distracting him.
He imagined it, thinking of how they would look as he planted a hand over them on the wall, growling at them about sauntering around the barracks at all hours, distracting him from his work.
He imagined their whimpered apology, imagined leaning closer
"If youre so intent on distracting me."
He would growl,
"Then come into my office and make yourself useful."
The image of them under his desk, that same flush on their face as they sucked him off pushed itself into his brain.
He could feel his cock pulsing as filthy images of them letting him push his hand into their hair as they soaked his cock with their saliva.
He pushed himself back from the desk with a start. Jesus, where did that come from? He admonished himself under his breath,
That's your subordinate, you sick fuck
The thought didn't do anything to dull the uncomfortable pressure between his legs.
He rose to his feet, deciding a cold shower would dispel the unwanted thoughts.
He made his way down the hall, glad to see it was completely empty as he made his way to the locker room.
Rounding the corner to the locker room Simon heard a sound that stopped him in his tracks. A voice, their voice coming faintly from inside the locker room.
He got closer, straining to hear what they were saying and he stopped dead as he realized they weren't talking, they were moaning. Their voice coming out choked.
"Sir, please."
Their voice was low and breathy, he could tell they were attempting to keep quiet but the echo of the locker room carried the sound to where he stood, filling him with a fiery rage.
Deep down he knew that he had no business deciding what his subordinates got up to while outside his training but this didn't stop the stream of rage fueled thoughts.
Who did they think they were, fucking somebody somewhere they could be heard so easily? And calling them sir? He was their superior officer, not whatever nitwit private was shagging them against the lockers.
He stilled himself, waiting to see if their was a response. His pulse thrumming in his ears. He was going to tear them and whoever they were shagging a new one.
There was a long silence, then a little gasp from their lips.
Simon rounded the corner, his vision too clouded with anger to grasp exactly how inappropriate he was being.
From over the lockers he could see the top of their head. Sat on one of the benches, alone. Simon couldn't see the rest of their body but catching a movement of their hand he realized with a start that they were touching themselves.
He told himself he should leave, that this was inappropriate. They weren't actually shagging anyone so he should just leave them to it. Or make a sound like he had just come in and not heard them.
But he didn't.
He approached them, moving with a practiced silence. He could see them now, back facing him, sat on a towel on the low bench. They leaned back in a position that didn't look fully comfortable, their shorts bunched around their spread legs.
He could see their hand moving in quick circles, the exertion spreading a pink flush over their back.
And over their nose was a shirt,
His shirt.
The thought landed just as he realized that his locker hung open next to them. That he must've forgotten to lock it that day after training.
Another quiet moan from their lips,
"Please Lieutenant."
Him,
They were thinking of him.
He did not think, before he acted. Purposefully setting a boot down heavy enough for them to hear.
Your POV
A sound that could only be described as a squeak fell from your lips as you heard a footfall behind you.
Scrambling you attempted to secure your shorts around your waist, as you turned your head.
As your eyes locked on a white skull mask your already sinking stomach hurtled to the floor. Another squeak, whilst you struggled to shuffle to your feet, shorts bunched low on your hips.
Snapping up to what remnants of a salute you could muster, you stared at him, eyes wide, entire body burning.
"Sir-"
You began weekly
"What were you doing private?"
His voice was low, dangerous. He eyes you, his eyes dark and unreadable.
"I- I'm so sorry sir. I shouldn't have- I should've..."
He took another step towards you,
"I didn't ask for an apology private. I asked you a question. What. Were. You. Doing?"
You couldn't dare meet his eyes, fuck you were done for,
"I was... touching myself Lieutenant, sir."
"Touching yourself."
He repeated you in a low, level tone.
There was a long pause and you wished that he would just take the gun from his hip and put you out of your misery.
"While holding my shirt."
It wasn't a question. You squeaked as you followed his gaze to your hand, realizing you were still holding the shirt. Your first instinct was to drop it but wouldn't dare let his shirt touch the grimy floor. You resigned yourself to your fate,
"Yes sir."
"Why?"
The single question was the worst possible thing he could've asked. Again, a bullet would be preferable to having to explain your feelings to the brick wall in front of you.
"Beacause I ah- sort of... like you... sir."
It sounds so lame, so fucking juvenile. He was your superior officer and you "liked" him.
He clicked his tongue, his expression still painfully unreadable.
"You like me, so you sit here and touch yourself clutching my shirt. S'that right?"
You nod pathetically.
"I'm out here cursing and shouting at you about trigger discipline, and you like me. Why is that private?"
This was hell, you were in hell. And he was here to torture you. God, you thought him torturing you would be fun. You were wrong.
"I... I dunno sir I guess I... like, that sort of... thing."
"You like it."
God you wished he would stop repeating you.
"So you think about me... what, shouting at you while you touch yourself?"
"Uhm, well not particularly."
"Then what?"
Was he asking you your kinks?
"Sir I don't think-"
He took another step toward you, and you could smell the scent of his aftershave.
"What do you think about private?"
You knew his low tone meant danger,
"You... degrading me... sir... calling me names."
"Names like what?"
Your voice was weak, the words hard to choke out,
"Like... you calling me, a- uh, slut."
Another long pause,
"Are you?"
"Wh-what... s-sir?"
"Do you think you're a slut? You, sneaking into my locker the one time I forget to lock it to get yourself off while you smell my shirt. Does that make you a slut?"
A whimper choked it's way up your throat,
"I... that is a bit um... slutty. Sir."
Another silence
"So you're a slut then."
Your breath caught in your throat, what was happening? He was supposed to be marching you out of here for a dishonorable discharge, not whatever this was.
"Sir?"
"Say it. Tell me your a slut."
Your stomach did a flip, pinned in his heavy, expectant gaze
"I'm a slut... sir"
It came out as a question, as you tried to puzzle out what he wanted from you.
He sighed. Apparently that was the wrong choice.
"Like you mean it private."
God with every sentence he unraveled you mentally more and more. At this point you just wanted to run but his hulking figure blocked ant escape route.
"I'm a slut sir."
The words hung in the air, and you scanned his face, waiting to see if that was the right answer to this surreal game
"That's right, was that so hard private? How am I supposed to call you a slut if you don't even believe it?"
Your mouth opened and closed, air completely gone from your lungs.
"Is it just me you think about... or would you be touching yourself for any superior officer who shouts you down?"
"N-no sir. It's just you. You're all I think about."
He cocked his head, and with a panic you realized how that sounded. Like you loved him. You searched for the words to explain yourself, to remedy the damage. None came.
"S'that right?"
He closed the distance between you more, towering over you. His body was so close your legs started to quake a little.
"A slut just for me then?"
Tilting his head to the side, he placed a hand on your hip. The touch sending a jolt of electricity to your core. His fingers skimmed lightly over the curve, continuing to stare as if admiring it. You were breathless, your gaze only able to fixate on his hand as it made smooth motions over your hip.
"Seems a bit odd then don't you think? If you're supposed to be my slut, for you to be here, touching yourself without even asking. Helping yourself to my things."
His hand gripped your hip tighter and you gasped, his words settling on your chest like a brick,
"Seems like you might need to be taught to keep your hands off of things that aren't yours, hm?"
"S-sir... I- I don't understand."
He chuckled darkly,
"What's not to understand private? You said you wanted me to degrade you hm? So are you going to be a good slut and let me, or were you jus' playing with me? Cause' I don't take too kindly to being played with."
"N-no sir... I want you to."
"Then take these off."
His hands tugged at your shorts, still rucked halfway down your hips.
Your movements were slow and unsure, looking at him for reassurance as you hooked your thumbs into the waistband.
He sighed at your hesitancy, reaching out with a fluid motion and pulling them down around your legs. You gasped, the cool air highlighting just how exposed you were as you stood naked in front of him.
"Back on the bench again pet. I want to see what you've been doing to my property. And let's be quick about it, I don't like my time being wasted."
As if there was motor controlling your actions, you sat back on the bench with a small thump, kicking off your shorts from around your legs.
Staring up at him, you felt like a dog waiting for a treat, wanting his approval desperately.
"Spread your legs."
The simple command sent warmth pooling at your core. You didn't give yourself time to second guess as you did as he asked, pushing your knees apart.
"Feet on the bench pet. Need to see how wet you've gotten yourself"
God he didn't even have to touch you and you were already a pathetic mess for him, whimpering while you exposed yourself to him completely.
The silence was heavy as he cocked his head to the side, staring at you. Through you. Assessing your most private bits like a butcher about to slice into a choice cut.
After a long moment he reached out a gloved hand, still eyeing you as he reached two fingers to spread you open, leaning in to get a better view.
It made you feel like some sort of lab experiment. Him, fully clothed, assessing and prodding your naked cunt with a cold precision.
You gasped as two fingers slid through your folds, slicking his hand with a thin sheen of your juices.
He held it up, regarding how you had soaked his glove, expression ever unreadable.
"Fuckin' soaked yourself, haven't you? Just the scent of my t-shirt and you're dripping wet."
He hissed a breath through his teeth,
"Absolutely filthy."
You gave a weak nod. He could say whatever he wanted about you, just as long as he kept talking like that. Kept looking at you like he was going to devour you whole.
Coming towards you again, he held his hand out toward your face.
"Clean it off."
Your face burned as you wrapped your lips around the fingers, meeting his eyes with a look that you hoped was sultry, trying to ignore the fact that looking directly into his face terrified you.
He rewarded you with a small grunt from deep in his throat and your insides felt like they would melt out completely.
Shifting the fingers deeper into your throat, he cocked his head to admire how deeply they pressed into your mouth, the rough tips of his fingers brushing over your tongue.
You sat up, reaching for him, wanting to feel the solid expanse of his chest through his shirt. But his bear-like paw caught your wrist, pulling it away.
"Tch, pet. What makes you think I should let you touch me? Without even asking nonetheless? This about teaching you to keep those filthy hands to yourself."
You gasped,
"I'm sorry sir. Please forgive me."
"Are you really?"
He dropped your wrist, and you wanted to whine at the loss of his touch.
"You don't seem sorry. You seem like a filthy little whore. Fucking yourself off in the locker room where anyone could see you. Gripping my shirt, touching your little cunt that belongs to me. Then as soon as I even touch you, you want to jump all over me. Fucking slut."
A pathetic whimper left your throat
"Please sir, I'm sorry. I can be good, I want to be good for you."
"Not sure if I believe you love. Might need you to prove yourself for me."
He wrapped a hand through your hair, tugging gently at the strands, tilting it to the side.
"But what to do with you hm? I'm sure this little throat would look good bulging with my cock, but you need to earn that."
"Maybe, since you're so desperate for me. You can hump my boot hm? Prove that little pussy is mine by grinding it into my boot while I watch."
Another dumb nod as his words turned you into a puddle.
His voice was low and husky,
"Get to it then pet."
You hesitated.
"Uh, here sir?"
"Where else?"
His tone was impatient, like you were a child he was explaining something very basic to.
"Shouldn't we go somewhere more... private, maybe?"
He laughed,
"Well pet, I don't think you thought of privacy when you were fucking yourself here, hm? 'Sides, if anyone walks in I'll tell them to fuck off. Or..."
He smirked at you,
"Better yet I could let them watch. Let them see what a little whore you are for your superior officer. It's my choice isn't it? Since you are my slut after all. So. Get to it."
Knees shaking, you dropped down in front of him, the cement floor cold against your bare legs.
You looked up at him, dark eyes drinking you in as you awkwardly shifted yourself to hover over his boot, trying not to grip his leg too hard. His expectant gaze heavy as you gave a hesitant grind into the leather of his boot.
The material was smooth and hard against your soaking cunt, the seams around the toe cap dragging across the squishy flesh in a surprisingly pleasant way.
You rocked yourself forward, attempting to find a rhythm against the unyielding leather but struggled to find purchase without clutching onto the Lieutenant's leg like a child.
You continued to grind pathetically, not daring to meet Ghost's eyes as you made your sad attempt to fuck his boot.
A hand in your hair, grasping a fistful of strands loosely,
"Harder pet."
Whining pathetically, you desperately tried to work yourself against the smooth leather harder, the slickness between your legs causing you to slip, ass meeting the cement floor.
His grip in your hair tightened a little and your mind went fuzzy with the firm pressure of his hand tugging at your head,
"Mm, this is pathetic isn't it? Can't even fuck my boot properly. Thought you were my slut, hm? Guess I shouldn't bother."
He made a motion to pull away from you, and the horror of loosing his attention made all attempts at retaining your dignity fly out the window.
Upon instinct, your arms locked around his leg desperately. Your face pressing into the rough material of his jeans as you shoved your hips against his leg sloppily.
"Please sir... I- ah fuck- I can do it sir. Plese let me."
Wanton whimpers fell from your lips as you rutted your hips against him, focusing on nothing but your slick cunt sliding over his boot.
He chucked darkly, pursing his lips at you, almost mockingly,
"That's better pet. Look at how desperate you are for me. Like a bitch in heat, aren't you?
"Mm, yes sir. G-god I need it."
You kept going, your cunt making obscene squelching noises as your slick coated his boot almost completely.
Another tug at your hair, pulling so your chin pointed up at him,
"Look at me while you do that pet. Wanna see how dumb your eyes look while you grind into me."
You already knew they did. It was like every braincell you had was melting out from your aching cunt and onto his boot.
"Yeah, that's a good sight. Dumb little pet, humping my fucking boot. Down where you belong."
His hand unraveled from your hair to move to the front of his jeans,
"Now, pet. I'm gonna get my cock out, and I'm gonna stroke myself off. And you're gonna watch, an' keep fuckin' my boot so I can use that pretty mouth to cum, yeah?"
You nodded, desperate hunger plain on your face,
"Yeah, I knew you'd like that. Fuckin desperate to swallow me aren't you."
You swallowed thickly as he unzipped his jeans, pulling out his cock and running a hand over the thick length.
It was like you were studying a fucking art piece, tracing each raised vein under the slightly red skin with your eyes. You wanted to touch it, to feel the soft warmth in your hands, to see how small they looked wrapped around it. To hear his soft grunts as he pressed it into your throat. But you didn't dare try to touch him again, contenting yourself to grind your aching cunt over his boot as he began to stroke himself with quick, languid strokes.
"This what you've been wanting pet? To be my little toy to make do whatever filthy little thing I please?"
His words were intercut with soft guttural grunts, his hand moving over his prick with precise strokes.
You gasped out an agreement, clutching to him like he was a god you were worshipping with each rut of your hips.
"S'what I thought love, greedy little thing you are. Don't worry pet, now that you've shown me who that little cunt belongs to I fully intend on using it. Whenever I like."
He accented his statement by shifting the tip of his boot to press up, further into the folds of your pussy, drawing a gasp from your lips.
His words sent another gush of heat coursing through you. Your Lieutenant, Ghost, wanted to fuck you. Wanted to use you in whatever way he pleased. The thought sent you into a near frenzy, thrusting against his boot with quick, needy strokes.
You both set your own wordless rythym, him pumping a single, strong hand over the length of his cock as you kept pace with your desperate grinds of his boot. Your small gasps and his quiet grunts the only sound passing between you.
He leaned his head back, his strokes becoming shorter and quicker as you could see his peak approaching. A single, large hand shot out and gripped your hair, pulling your face towards him.
"Open."
The single word was all you needed to stretch your mouth wide, your tongue outstretched and waiting for him.
He looked down at you, his dark eyes hooded.
"Fuck you look perfect like that. Little slut all ready to swallow my cum."
He pulled your face closer to his cock, tapping the head of it against your tongue a few times, his pre already leaking into your mouth.
He hissed out a shallow breath as a few more strokes brought him to his peak, ropes of his cum painting your tongue and lips. His voice was choked as his cock twitched, grip on your hair tightening with his unraveling.
"S'a good slut. G'na swallow me yeah?"
You nodded, the movement brushing his cockhead lightly over your tongue causing him a final twtch as the last of his cum dripped onto your tongue.
He breathed deeply, watching you as you pulled your tongue in, his taste filling your mouth.
"Mm, that taste good pet?"
You gave a swallow,
"Yes sir."
He smirked,
"You haven't finished yet though. Look at this mess you've made of my boot. Absolutely soaked it "
He nudged the glistening boot toward you,
"Clean it up."
Your hazed over brain couldn't comprehend his meaning. You reached out with a tentative hand to wipe your juices from the leather of his boot.
"Stop."
He sighed,
"You really are like a dumb puppy aren't you? Need me to spell everything out for you? Lick. It. Up."
A flush filled your face. Stooping, you pressed your tongue to the tip of his boot, the tang of your arousel mixing with the earthy taste of the leather.
Planting a hand on either side of the boot, you lavished long strokes over it, not wanting to chance not doing a good enough job. You didn't stop to look back up at him until you were sure you had reached every drop.
Meeting his eyes, you saw his head cocked as if he had been admiring the sight of you licking his boot.
"That's a good pet."
He knelt to your level, tilting your chin to meet his eyes.
"And now, you're gonna go back to your bunk to rest. And you're gonna keep those filthy hands off of my things."
He leaned in close, his voice low.
"Cause' if you lay a finger on that little cunt. I'll know. And I'll fuckin' wreck you. Understood?"
You nodded weakly,
"Thas right pet. Course..."
He tilted his head,
"I might just wreck you anyway."
He rose, his boots retreating from your sight as you lay on the cold floor, still breathing heavily.
Ghost being affirming after you start testosterone
《NSFW》 《Minors DNI》
No one is more affirming then Simon Fucking Riley after you start T and you can't change my mind.
At first you were nervous. A creeping insecurity that- even though he constantly told you how much he loved you being "his boy"- he wouldn't find you attractive anymore once your body started to change. But that couldn't be farther from the truth.
It started slowly, his fingers brushing your newly broadening shoulders as he stood behind you in the bathroom mirror, staring at you with admiration.
Or the looks you would catch him giving you sometimes when your voice dipped, the warm baritone filling his eyes with a glowing ardor.
But when he discovered the newfound growth of your clit into it's swollen, cock-like state the T brought about the man was insatiable.
He had always liked going down on you before- getting his mouth full of the sweet, sticky slickness between your legs- but now he practically lived there. He would drag you over the side of the bed, him kneeling in front of you as he spread you apart with two gentle fingers to get a look at the sensitive head,
"Would you look at that?", he would mumble in deep, husky tones, ignoring the way you threw your hands over your face in embarrassment.
And then it was like he needed to learn everything about your new appendage. His fingers and mouth brushing and sucking and licking over every inch of your sensitive cock.
"Si, please. Just fuck me." You would whine, tugging at his head when his touch got too overstimulating, desperate to have him inside you.
But he would just press your hands away mumbling into the soaking flesh
"Not yet love, gotta get my boys cock nice and wet for me."
And he would keep going until you felt like you were going to become a puddle soaking into the bed.
GAH, the thought makes me weak.
Like, he doesn't fetishize your transness, but he certainly appreciates each change to your body just as much as you. Giving you a tight hug and telling you how happy for you he was with each milestone. 🥹
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