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gloomwitchwrites · 1 month

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They overhear you telling the team how much you like them and want to have their babies.

ANON! The way I screamed when I first read this prompt. I love shit like this because o-m-g. I had so much fun writing our boys in this scenario. Thank you so much for sending it in!

While there are some sweeter moments, these all lean toward the steamy side but don't cross over fully into spice. But, each is left open enough that you can make up your own mind about what happens! (hehe).

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): mild language, suggestive themes, pregnancy, fluff, feelings

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

John "Soap" MacTavish (wc: 651)

John is grinning like a bloody idiot. Has been for the last few days.

He’s caught your attention, and he’s downright smug about it. Every lingering glance and gentle upturn of your mouth has his skin singing with an intensity that can only be described as a tree burning from the inside out. He’s been after you for months, doing his best to gauge your interest in him.

He thinks he has an in because just yesterday, you touched him. Not a passing touch either but a firm grasp of his upper arm. A squeeze that shot heat straight to his toes and sent blood rushing quickly to an already throbbing need.

You looked him in the eye, brow all soft, mouth puckered slightly in the most gorgeous pout. John wanted to kiss you right then.

He turns the corner, heading into the training room, only to stop dead when he hears your voice. Pausing, he backtracks, pressing himself against the wall but leaning around the corner to listen in.

“Johnny’s been sweet on you,” comes Ghost’s voice. It’s slightly teasing, and John frowns slightly. Ghost would never overstep and steal you out from under him, but he would give him or even you a hard time.

“Has he?” you reply, and it’s breathy.

At this rate, his cheeks are gonna hurt for a week from how stupidly big his grin is.

“Don’t tell us you haven’t noticed,” laughs Gaz. “Soap’s been drooling all over the floor and himself.”

You remain silent, and John would give anything to know what you look like right now or what you’re thinking.

“Do you like him?” asks Ghost.

“What?” you exclaim.

“We won’t tell. Unless you want us to,” continues Gaz. “We can tell him to back off if—”

“No. I—” There is a stretch of silence. “I like him.”

When neither Gaz nor Ghost say anything, you keep talking. “I like him. I’m interested.”

“How interested?” asks Ghost, slowly.

“I’d have his babies if he asked,” you blurt so suddenly that it even takes John by surprise.

His grin momentarily slips away, and then it comes back, raging larger than before. He is going to bottle up those words and savor them. John runs his fingers through his hair, tugging on the tips slightly as he comes to a decision.

Pushing off from the wall, he barrels around the corner, making enough noise to not startle anyone. You and Gaz both jump but Ghost remains utterly still, a passive brick of a man. But his dark eyes swivel from you to John, and he sees Ghost’s amusement behind the balaclava.

John approaches you, and it takes every ounce of willpower to keep his grin from seeming too eager. “Price is looking for you.”

“Oh,” is all you say, moving in the direction John just emerged from. He waits until you pass him to start following, but before he can, he catches Gaz’s grin and Ghost’s gentle shake of his head.

When the two of you disappear around the corner, John reaches out, grabbing your arm. He tugs you against him, then shoves open a nearby door, hauling you inside.

“Johnny,” you protest as he shuts the two of you inside.

Leaning against the door, John crosses his arms over his chest. “Heard what you said.”

“Did you?” you counter, placing your hands on your hips.

“Aye.”

“And what did I say?”

“That you wanted to have my babies.” Your face heats and John has to bite back a groan. He surges forward, trapping you against the wall. “Is that the truth? Do you want me?”

You soften in his arms, and he cannot help himself. His arms snake around your middle only to lift you onto a nearby table.

“I want you,” you whisper.

John dips his head and you greet him with your mouth. “Then let’s get to it, love.”

John Price (wc: 420)

Price reclines in his office chair.

His mind is a mess. All thoughts of work are utterly gone. Finished. The only thing in his head is you and what you said this morning. The thing is, you don’t know that Price heard every word, that he listened as you confessed your feelings for him to the rest of the team.

Price is your superior, which means anything between the two of you cannot happen. At least, not while you’re under his command. The rest of the team said as much, and you reluctantly agreed, knowing that nothing could be done unless you or he moved out of the unit.

And Price won’t leave. Not because he wouldn’t do it for you, but because Laswell would have his head if he tried.

But the two of you can still talk. The two of you can still figure something out.

Yet it wasn’t just your interest in him that has Price’s head in knots. It’s what you said, almost absently, like you were speaking to the air and not the rest of the team.

I’d have his babies.

Fuck, he was gone when he heard that. Price walked away immediately and went to his office. Which is where he’s been the entire fucking day. When his phone rings, he refuses to answer. Everyone who has come knocking leaves when Price ignores them. He just needs to get his head on straight but he can only do that once he talks to you first.

Sighing, Price leans forward in his chair, resting his forearms on the table. A knock comes, and everything in him tenses.

He swallows. Turns his nerves to steel. "Come in."

When you enter, Price loses all thought. It isn't until the silence becomes awkward that Price clears his throat and stands. "Shut the door."

You do and then take a few more steps inside. Price isn't one for stepping around a conversation. He just needs to get this shit off his chest.

"Heard what you said this morning."

"You did?"

"I did."

You take a shaky breath. "And?"

"Did you mean it?"

'Every word," you say automatically.

Fuck. He's done for.

Price slowly sinks into his chair. He leans back casually, legs spread. Resting both hands on his thighs, Price runs them up and then back down. He taps the inside of one thigh in open invitation.

Your legs obediently move, and Price's chest tightens. As you straddle him, Price's hands come to rest on your waist.

"Show me."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick (wc: 309)

Kyle heard you wrong. He must have.

The words that just came out of your mouth simply aren’t true.

I want to have his babies.

He shakes his head, the middle of his brow furrowing slightly as he continues to listen. He hears Soap guffaw at your reply and then swear up a storm when you smack the back of his head.

“It’s not funny,” you snap.

“Oh, aye. But it is.”

“Cut her some slack, Johnny,” says Ghost teasingly. “Sergeant Garrick is a handsome man.”

You sigh in frustration. “You’re both terrible. I can’t tell you anything.”

“You just did.”

“Oh shove it, Soap,” you reply.

Kyle covers his mouth with his hand, smothering a laugh. You’ve always been feisty, and you don’t take shit from anyone, especially not from them. But this admission completely catches him off-guard.

He’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t interested. What first began as mutual respect grew into genuine friendship. Now it’s…this. Whatever this is.

But Kyle is a private person, and he’s not going to shove himself into this conversation. He’ll wait until you’re alone and the two of you can talk this out without an audience. From there, he will have the truth directly from your mouth.

And if he's being honest with himself, Kyle is fucking ace to the idea of you giving him a kid or two. Or three.

His mind swirls outward with images of what he’d do to put a baby inside you. Everything in him ramps up, burns hot until he’s aching.

“Sergeant.”

Kyle’s eyes snap open, and he momentarily sways as he rights himself.

“Captain,” he replies, clearing his throat.

Captain Price smirks and then squeezes his shoulder. “Must have been a hell of a daydream.” Price releases Kyle’s shoulder and continues on.

Privacy. Privacy with you.

That’s what Kyle needs.

Simon "Ghost" Riley (wc: 375)

Ghost is a patient man.

But right now, there is a fire beneath his skin.

It itches, radiating outward, even making his bones ache. This is not a wound. Not an injury. He didn’t take a hit. There is nothing physically wrong with him. Ghost is healthy. A solid brick wall of muscle and scars.

This impatient insistence comes from a carnal place. All the blood is rushing to a singular point, and Ghost is going fucking insane with how badly he needs to relieve it. The worst part about it is that you don’t even know. You have no idea what you’ve done, or what he heard.

I’d have his babies.

Ghost is entirely aware that the conversation you had with Soap and Gaz was private. He wasn’t meant to hear it. But he did. He did, and now he can’t stop thinking about all the things you said to them.

Which is why he’s lurking in the shadows, watching your every step, assessing when he should slide on up to you. Ghost needs you alone. He needs to talk but he also needs you in his lap.

So, when you turn the corner, Ghost slips into his namesake, grabbing you by the waist to haul you through the nearest door. Instinct kicks in, and you lash out, but Ghost is so much bigger than you, easily restraining all resistance.

"Stop moving."

"Simon."

His real name on your tongue is perfect. Pressing his face into your neck, he inhales, and you melt into him.

"What are you doing?" you ask softly.

"I heard the conversation you had with Johnny and Gaz today."

"Did you?"

"Is it true?"

Your face shifts slightly in his direction and Ghost draws back a bit. "Yes."

"Mean it?"

"Yes."

Slowly, Ghost removes his arms from around your waist. He gently guides you forward and then spins you around so that you're fully facing him. There is silence and then Ghost reaches for the front of his belt buckle. Your gaze immediately drops and then pops back up as undoes and then removes the belt with one hand.

"Willing to show me?" he asks.

Your lips part, and then you're touching him.

The fire beneath his skin becomes an inferno.

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folkwhoredoll · 2 months

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library affections - rafe cameron x fem!reader

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

synopsis: there are two things that you love in this world; rafe and books

word count: 0.9k

warnings/tags: none, just fluff with sweet boyfriend!rafe

a/n: hi everyone! i don't think i can ever thank you all enough for your support in all of my works :< tbh i did not expect to gain so much interaction because this blog is still relatively new but here you all are and i appreciate each and every one of you <3 this fic is another fluff boyfriend!rafe fic (is it obvious that i like fluff so much lmao) and i've written this a while ago. i hope you'll like this one! if you have a request or prompt in mind, feel free to send me a message. happy reading!

masterlist

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Being a regular visitor at the Camerons' estate has familiarized you with every corner of the house. Now, you have memorized every room and decoration, immediately spotting whatever is newly added. The Camerons didn't mind your presence, with your family being a close friend of theirs. Thus, it was no surprise that you ended up dating the one and only son of Ward Cameron.

With his father and stepmother often occupied and his sisters frequently out with friends, you and Rafe usually find yourselves with the house to yourselves, save for the occasional presence of the household staff. Yet, you've never minded.

Today follows a similar pattern. Ward left for a morning meeting, Wheezie went to school, and Sarah departed at noon to join John B's group. Surprisingly, even Rafe isn't home, having agreed to a golf outing with Topper and Kelce. Although he initially invited you to join, you declined, preferring to avoid the "boy talk" and the scorching sun. Thus, you find yourself waiting for Rafe in the living room, idly scrolling through your phone.

It's been around two in the afternoon when you got bored, sighing and deciding to stand up to walk around the house. Your feet already know where you're going when you face the familiar entrance to the Camerons' Library.

This room is your most loved spot in the whole estate, apart from Rafe's room. The vast shelves of bright book covers from different times always amaze you. If you could, you'd live in this room. Rafe has found you exploring this library countless times; even his sisters know it's the first place to check when you're not around the house.

Quickly scanning the shelves for a book, you settled upon a fantasy fiction novel, clutching the book as you made your way to a couch by the window. The first few chapters had you hooked immediately, eyes rapidly passing through every word as you moved chapter by chapter. The book was so good that it blanked your other senses, making you jump when you suddenly heard Rafe's voice.

"I knew you'd be here." He smirked, still in his golfing outfit, as he stood over you.

"Hi, Rafe." You smiled up at him, putting the book down on your lap. "How's golfing?"

Rafe plopped beside you, stretching his legs and putting an arm around your shoulder. "It was good. I got bored with Top's whining about his break-up with Sarah, so I left."

You chuckled when you saw his eyes roll, a dramatic sigh escaping his lips. "They were together for a long time. You can't blame him."

"I guess." He shrugged before flashing you a flirty grin. "But I also want to spend time with my girl."

You snorted. "Yeah, okay."

"What? I do! I feel guilty about leaving you here alone." He defended.

"I don't mind, Rafe." You spoke.

"Hm. I bet you don't. But still."

You raised your brows, silently urging him to explain what he meant.

"I just mean that you were too distracted by that book, baby. I could've been an intruder, but you wouldn't even know. What is that about anyway?"

Your eyes lit up at his question; you've always loved speaking about the books you've read. And Rafe loved hearing you talk, even if he's mostly confused.

"I just started reading it, so I don't really know what it's about yet, but there's this girl, and she has electricity powers!" You started excitedly.

Rafe listened intently. He couldn't help but feel affection for you, marveling at how your eyes sparkled with passion for the story. Despite the chaotic world outside, at this moment, it was just the two of you, surrounded by the tranquility of the library.

As you continued to talk, Rafe's mind wandered, reflecting on how much you meant to him. You were the one person who could effortlessly penetrate his tough exterior, revealing the softer, more vulnerable side of him that he often kept hidden from the world. He felt at ease with you, free to be himself without fear of judgment or ridicule.

Lost in his thoughts, Rafe reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You paused mid-sentence, startled by the sudden touch, before leaning into his hand, relishing the warmth of his touch.

"Hey, what's wrong?" you asked, concern lacing your voice as you noticed the distant look in his eyes.

Rafe shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "Nothing, I'm just... happy. Happy to be here with you."

A soft blush colored your cheeks as you met his gaze, feeling the warmth spread through your chest. At that moment, surrounded by the scent of old books and the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the window, you couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

Leaning in, Rafe pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before pulling away. "I love you," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with sincerity.

"I love you too," you replied, your heart swelling with emotion as you returned his affectionate gaze.

With a contented sigh, Rafe settled back against the couch, pulling you closer until you were nestled against his side. Together, you sat in comfortable silence, basking in the simple pleasure of each other's company.

At that moment, surrounded by the familiar comforts of the library, you knew that no matter what the future held, as long as you had each other, everything would be okay.

#drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x y/n

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call-sign-shark · 11 months

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After the Storm, the Sun || Tommy Shelby x Reader

➢ Prompt "Don't you Dare" requested by @runnning-outof-time

Words: 1K (no proofreading)

If there was one thing you had never seen since your wedding with the infamous Thomas Shelby it was his smile. As both his wife and new secretary, you knew every feature of his face and how they contorted at his emotions’ discretion. Slightly, almost imperceptible. But day after day you ultimately learned how to read through the lines and catch those glimpses of faint emotions. For instance, you could tell he was mad by the way his sky blue eyes became blank and his brows slightly furrowed. That was when you knew someone had cross the line.

When it came to sadness, the change in his traits was even more subtile but nonetheless heartbreaking for observant eyes. He would avoid looking at you, rather focusing his attention on paperwork or something else as if a sole glance at your iris could break the fortress he had spent years building around his heart. All of these held no secret anymore for you — But regarding joy, you could not tell.

You started to wonder if Thomas was even able to feel happiness, or if the war, responsibilities and Grace’s death had definitely faded colors away from his life and turned it into a dull black and white movie whose ending would be definitely woeful.

Sometimes you would caught sight of a light, almost imperceptible smirk at the sharp edge of his lips — especially when Arthur would stumble on his own feet. It also happened that one time John almost choked with his toothpick after laughing too much at Finn’s clumsiness. But these short moments of innocence usually disappeared as quickly as they had appeared as if they had never really existed. Thomas’ genuine smile was a mirage and you, the thirsty and exhausted wanderer lost in the desert of his heart. At first his lack of positive emotions was mere detail, an interrogation born out of curiosity. Yet, the idea of making him smile soon became a bit too obsessive to admit. That was how you came to the decision to do everything in your power to snatch a sincere smirk off your morose husband — a silly mission John, Arthur and his young wife Heaven agreed to join in.

He did not smile when John stole clothes from Polly and made his best imitation of their Aunt, even though it was hilarious when he fell on the floor because he did not know how to walk with heels.

He did not smile when Arthur, wasted with whiskey, cut half of his mustache when he was shaving. The unfortunate event led him to shave it off and wait for it to grow back. Half of Small Heath could not recognized him for days. Let’s not be afraid to state that he cried a little.

Nor did he smile when Heaven’s gargantuan watchdog, Kaiser, jumped on her small frame, happy to see her, and shoved her right in a puddle of mud, ruining both her white hair and her expensive new coat. The expression on her face had been priceless. As well as Arthur’s silly way to run to her.

You laughed each time, almost straining your ribs, but your husband did not even smirk.

As days passed your hopes crumbled bit by bit, until you gave up on the idea. A sigh escaped your lips as you watered the roses of the mansion’s garden, for when Tommy’s darkness started to infect your mood the only place you would find peace was that place in which hundreds of wonderful flowers blossomed. Lost in an ocean of colorful petals, you did not notice the threatening black clouds that were coming your way, with an urging desire to rain down on you. When the first lightning bolt striated the sky, its roaring thunder making you jump like a scared cat, it was already too late.

You ran to the mansion, shutting the door close behind you. It was at that same moment, when you were looking down at your soaked up body with a look of pure despair on your beautiful face, that Thomas came out of the living room. His piercing blue eyes, whose quiet oceans had been darkened with memories of war, fell upon your frame. And then it happened. A little sparkle lit up in his irises at the sight of you, his wife, caught in the rain. Your entangled wet hair, your new dress sticking to your skin, your runny make up…

“The fuck are you looking at Thomas Shelby?!!”

Tommy took off his little glasses and, all of sudden, burst into laughter. The melody of joy, long forgotten, washed away the dust of his tired soul and boomed in the hallway. Laughing was so unusual for him that the corner of his mouth felt numb after a few seconds, but Tommy got the giggles and could not stop. You wanted to yell at him, to tell him it was not fun, but the beautiful symphony of his laugh awoke the flame of your love. It was the very same laugh he had before the war. Before Kimber. Before Campbell and all the other bastards… Scared of moving by fear of disrupting such a rare vision, you remained still. It was Tommy who broke down the distance between you and wrapped your hips with his strong arms, not minding to ruin his own expensive suit.

“I love your laugh. I wish I’d hear it more often.” You said with a little smile, your fingers gently caressing one of his hollow cheeks. He has been so stressed out he had barely eaten in a week.

“Well, you should get caught in the rain more.” He replied, raising an eyebrow, “You look like a wet cat.”

“Fuck you.”

“Language, Mrs. Shelby.” He leaned forward to kiss you but you denied him. Surprised, Tommy frowned and looked at you in hope of getting a reason behind your refusal, "Come on, kiss me."

“No.” You taunted him, freeing yourself from his embrace and taking a few steps back toward the closed door of the mansion.

"Don't you dare, Y/N." He warned you, for the cunning gleam in your eyes foreshadowed what you were about to do.

"Catch me, Tom!" You suddenly said, before rushing outside and running under the batting but warm summer rain. In truth, you were convinced he would not follow you.

How wrong you were.

“You bet I will.” He muttered to himself, putting his glasses on the nearest furniture before joining you in the chase.

The rain was pouring in Arrow House, but for the first time in years, sun shone bright in Thomas’ heart.

Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivated me, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

Arthur's wife is Reader in the ongoing series Heaven in Your Eyes.

#Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby imagine #Peaky blinders imagine #Peaky blinders x reader #Peaky blinders #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby smut #Thomas Shelby #Thomas Shelby x reader #Cillian Murphy #peaky blinders x y/n

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cissyenthusiast010155 · 6 months

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Bye Bi Bottom ~(s1)!Olivia Benson xFem SVUDetective!Reader

Summary— You, Jeffries, and Munch have a little debate about Olivia…

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: implied smut, fluff, kissing, top/bottom relations, betting, light teasing, etc.

Enjoy (;

“What are you saying, do you hear yourself…??” You quietly exclaimed, sitting across from John in the SVU station.

Munch threw his hands up in defense, which you quickly swatted back down to not draw attention.

“I’m just saying…,” Munch defended his claim, “Olivia… she might be top with men, Cassidy being the perfect example, but she is not one with women…”

“Are you calling Olivia a bottom, Detective…?” You whispered harshly, “She’d have your head, you know…” you warily chuckled.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong!” Munch exclaimed.

The last bit was a tad too loud unfortunately…

“Wrong about what?” Monique chimed in.

You groaned lightly, putting your hands in front of your face. You couldn’t believe this. John was quick to fill Monique in.

“Hey.” Monique said, swatting you with the file in her hand, making you look up at her from your seat, “Just ask her” she said with a mischievous smirk.

Monique said it like there was nothing to it. Like it couldn’t crush all the time you spent cultivating a professional relationship with the woman. It wasn’t that easy. Or was it…?

“Fine…” You groaned again, “I’ll ask.”

Both Monique and Munch seemed far too happy with your decision, but you didn’t have the time or headspace to think about that right now.

As five pm came around, the team started to go home. You caught Olivia on her way out of the station.

To yo ur delight, the woman happily agreed to drinks down the street. You too walked down the road to the bar together, and pretty soon, you were sat inside and sipping on some drinks.

Talking seemed to come naturally, and you to talked late into the night. Before you knew it, it was 11pm. And you still couldn’t pin point the whole reason you had asked Olivia out in the first place. It was bugging you.

But before you could even ask, the two do you were leaving the bar and about to split to go your separate ways home. Suddenly, you felt the intense urge to kiss Olivia. Before the woman could walk away, you pulled her into a kiss. She gasped, but quickly reciprocated.

After a few minutes you pulled away, and her eyes told you everything.

“I’d like to take you home…” you breathed out.

Olivia bit her lips and her cheeks went a little red.

“I’d like that…” she confessed in a whisper.

~~~

The next morning you were at the station bright and early as usual. Munch and Jeffries had been giving you suggestive glances and gazes all morning, which you simply ignored. You weren’t going to give them anything.

However, when Olivia walked into the station, late and limping, they had their answer.

Monique seemed a little vexed as she handed John cash after Olivia had walked away for the moment. John couldn’t help but chuckled lightly.

“Wait… What was that…?” You said in a low tone, not wanting to be overheard.

Munch waves the money around with a grin.

“Did you… did you bet on me…??” You said with shock and awe.

“Yep.” He said proudly, “and by the way Olivia unsuccessfully walked into the station, I won.”

Your face went a little red at his words, thinking back to the night before.

~~~

Olivia Benson Masterlist

#olivia benson #olivia benson x reader #mariska hargitay #law and order special victims unit #law and order svu #law & order special victims unit #law & order svu #law and order fanfiction #law and order fic #Olivia Benson fluff

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sehtoast · 7 months

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Forget Me Not (Homelander x Reader)

1.4k words | gender neutral reader

Ask Prompt: HL x gn reader. Where hl loses his memory and runs away to another state where he meets the reader 🙏

You were totally prepared to swing first and ask questions later. Of course, that was before you saw him. Standing there drinking from your milk carton at three in the morning, fridge light illuminating him against the darkness of your kitchen, was The Homelander himself

You hide the baseball bat before he turns to you, a droplet of milk dribbling down his chin.

“You should really invest in whole milk,” he says, sloshing what little was left inside the carton. “Tastes way better.”

You could hardly believe the night had been real when you woke up the next morning. But, sure enough, he was still there.

“So, how did I end up with The Homelander of all people in my house,” you’d asked nervously. Reality had finally set in and you both sat at the table to talk.

He looked at you like you had seven heads.

“What’s a ‘Homelander?’”

Yeah… That really did happen. If not for the fact he looked entirely serious with such a genuine curiosity in his tone, you’d have thought he was bullshitting you.

Somehow, some way, he’d lost his memory. Ran away from wherever he was, showed up at your house out of all possible others. He said it seemed more inviting, but he couldn’t quite explain why.

You’d tried to explain to him how to find his way back to New York, how to find Vought Tower so that he could go home and get some help, but he seemed too afraid to leave.

“What if I get lost?” He’d asked, eyes twinkling with nervous energy. “You said it’s north-east, but aren't there a lot of things north-east? What if I get the wrong place?”

You don’t know what possessed you, but you decided to let him stay. Let him borrow some spare clothes that made him look much less… well, like a superhero. You’re sure Vought would come looking for him eventually, so you might as well keep him safe and sound, right?

After helping him out of that suit, you can’t help but wonder if all super suits are total death traps. If most heroes are padded up to look larger than life, but are really just plain as can be underneath.

Before he falls asleep in your spare room, he tells you the one thing he can remember.

“My name’s John…”

The next day, he follows you around everywhere. You work remotely from home, and he sits next to you on the couch while you do. The TV plays in the background while you cycle through tasks and emails, but his attention seems fixed on you entirely. The clickety-clack of your keyboard fascinates him and he ends up curious as to how you type so fast, what you’re doing, what your code inputs mean.

He’s an interesting fella, curious by nature to the point he’s a total snoop. You catch him in your bedroom on the third day, fingers trailing over your blankets as his gaze pans around the whole room. It seems innocent enough, and he’s given you no reason to feel he’s out to hurt you.

When you ask him what he’s up to, he just shrugs, saying something… interesting.

“I wish I would've had a nice room when I was little…”

It conflicts with what you know to be true about him, but also makes you wonder if he’s starting to remember things. You ask him to elaborate, but he can’t. He presses his palm to his forehead as if he’s in pain and just shakes his head.

“I don’t know. I just know I didn’t…” He trails off, and you’re there to press a soothing touch to his shoulder.

You tell him not to worry too much.

You take him out grocery shopping one day. He’s like a fish out of water.

He doesn’t know the first thing about navigating a store and doesn’t do much more than follow you like a lost puppy. Hell, at the end, he doesn’t even know how to help the cashier with bagging.

He is, however, incredibly helpful when it comes to bringing everything in. He is quite literally the one trip wonder, dangling every single bag from his arms and walking in as though they weigh nothing.

You could get used to that.

You cook a proper dinner that night and he helps. Well, ‘help’ is a strong word. More like he watches and hands you the occasional ingredient.

You’re fascinated by him. He seems oblivious to normal living skills, but a part of him seems to genuinely want to learn them. More than that, he seems so… peaceful. You recall his recent erratic behaviors in the public eye, his meltdown on his birthday, his snippiness with interviewers…

But he seems so much less tense now. Maybe it was the memory loss. Maybe he just likes the quiet. Who knows?

What you do know is, by the second week, you hope he never leaves. You’re almost praying that his memory never returns despite knowing that's selfish.

It’s nice to share your space with someone. It’s nice to have him around.

He’s sweet despite his dramatics. Helpful and eager. He’s company, and it’s been… a very long time since you’ve felt like you weren’t alone. You didn’t quite live in bumfuck nowhere, but it was close enough that he was a blessing.

Your heart sinks on the day he comes downstairs wearing his suit.

He looks at you with those big blue eyes, but within them is a sadness.

There is recognition floating around in there, swirling with that determined fire that you’ve seen on so many screens before. Yet he still looks so melancholy.

You offer him his morning coffee, a shared routine between you both for the past two months, and he sips at it quietly.

He used to hate it, but now..?

“Are you going back?” You ask after some time, not daring to meet his eyes.

Your heart sinks when he tells you he is.

“I’ll miss you…”

He struggles to reciprocate the words properly, but… he leaves you with a tight hug before his departure.

You don’t know why you cry so hard when he goes. No, no…

That’s a lie. You do know.

You miss him terribly.

You miss him for days, for weeks.

You watch the celebrations for his return. You touch the screen of your laptop, wishing he was still at your side, still peering over your shoulder, still riding alongside you in your car.

But he isn’t.

And you don’t think he ever will be again.

You learn to breathe again after some time. You feel good enough to crawl out of bed, collected enough to clean up the house a little. You fall into your hobbies again, but nothing feels right.

It’s all just… dull.

And you hate that you know why.

You hate that you pray every night to hear your fridge door shutting, to hear the clinking of glass in your cabinets, to hear him step on that creaky floorboard on the steps.

But you don’t.

You don’t hear any of it.

Eventually you just stop listening.

Which means you don’t hear what slips through your window. There are no footsteps, no creaks or cracks. You don’t hear his nervous breaths.

You only feel when he lowers himself onto the other side of your bed. You about jump out of your skin, ready to reach for the bat by your nightstand until you realize just who has come to see you.

You throw yourself at him entirely, hugging him tight, arms and legs wrapping around him to squeeze and squeeze and never let go. He holds you close, nuzzling into your neck.

He tells you how much he’s missed you. That he misses the quiet of your life together, that it was the nicest thing to happen to him in… well, his whole life, really. He thanks you for taking care of him, tells you he wants to do the same for you.

Over the next few days, you have a visitor every night.

Within a few weeks, he kisses you for the first time.

After six months, you are a resident of Vought Tower, living with him in his penthouse.

He is different in this environment. More demanding, more intense, but not to you.

No.

When he comes back, when he comes home, he falls into your arms much like you did the night he came back to you. He leaves his burdens at the door, safe and sound with you.

The peace didn’t necessarily come from losing his memory. It didn’t come from the solitude of your old home, nor the routine of domesticity.

It came from you.

He found his peace with you.

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander fanfiction #antony starr #request #i couldn't let this one end on a sad note ;_; i'd cry

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6lostgirl6 · 1 year

Note

yandere john wick with “I would never hurt you. You know that, right?” he just gives off such over protective/possessive energyyy 🤭

Your Protector

Pairing: Yandere!John Wick x Fem!Reader

TW: Yandere themes, toxic themes, mentioned stalking, kidnapping, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, pet names, dubious kissing (at first), slightly suggestive. Reblogs are highly appreciated!!

It was infatuation and obsession that drove him to take such drastic measures. Ever since he saw you, he was absolutely convinced that you were meant for him. His second chance at happiness and love since the passing of his wife, Helen.

It was also fear, fear that if he didn't kidnap you, you would be somehow hurt or even killed. John has spent many nights without sleep, worried over your safety. He knew that if he didn't take action, something was bound to happen.

You never met him before, never spoke with him, and it was a shock when he finally kidnapped you. A complete stranger. The last thing you could remember was walking home from another late-night shift and being grabbed from behind. In a millisecond, your mouth was covered by a cloth and your vision went black.

When you finally came to, you realized you did not recognize your surroundings. You were resting in a lavish guest room and you were still trying to wrap your brain around what was happening. While you were gathering your bearings, a man appeared. He was standing over you by the side of the bed.

"Good morning, sweetheart." The man said with a smile, greeting you in an affectionate tone. "I hope you slept well."

At first glance, he was a very attractive man and of great wealth. His towering stature, long black hair and wearing a seemingly expensive black tailored suit.

“Who are you?” You asked in fright, staring at him with wide eyes.

“W-What’s going on?” You scooted back against the headboard, trying to maintain some distance between you and the man. “What do you want?” You continued to stare at him, fearful of what he might do.

His gaze held a disturbing mixture of kindness and menace as he looked down at you. "Don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you." He paused for a moment, as if weighing his next words carefully. "I just want to make sure that we're together. Forever."

“Who are you?” You were confused, having not ever met this strange man before in your entire life. You thought that this man was clearly delusional, could be mistaking you for someone else. He wanted the two of you to be together, but you could not understand the reasoning behind it. You needed to figure out who he is and hopefully find means of escaping.

"I'm John Wick," he says simply, leaning over you. He has this strange, almost otherworldly quality about him that's difficult to explain. A sense of danger, but not necessarily violence. He's calm and collected, but you also feel the threat of his presence. It's like looking into the eyes of a predator, one who's just been waiting for the right moment to strike. It's terrifying, yet compelling at the same time.

Noticing your fear, he slowly moved to sit on the edge of the bed, bringing himself a little more to your level of height. However, he still continued to tower over you. With slight hesitation, he reached out and placed his hand on your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your cheekbone. It's a gesture of familiarity and affection, yet there's a sense of darkness and danger to it.

"Don't be afraid, sweetheart." He said with a small smile, his intense dark-brown eyes locking onto yours. It was almost hypnotic, the way he was looking at you. Almost as if he truly knew you and for quite some time too. It left you feeling conflicted, complicated emotions infiltrating your heart.

His touch that was so gentle against your cheek, prompted your cheeks to grow a little warm. His affection was breaking down your resolve and leaving you quite nervous. Not nervous as if you were fearing for your life for feeling anxious, but rather the form of butterflies forming in your stomach and your heart in your throat.

The warmth creeping onto your face seems to embolden John, and he leans in closer to you, his hand still resting on your cheek as the other trails its way down your thigh. He stared at you, his dark eyes taking in every detail of your appearance.

"You're so beautiful.” He whispers, his warm breath fanning across your face. There's an intensity to him that's almost frightening. He appeared like a wild animal, one that could snap at any moment. It was undeniable that there was something primal about him, something you can't help but be attracted to.

You couldn’t reply, unable to form any coherent sentences from the intensity and electrifying touch of his hand on your thigh. Slowly, you were feeling less uncomfortable but rather shy from his affectionate touches. However, your walls were starting to return when you remembered that you didn't even know this man.

“John…why are you doing this? You don’t even know me.”

"Because you're mine." He replied, his gaze was intense and there was undeniable heat in his voice. It was more than enough to make you feel a little dizzy. Almost as if you were falling into some dark abyss. There's no question that this man is dangerous, but you can't help feeling drawn to him. He exudes a primal, dangerous energy that is almost addictive, and you find yourself craving more of his attention and touch.”And I do know you, I know everything about you, (Y/N).”

You glanced towards the door, noticing that it was left open. Your logical side was screaming for you to wake up and understand that you were involved with something, someone, extremely dangerous. In that second, you were broken out of your spell.

You hesitate before launching yourself from the bed in an attempt to escape.

John's smile fades as you attempt to flee, his expression turning dark and deadly. Without even seeming to move, he blocks the door, his body looming over you like a shadow of death.

"Don't." He says, his voice low and dangerous. “You'll only make this harder for yourself, sweetheart." His eyes are cold and calculating, but there's also a strange desire behind them.

One that's both terrifying and alluring.

With wide eyes, you backed away, feeling small in comparison to his looming figure and his predatory stance. The size difference between you two was incredible. You continued to keep your distance, placing yourself between furniture.

With slow and deliberate steps, he follows you around the room, seemingly getting closer with each passing moment. He had the patience of an animal on the verge of a hunt. You can feel his eyes on you, tracking your every move. When he speaks again, his voice is calm, but there's something dangerous hidden beneath the surface. He's like a calm sea hiding the storm underneath.

"You can't get away from me, sweetheart." He begins to move closer again, this time grabbing your wrist and holding it tight, his grasp like iron. "You belong to me."

“Yeah, right!” You struggled, trying to rip your wrist away from his grasp, he could only stare at you in slight amusement and anger. “I don’t belong to you or anyone! Nothing you will ever do will make me think otherwise!”

He raises an eyebrow and smirks at you, before he replies.

"Alright then."

Without warning, he pulls you towards him, kissing you passionately. His body is firm and strong, holding you tightly in his arms. His kiss is passionate and intense, like he's pouring all of his feelings and desires into it. The kiss was passionate and borderline possessive, trying to make you submit and accept him as your lover and protector. His grip around your wrist and waist is tight, becoming a little painful. You’re completely at his mercy and helpless in his arms.

You gasp from the sudden kiss, feeling intense emotions swirling within you and making your heart skip a beat. After a small moment, you began to return the kiss, thoughts of escaping melting from your mind. He also seemed to relax more into the kiss, it turning softer and loving, feeling that you were slowly but surely returning his affections. He pulls away after a moment, staring at you with a hungry and passionate gaze.

"Are you convinced?" He asks, his voice low and husky, his gaze very heated and full of immense desire. He's still holding you tightly in his arms, not letting you go anywhere. He simply couldn't get enough of you. It's adamant that this animal has a lot of pent-up desire and passion. Now, he was looking forward to releasing it all onto you.

"Y-Yes..." You muttered, your brain currently in a state of mush. You simply looked up at him with wide eyes, your cheeks warm from the intensity of his affections.

Slowly, he released your wrist, bringing his hand up to caress your cheek, his thumb brushing just underneath your eye. His touch was gentle and even a little soothing. He looked into your eyes, his heated stare now full of softness towards you. “I would never hurt you. You know that, right?” His voice, similar to his touch, was also full of softness.

“Y-Yes…” Your resolve was completely demolished, he has successfully twisted your feelings around and made your heart scream out for more of his attention. Thoughts of finding a way to escape barely crossed your mind, your logical side slipping further away from your grasp.

You simply didn’t care.

"Good." He whispers, his voice was husky once more, full of want and desire for you.

With another powerful pull, he brings you into another kiss, one that is even more passionate than the first one. Knowing that you finally submitted left him with an animalistic excitement. He's hungry for you, almost starving for your touch and affection, and you can barely keep up with his ravenous desires. His excitement continued to grow, his grip on you tightening as he held you in his arms.

"You're mine now, my love." He continues, his eyes glistening with desire.

Spam Liking W/O Reblogging = Blocked

Taglist: Comment to be added!!

@prettywhenibleed

#john wick #john wick series #john wick fanfiction #john wick fanfic #john wick headcanons #john wick imagines #john wick x fem!reader #yandere!john wick x fem!reader #john wick x reader #yandere john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #yandere john wick x y/n #john wick x you #yandere john wick x you #yandere john wick #yandere #male yandere #keanu reeves

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adnauseum11 · 4 months

Text

Misfire (John Price x Reader)

A little snippet of a scene came to me and made me laugh. John Price having a crush on a long time friend and finally working up the nerve to ask her out. Kinda.

less than 1k words

John Price x fem! reader

SFW

feedback welcome

I know almost nothing of CoD other than fanfic so go easy on me

I wouldn't know how to write shy and retiring if my life depended on it.

You’ve known John forever. Like, forever, forever. The friend group he originated from disintegrated years ago, but the two of you remained thick as thieves. He’s moved in and out of the country, and you’ve changed careers a few times, but through it all he’s been a reliable shoulder to lean on. He’s the first person you call when you need help moving for the millionth time, and he, good man that he is, turns up with beer and willing hands as soon as he’s available. If he grumbles about your proclivity for changing apartments so often you know it comes from a place of concerned affection. If anything, he’s pleased you’re closer to his bachelor pad now, negating the need to drive across town twice on game nights. God forbid you ride a bus for twenty-five minutes when he could deliver you to your doorstep in fifteen. He's retired from the Army, and still takes safety a little too seriously for your tastes. You indulge him though, because who actively chooses the bus when other, more pleasant options are available?

When he asks you to dinner, you agree without even blinking. You reason there must be a rugby game on or something he wants to see. You don’t even ask where to meet him, assuming, correctly, that he will pick you up. So, you are caught off guard when he turns up in your entrance way wearing a button-down shirt, suit jacket and dress pants. He too, is caught off guard. You look down at your outfit in unison. Bootcut jeans, well-worn Blundstone boots and a ratty but beloved faded t-shirt that cheerfully proclaims “IDAHO? No, you da ho” across the chest in cursive script.

“Uh… what are you wearing?” He asks, cautiously.

“Me? What are YOU wearing?” Totally confused now, you can’t help but feel a little saucy about being put on your back foot.

“I asked you to dinner, didn’t I?”

John’s accent gets stronger when he’s caught up in strong emotions. That really should have been your first clue. But this is John. John.

“Yeah, why are you all dressed up for beers? What game is on tonight anyways?”

You throw him a look like he’s gone slow on the uptake as you reach for your coat. When you turn to look at him with your purse strap slung over your shoulder, he’s looking as confused as you feel.

“Game? Love, who said anything about beers?”

“Wait, we aren’t going for beers?” Disappointment creeps into your voice and you can see you have managed to flummox the normally unflappable John.

“Bleedin’ Jesus, I mean, we can have beers if ye want, sure. I just uh…”

He lets the sentence hang, clearly uncertain.

“You what?” You prompt, vaguely concerned at his out of character behaviour.

“I made reservations at Stella del Mare.” He admits in a rush.

“You did what? This isn’t… beers? Is this… are we on a date?” The slow realization finally takes hold and a spiral of panic begins to descend through your body. “They won’t let me in like this!”

“Uh, no. No. They sure won’t.”

He agrees easily with the second half of your statement while staring at your chest and dodging the first. You narrow your eyes at him. This isn’t your first rodeo with John’s evasiveness.

“How much time do I have?”

“Including travel time, or…?”

“John. If this is how you start all your first dates, I can see why you don’t have many second ones.”

“’Bout 15 minutes love.”

He answers seriously, properly chastised.

You whip your purse over your head and slap it against his wide chest, catching him off guard. He holds it in place while you sling your coat off and dash upstairs again.

He’s still in the same position when you return back down the steps, having swapped jeans for a black skirt and your (hilarious but wildly) inappropriate t-shirt for a silk, V-neck emerald blouse with cap sleeves. You’ve pulled your hair back into a simple bun and slicked on a light layer of neutral makeup and a deep red lip. John’s eyebrows climb as he catches a glimpse of you but he waits until you’re picking up your coat again before he speaks.

“Listen, you look beautiful. I – “

“Can it, I’m still annoyed at you for the moment.”

You take the purse out of his hands and slide the strap over your shoulder, smacking his big bicep playfully as you push him out the door and into the night. You resolve to question him thoroughly about his poor communication skills at dinner as you lock up. Wasn’t he in charge of people in the army? Christ.

#john price #john price x reader #john price x you #call of duty #long time lurker first time poster #captain john price #john price cod #fanfic

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maryangelex · 3 months

Note

Please, please, please.

I am requesting an Ex!husband John price/ Fem!reader, where they divorce and he’s absolutely devastated by it, grovels and upset that he lost the love of his life, and then years later by circumstances are in force proximity with each other and have to deal with communicating all their grievances and then bam heated smut and pent up frustrations at each other, and then get back together.

Thank you so much and I really appreciate you! But it’s also okay if you skip my request :)

a/n: anon how could i possibly leave this delectable prompt unanswered!!?!?!?! i have literally been saving this one for almost last because i need to use 110% of my prune brain its so amazing. one thing about me is...im a whore for ex-husband!price *clutches pearls* im sorry for making ya wait, i hope you love it!!!

this is gonna be a long one!

c/w: ex-husband!price, make-up sex, forced proximity, quickie, against a wall, p in v, creampie, john price yearns for his pretty wife

It hadn't been easy, no divorce is easy, really. Much less when it was something you didn't really want to do, but more so saw yourself as needing to do. The nights without John had gotten too lonely, his side of the bed had gotten too cold. You thought the times he was back would make up for the times he wasn't. When John came back from deployment it felt like a coin toss: sometimes it was your honeymoon all over again, but other times he was cold and distant.

You had two kids in tow; two kids that needed their father. You were a wife that needed her husband just as much. You don't blame him for not being there of course. After all, you owed it all to him; all you ever wanted he got for you, he provided you a house to raise your children in, to grow old in. He gave you nothing but unconditional love. That's what made everything harder when you decided you couldn't do this anymore. You couldn't keep hoping he'd come home to be his normal self every time just to be met with the shell of the man you fell in love with.

You knew it wasn't his fault, you knew his line of work. But having to be alone the majority of the year plus having to still be alone when he was around had gotten to you, it had become too much. And John knew this. When you told him through sobs and wails that you couldn't do this anymore, that you felt hopeless and alone and like this was the only remedy, he understood. He had packed his things and left without a fuss, leaving you the house and renting an apartment barely a drive away. He tried to make it as simple as possible, arranging to stay with the kids every weekend and more if you needed time for yourself. His silence and compliance to separate felt like more of a dagger in your chest than the reason to separate to begin with. You wished he had fought for you, that he had yelled at you and argued with you to stay and fix this.

Little did you know that when he found himself in the empty single-bedroom apartment he rented himself he did nothing but cry like a neglected child for hours until his eyes stung and couldn't physically push out any more tears. John Price was a man made of stone and yet he found himself clutching his chest as he sobbed for his wife nearly every night and every lonesome morning. He kicked himself for not fighting for you, as well. He blamed himself for having to come to this in the first place, for leaving you alone and not knowing how to cope well enough to be the very best of himself when he came back from grueling missions. For not being able to look you in the eyes after losing a man, for not being able to open up to you and cry like this in front of you when he needed to let it out of his chest, for not making love to you like a tending husband should at his wife's every whim.

He felt like the consequences of choosing his career had finally caught up to him, and losing you was his penance.

The two of you finalized your divorce quietly and without struggle, feeling like it only drove the knife deeper into your chest. You settled on the kids seeing John every other weekend and he'd be more than welcome back home to be present as their father. Because that was the thing about John: he may have not seen himself as a good man (not good enough for you, for sure) but you both knew he was the best father your kids (and you) could ever ask for.

It's been a year since your divorce; John had been living in his separate flat whilst you and the kids stayed home. He'd come every week, and take the kids every other weekend. Now your oldest's birthday was a few days away and who were you to deprive him of coming? After he had been doing such a good job at not crossing your boundaries, at being a loving father and giving you every bit of warmth and kindness and love that he gave you when you were still together...the more you listed these things the more your heart ached and you doubted yourself. The more you realized you still loved him.

On the day of your kid's birthday, he made sure to get there extra early to help you set up the place. He bought the necessary supplies, picked up the cake from the bakery, and set up the chairs and balloons. Hell, you barely lifted a finger. And of course, he was more than happy to do everything and anything for you with that cheek-pulling smile of his. As the party went on and the house filled with guests and wild kids running about, you scrambled around the house to make sure no one needed anything. That's when John intervened.

"Everythin' alright, hon? Been runnin' round the house like mad," his voice was sweet like honey as he entered the garage, where you were taking out can after can of soda from the spare fridge and into the cooler with ice you brought with you. You didn't turn to look at him as you sighed in exasperation, but you could feel John just a few steps behind you.

"Just making sure everyone's got something to drink...the sodas've run out in the cooler outside and--"

"Everyone's havin' a good time, love," John cut off your rambling with a light chuckle, the rumbling of his voice making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. He interjected by taking the cooler from your hands "Let me get that for you," he said, lifting the heavy plastic for you. You sighed again and brought the back of your hand to rub your forehead. You finally looked up to meet his eyes, which were gazing at you with so much adoration it made your stomach twist.

"John..." you started, and he responded with a furrow of his brows and a silent question. "Please don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Like you still love me," you blurted, and the beat your heart skipped let you know you physically regretted saying that, instantly.

John's lips pressed into a thin line as he paused for a moment in silence.

"I do still love you," he confessed. You shook your head in disbelief and scoffed.

"John, please, it's our kid's birthday," you dismissed as you turned on your heel and made your way to the door except-

Right, you now remembered why it was a rule in your house this past year to not close the garage door: the lock was busted. You gripped the knob firmly and gave it one, two, three harsh tugs, hoping to somehow force the door open. You banged the door with your fist in frustration, hoping maybe someone heard it on the other side but all you heard was the music playing on the other side.

"Let me have a go," John said, placing the cooler down and tugging just as harshly, even slamming his shoulder against it to see if it would budge, but nothing. You and John were trapped in your garage. You let out a groan and a quiet curse as you pinched the bridge of your nose with a hand on your hip.

John placed a hand on your bicep. They were cold from the ice but the squeeze and rubbing of his thumb on your skin was filled with warmth.

"S'alright, take a breather, hon," he said tenderly, "they'll miss us soon enough to come lookin' in here."

You nodded as you stepped away from his touch. You never stopped John from still using terms of endearment for you, it never felt like a big deal. You were frustrated from the party, the perfectionist in you wanting nothing but to give your kids the best party, and now you were locked up in the garage. To make matters worse, you were locked up in here with your ex-husband who just said he still loves you.

"I meant what I said, love," his voice was barely a whisper but it still brought you out of your thoughts.

"John..." you warned.

"No, I mean it," his tone rose, firmer this time, "I still fuckin' love you, baby."

"Well, it's too late for that now, isn't it? You're gonna make an effort now, John, a year later?"

John was silent, pleading blue eyes gazing at you, the muscles in his jaw tensing.

"You didn't fight for us, John. You didn't fight for me." your finger pointed to your chest firmly as you looked back at him with tear-filled eyes.

"I know, baby, I know," his voice shook in his throat, "I should've fought for us... I should've been a better husband to you, better dad for the kids I-- I should've just been there."

You were quiet as you choked on a quiet sob, the tears escaping down your cheeks.

"I haven't stopped loving you for a second, my only regret in life is not having fought harder for you, having let go of you so easily - fuck," you watched the tears prick his eyes as he stepped closer to you. His palm came to cup your cheek and his thumb wiped away the tear staining your cheeks.

"I failed you. I just...please, baby, I just want one more chance to be a better man for you... I just want my girl back." His tone was soft as if he was reciting a prayer kneeling at a pew. His other hand came to the other side of your face, tucking your hair behind your ear before it cupped your other cheek alike.

You sobbed and brought your hands up to his wrists, shaking your head lightly, knowing all you really wanted was to forgive him despite your denial.

His forehead pressed against you as he whispered once more, "Please, baby..."

"John..." you tried

The tip of his nose rubbed against yours, "Please," he repeated, "be my pretty wife again...be mine again, yeah?" His lips brushed against yours and his hands were firm on your cheeks. You sobbed one more time before his lips pressed against yours, slotting together like two pieces of a puzzle. And fuck, you melted as your lips met.

His lips against yours just felt so right; they were your husband's lips, after all. They were made for yours and yours were made for his, that's why you knew you were so perfect for each other. The way he kissed you made your chest break into a million pieces because you just missed him so much.

The hold on his wrists became limp and you didn't resist - you couldn't resist his kiss because you wanted it so desperately, you've wanted it for this entire past year.

Your mouth moved with his, lips clashing and caressing against each other, teeth clicking together with the force of your desperate kisses, your tongues hungrily pressing their way into each others' mouths. John's hand slid to the back of your head, fingers snaking into your hair and raking through your scalp. You hummed into his mouth at the feeling.

Your hands slid up his back, balling into fists over his shoulder blades and gripping the fabric of his shirt as if you'd lose him again if you didn't hold him firm enough. You held him impossibly close to you as he did the same, your bodies familiarly molded to each other.

You felt John step forward as he still kissed you, backing you up into the nearest wall and it made the heat in your core ignite like a bonfire. When you felt the cold wall against your body, you pried your mouth away from his to gasp a breath but it wasn't half a second later before he captured your lips again. His hands slid down the frame of your body, pawing at your chest and curves before eagerly bunching up the skirt of your dress around your hips. You scrambled to his belt, clumsily and hurriedly doing your best to unbuckle it and undo his pants.

He scoured under your dress to tug your underwear down your thighs with messy urgency. His lips sloppily and wetly trailed up and down your chest and neck before finding their way back to your mouth.

Your hand palmed his hardened length through his boxers and he groaned into your mouth. One of his hands took hold of yours and stuffed it in his boxers to stroke his aching cock as you both panted between kisses.

"All yours, darling," he groaned as he guided your hand stroking his cock, "forever fuckin' will be yours."

And you whined at his words, or maybe at the way his other hand snaked between your legs, fingers wetting themselves with the slick pooled between your folds before pressing into your hole. He pumped his fingers in and out, making you reminisce on how those thick digits have made you feel so good in the past.

You moaned his name like a prayer, pleading for him to fuck you because you needed him. You've needed him for a fucking year and couldn't wait a second longer.

John would give you anything and everything, he always has. So he wasted no time in removing his fingers from your pussy, coating his cock in the slick they collected, and using his other hand to hike your leg up around his waist.

You braced yourself against the wall and with your hands against his shoulders as he practically lifted you off your feet and insert his girthy, swollen cock inside of you. You moaned unabashedly at the way he split you open as he bottomed out.

"So perfect...my perfect wife," he breathed, "made just for me, baby." His fingers dug into the flesh of your thigh and you were sure it would bruise the same way your nails clawing through his shirt were sure to leave crescents on his skin.

John pumped his cock in and out of you slowly but firmly for a few strokes before picking up the pace. His rhythm was relentless as he fucked up into you, pistoning his hips and making your skin clap against each other.

You threw your head back as you whined and moaned at the feeling of the head of his cock bullying against your cervix. Thank god for the music outside.

John hiked up your other leg, wrapping both around his waist as he fucked you against the wall hard and needy. His eyes looked deep into your teary ones, not breaking away to not miss the gorgeous sight of his pretty wife getting fucked by him after so long. He moaned at just the look on your face, at the way your walls gripped him like a vice.

"Look at you... never lettin' go of somethin' so beautiful," he practically slurred, his rhythm becoming sloppy and desperate as he chased his high, and he knew you were close too.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and took his mouth into another starved kiss. Your hands tugged at the hair on the back of his head and you let him fuck you with the same longing and desire as the first time.

You chanted his name between breathy moans as you climbed up to your climax. John was a mumbling mess of endearments and sweet nothings as he kept thrusting hard and sloppy into your squelching pussy.

"I love you, John," you choked out through tears, not knowing if it was from the pleasure he was giving you or from the overwhelming emotion being with your husband again was making you feel.

"I fuckin' love you more, dove," he accentuated his words with thrusts until he felt your walls clamp around his length and watched as you wailed and sobbed out more moans, sending him into his own climax with just a few more pumps shortly after. You were sure you'd bear him a third child with the way his cum seeped out of you.

He rested his sweat-coated forehead against yours as you both panted. You were a flushed mess against the wall, limbs liquefied and throat raw. John slowly let you down with the utmost care in the world, gently holding you up on your feet like you were a delicate porcelain doll.

You held each other close as he peppered soft kisses on your face, the same way he'd always done after sex when you were married. John Price, always the gentleman.

You basked in the afterglow as you gazed at each other, love filling John's wide dark pupils. It was hard for you to hide the smile that tugged at your lips and it made John chuckle, thumb rubbing your cheek lovingly.

Then, you heard the rattling of the door and you quickly stood up straight and collected yourself up on your feet the best you could. Kyle, or Uncle Gaz as your kids coined him, and the other two men had burst through the lodged garage door.

"Oi, how long you two been locked here?" he questioned.

"Aye, we been callin' youse for half 'n hour," the Scott quipped behind him.

John scolded them for not acting quicker if they were so worried, and scowled at the way the younger two had shit-eating grins plastered on their faces. He dismissed them as he picked up the cooler, which was now more full of water than ice, and shot you a look.

You chided at his smirk with your bright red cheeks.

"This mean I can move back in?" he teased.

"We'll see, John" you fought back a smile.

#cod mw2 #call of duty mwii #cod fanfic #fanfic #john price #anon ask #anon request #thanks anon!#price mw2 #captain john price #captain price #price #price x reader

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bettyfrommars · 6 months

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Santa Comes Once a Year

biker!eddie x fem!reader

I had a request from the amazing @idkidknemore for "biker Eddie dressed up as Santa, railing reader on his motorcycle sleigh" and I also wanted some Eddie as Santa action for the Holiday Prompt Party I am doing with @allthingsjoeq he is not a mall Santa in this, but still.

wc: 2.7k

18+ONLY, smut, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, talk of cheating (on Mrs. Claus), roleplay, creampie, fingering, bit of spanking, ton of cliche phrases, sexualizing Santa, secret sex I guess? but it's just pretend, semi-public sex if you squint.

summary: you go to the Lighted Farm Implement show for the first time with Robin and Oliver to see what Eddie and Steve have cooked up for the parade. Afterwards, Santa takes you back to his place in his towtruck sleigh and wants to give you some cream with your cookies.

author's note: This can absolutely be enjoyed as a smutty standalone, but some elements of I'm on Fire are mentioned, including Robin raising Steve's son Oliver with him since he was a baby, and the fact that biker Eddie runs his own towing/mechanic business.

This was your first time attending the night time Lighted Farm Implement parade in Hawkins, and you weren’t sure what that even meant until Robin explained it to you.

“You know, Farm Implements. They decorate them with Christmas lights and throw candy for the kids.”

For some reason, all you could picture were shovels and snippers dancing through the street like some magical Beauty and the Beast scene.

Robin’s cheeks were rosy and she had Oliver in her arms, a navy Columbia fleece zipped up to her chin. Mother and son each had matching, fuzzy blue ear muffs on. She noticed your confused expression as the three of you walked up the street from where you parked.

“Tractors, backhoes, dumptrucks, cement mixers,” she gave a few examples and your face lit up in recognition. “There will also be buses, a few 18-wheelers, and a tractor bed with the Mayor on it.”

The big, shiny black tow truck from Munson’s Garage was in the parade too, and you were curious to see what Eddie and the guys had done to it. Your boyfriend had been asked to dress as one of the Santa’s that year, and you’d switched evenings at the Velvet Hammer with Jackie just so you could witness this miracle of the season, being that Eddie wasn’t a huge fan of Christmas.

He mostly did it for Oliver, to see the wonder on his face when Santa knew his name, and that year specifically, he was doing it for you. He wanted to impress you by being the star of the show.

Everyone from town lined the streets and cheered as the Hawkins high school band trumpeted down the lane to officially begin the parade with cheerleaders punching pompoms in the air at the front. Robin put Oliver down and you all moved through the crowd to get closer to the action. .

Behind the band was a green John Deere bulldozer all decked out in colorful bulbs and an arc of gingerbread people up the back. The owner of the local grocer drove a 1945 Chevy truck with Christmas trees in the back and a person dressed like an elf in the passenger seat tossing out chocolate bars. A few skidded close to Oliver and he lurched to grab them with an excited scream.

Each vehicle had its own music playing, and the next yellow backhoe with a santa in the bucket and adorned with snowflake lights was blaring Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree by Brenda Lee. They threw some lollipops out, and this time you rushed to snatch a few for Ollie so that he wouldn’t have to go too far out into the street.

You were distracted watching the mammoth equipment vehicle pass when you heard Oliver screech and point, “Daddy!”

Your head snapped and there was Eddie’s tow truck, blinking with what seemed like a billion white twinkle lights with a pine wreath on the grill, and a person hanging off the side of the truck dressed as…a goat? Or was it Father Time?

Oliver recognized Steve immediately, and when he spotted his son, he jumped down from the step up to the cab with a sack of candy in his hand and came jogging over. As he got closer, you tried to make out his costume, but came up with nothing. He was wearing his typical biker attire with his Coffin Kings leather cut on over a hooded sweatshirt and black jeans, but the faux beard he had on was long and thin down to his belly button, and it was gray, not white. He wore sunglasses and a black fedora.

He ran to give Ollie the bag of candy while the tow truck rolled by at a snail pace.

“Are you Biker Santa?” You asked, sneaking a look at the sexy Santa in a red hat behind the steering wheel of the tow who was waving to get your attention. You blew Eddie a kiss and he made the gesture of catching it in the air.

Steve held his arms out as he trotted backwards to get back on his ride. “I’m one of the guys from ZZ Top!” He shouted, as if it should’ve been obvious.

You shared a look with Robin. “Don’t ask,” she mumbled.

They were towing a wrecked car behind them with what appeared to be four reindeer holding cans of beer, each hanging out a window. The song Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer played cheekily from speakers that were mounted on the lift.

All three of you cheered and screamed for the rest of the show, and by the time two clowns in tiny toy trucks brought up the rear, you felt a warm body press up against your backside and you tilted your head back into the squish of a white, fluffy beard.

“Ho ho ho,” Eddie whispered against the shell of your ear making your body tingle from the warmth of his breath. “I hear you’re the naughtiest girl in town.”

He stepped away and tapped Ollie on the shoulder, taking on a deep, jolly voice. “And who is this good little boy?”

Oliver had the white stem of a sucker sticking out of his mouth when he turned. “Oh hi Uncle Eddie,” he managed, sucking back purple saliva.

Eddie straightened to full height, his eyes falling on Robin with a blink of sadness, but she only shrugged. “He’s getting wise to the world, what can I say?”

You turned to melt into your boyfriend’s chest, feeling the bit of padding he had on his belly under the soft faux fur accents of his red velvet coat. There was a little jingle bell on the end of his Santa hat, and you flicked it with your finger. You pushed him back through the crowd, off to the sidewalk and into the shadows, making him back up as you went.

“So,” you made sure no one was around before you slid your hand between his legs. “Is this the official Yule Log, or are you just happy to see me?”

You could barely find his mouth under the synthetic mustache, and then you giggled and sputtered on a stiff Santa hair.

He yanked the beard down with a tug of his fist, stretching the elastic band that held it in place, so that it was under his chin and pulled you in again, returning your kiss so deep that a small groan escaped you.

“You wanna get out of here?” he said in a rush, and then he nudged your nose with his. “Come sit in my sleigh with me?”

Steve was reunited with his family by then, with Oliver up on his shoulders, and you checked to see the three of them head off in the opposite direction, possibly to Robin’s car. You were all planning to meet back up at their place to make cookies in an hour, so you had a window of time.

Back in the cab of the tow truck that was parked down the street, Eddie pulled the pillow stuffing out from under his coat and flipped the heat on high, but it almost wasn’t needed because the makeout session that ensued made the windows fog up. You took his hat and beard off and tossed them on the dash so that you could finally have your hands around that face that you loved so much, squirming to get closer to him. He had his hair tied up in the back and you released the band so that his locks fell around his shoulders.

“If I’d known this would get you going baby, I would’ve put the beard on earlier,” he huffed.

You flicked your tongue out to tease him a few times. “I need you inside of me, Santa. No one will know, it will be our secret,” and you were just about to kick your leg over to straddle his lap when you both realized that there were people walking right next to the vehicle on the sidewalk.

“Let’s get out of here, Mistress,” Eddie kissed your cheek. “Take this back to the garage, finish what we started.”

You sat back, giving him a raised brow as he shifted the monster vehicle into gear. “Oh, you think I’m just going to give it up when and wherever you want?”

“I think you’ll do whatever I tell you to do,” he said over his shoulder, watching for traffic before pulling into the street. “I’m Santa.”

—-----

You sat right next to him the whole way there, like lovers do, with his hand on your thigh. He still had the wrecked car with the beer-guzzling reindeer statues inside, so he was careful on the turns, while festive bystanders honked and waved.

At the Munson Garage compound, Eddie thought he would unhook the wrecked car from the crane, but there wasn’t time for that—he could feel your arousal dampening your jeans. Parking in the furthest garage would have to do.

“Get over here, naughty girl,” he licked his lips and opened his Santa jacket to reveal two black suspenders over a white t-shirt, and then he undid the suspenders to move his hand down to fist himself.

Your boots were off and your jeans at your knees when the sight of the tip of his glistening pink tip freed from his wholesome attire made you pause to touch yourself, putting your back against the opposite door with your legs spread so he could watch.

It was dim in the roomy cab of the truck, but Eddie could still see the wet spot on your red underwear where you worked your fingers and he bit out a curse.

“You heard me,” his tone was stern. “I said get that beautiful ass over here and sit on Santa’s cock.”

You didn’t bother taking your underwear off as you kicked your jeans away and scrambled over, giggling when he pushed his red pants down a bit more to show the mistletoe print on his boxers. Your head hit the roof of the cab, but then you were finally squatting in his lap, teeth hitting as you fumbled into position.

He was quick to reach down between the two of you and move your panties to the side so that he could rub his knuckle up and down your slippery clit.

He puffed out a chest full of air. “Goddamn was it the beard or the whole thing?”

“Just you,” you lifted up, pushing his hair back to cup your hands on either side of his throat. “I’ve been aching for you all night, Santa. Waiting for you to come down my chimney.”

Eddie shivered, reaching to line his tip up with you. “Why is this so hot, holy shit,” he chuckled softly.

But then he was inside of you, and you sank down an inch with a cry, arousal dripping down his length.

His mouth pressed into the side of yours. “Did you miss me all year? You want to be a bad girl for me now?”

“That’s why you come to my house, isn’t it Santa?” You gasped. “Because you want to fuck me? I’m your favorite.”

Eddie hissed and threw his head back as you bottomed out. You could feel the faux fur from the top of his pants ticking your taint. “You know I always come back for you, because you take me so good, fuck—-”

You rocked your hips, squeezing that important muscle as you went. “Better than Mrs. Claus?”

Eddie gripped your ass and pulled your cheeks apart with his strong, calloused fingers, thrusting up to meet you, smacking against your wetness. “Better than anyone, fuck. I dream about this all year. Landing my sleigh in Hawkins so I can bury myself in your tight, wet cunt.”

You were both breathing heavy, sweat trickling down your necks, while a few snow flurries danced into the garage.

You reached a hand down to work two fingers at your clit. Every word you said was against his lips: “I want some cream with my cookies, please Santa.”

“Yeah?” Eddie huffed, rolling his hips in his seat so that you could feel every inch of his cock, making you whine a string of obscenities. “What else do you want, huh? You want me to fill you up all night, so my cream drips out of you on Christmas day?”

He spanked your asscheek with a thwack and you arched back. “Yes Santa, please, ruin me so I only fuck myself to thoughts of you.”

“I’m about to cum,” Eddie breathed, and your mouths met in a frenzy of tongues and moans. He could feel you throb around him.

“So soon, Santa?” You teased.

“Shhhhh,” he took hold of your throat and planted his booted feet to thrust up into, taking you for a ride.

You put your forehead to his and bounced a few more times, and then you froze, mouth open in a silent scream as the wave began to crash.

“That’s my baby,” he held you in that position and continued to buck up to bury himself inside over and over. “Cum for Santa, let me feel it.”

Your eyes rolled back in your head as you exploded around him, whimpering and twitching.

The back of your heel kicked up and accidentally flipped a switch on the dash, making all of the Christmas lights on the truck blaze on, and Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer blared from the speakers.

You clung to Eddie while he came, shuddering at how good it felt but also

In a few seconds, you were both grinning, shoulders bobbing with laughter as the song seemed to herald in your mutual releases.

The windows of the cab were completely fogged up, and between that and the music, neither of you heard anyone enter the garage until there was a bang on the driver’s side door.

“What the—?” Eddie scowled, and you were already scampering off of him, snatching clothing from the floorboard to cover yourself.

Eddie tucked himself back into the huge wet spot on his pants and wiped condensation off of the glass so that he could see who it was. He was about to be angry, thinking it was one of the other mechanics about to give him shit or try to get a peek at you

but it was Steve.

The truck was lifted and the windows up too high for him to see in, but still Eddie checked to make sure you were decent before he rolled the window down. He leaned over to switch off the lights and the music. You gave a nod as you wrapped your coat around your waist.

“Hey,” Eddie wiped some hair out of his face, trying to act casual. “What up? Everything okay?”

Steve had his long beard in his hand, hugging himself, shivering against the cold, with the fedora pulled snug to his ears. “Did you forget you were going to give me a ride? I just walked halfway across town. Slipped and fell on the fucking ice twice.”

Eddie dropped his forehead to his fist. “Shit sorry man I—-why didn’t you go with Robin?”

“Because I told her I was riding back with you to unhook the rig,” Steve sounded annoyed, teeth chattering, and you didn’t blame him, but still you stifled a giggle into your arm.

“Tried to call Astrid from a payphone, and she’s not answering, so now I’ve got blisters from these stupid elf boots that Robbie made me buy.”

Eddie pulled his lips in over his teeth to contain his amusement.

“It’s not funny, dude,” Steve said, but then he caught a glimpse of you in the cab and you gave an apologetic grimace. “Oh okay, I get it. Forgiven. But can we get this shit over with so we can get out of here? Robin doesn’t know how to work an oven and she’ll probably burn the place down before we get there.”

Eddie stretched across the cab to kiss you. “Stay in here, keep warm. I’ll put the Chevelle around when we’re done.”

“Go help your ZZ Top elf, Kris Kringle,” you shoved him playfully, but then he held his face there and hummed until you kissed him again.

You pulled your jeans up, eager to keep Santa’s gift from spilling out.

---------

I'm on Fire taglist:

@notsobubblybaby @unfocused81 @aysheashea @etherealglimmer@manicmagicmayhem @dream-a-little-nightmare@chaoticgood-munson @emxcast @rhirojo @bexreadstoomuch @micheledawn1975 @falling-solar-system@secretdryrose

@whatwedontdointheshadows @miarosso @seventhlevelofhell @corrodedcoffincumslut @lofaewrites @goldyghoul @chloe-6123 @kelsiegrin @chelebelletx @stylesxmunson @kurdtbean@dandelionnfluff @clincallyonline17 @tlclick73 @eddiemunson95 @sidthedollface2 @hideoutside @truffleshuffle12 @tenthmoon @texasblues@emilyslutface@mmunson86@onegirlmanytales@laylaloves-ed@dashingdeb16@eddiiiieeee @ick90 @dashingdeb16 @polyestermonster @trixyvixx @atomickaratel8dy @kiyastrf94 @allthingsjoeq @eddiesxangel @razzieth @corrodeddeadlydoll @erinekc @angietherose @sllooney @writinginthetwilight @moonbeamsandmayhem @brianamunson92 @joannamuns9n @bellalillyrose @alba8688 @chevelle724 @chaoticgood-munson

#Eddie Munson #biker Eddie Munson #biker!eddie #towtruck!eddie #I'm on Fire #Santa Comes Once a Year #biker!steve #holiday fic #Eddie munson smut #santa smut

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jolieblack · 16 days

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Something finally came to me! (I usually can’t write to prompts to save my life.)

May Prompts 2024 by @calaisreno

May 24th: Imperfect

We've always done things the wrong way round.

We moved in together at a time when we knew no more than four or five facts about each other. Significant facts, granted, such as John being a war veteran and me having no patience with idiots, but neither of us could have claimed to have had anything even close to the full picture at the time. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if either of us had. Only on my really bad days, though.

I don’t have all that many of those any more, luckily. And when I do, I have plenty of good memories to help me pull myself up again. Take the ones of how we confessed our love to each other to a beautifully decorated room full of people in festive dress and in even more festive spirit, to much applause and cheering and well-wishing. Yes, you heard that plural right. Those are two separate memories, years apart and in two different places. I got to go first, and it wasn’t even me who was getting married at the time. That’s another thing that most couples would do differently. Coordinate it a bit better, at least.

The second time around, as a lot of you will remember well, it was John's turn to talk, and I‘d been told in no uncertain terms to keep my mouth shut and say nothing, not even to correct his grammar, till he was done. I can now attest that it is true that the groom never gets to have a say in anything at his own wedding. Someone got his late revenge there. And believe me, that doesn’t depend on whether it’s one groom or two. Yes, and I know there are still people out there even in this day and age who feel that it’s not normal to have two grooms at all. They can all go away and never show their ugly faces again where I can see them, or smell the foul breath of the bigoted filth they’re spouting. That’s not the wrong way around, that couldn’t be more right for both of us.

But we did other things the wrong way around, too. In most romantic stories, killing someone to save the person you love is usually the culmination of long mutual trust and dedication. It‘s supposed to be the crowning glory, the final sealing of a bond that has long been in the making. It’s not supposed to be the starting point. And John is usually the more patient of the two of us, but when it came to this, he could barely contain himself for 36 hours after our very first meeting before he did it. Ever heard of timing and pacing, Doctor, I hear you people wonder? And he’s supposed to be the one with the talent for good storytelling. The timing was good, though. The timing was excellent. There’s another 'what if' for you that is no fun to contemplate at all.

There is killing out of love, and - I have to say it, I can’t not, I‘d be lying by omission if I didn't - there's also dying out of love. I doubt, however, that there’s anyone out there who has ever put a more elaborate effort into pretending to die out of love than I have. As far as I‘m aware, that’s not really a romantic convention, either, and I sincerely hope I haven’t started a trend. I honestly can’t recommend it. Effort is well and good, and I dare say the execution in my case was flawless, but I can’t deny there was a certain lack of forethought as to the emotional impact on both parties concerned. Don‘t try this at home, folks.

People also usually date first, then start cohabiting, then get married, then raise children together. Please don’t ask me to define at what time in our lives exactly John and I were dating and when we weren’t yet. To this day we have never been able to agree on a definition for this mysterious activity that emphatically, according to John, for whatever reason, does not encompass two people who like each other going out together and having fun. But it is an undisputed fact that we had been raising a child together for a good while before we got married. And we have been going out together and having fun for years uncounted now. Crime scenes never fail to work that particular magic on us. Oh wait, no, that was another example I had on my list for what most other couples do differently. Hang on, do I see a certain Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard raise his hand in objection? Raising both hands, actually, showing us… what, seven fingers? Is that the number of couples working for the Metropolitan Police that you know personally who have met at crime scenes? Or are you reminding us of the number of times John and I were actually kicked off a crime scene because we were enjoying ourselves entirely too much, and were told not to come back till we could behave like adults? I could have sworn those were more than seven occasions, but I‘ll take your word for it.

Talking of raising a child together, I‘m sure Rosie will say a word or three about that herself later, but I have never understood why most of you had doubts about the practicability of that particular endeavour. Let me just tell you that a baby carrier is entirely compatible with a cashmere scarf, or didn’t you know cashmere can absorb up to a third of its own dry weight in liquid? And it got only easier from there when Rosie grew older and stopped affectionately drooling on whoever enjoyed the happy privilege of holding her and carrying her around. She hasn’t demanded being carried around in a good while now, and I don’t know what our poor old backs would say to that these days. But we were talking about happy memories, weren’t we, so there’s another. And at least in the metaphorical sense, I hope you know, Rosie, that you’ll be held and carried for as long as you want and need, as long as we both live. You were my daughter even before I was your father’s husband, and that has been one of the greatest honours bestowed on me in my life.

Because this is who we are, isn’t it, our crazy little family, where nothing is as you’d expect it to be. But we still wouldn’t have it any other way, topsy-turvy, weird, flawed and utterly imperfect, but also utterly us, unique, one of a kind. I don’t know if it was fate that threw us together, or if it really was just a whim on the part of the comfortable, corpulent, bespectacled gentleman sitting at this table over here, smirking with his trademark benevolence. But there’s a debt of gratitude to be paid there, and today is a good day to do it. In this at least, we’re doing the conventional thing, but who’s to say we’re not allowed to do that at least once in a quarter-century.

So, ladies and gentlemen, dear friends and family from far and wide, I give you: John Watson, the man of my life, the man at my side for over thirty years, and for exactly twenty-five years in the legal sense on this very day. Please raise your glasses with us to the next twenty-five. And for God’s sake stop snivelling like that, Mycroft. You’re embarrassing the whole room.

#bbc sherlock #may prompts 2024 #mayprompts2024 #jolie writes #imperfect #bbc sherlock fanfiction #johnlock #old married couple #johnlock fanfiction

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alwaysshallow · 3 months

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prompt: ghost retired from task force 141. soap takes a journey through their whole relationship, thinking where it went wrong. part 1 of ?

John MacTavish is a brave man.

At least, he likes to think of himself like this. He has proven multiple times that he is brave. First and foremost, he tried to enroll to the SAS a few times; and it wasn't important that every time he was caught lying about his age, it was the fact that he still tried, despite the amused looks on the recruiter's faces. He remembered all of them, including that damn question he had to answer thousands of times: why do you want to be in the army so early?

Stupid question. Question that, every time, he answered with: why not? In his eyes, he was way more mature than most of the boys his age (an obvious lie, he was maybe even less mature), more skilled than them and would make a perfect fit for the army. What was important too, he could stand his ground without any troubles - besides the one, the one that his mother always scolded him about. His mouth was way too honest, causing him many problems.

Thankfully, those problems weren't military ones; men actually dismissed him with a small smile on their face and a reminder that he could "join later" and be useful then. Obvious bullshit, but after some time, John took that seriously and started training on his own to be prepared.

And he was prepared. Still is, due to strict training in military and at bootcamps that he worked his ass off, trying to be the best of the best, trying to be the best sniper, demolitions expert. He thought of every detail, knowing that if he wants to be remembered, he has to be remembered for something good. For something that people will be envious of.

Paid off, since he passed it with the highest marks on all 3 phases; he cursed in his mind at Gaz being a few seconds quicker than him with the record, but he was the youngest to pass the SAS selection in history, so he guessed it was good to give his rival – later best friend – the first place in something.

He was also brave on the missions; he still remembers his first one, even if he has actual two first ones. First one as a soldier, and first one as a Task Force 141 member.

Soldier one was tough. He didn't really know what to expect at first, if he's gonna be more engaging with civilians, or put into the crossfire; and he quickly understood that right in the middle of war, there's no such thing as knowing what's gonna come.

Death, feeling like a failure, trying to bottle everything up for the sake of the mission just to slowly rot inside, if you're not gonna keep up with it. Thankfully, John somehow knew what he was signing up for, so it came easier for him, but he saw guys that didn't make it far as he did.

In moments like this, he is thankful.

Johnny definitely prefers to think of the first mission with the Task Force, though. He waited for the time like this enough to be excited like a kid on Christmas day, jumping around to unwrap all the gifts. For him, gifts were new adventures to get, goals to accomplish, things to prove, since he was the youngest on the team. Price told him that, when he called him, Soap immediately sent his mum a text about the team he became a part of.

He came back home wasted, but it was for a good cause, after all.

For those who know Johnny enough, it isn't a surprise that he remembers everything about his first day. The weather, how he almost thought he's gonna be late for the first meeting because some moron bumped into his car, his nervousness, how he almost vomited, greetings with everyone on the team.

Over time, Kyle Garrick quickly becomes his best friend, and a keeper of secrets that Johnny has. Maybe it's because he's closer to age with him than with others, maybe similar experiences, but he really is someone that he can talk to without feeling any boundaries between them. Even if he is the holder of the record that he felt envious of (for a moment), somehow MacTavish doesn't feel like this anymore, he's more impressed, if it's possible.

Over time, John Price is easily his mentor. Someone that he looks up to, someone that he remembers from his past, when he was only training. A living legend that he wishes to be in the future, and now he's in his team. Johnny knows that if he'd tell anyone from his previous unit where he is, they'd be jealous. And for a reason; Price isn't just some captain that exists, he's a captain that everyone respects, and that's what matters.

Over time, Simon Riley… is still an enigma that Soap wishes to understand more, if it would be even a possibility. It's not – the man speaks less than a monk, wears his skull face all the time so he can't even take a peek at his face (he thinks it is pretty, though), but cracks jokes that usually belong to dads or uncles at weddings. Every time he thinks he knows something about his comrade, it collapses right in the moment.

No matter how MacTavish tries to talk with him longer, no matter how he nudges him so he sends him judgy looks, it's not enough. He's not the problem, he knows, Ghost is like this to everyone, but somehow that infuriates him even more, since he always found a way.

To everyone, and yet somehow isn't adding.

First serious interaction, where Soap can feel like he cares, happens where Graves betrays them and he's on the run. It feels like playing with death, after being shot in the arm, after feeling like he's on his own. After feeling like something that he finally had control of, it turned into ashes really fast. They weren’t even comrades for that long, they had so many things to live through together, and—

"Johnny, how copy?"

His heart nearly skips a beat when he hears that. Suprassing a groan of pain, he moves his arm a little; it fucking hurts, but it's good. Nerves are still there. "Missed my ass, LT?"

He hears scoff on the other side of the line. "You're the only one I can trust right now, sergeant. Thought you're dead in the ditch somewhere."

He knows It's probably better to ignore that warm feeling in his chest. "Never."

Everything after this, feels like a video game that he likes to play from time to time, not real life. Trying to get to church, trying to survive while Shadow Company is hunting not only his ass, but also Ghost's – and on Johnny's mind is also Alejandro. Is he alive?

He has many questions, and no one to actually answer him, but having Simon on comms somehow eases his mind, especially when he serves all those dad jokes. For the first time, it's Soap that doesn't know what to tell him, he is the one who speaks less, and it feels like a good break from the usual routine.

Surely, it would be even better if the conditions of the whole banter would be a little… calmer, without anyone on their back, but he had to cherish what he has. He supposes it won't last long, probably after everything will be right he'll get back to his usual, grumpy self, but it's the thought that counts.

John is quite pleased to see that he was wrong, when they're in the bar, after a mission; Task Force 141 back together, as well as members of Los Vaqueros back in Las Almas. Thoughts about how he would want to stay there for a longer time to help flood all over him, until the seat next to him cracks under Ghost's weight.

Soap bites his tongue before he says a joke about this. Bad habit, but he learned the hard truth over the years that sometimes he needs to shut up, especially if he cares about having his relationships in check. And, to be honest, he don't want to upset his lieutenant after he was so… caring for him.

"Everything's good, LT?" He tilts his head, observing how Simon sips his whiskey without even frowning at the strongness of the alcohol; couldn't be him.

"Tired, MacTavish," he replies, eyeing him up and down; lazily, like he doesn't really have the power to do this, but he wants to. At least, Soap thinks this way. It's a giddy feeling. "Your arm?"

"My arm?" he fires the question right back, without much thinking about it. Riley's one look gets him back to shape, and he suddenly knows what he was asking about. "Eh, 's… good. Hurts still, but should be good. Doctor told me 's nothin' too serious and—"

"—Why you thought 'm not gonna help you?" Ghost interrupts him.

It's not harsh like usual, when Johnny blabbers too much, and irritates his lieutenant with information that doesn't need to be said out loud. This one feels like a genuine question that he thought of for a while, and it makes sergeant all tingly inside.

Weird; because why Simon needs to know this? Does it bother him that Scot felt like he wouldn't help him, and he'd die on the streets like a dog? Or, worse: be tortured by Shadow Company, then he would eventually die, if Graves would feel generous enough.

"It's…" he gulps. His grasp around glass tightens, he doesn't even realize that only ice is left here, when he plays with it. "You didn't have to. Situation was rough, everythin' blew the fuck up. Wouldn't blame ya if you would leave me, happens."

Guy with the skull balaclava hums, like he gets his way of thinking. For a few seconds, there's an awkward silence between them, chatter from other people and music being the only sound. "We're a team, Johnny. Not gonna let you die on me anytime soon, do you hear me?"

He nods, but it's not enough for Simon. Johnny almost squeaks, when he grabs his chin unexpectedly, forcing him to look into his brown eyes. Dark, darker than the beer that he's currently drinking. "What the—"

"—do you hear me, sergeant?"

It takes all in his will not to kiss him, but Johnny knows that's not the situation like in the movies he watched with his sister; not like the movies, where the main character is adored by a silent, grumpy guy just because he loves them. That's just another situation with his lieutenant who should really seek therapy to talk better with people that he cares about because grunting out answers ain't really the way.

Johnny at least thinks he cares about him a little. He wants him to. "I do hear."

"Good."

And this is how the whole story gets interesting. Tracing Makarov, figuring out what they should do about Shepherd being an asshole, but first and foremost, interacting as a team. As Task Force 141.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x john mactavish #ghost x soap #soapghost #soap x ghost #ghoap #ghoap fic #john soap mactavish #soap/ghost #simon riley fic

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saturnville · 3 months

Text

on the frontline, II

pairing: major john "bucky" egan x black fem oc (major lanessa "nessa" dixon) content: the bond between nessa and john begins to grow. warnings: medical inaccuracies. an: Nessa is inspired by major della raney jackson, first black major of the army nurse corps. tag list: @neeville @turn-thy-paige @ihe4rtisa @ineedafictionalman @lovebyceleste @alliewassobonum

“You know, Dixon, you’re really pretty.”

Nessa’s hands halted momentarily. She raised her gaze to meet his blue eyes, which twinkled with mischief and temptation. She squinted slightly and shook her head. She nodded toward his arm which he raised just slightly.

Weeks had passed since the gunshot and he had made significant progress. He was able to start physical therapy early with her and a series of shadowing nurses, but, with his job, Nessa made it a priority to ensure he was in the best shape. He missed flying and she wanted to make sure he was able to get to at least one more mission before everything was said and done.

“Is that so?” Nessa questioned, pulling the bandages off his healing wounds. Her gloved fingers traced the scar. It was healing nicely; the swelling was going down, the stitches were still in place, and the tissue was scarring healthily. She felt John jump at her touch.

John nodded. Her knee nudged his thigh which prompted him to spread his legs just wide enough for her to stand between them. He hummed at the warmth that entered his space and fought an internal battle to keep his hand to himself. To run his fingertips along the curves that were prominent even with being covered by thick pants.

Nessa turned and swiped cleaning solution, cotton pads, and bandage off the side table. The cooling solution was ice against body, which seemed to heat in her presence. Nessa’s left hand held the cotton in place as her right placed the bandage across his chest. Her hands were small against his body and they felt so good.

“Well, thank you. You’re too kind. Lift your arm for me, beloved.” That was new, John noted. He obeyed her command. “How does that feel?” Better, he admitted. Nessa started him out on light exercises to regain mobility, and while it wasn’t as painful as it had been in the beginning stages, he still felt discomfort.

“Are you lying to me, Major?” She asked teasingly, tilting her head to search any signs of discomfort on his face. His eyebrows were slightly knitted together and his jaw was locked she poked his shoulder. He failed to meet her eyes. “Thought so.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, “I don’t want to deal with this shit.” Nessa hummed and removed herself from her position between his legs and crawled over the bed. She was positioned on her knees and she cleared her throat. “What are you doing?

She peeled the gloves off her hands and shoved them in her pocket. She moved her hair over her shoulder and placed her hands on his shoulders.“Relax, Egan.” Her touch was gentle as she used her left hand to control his elbow while stabilizing his shoulder with her right. Slowly, she moved his stiff limb forward, backward, upwards, and downward until the wincing was no more.

It was painfully intimate, she noted. Two military professionals in the infirmary by themselves on a small bed together. Granted, she was doing her job, but something about the interaction felt different. She found herself enjoying it. Of course she enjoyed being a nurse; it was her passion. But this was different. Not only did she feel needed, but she felt wanted, too. It was an unusual feeling that she couldn’t shake.

“How about now?” Nessa’s voice was hardly above a whisper. John turned his head though not far enough to look her in the eyes. She did see, however, the fullness of his lips as he replied, “A lot better.”

“Good,” she replied, seemingly infatuated with the ridges of his back. She tried to control herself, but it was a losing battle. Her fingertip traced the scar that went from the center of his back to his right shoulder. She remembered the story. His plane was struck and he needed to evacuate and a piece of the parachute contraption cut through his jacket and sliced through his flesh. “That’s good.”

At the low groan he released, which sounded heavenly, she snapped back to reality and dropped her hand. She stammered embarrassingly and scrambled off the bed. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. Go ahead and get your shirt on; I’ll grab the ice, and get you off to bed.”

John’s voice was stuck in his throat. “Nessa,” he called, but by the time the last syllable slipped from his lips, she was already in the neighboring room, gathering ice.

She didn’t say much when she returned. She instructed him to lay on his back so she could properly ice his shoulder. John’s blue eyes burned holes into her head as she massaged the ice against his skin.

“Are you okay?” he found himself asking. Nessa nodded once, “I’m okay.”

He gave her a look. She gave him a closed-lip smile. She repeated, “I’m okay. We’ll ice for five more minutes and you can be on your way.”

The five minutes passed quicker than he would have liked. They engaged in small conversation, being that’s all he could get out of her at the point. Her demeanor had shifted greatly, and while he wanted to question it, John didn’t want to pressure her to speak.

“You’re good to go,” Nessa said, tossing the bag of ice on a nearby surface.

As John prepared to leave the infirmary, Nessa's gaze lingered on him, a mixture of emotions swirling in her eyes. She wanted to say something, to express the thoughts racing through her mind, but the words remained trapped in her throat. Instead, she offered a small, hesitant smile, hoping he would understand the silent message behind it.

John met her gaze, his eyes reflecting a similar uncertainty, yet tinged with a hint of desire. With a nod of gratitude, he stood up from the bed, his shoulder feeling much better than before.

As he turned to leave, he paused at the doorway, casting one last glance back at Nessa. In that fleeting moment, they shared an unspoken connection, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that was forming between them. With a final nod, John stepped out into the corridor, leaving Nessa alone with her thoughts, her heart beating a little faster than usual. What had she done?

#saturnville #black!reader #black reader #masters of the air #mota #major john egan x black!reader #major john egan #john egan #john egan x reader #major john egan x reader #bucky egan x black reader #bucky egan x reader #callum turner major john bucky egan #mota fanfic #mota fanfiction #hbo war #original characters #major john egan x black reader #major john egan x major nessa dixon by saturnville

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anachilles · 24 days

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“So, what’s the prognosis, Doc? Am I gonna live?”

Your firehouse buckies? 😍 or anything else with buck x bucky 💓

omg hi! and please yes give me all the excuses to write my firehouse!au buckies!! (for those who may not be familiar - this is firefighter!bucky and bartender/PhD student!buck) here's a little thing set significantly further along than where we're currently at in the actual fic lol. + shout out to @avonne-writes and their 'who's taking who's surname?' poll and the discourse for inspiring a little part of this lol. currently taking prompts from this list: [ x ]

"So, what's the prognosis, Doc? Am I gonna live?"

His voice hoarse and barely there, trust John to tease him even around the tail end of a thermometer, just as Gale went to pull it from his mouth.

'Suppose he can't be too sick if he still has jokes,' was the first thought that came to Gale's mind. The second thought though, sneaking up hot on the first's heels, was 'John would be cracking jokes on his damn deathbed so that really isn't as much of a reassurance as it should be.'

Gale squinted as he examined the numbers. The light was low in the early winter morning, the sun not having quite fully risen yet. He'd usually have switched even just his own bedside lamp on as he got himself ready to leave for the day, but with John's groan of protest that particular morning, he’d quickly switched off again.

It'd been a restless night, and even though they were both feeling the impact of John's tossing and turning, and the seemingly inability for him to breathe at all through his nose anymore, the man himself just looked downright exhausted with it. He'd eventually managed to fall asleep with his hot, clammy forehead pressed into the back of Gale’s neck, plastered to his back, and Gale hadn’t the heart to try and move him despite how he had then been overheating.

"You know there's another, arguably much more enjoyable way to do that..." John leered, even if half-heartedly, and if only to fill the silence as Gale's eyebrows pinched at whatever he saw on the little digital screen.

See, this is why they'd more or less permanently shacked up at Buck's place rather than his. He had stuff like thermometers lying around. Stuff an actual home has.

Gale looked up at him then, incredulous. "You're really trying to flirt with me, sitting there with a 101 degree fever?" he said, turning the thermometer as if to prove his point. Incredulous, but not surprised; not really.

"Baby, if I'm ever sick enough that I don't want to flirt with you, make you blush all pretty like you do, that's when you should be worried."

Gale had almost been tempted to smile at that, until John had to cut himself off, a sudden bout of congested coughing rattling from his throat.

Capturing the inner corner of his bottom lip between his teeth, Gale sighed, his long legs unfolding from beneath him and as he got up from where he'd been perching on his side of the bed. He crossed to John's bedside, pulling the covers further up around the other man’s chest.

Gale clicked his tongue slightly, though his expression and voice betrayed him in their co-ordinating softness. "All of this because you just had to be the hero and go jump in the damn lake."

Off to the side of them, Maverick jumped up onto the bed, sleepily curling in at Bucky's side in the warm spot Gale had just vacated. She bumped her head against John's hand, eager and impatient as the day Gale met her. John responded without even having to look away from the conversation, his fingers scritching at the especially soft little spot of fur behind each of her ears.

“Hey, I saved someone's life."

Gale wordlessly took his phone from his pocket, showing him the text he'd already gotten from Benny, "Just FYI - let the record show that the guy knew how to swim and your boy did not have to jump in after him."

Uh, since when did his team all acquire his boyfriend's number just for the purposes of ratting him out?

"Well how was I supposed to know that?! It’s called due diligence."

Either way, he'd ended up with what seemed to either be a wicked cold or the beginnings of the flu for his trouble.

"You make up for your lack of sympathy with your excellent bedside manner, Doctor" John said, talking half to himself as Gale strode out to the kitchen at the sound of the kettle whistling.

He continued as the other man reappeared a minute later, a steaming Fire Department-branded mug in one hand, his own filled travel mug in the other. "Huh, that's kind of funny, seeing as you will be and everything. Dr Cleven."

“Not that kind of doctor,” Gale muttered, and John breathed out a faint laugh. He knew the difference, duh, but it was cute when Gale interpreted things so literally sometimes before he could think about it.

Gale quirked a brow as he set the mug down on John’s bedside table, batting aside lozenge wrappers and tissues with the rim of it to make room.

"Y'know what has an even better ring to it, though? Dr Gale Egan..."

When the idea of marriage came up between them, it was always in an abstract, vague kind of sense, underpinned by off-hand comments and passing jokes relaying the image of some version of their life that lay a safe distance away on the horizon. It wasn't right in front of them yet, but it felt comfortably inevitable, which made talking about it casually not really a big deal. One of the more common jokes being what they do in terms of surnames.

Gale could tell John was sentimental about his father's name in a way he himself wasn't about his own. It was never said so outright, but he got the sense that it was either a matter of hyphenating (even with John's arguments that neither Cleven-Egan or Egan-Cleven 'sounded right'), or Gale taking John's.

When Gale thought about the idea of shedding his father's name, he felt so much nothing it almost pissed him off because shouldn't it evoke something? Is that not the most normal reaction to losing such a defining part of your identity, feeling some sense of sadness? Of loss? It felt more to him like shrugging off a grimy, weather-beaten old coat turned threadbare in the elements, not particularly pleasant but reliably familiar. It was simply what he had.

Looking now, he took in the pallid, rheumy face and contrastingly long, firm lines of a man who loved him like John loved him. Who loved him so unshakeably, proved to him over and over seemingly without even really having to try; who made it look easy. Who loved him in a way he didn't think he ever could be loved, or be prompted himself to love like he loved John back.

"Well, then I guess you have until I finish my PhD to marry me."

There was a weird beat of silence and neither seem to be sure whether they were still joking or not.

“You saying you want to marry me? Is that a proposal? A deathbed proposal?” The look that bloomed on John’s face was as adorable as it was utterly insufferable. It was, however, quickly dispelled however by a sudden sneeze. He reached for more tissues, the groan that followed evidently vexed.

It cut through whatever tension had inadvertently bled into the moment, though, and Gale smiled. “Bless you. Tempting proposition that it is…” Gale finally said, as he checked his watch. When he continued, there was an edge of regret in his voice. “If I want to be Dr Anything I’d better get going.”

A noise echoed from John's throat, half displeased, half mournful.

Gale sighed and leant forward, bringing a gentle hand to John's fever-flushed cheek, his thumb stroking lightly on the sharp angle of his cheekbone. "Now, you get some sleep and drink plenty of water, you hear me? You can have more of these here pills in like a couple more hours. I should be home around 3ish, but text me if you need anything or your temperature gets any higher."

His voice was as even and steady as ever, only John tell he was fretting slightly by how unsettled his hands were, and how they kept touching him, fiddling with the blankets, smoothing things down that were already smoothed down as he spoke.

John reached out and grab Gale's wrist, stilled it, in a odd reversal of their usual roles. "Okay, okay..." he acquiesced lightly, easily, and was immediately rewarded when Gale's fingers laced into the sweat-damp curls that had fallen down into his face, moving them aside so he could press a kiss to his forehead. His lips lingered for an achingly welcome half-beat, before moving to press another to his cheek.

Gale tore himself away then, grabbing his wallet, keys, and the steaming travel mug where he'd abandoned them on the dresser, and tossed his bag over his shoulder. A few second later, he was gone.

“Dr Gale Egan” is all John thinks about for the rest of the day.

In between naps, that is.

#clegan #bucky x buck #john bucky egan #gale buck cleven #masters of the air #all bucky can think about that entire dayquil pickled afternoon: ''did buck just.... give me permission to ask him to marry me.....''#BIG day for the parish. (the parish in question being john egan and his incessant need to wife that man up)#thank you so much for the prompt!!!! i was inspired immediately and had so much fun with it #i may use more prompt request real estate to write more of my firehouse buckies if everyone's amenable lol #my writing #📝: firehouse!au

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homicidal-slvt · 5 months

Text

Childhood Friends With John 'Soap' Mactavish

MDNI

Johnny Mactavish x GN!Reader |Can be seen as platonic or romantic|

For @glitterypirateduck Soap It Up challenge.

Dialogue Prompts: 1 & 3 & 33 & 30

Warnings: Fluff, Angsty at the end

Johnny is super affectionate- that's just how he is. Never hesitates to put his arms around you or give you a pat on the back.

He's a complete tease to the highest degree and absolutely will mess with you, holding the remote away from you to initiate a play fight, grinning ear to ear with a jokingly cocky "Why don't ye come over here and make me!"

Expect to always be welcome at his parents place and even if you don't exactly have a good relationship with your parents- his will absolutely adopt you and call you their own.

Creating your own form of a language that only you two seem to understand, a single glance and raised eyebrow can say so much... Which obviously leaves Price, Gaz and Ghost very confused.

Jokingly flirting and saying the dumbest puns or pick-up lines, trying to see who cracks first and can't pretend to be serious any longer. "Ye know... I was told to chase my dreams- so here I am." "Oh my fucking god-" "Hah! Ye cracked! I win!"

Don't bother trying to push him away when something is wrong, he sees straight through it, settling down beside you and offering you your favorite candy like when you were kids. "Don't ignore me."

He's incredibly protective over you and it should be known that if anyone dares to hurt you- they'll have him to answer to. Tears streaming down your face with a bruise on your cheek, him mumbling a low "Who did this to you?" While helping comfort you... Next thing you know he shows up at your house with slightly bloodied knuckles. "Aye, I took care of it. Dinnae worry I'm fine... They're technically fine too."

Johnny always had a habit of getting you two into trouble, never anything serious but a little bit of mischief is just too hard to resist. "You're a bad influence..." You mutter while keeping look out for Ghost. "Aye, but you like it."

Wrapped in his arms as you have to let him leave, mumbling over and over for him to please be careful and come back in one piece... Tying a friendship bracelet you wanted to wait till his birthday to give to him around his wrist as a good luck charm, that one small action making his insides turn to goo and his heart clenching at the look on your face. "Promise you're coming back..." "I promise."

{@sofasoap @gothgirl6-6-6 @soupbinsoup @sarraa-26 @caramlizedtomatoes-deactivated2 }

{More Content}

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saltofmercury · 1 year

Text

Touch

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader

Summary: Soap is a little touch starved

A/N: Should this have been for Ghost? Yes. Do I care? no because I believe in Soap being touch starved too. Also use of nickname "hen" I don't think I used any words that would allude to a f!reader, but lmk :)

"Touch"

Perhaps it was a dream that jolted you from your unconscious state. Tucked underneath three comforters, engulfed by 6 pillows, you laid inside the huge bed fast asleep. The nights turned cold, prompting you to pull the extra blankets at the edge of your bed.

A sudden close of the front door disrupted your concentration.

Heavy footsteps in the distance pounding closer to where you were. Sleep still weighed heavily on your eyes. Not wanting to move in case of touching a cold part of the bed, you stayed still, focused on drifting off back into unconsciousness. “If they rob me, they rob me,” you chanted in your head. Though you knew who had a spare key.

Thump thump thump — the steps got closer. A bag dropped in the distance, calculated footsteps reached the bedroom door.

“Hen?” The deep voice startled you. “Are ya awake hen?” Cold fingertips touched your face, eliciting a whine from you.

“You’re cold!”

“Dinnae fall back asleep, yeah?” His fingertips lingered on your face, softly tracing your lips with his thumb, his ring and pinky tracing your earlobe. A small hum from his mouth.

He knew not to wake you up in the middle of the night, but there was an urgency tonight. Almost 4 months have passed.

Footsteps fade away, fabric shifted in the air and dropped on the ground. Then, the shower runs.

Some water splashes down, but this isn’t like quiet rainfall that can lull you to sleep, it’s crashing and splashing on the marble floor. Then a quick squeal indicating the faucet is off. The shower curtain opens, and the footsteps come closer again, sliding from the bathroom to the room.

If Johnny is anything, he’s fucking loud.

You sit up on the bed, disgruntled. Your phone says 4:18AM

“Did you have to shower?”

“Aye, good you’re still awake” he ignores you, attempting to put his pants on. You can tell he’s still wet just by the way he’s attempting to pull the fabric up on his legs. He’s flustered, fighting the fabric that sticks to him, he should’ve just dried himself off properly.

He’s stepping over to the edge of the bed, crawling towards you, taking the cold side and shuffling in

“S’ cold aye? Ahm pure done in” but he’s not tired. He’s been anticipating his return. He’s been deprived of something. He still doesn't know how to describe it.

You turn to face him, right as he makes himself comfortable, it all falls into place. Placing one arm underneath your head, followed by engulfing your legs with his, he settles his face into your neck, mouth latching onto you. He starts off slow, just grazing his lips on your collarbone, exhaling in relief. “Wasn't sure how much longer I could take this.”

This first started when he enlisted. It went from constant everyday physical touch from his sisters and friends, to suddenly being swamped in a constant battle. He had longed for his opportunity to serve his country. He made it his first mission to be the best. Moving forward in his squad, earning him the nickname “Soap.”

But then when he got back home, everyone else moved forward too. His sisters were married and gone, his parents had taken the vacations they wanted, and his friends had started their own families.

He didn’t realize it then, but a dull pain had surrounded his body.

On the way back to base as Gaz hugged him, he knew then how much he missed the touch of someone else.

He remembers going to the bar to get some cheap touches. Flirting with the waitress, holding onto her hand a little longer as she handed him the drink, just to feel relief. A small tingle that radiated goosebumps on his arm.

Sometimes the waitress wasn’t there, and he couldn’t get away with it with another server.

He moved onto “gentlemen” clubs.

Fascinated by how they twirled, gracefully shook, and pulled their body weight around. The skimpy shiny outfits trotting around. The glitter around them. How their bodies were slenderly built. Their nails are perfectly manicured. Everything about them was perfect.

However, most of the girls here would be on a time limit.

“$20 for a dance” “$25 to touch me” which Soap didn’t mind, he just craved the time a little longer.

Even went to some red light districts when it got bad.

The woman staring at him in her bright pink lingerie. “You want to just hug?” Clarifying his intention for the night.

“Not a hug, I want a cuddle.” He spoke.

The woman stared at him, it wasn’t the first time she had this request. She just wanted clarification that this was what he had wanted. This happened a few more times, where Soap had begun to satiate his starvation... Until she asked one too many questions.

“Don’t you got a bird?”

“No”

“You’re not ugly pet, you could find someone.”

“Don’t have the time.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“Military”

“Explains the gunpowder scent”

That was the last time he went there. He didn’t need to be picked at or prodded.

He figured a hobby while time off between missions could help.

Any sort of hobby; weight training, ax throwing, and puzzles, to get him out of his head and the hold it had on him. No matter how much he did, no matter how much he accomplished, the feeling lingered there.

He talked to Gaz a few times, but Gaz wasn’t comprehending at all.

“It’s a dull feeling, just weighing on yer body.” Soap said, staring at the ground between them, pretending to watch the ants trail by.

“Can’t say I have mate… sounds odd.” Which made him feel even worse.

“Why don’t ya find friends with benefits?”

Soap had tried, and miserably failed. Women getting too caught up in him, checking his phone, demanding they speak to him when he was away. He was too detached, just wanted to come home and feel safe in someone’s arms.

Then by chance, you came.

At a bookstore while he was looking for any sort of book on this topic, you accidentally bumped into him.

“Shit sorry!” You, bending over to pick up the book he dropped.

You put your left hand on him, smiling, then holding his book out in the other.

“Here” you said.

He swears he could feel your entire heartbeat through your left hand, or was it his heartbeat? The small touch you gave him was euphoric.

“I’m Johnny.” He said, reaching his hand out to shake yours. You smiled, shook his hand and introduced yourself. Your hand felt warm, and soft. Kind of like when he goes into a pub after a mission and the heat from the room warms him up. It felt known, it was what he was after.

From then on, he continued to chase that feeling…Kept seeking your touches on every date.

How you wrapped yourself in his arm and squeezed yourself in.

“It’s getting so cold!” You mumbled walking through the park. You, innocently flirting, but he was so soothed by this. He gently closed his eyes and took it in. You wrapped your hand around his and shoved them in his pocket.

“Mens jackets always have more room don’t they?”

“Aye…” he said, his eyes still closed. Still entranced by your touch.

When you guys ate ice cream and you wiped a bit of the chocolate off his mouth. Your thumb gently swiped at the corner, bringing it to yours. Soap blushing at the small gesture.

“Yer something else hen,”

The time he stood there in your kitchen, listening to you babble about your show. He was drinking chocolate milk. You slowly crept up and placed your hands around his waist. Peering up at him with wide eyes, glad someone could stand you talking about fictional ideas. You scratched gently at his sides. He bit back on his tongue to hold in the moan. You already felt the goosebumps that accompanied your finger tips.

“Did you also know that they’re straying away from the book?”

“Hmmmm” biting his bottom lip, while wrapping one arm around you.

Or when you got a migraine suddenly during a night in with him and needed it to be quiet. You laid on the couch, instructing him to turn off the lights and not make any sounds.

“Yer sure you don’t need any medicine?” He questioned, looking at how pale and lifeless you became.

“Just come here please.. quietly.”

You made space for him on the couch, then brought an eye cover over your eyes.

“Please don’t laugh” you nuzzled yourself into his chest, “can you put your arm over my head?“

“Over yer head?” He was so confused but entertained the idea seeing that he’s never met a headache that could take out someone. The weight of his biceps was comforting the pound in your head.

Soap waited a few minutes before you knocked out, then brought you closer.

He inhaled your scent, watched as your eyebrows had furrowed, the tension harboring in your head, then released. Your lips on his chest, hand underneath his shirt holding the small of his back, and legs tucked under you. It felt amazing.

The two of you fell asleep there.

Now he’s here, coming home to you, knowing that he’s going to be touched, maybe even loved.

Your hands rub the back of his head. His mohawk has started to grow out like a pineapple, longer strands almost touching his ear. You trace the back of his neck down to his spine, then up again.

You kiss the spot below his ear, and he hitched his breath.

“I’m sorry” you say, scared that maybe you woke him up. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No, hen keep goin’.”

You smile to yourself as you kiss his eyebrows, his cheek, rubbing a little harder into his shoulder and back.

He moans, you tease a little. “You’re so spoiled aren't you? Delicately tracing his spine with each of your fingers.

“You like being spoiled, baby?”

He smiles, nuzzling into your chest. Goosebumps have formed on his back, arms, and neck. “Aye, feels good.” he laughs a little embarrassed. How quickly he caves into your praise.

You rub him to sleep, watching the sun rise through your windows, how his face calms down, eyebrows are settled, lips puckered out. He settles into your skin. Maybe it wasn’t a dream.

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