#but also like. there is still hell out there. its fuckin Rough.
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no more monster prom as comfort media, now every character is solidly fucked the hell up and have more than a few things to be very reasonably angry/frustrated about in a notably un-presentable way
#all the care guide says is 'biomass'#aka Why I Write Things The Way I Do#dont get me wrong the primary feeling of all of them together is very much#very close friends who care deeply for each other and sincerely just want the best for each other#and are going to stay here with each other through the storm and through hell#but also like. there is still hell out there. its fuckin Rough.#the world is scary and the world is hard and everyone is someone elses worst nightmare#so its up to you to be soft and tender with each other.
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If you think you have it bad, just remember. There's a Batkid Age Reversed Tim Drake out there...
#Ive come up with my own AU I fell into the pit#And like. This guy has it so rough. Jesus christ.#Becoming the 2nd Shadow after the first one left only to have him come back and try to challenge u to the death#Ur parents are neglectful as hell and ur not sure if Batman is ur adoptive father or ur coworker#U may or may not wind up fucking DYING#U may or may not be revived#But either way something rly fucks u up and u come out of it different in the worst way possible#And then ur title of Batman's Shadow gets passed down to someone else while ur gone#And Damian AKA Void Knight AKA ur brother?? Ur coworker-in-law?? He's still a prick so like#And then the Shadow AKA Jason AKA The one who actually gets adopted is also a prick so LIKE#Glad Im not this fuckin guy am i right#Batkids Age Reversed AU#Batman#Batfamily#Idk man its 2 AM the puppy wont let me sleep and Ive had brainrot of this all day
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Male reader with absolutely Fucking Huge Tits.
(headcanons!)
People shown: Soap, Gaz, Ghost, Price, Keegan, König, Horangi, Graves, Alejandro, Rudy
I felt silly I was high and it's funny jwjsjsnsw ew endnsndndnd.
Didn't think my first post would get that much attention but.. Anyways.. Yay?
You have fucking big moobs.. Huge male tits.. Fucking succulent ass Cherries
You are a guy. And lucky for you, You have the most plump, ungodly monumental tremendous tits ever. Ofcourse you had the build to support your huge tits.. But your tits were the most eye catching.
When you first joined 141 or Kortac or whateevveer....Man holy shit they went fuckin wild. Like they weren't even trying to hide that they were blatantly looking at your capacious boobs.
Soap
- he was the first to yell like some Scottish words for Holy shit when you landed out from the Heli showing off your stupendous balloons
- he would be the first to be staring with no shame
-he would also be the first to ask if he could squeeze them.
-he would ask you how the hell you got your mighty melons. And he would ask you if it's possible for you to lactate.
- idk he'd bark..
- if you were to sex. He would lick, slurp your hoo Haas
-Would see if he can make you lactate
-makes you wear a bra. Freaky
- continues to play with your dongdongs after your very amazing activity gently
Gaz
- His eyes went wide.. Probably did the shocked guy face with hands on his head when he saw you
- face red no eye contact trying to not look at your mammoth sized Quadruple D breasts
- secretly staring but it's so obvious he's staring especially when your running laps.. Yknow yknow boobie flaps go up and down Fr fr
- one day when you guys were alone together he probably went down on his knees.. Begging to let him touch and squeeze your boobies.
-If you were to do the devils tango.. Also bite marks.. And licks.. More gently but desperately.
Ghost
- eyes wide under mask. Is confused how a dude could get those unwieldy lofty ass TITTS.
- also secretly staring. Less to zero obviousness.
- wants to ask as well to touch your bazongas but he's to scared.
- you caught him staring once and he immediately looks away. So like the amazing man you are you asked him if he wants to hold your tatas.
-he nodded obviously.
-you doing the nasty? He's rough. No mercy to idk your whole body. Especially your gazongals.
-boob fucking.
-bruises hickeys bites everywhere. Mostly on your GadonkGadonks.
- he would bury his head on the middle of your Tits... It's like a pillow.
Price
- Suprised and impressed. Idk why he's still shocked everytime he sees you walking around
- looking sometimes. But more respectful
-you need too ask him first if he wants to hold your beach balls.
- if you do wrestling in bed. Loving duhh. Lovingly and softly suckling your Rounder Pounders.
- also buries his head on your moob boobs
- Would probably just call you in his office sometimes just so he can use your Boobs as a pillow.
-His beard tickles.. Hmm.
Keegan
- Awooga
-Pointing at it then looks back at someone then looking back at you then looking back at someone.. Then back and forth
-Takes pictures
- you were standing in front of him talking then he just suddenly.. Grabbed your Bazonkers.
-Takes more pictures. Has its own folder just for your mountainous front moons.
- Roleplay sex that involves fucking your boobs Intensity varies
König
- Blushing under mask
-is also a proud owner of plump tits. But he's afraid of yours.
-Also YOU need to be the one to ask as well if he wants a squeeze.
- compare boob sizes.
- rough but gentle RAAAAA. Would ask before doing anything to you doingloings
-Rubs your tats together
- ask before taking pictures.. Shows it to Horangi
- Sometimes he would just stare blankly at you before he just.. Squeezes your knockers..
-He immediately gets red and apologizes red faced from shame and embarrassment.
-When you told him you don't mind and it's okay.. He gets relaxed.
-Now he would just pull you into closets just so he could ask you to caress your man tiddies even though he doesn't need to.
-You caress his too. It's like a ritual.
Horangi
- starts laughing in shock and interest and is also impressed
- Also Staring no shame. But it's less obvious because of his shades
-Asks if your tits are implants..
- Would ask König for pics of your Cupcakes.
- Constant slapping of your boobers.
- jokes about your Honkers..
-Loves Your Honkers but also jealous. He wants big buggers as well :((
- Starts drawing on them. Non permanent colorful markers
-would dress it up as well. Putting glasses.. His sunglasses a mustache..
-would purposely smudge food on your Clonkers and He would say some shit like
'Sorry let me clean that up' and starts licking fr
Graves
- Soldier what the fuck he would say or something.
- Don't get distracted.. Gets distracted.
-Makes you purposefully fight/ train/ spar with him.. Make him discreetly hit or touch your award winning rounders
-If you confront him about it. He will probably say a half assed sorry. Look at you like some pissy bitch for forgiveness.
-Forgiveness being you let him do the bed rolling sweat inducing activity with you.
- Please PLEAASE let him picture it during your seeexx
- Shows it off. Of course he will. Who?
His shadows duh
-compliments your hooters frequently
Also makes jokes with his shadows
-Got sad once and dragged you away from whatever you were doing. And just used you as a pillow and cried.
- If most or all His Shadows are stressed or frustrated from a mission they all gettin in a single file line. And they get to caress touch YOUR FUCKING GARGANTUAN GAZOONKAS one minute each.
-Graves is last because.. He's doing more than just caressing your boobs...
Alejandro
- any Spanish nicknames to refer to your boobs that you don't know of
- Flirting.
- Conspicuous staring..Starts ranting to Rudy about how much he wants to hold your teacups. He's passionate about it to.
- Manages to get the balls with the help of Rudy.. To ask to hold your chest footballs.
- is gentle at first before he looses it and starts squeezing it and roughly touching. Until you made a very audible noise of hurt or discomfort
-Apologizes.. Buys you literally everything just so you can forgive him. On his knees saying sorry in Spanish.
- Praises your body
Rudy
- Just as thirsty as Alejandro. Just more shy and respectful.
- When Alejandro starts confessing to him how much he wants to touch your chests.. He reciprocated and also tell Ale how much he likes your Moobies.
- Sharing. Both sharing. Alejandro touching your left Rudy on the right.
- If Rudy is touching you. If you even shift on what he thinks is a sign of uncomfortability.. Will say sorry.. For weeks.. Even months.
- Will never forget it. Even though you probably did and assured him that it wasn't a sign of anything. Avoided you for a few days out shame.
-Also apologizes for avoiding you.
- Also Praises your body.
#simon ghost riley x male reader#captain john price x male reader#john soap mactavish x male reader#gaz x male reader#cod horangi x male reader#keegan x male reader#graves x male reader#alejandro vargas x male reader#rudy x male reader#call of duty x male reader#gay#gay men#call of duty modern warfare x male reader#cod mw2 x male reader#cod x reader#cod mw2#bigtiddymalereader
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CAT-EYES
PAIRING: Runaway Groom!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Thief!Reader
SYNOPSIS: What begins as a normal day of stalking the back road for wealthy carriages, turns into a walking nightmare spanning three days. Who is this finely-dressed man stumbling about your woods?
WORDCOUNT: 13.3k
WARNINGS: Blood, injury, light gore, pining, intense banter, sarcasm, insults, kind of enemies-to-lovers but eh, angst, protective!John, light hurt/comfort, bittersweet?, etc.
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
You were sitting in the branches again.
Lightly swinging your legs from over the sides, the rough bark at your spine shifted as you let out a tiny sigh into the chilled air. In your ears, you’re hearing the bugs fly past, and the large hart about fifteen feet away pushing through the undergrowth—built body just barely there as the puff of his hot breath wafts upwards.
Twirling the arrow between your fingers, your bow sitting carefully in your lap, you close your eyes and listen.
The years had come and gone and yet you remained here in this small corner of nowhere—resting in this old gnarled oak tree with its branches and leaves giving protection from the elements when nothing else would. Sure, you had a small home to call your own in these very woods, but your windows didn’t give a view of the back road to the East. Barely anyone took it now, and you think you’re partially to blame for it, but, well, perhaps those pesky nobles shouldn’t have been too prone to flashing their coin.
So it was their fault, and on your failing honor, the money always went to a good cause anyway. Who wouldn’t want a poor woman to eat?
But, no. There are rules that every thief follows, no matter how unsavory. You never killed anyone; you never harmed them, either. Just the money—a brandished dagger or an arrow to the side of a carriage wouldn’t hurt anything besides pride, and many of those you stole from had enough to last them multiple lifetimes.
“Greedy fellows,” you sigh under your breath before you stretch like a cat, arching your spine and spreading your arms high above your head. The few rays of sun you get through the leaves dance across your face, but still, the thick layer of cold air is present all around.
Shuffling a bit in your shoulder-wrapping, you yawn and fall back once more—licking your lips and thinking of warm stew and fresh bread from the inn down in the town. Shivering, your fingers move to play with your bow, tapping along the bend of wood as the trees are brushed by a soft breeze. The hart below huffs louder still—hooves crushing across the fallen twigs, and you think it’s a bit strange the thing is still here despite your scent clearly in the air, but your eyes are more focused on the road than an animal.
Until it speaks.
“Hells fuckin’ bells, this damn get-up is going to be the death of me,” the words are barked out quickly—laced with heated anger as a branch is slapped by heavy hands.
Startling, your head snaps below you rapidly; heart jerking inside of your chest so suddenly that you nearly send yourself off the side of your perch. Scrambling for your bow to make sure it doesn’t clatter to the dirt of the Earth, you force down a loud gasp at what you see.
“Bastard things,” meets your ears as you stare open-eyed at a bulky man as he stumbles out into the small clearing below your tree, looking behind him as he pants. Your jaw goes slack at the extravagant apparel clothing this sudden stranger—a red, black, and blue tartan thrown over his shoulder, pinned with the silver image of a great boar head, and the kilt has more than one bramble stuck into it as it swishes with his turn.
He has a sporran as well, made of dark furs with three tassels hanging, the metal also silver, as your experienced eyes can tell as they narrow in confusion.
“What in the hell…” You breathe quietly, leaning just a bit more over the edge of your branch slowly.
There were black belts and buckles, rich shoes of leather, and your gaze slowly drags to the hanging body of a sword strapped to his waist, swinging as the man rests his feet and looks down at himself with a deep annoyance. There wasn’t an inch of him not coated in dirt, mud, or sweat—all that deer-ish panting and huffing escaping his mouth in condensed clouds.
“Fuckin’,” he stops himself from continuing the curse, holding up his hands as he glares down at his form. “Jesus, this’ll never come out at this rate.”
This comment made your lips twitch, eyebrow-raising as your sharp vision filtered from one detail to the next—learning the brown shade of his cut hair and the strange way it’s kept long down the center, and short along the sides. He had a strong build to him, and the boar broach, while it may be something to distinguish a family line as he seemed wealthy, perfectly reflected the individual.
He was a being of muscle and stubborn willpower. All tusk and bristled fur.
Your eyes linger a bit longer on the silver of that broach—the thing that glints in the light alluringly. You hum under your breath, tilting your head softly. Yet, your impression was made, and your wits are about you as sharply as they always had been.
This was a formal outfit, for a formal occasion. So, why was this important man trampling through the woods where you were set to ambush the next unassuming noble on the road? Why was he looking over his shoulder so tense-like? Your curiosity had piqued the second you’d figured out the rabid crunching from the bushes wasn’t a deer but instead, a wealthy-looking man who wasn’t, you admitted, too hard on the eyes.
Blinking, you smile, fingers twitching over your bow as the stranger brushes his vest rapidly, growling down at the large mud stains.
“Lost, then?” Your voice makes him startle, skull whipping forward to the tree trunk until you whistle and lean forward; moving your bow to push away the cover of leaves. “Up here, now,” blue eyes immediately lock with yours and you hum, chuckling, at the moment of shock that shines through. “Poor bastard, look at you and all that mud. You’ve been through hell, mate, eh? By the state of you, I’d say you fought a bear and found yourself at the end of an unfortunate outcome.”
Your words are smooth—nearly sly just as they always are. There’s intent leaking out of every one of them until all that remains is a layered purpose, like that of a butcher peeling away flesh from a hide. You have to process that skin: lay it to a rack to let it dry before it can be stretched to the desired firmness, and, finally, softened.
You took as much pleasure in the mental hunt as you did the payoff. Where there’s money to be earned, there’s also knowledge—you were a thief of all.
The man watches you with wide eyes, those blues glinting as they blink, glancing around rapidly to check for any others like you that may be hiding. He steps back, a hand brushing his sword, and you think to yourself slowly, he’s smart.
You breathe down chilled air. Before he responds he checks to make sure it’s not an ambush—the man understands he’s out of his element here. He’s on edge.
The both of you stare at one another, before your face shifts, brow-raising up on your forehead.
“What, did I startle you?” Legs looping to hang off the same side, your body feels lighter than a feather as you send yourself over the edge, knees taking the brunt of the force as your head catches up to your stomach—grunting as you hold your bow heavily in one hand. The jostle moves the limbs of your arrows, kept in a quiver at the small of your back.
Standing fully, you huff and set an easy smile to your lips, all teeth.
“My apologies, Lord.” Your free hand finds your heart, and you bend your spine forward. “I couldn’t help but see you down here below my tree.”
“Best to stay where you are,” the stranger grunts, only giving you enough of a glance to deem you unthreatening, apparently. Your form straightened. He watches you warily on the next go-around, attention always drifting to every snap of a twig off into the trees or the breeze shifting the leaves. “No need to apologize,” is the hurried reply, caught on a rough accent and a hissed gravel huff. “I’ll be on my way once I get my bearings. I don’t have time for conversation—and you should find your way home before long.” Eyes dart. “It isn’t good to be out today...or tonight, I’d say.”
If possible, your intrigue gains strength like a saint in Heaven.
The man’s square face raves in a clench of his jaw, tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“Are you sure you’re not lost, Lord?” You continue, undeterred, and shift your bow to sling it over your shoulder. “I live in these woods, I’d have no trouble directing you to the road. It isn’t far.”
“It’s John,” he grunts, glancing over, out of sorts. He was tired—his limbs were shaking with exertion even if he didn’t realize it yet. You think that perhaps if he were more focused, he’d ask why a woman had just landed in front of him from the branch of an Oak; dressed in trousers and a tunic, with just a woolen wrap to keep out the chill. Dirt over her face and a cunning edge to her words. Or, maybe he did know, you wondered, and simply didn’t care at the moment.
“Just call me Johnny. And,” he shakes his head firmly. “No. Go home to your husband, Bonnie, this doesn’t involve you.” He blinks, staring with a line across his forehead, stubble pulling along his cheeks. “I know this place—there’s a road just to the…” he turns his head to the direction of your trail, blinking at the coverage of thick foliage. “Fuck,” the dark-haired stranger growls, blues sparking up in a feral display of desperate weight.
You can only see the winding bends if you have a vantage point—that was why you chose your tree in the first place. Your smile grows.
“It’s that way, Lord,” you breathe, pointing in the opposite direction of the road, back to the small path of brambles and bushes that leads closer to your home instead. “We pass my property on the way, I can offer you some drink for your troubles.” A chuckle wafts the air. “You look like you need it.”
There’s a large moment of hesitation, in which you begin to wonder if this prize might be too big to catch, but, then, as there’s a flash of something over John’s face, he grits his teeth and sighs.
“Aye, fine,” he nods, looking to the side as he lowers his tense shoulders and clears his throat. You’re offered a sincere expression that borders on strained guilt. “Thank you, Dearie. I…” John pauses, frowning. “I hope I didn’t scare you too much when I burst through the trees like that—I’m in a bit of a rush if you can’t tell. I need to make for the shore.”
“My,” you huff, shifting your body and motioning him to follow—he does, setting his feet carefully ahead of him with experienced movements; keeping a respectable distance away. Johnny wasn’t new to the woods, then. He knew where to place his feet, at the very least. “The shore? That sounds exciting.” You conclude, hiding your creased brows as you stare forward. “Making for the South? I’ve heard handfuls are leaving for the weather.”
Looking over your shoulder, you make sure he keeps on your trail as you push through the bushes. “More agreeable, they say. Less rain.”
John chuckles, though he’s still visibly aware of everything around him. He spares you a look, a small smirk taking over his slightly chapped lips. “Keep talkin’ like that, and I just might.”
You’re surprised by the genuine laugh that fights in the back of your throat. Humming under your breath, you shrug it off as simply as a dog does a fly. It was painfully obvious neither of you trusted the other.
John’s eyes were stuck on the back of your head, and yours were eager to slide back to his form on the off-chance you had to use the dagger strapped to the meat of your thigh, carefully hidden under your trousers and accessible via a cut in your pocket. He was all muscle, and already you know that any attack coming to you would be unwise to try and retaliate—slash and retreat was a much better escape plan.
You could outrun him.
“So,” your words bleed curiosity, eyes imploring as you glance over your shoulder. “Why are you out in the woods, Johnny? In such a nice outfit as well. Is there something going on around here?”
The dark-haired man tilts his head your way, sighing long. “A wedding, actually. Horrible thing, if I have to comment on it.”
Your lips twitch.
“Oh, aye. I’d heard about it in town not two days ago—something about a marriage of advantage? Who was the unlucky pair, then?”
John clenched his jaw, hand coming up to push at the smear of dried blood on his cheek, which you’d just noticed wasn’t dirt and instead the result of a branch slap. Pale cheeks were wind-bitten. Lungs heavy. You narrow your gaze before stopping the surge of questions in your mouth.
“Some poor bastard, that’s who,” he responds slowly, mostly under his breath, before blinking. “How much further is the road, Dearie? No offense,” he grunts, staring seriously at you “but I'd rather not be here for much longer.”
The boar broach winks at you.
“Not far,” you smile coyly. “Forgive me, Lord John—”
“Just Johnny—”
“—But I do hope you’re not a fugitive.”
Blue eyes widen, sure feet faltering.
“.... Negative, Bonnie, no, I’m not running from the law. You don’t have to worry about any of that with me,” he breathes, and not once does he look away from you. You have to commend the man, he seemed an honest fellow, and those, you knew, were very rare indeed in your time. “I just need to get out of these woods. You’ll never hear from me again after I’m gone.” He takes a breath, looking past you. “You have my word.”
“Is it worth believing?” You push, smirking. “There’s few dressed like you that I can say it is.”
John licks his lips as you both pass a fallen tree, standing more side by side than previously now that the density of bushes had dispersed. He huffs, sending you a side-eye before he seems to study your face, brows pulling jokingly.
“I don’t think my answer would make much of a difference, would it?”
You pause, enjoying this man’s company more by the second. “No, it wouldn’t.” The both of you stare, before you grin and pull your sharp gaze away, chuckling. “Follow me,” you motion a hand. “Before you fall into a mud pit and completely ruin what little is left of your outfit that’s sellable—” You fumble, faking a cough as you clear your throat and finish off with tension now in your spine, “Salvageable.”
“If I’m bein’ honest, Bonnie,” Johnny grumbles, either not noticing the mistake or simply not registering it. “I wouldn’t fuckin’ care if it got covered in horse shit.”
—
You open the door to your home, shifting out of your bow and setting it against the wall with your quiver following to rest beside it as two siblings should.
“You’re lucky,” you hum, “I just went to the well this morning—freshwater is in the basin, cups on the table.”
John’s eyes give a firm once-over, fingers fidgeting above his sword’s hilt. He nods once, moving into the doorway, and immediately goes to where you describe and grabs onto a carved cup, tilting it in his hands.
“Thank you,” he mutters sincerely, hand dipping into the collection of water. “Eh,” John puffs a laugh, “I’d imagine I would still be stumbling along if it wasn’t for you, little Lady. These woods are larger than I remember them.”
“You come from around here?” You ask, brushing down your wool wrapping as you pull at the burs in the fiber. “Don’t recall your face in the town, though I’m not there often.”
“Hm,” he takes down the water, and you watch his Adam’s Apple bob as droplets slip from his lips to drop off his chin. Once he had drunk the entire cup, he removed it and wiped at his mouth with his forearm, blue eyes peeking above it. “I…wasn’t in town usually. Not really my place—the forests outside of my property took most of my attention.” He confesses, head tilting as the strange cut of his hair flops along with his skull. “Those, I could run blind.”
“I’m sure,” you puff a laugh.
While the air was somewhat calm, there was still an underlying hesitancy: Johnny didn’t know who you were, and you didn’t know what he was running from. Both were important questions that needed to be answered. Yet, John seemed the casual type.
“Doubt me?” His eyes narrow, a smile brewing.
“I never said that,” you walk past him, also grabbing a cup before dipping it into the basin. Your finger points. “But it would be interesting to test.”
“Unfortunately,” John breathes, setting down his cup, “I’m occupied at the moment.”
“A groom would be,” you tilt your head, casually sipping at your drink. “Your wife must be fucking fuming right now.”
The room flips on itself, and the man is instantly frozen.
Johnny stares, shocked, and you see his feet instinctually ready a stance to either blot to the door, or to take up his sword. His expression is layered with secrecy.
“...What was that?”
“I said your wife must be fucking fuming,” you say louder, slipping your hand into your pocket and shrugging to make it seem meaningless—your dagger’s hilt is smooth under your flesh. “Or did you not finish the ceremony? Betrothed, then, Johnny Boy?” Your eyes glint. “Hell, the event must have been absolutely laced with wealth. Did you have wine imported? New fabrics for your wedding clothes? I’d almost be disappointed if you didn’t.”
“That’s none of your business, Dearie,” he levels, glare heavy and firm while his face is stoic. You can clearly see his body wound up like a wild dog. “I think we’re done here.”
He backs up quickly, legs taking him to the exit until you’re suddenly right behind him, and the man feels the sharp press of a blade into the back of his spine.
Your lips are at his ear, and you chuckle. “Sorry, but we’re not done until anything valuable is in my hands and not on your body.”
“If you wanted me naked,” he growls, glaring from over his shoulder, as his form is rod-straight. “You could have just asked, Little Thief.”
“I’d call it heavy persuasion,” you chuff. “Sounds better, don’t you think.”
“I don’t have time for this,” Johnny barks, teeth gnashing. “Put the knife down before this gets ugly.”
“I’m not entirely sure I want to,” your answer meets the air. “There’s enough silver and fine fabric on you to feed me for an entire winter, even when the deer move to better grounds.”
John grits his molars, his neck bent as his fingers twitch at his sides, slipping along to his sword slowly.
“Money? That’s why you’ve got a bloody blade on me? Christ, my day just keeps getting better and better.” You glare, anger moving behind your eyes.
“Some people have to work for what they want, you—” Your hand is slapped to the side as John spins, and your dagger is sent along the floor in a loud clatter; a hand finding your upper arm as you gasp, and, suddenly, there’s the chilled edge of a blade at your throat.
Wide-eyed, you gape at John as the man smirks at you, yet his orbs are infected with annoyance.
“When you draw a knife on someone, you best know how to use it.” The edge is slightly pressed deeper and your body refuses to move. “You put it at the neck, Cat-Eyes.” John frowns, glaring. “Knew there was something about you—down to the bow and arrows.”
“What,” you growl out, a low embarrassment stemming in your gut as John’s puffs of breath move along your face. Your face burns, and your fingers jerk with anger. “A woman can’t have hobbies?”
“Not when I find ‘em up trees waiting to ambush any bastard that comes by wearing silver.”
“Mate,” you sneer, eyes glimmering. “At this point, you can keep your damn silver. It’s more of a reward to watch you stumble like a fool through the woods five feet from the road.” Johnny’s face tightens, yet there’s little time to fight like children anymore when the sound of breaking branches is echoing off the windows of the house.
Both of your necks whip to the door, yours a great deal more carefully as you’re slightly nicked by the sword's edge, but the drip of blood is voided. High voices carry over the air.
“Find him!”
“His tracks lead through here—get the hounds on it!”
“Here!”
Your brow raises, smirk getting larger as you chuckle under your breath. “Better get on your way quickly, then.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Johnny snarls, all at once ripping his sword from your neck yet keeping his ruthless grip on your upper arm. He looks nervous now—his eyes jumping from one place to another, thinking. “Where’s the damn road, you minx.”
You shrug, eyes sharp. “What road, Lord?”
The strong man rages, eyes burning with a thousand suns as the sword is taken from your neck and re-sheathed in one motion—a second hand staples itself to your waist, gripping tightly. You blink, saliva swallowed down thickly at the dig of heavy fingers into flesh as your heart stutters.
“You’re going to tell me,” John levels, shifting the both of you back as the sounds of fast footsteps are echoed by the bay of dogs. “As much as I would enjoy being away from you in any capacity at all,” you smile humorously to him through his dead-tone monologue, “I need a guide out of these woods and across the land. If you won’t help willingly, I’ll just have to make do.”
You blink, confused.
“Make do?” Your body is taken up, and you shout as you’re ruthlessly flung over the man’s shoulder with a hiked toss.
Johnny’s smirk is lost to you, but his chuckle is not as he dashes to the door and slams it open, taking a quick left and looping the house—diving into the foliage as if a fish to water.
“Unhand me, you brute!” You scream, clawing and hitting at the man’s back—kicking even, as your knee speedily finds his ribcage.
“Ow!” John laughs, his grin highly amused as he turns back to look at you. The shouts from the trees get larger, but that doesn’t help you much as you’re both soon going deeper and deeper into the woods. “Jesus, you have a pair of legs, don’t you?”
“If I were marrying you,” you bark down at him, struggling with all of your might as your home disappears from view. “I’d be running instead of the other way around!”
“Well,” Johnny calls, his sword bouncing off of his hip. “It’s a good thing you’re not, then, isn’t it, you bonnie little thief? Your husband would be dead and all of his coin in your dirty pockets!”
“Stop calling me a thief!” You send a closed-fisted slap to the top of his head, and he grunts, balking to the side. “Learn how to handle a fucking lady!”
“Lady?” He breathes heavily, shoving into another bush as leaves get tangled in his hair—twigs stuck in yours as you scowl rabidly. “If you’re a lady, Bonnie, then I’ve got a beast waiting for me back at my ceremony.”
—
He stopped when the light of the sun was low, and your constant attack of his spine left an array of large, fist-shaped bruises on his skin.
“Easy,” John grunts, dropping you with a huff to a down-turned stump.
It isn’t long before you shoot back up, hands clawing for his throat. “Hells Bells!” The man ducks, boyish glint in his eyes as he darts to the side, stepping out of the way as you stumble on tingly legs.
“I’m going to skin you alive,” you yell. “Piece of utter dog shite!”
“Now that’s a bit strong,” John breathes, panting from his mad run for his single life. “Don’t you think?”
You take one step forward, and he takes two back—stuck in a game of cat and mouse. Your eyes are like tiny fires, illuminated with only anger and hatred.
“Give me one reason why I should even attempt to help you,” your screams rise above the trees, hands splayed as John puts his hands to his knees, taking down breaths as sweat dribbles down his neck into his vest. “You-you,” your tongue fumbles, “kidnapper!”
“Technically, it would be an abduction, Dearie.” You slap him across the face and see the man’s cheeks go red from the blow. Shoving your nose nearly right into his, you sneer.
“Correct me again, and it’ll be your balls I hit next.”
He swallows, blinking, before he smirks and pairs it with a chuckle as his eyes spark. “Yes, Ma’am.”
You growl as he holds up his hands, moving one to rub at the back of his neck and itch at the shaved portion of his scalp. That damned smirk—you despised it.
“Get me to the closest port,” John settles, getting to business as his expression mellows out. “And I’ll make it worth your while, I give you my word.”
“What?” You laugh, shaking your head in exasperation the longer the silence falls; realizing how serious the man is. “Oh God in Heaven, this has to be a joke.”
“Anything you ask for, you can have from me when this is over,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting his mud-caked shoes. “I don’t need more than the fee to secure a spot on a good ship sailing away from here, and whatever is left I’ll give to you if you want it. You win in this situation, and I’m not trying to hide it from you.”
Your sharp eyes hone in, unwavering in its heat.
“Christ,” Johnny breathes, “I’d even give you my damn socks if that’s what it takes—I need to get out of here. Quickly.”
You stare, sneering. “Is your betrothed a damn witch or what?”
Blue eyes blink, and his words are firm as they meet air. “Are you taking up my offer or not, Cat-Eyes?”
“Of course, I’m taking the offer!” You bark ruthlessly, rolling your eyes as you kick at the dirt. Rocks and grass fly as darkness settles heavier. “I’m not a fool.”
“Well,” he sighs in relief, looking to the shadows along the ground. “I can’t say you’re that, either, but you are certainly something.”
You narrow your eyes at Johnny but don’t waste your time any longer as you turn and study what you can see.
You had grown up here—in this land. The woods knew you just as much as you knew them. Already you could pinpoint a general map of this section based on the large cracked boulder to your right, and the tiny cluster of trees across the way. You knew the way to town, and from there, the port.
“It’s a three-day walk,” you grumble, side-eyeing the man as he moves to lean against a trunk. He wouldn’t be moving through the night—you didn’t complain on that front either. “You grab at me like that again, and I’ll—”
“Let me guess,” Johnny raises a brow. “You’ll hit me in the balls.”
Your thin lips tell him all he needs to know.
Shuffling past him, you frown and pull your wrapping closer, shuffling your chin into it. No fires for warmth, you know—not with people on your trail.
“I want an explanation,” you turn and dig into him, walking closer as John looks to the side. “If I’m sticking my neck out, I want answers as well as coin.” Poking him in his chest, you force your neck to find his gaze. “Why are you running?”
Johnny sighs, licking his lips as he nods with a low, “Fine.”
You tilt your head, and John moves back to sit against the stump, moving out his hands in an honest display.
“I was told I needed to marry and produce heirs if my house was going to survive, aye?” He states, and you know the story well. “My parents are gone, and my sisters are all married, but my estate is barren of anyone besides myself and the staff. To keep the peace, I gave my word that I would join into a union to secure my assets for my bloodline.”
It was all so formal, the talk of a wife and children—you never understood it. Why couldn’t people simply marry who they love and leave it at that? All this bloodline and assets. Don’t they ever get sick of it?
“What’s your last name, then,” you ask. “McDuff? Mackenzie?”
“MacTavish,” John shakes his head, rubbing his hand up and down the back of his neck. Blue eyes stay with yours. “John MacTavish, I have lands to the North.”
Your brows tighten, arms going to cross themselves. “You’re running from your home because of a union you can freely exit?”
“It isn’t free,” he grumbles, shaking his head firmly and setting his jaw. “My father’s wishes for his children were written down and sealed. I was to marry a daughter of Arthur Campbell when I came of age.” John chuckles face going a bit pink. “As you can see, I’m a good few years past that.”
You tilt your head, and while Johnny was certainly passed the normal age of a male in his position to be wed, it struck you as odd as to why he didn’t want to be in the first place. In marriage during these times, a man has little to lose when joined. Almost nothing else changes for them except another title is added to their long line of others already living under him.
John continues, and you stay your snake-like tongue for now.
“Wasn’t until I learned that by now, Mr. Campbell’s second born daughter, who was the only one near my age, had passed nearly an entire year ago—leaving only the oldest behind.”
“And?” You hum, intrigued to see where this goes. Johnny itches at his chin, scratching the stubble that lives there along with the dirt and grime. “What, I’d imagine the head of the Campbell family wanted to uphold the arrangement?”
“Aye, they did,” John grunts, nodding. “Fiona Campbell was the woman I was set to marry today.” He pauses, sighing heavily before looking to the side. Darkness had set, and there was little light by way to see the expression of guilt growing on his face. “I’m not lyin’ when I say I didn’t want to make such a mess of it, but there’s only so much a man can do when he learns his bride is not only twice his age,” John breathes, grunting, “but also just…” He stops himself, sighing.
You frown, gut swirling.
“She was blank, do you understand?” Johnny asks, motioning a hand in a display of unknowing explanation. “All she seemed to care about was children and wealth. A slate waiting to be filled with someone else’s thoughts and ideas. I didn’t want to be the one to fill it—I’ll not be some husband that runs a wife around like a dog. That isn’t right to me; it wasn’t how I was raised.”
Your mind twists on itself with an indefinable feeling—skin tight to your bones as if taken and tied by ropes. Your heart pumps blood a little harder, but just because this man seems less of a bastard doesn’t mean you like him. He’d dragged you into this hunting party of his grand problem, and the sooner you got your payment, the better and easier it would be to disappear.
“How noble,” you huff, rolling your eyes. Yet, your voice is hiding an under-the-breath shock. “So you bolted into the woods?”
Johnny rubs at his nose bridge, growling in annoyance. “Yes—it was the best cover I had. Been going through the trails since sunrise.” He slaps his hands to his knees and stands back up with a grunt and an ache in his thighs. His sarcastic voice peels the shadows. “Are we satisfied, now, Bonnie?”
“I won’t be until you’re out of my sight,” you level, moving forward. “So are you going to bed so I can drag you to the port or not?”
John’s body is heard shifting as you slip down the trunk of a tree, backside hitting grass as you settle in for a restless sleep—pulling your wrap tighter over your shoulders. Here you were: weaponless and in the company of a runaway groom still in all of his finery.
You wanted that damn boar broach.
“Sleep’ll be smart, we need to be up early,” John says seriously, his shoes shifting the leaves. Letting the chill seep in, you burrow into your fabrics and glare ahead. Johnny’s sly voice is so reminiscent of yours, that you have to wonder if the two of you were cut of the same cloth. “I won’t be opposed to a cuddle if you get chilly, Little Lady—”
“I should have stabbed you when I had the chance.”
Johnny’s low chuckles waft over the air, and then the silence settles fully.
Yet, you’re up far later than you anticipated…and you find this honest man’s confession to be bouncing inside of your skull like an enraged bird.
—
“Christ, did I do that?” A finger is pressed under your chin, tilting your head up as you strangle a gasp at the sudden motion.
Johnny looks at the tiny cut along your neck from the edge of his sword—the barely-there irritation of the skin that you’d been itching at as you walked forward through the trees.
He frowns, glancing into your eyes as your body stills at the feeling of warm flesh.
It was the first day of walking, and the silence between the two of you had stayed. Not only were you annoyed at the situation, but also John’s story—you’d been mulling it over since last night.
But below that anger, you might have even felt a little wrong.
“Who else?” You sigh sarcastically to the man, trying to hide the rising flood of heated shock. Thick digits drag along your esophagus slowly in study, and John’s face creases the longer he looks. He’s hunched near you, too—and you can smell the low scent of leather and earth.
Johnny pulls back with a huff and slips a hand into his sporran. Your eyes watch with blatant distrust until a relatively clean rag is taken out by a steady hand.
He motions with it. “Come ‘ere. Let me get the dirt out of it before it gets infected, eh?”
You sigh lowly but decide it’s a good idea at the very least before nodding—John’s fingers return as the light from above leaks through the branches. The morning was cold, but not unreasonable; the woods gave shelter from the otherwise abusive wind of the open country.
“Look at that,” you breathe, “The first nice thing you’ve done for me.”
“Ah,” John lightly glares. “Not quite right—I carried you away instead of making you run with me.”
Your eyes roll, and Johnny’s chuckle echoes off the surroundings.
“Such a gentleman,” you grumble, feeling the rag press into your throat and the soft scrape of it across your scratch.
“So,” the man hums, blue eyes stuck to your flesh as he takes care of it far more nicely than you’d imagined someone to be. “Seeing as I’ve shared my sob story, Cat-Eyes, I think I’d like to ask after yours.” His voice is full of amusement. “As we’ll be keeping one another company.”
“It’s less as in-depth than yours,” your fingers twitch as Johnny moves back after the cleaning is done—returning the rag to his sporran as he blinks.
“I don’t believe that,” he raises a brow, as you ignore the remembrance of his touch and continue, paving the trail as the dark-haired man follows a close distance behind. “Can’t say there’s many times I’ve seen an unwed woman wielding a bow and thieving someone out of their money. I’ve seen a lot of things, Bonnie,” he laughs, “but never that. Scared the hell out of me when you dropped down.”
“You can add me to the top of the list, I suppose,” you puff a teasing breath. After an expecting pause in the conversation, you grow bored of the nothingness.
“I’ve lived out here my entire life—I do what I have to. That’s all there is to it.”
John’s face gradually pulls into itself, only looking away from you to glance at the path to make sure he won’t fall.
“No family?”
“None,” you tilt your head, shimmying under a low branch and pushing leaves off your shoulders. They sway to the ground softly as you brush an arm over your forehead, sensing Johnny’s attention.
The man grunts. “M’sorry.”
Your feet stumble for a moment, pace faltering, until you cover it up easily. You turn to stare, narrowing your eyelids as open blues watch silently. John’s shoulder brushes yours.
“It’s life,” you blankly answer. “Least I wasn’t married off. Where you had to worry about a blank slate, I had to worry about becoming a broodmare for a man who most likely would never love me.”
Johnny licks his lips, eyes darting to the ground. “Can’t imagine you like that,” he mutters, but it isn’t some joke—he’s truthful.
“Perfect,” is what his ears twitch to. “Because I’d sooner act like you and bolt from my wedding as well.”
“Would that make me the thief in your story, then?” Johnny asks, chuffing as he smiles towards you, reaching a hand above him to push another branch out of the way—separating it from your form as you bend under. “I’m tellin’ you, I wouldn’t be very good at it. All that dropping down from trees would have my knees screamin’. Not that they don’t already.”
Your laugh pierces his chest, and the man sends a kind if not a bit startled, show of interest to you. It sounded like a bowstring slapping a wrist—harsh and telling all at once: something to be known and understood even if heard only once.
John blinks at you, and his heart patters along in his chest.
“I think it would be more fun to think about you with a dagger,” you narrow your gaze at him, smiling. “A small thing like that would disappear in your hands, Johnny Boy.”
“Disappear?” He tilts his head, raising his hands to hover in front of him. “Ah, they’re not that big, are they?”
You shift, and, nearly without thinking, you slip your hand to sit above his. Johnny makes a noise in the back of his throat, eyes going wide as you reference the size of his grip under yours, but allows you to regardless. A blue gaze slides to your face, openly imploring, before they dart back down to your shared hands as the roughness of his callouses scraped against your flesh.
“Care to compare?” You smirk, lifting a brow.
Johnny’s lips parted quickly, blinking a few times as he tried to find the words to accompany his running mind. He clears his throat, but the small sheen of red pigment on his cheeks is undeniable.
Laughing, you detach the connection and pull ahead, leaving the man behind as he stutters with a fast pulse.
“You’re the strangest woman I’ve ever met,” is what he decides minutes later, a large grin on his face—he was enjoying this, for whatever twisted and flawed reason, he was. John’s adrenaline was pumping, his heart was pounding, and his feet were passing over the earth, yet, even better, his brain was sparking at a mile a minute for the woman who walked only three feet ahead of him. He watches you take these trails like an expert, not having to look down at your feet as stone and wood are passed as if you were water above them, whispering and nearly silent.
“At least I’m not boring.” Your eyes meet him, and in them, they create some horribly beautiful amalgamation of twin flames—two sparking fires that feed from the same ember. “You would never catch me becoming a housewife, Johnny Boy.” Your gazes never break. “There are far too many things to steal in this country, and so very few men who can keep up.”
John’s chest moves in the beat of his pulse—his attention wholly transfixed upon the sight of this wild-born woman whom he’d only met yesterday. There were leaves in your wrap, and brown-black mud coated up to your ankles, even sweat sitting at your temple, yet you moved with grace befitting a Lady: never seeming to tire of jokes or firm surety. Yet…you weren’t cruel—you weren’t without purpose.
Any accomplished thief would have just stabbed him and taken what they needed in your house. You offered John water, however, you chose to give him a chance to comply. It was such a small thing in the grand scheme, but Johnny was always one to analyze how one feather on a bird can affect the flight pattern, so to speak. One action that speaks volumes.
You liked creating games, and, lucky for him, John loved to solve them.
And that glint in your sharp-slitted eyes was becoming more and more enjoyable every second, he found.
Pushing back the strands of his wayward hair, John keeps up with you for every step, not unfamiliar with how to traverse unsteady terrain. He wasn’t lying in what he told you—he had spent most of his life in the forest beside his home: hunting, fishing, riding. There wasn’t an activity he didn’t enjoy when he was outside, though his mother was always heavy on him about the mess he brought back.
Blue eyes drop back down to your dirt-laced pants, and the man can’t help but give his best, lip-pulling smile.
Hell, if he didn’t know any better, he would say that you were something that made so little, and at the same time so much, sense to him.
“Well, maybe they just aren’t accustomed to hiking, Little Cat-Eyed Thief.”
There was something special in the glances you two would throw one another.
—
Your hands dip into the clear water, fingers open to feel the current drag through them gently.
“If you want a sip,” you say, cupping the liquid and bringing it up to your lips, “it’s safe. This river flows down from the hills—not perfect, but there’s only a small chance it’ll make you sick.”
John comes up and hums as he sits down beside you, folding his legs under him and leaning forward to submerge his arms up to his elbows in water. He sighs, and you hear the river gurgling as the man begins to rub up his flesh, getting rid of all the grime.
“Good to know.” Blue eyes spare you a look as he continues. “What’s this one called?”
“Woodney river,” you answer. “Old Man Jack Woodney ran a water wheel on this river a long walk West. If this place had a name before that, it won’t tell.”
Johnny washes his face, scrubbing at his stubble as the scratch of it plays in the side of your ear. You watch along the opposite shore, eyes going from trees to birds—even to the shadows of fish that quickly swim past. Sighing, you have to admit the beauty of this adventure. There were few times you could say you’d gone this far into the woods with no wealth to trade in with the townspeople.
You side-eye John and study him just as heavily as you do a wild animal.
He wasn’t unattractive, you admitted. Strong—sturdy. Johnny was capable in a way that most Lords wouldn’t be, some, you guessed, would already be complaining about the uncomfortableness of their clothes or the flesh of their blistered feet. But John was bright-eyed; more than once you’d seen him actively watching the stretch of the trees for any sign of his pursuers. He never complained. Not once.
“You’re not as insufferable as I thought you’d be,” you say. Frowning, your hands push back into the water and cup some of the chilled liquid. You let it drip before you extend your hand to your neck and feel your eyes droop in relaxation.
Johnny laughs, staring at you for a minute as he slowly raises a brow. His face shows amusement.
“Am I supposed to be insulted or not?”
“I leave that for you to decide.”
John cracks his knuckles and shakes his head as he stands. “C’mon,” he drags, but the smile in his voice is clear. A hand is set in front of yours. “Sooner I get out the port, the sooner I’m out of your hair.”
Your face softens slightly.
“Am I ever going to get an apology for being tossed like a sack of potatoes?” Skin meets skin as you slip your hand into his, and the man pulls you to your feet as you smile. Calluses brush yours, and yet again, you find you enjoy this game—perhaps more than any other you’d played before.
And you don’t understand why.
Johnny’s fingers are firm over yours, curling as water drips to the ground below in reflective droplets, and you think back to the first time you’d met him—panting breath and rapid eyes. Your eyes glance to that boar broach, and find it attached to a man that is suddenly more of a mystery than a closed book.
“Easy,” John mutters, steadying you by your shoulders as you remember where you are. The dark-haired man squeezes your flesh and looks into you.
Blue eyes glint, and that smirk, you find, is always followed by a tiny tint of his head. “And what’s that look for, Cat-Eyes?”
“You called me strange.”
John’s brows furrow. “Aye. I did.” He looks you up and down slowly. “You are.”
You do the same to him, not wasting more than a moment. “And I find it funny that you haven’t said the same thing about yourself. You’re far more strange than I’ll ever be.”
“Guilty,” Johnny smiles, nodding slightly. His hands are still on you, and he doesn’t seem to even notice. “I don’t think a normal one would fuck off from his own wedding, would he?”
“Or kidnap a woman as a guide,” you state, pulling out of his warm hold even as your stomach flips as you brush past
“Again,” John’s hand motions through the air. “Abduct.”
“You’re just saying that because it sounds slightly better,” you grimace over your shoulder. “Like comparing a dog to a wolf.”
Johnny is hot on your heels, and when the river-eroded stepping stones to the other side of the water are the clear path to take, he’s already on the first and holding out his arm for you as a true gentleman would. You glance at him and hop to the first stone, liquid sloshing at your shoes.
Your smirk is stuck with his like two pieces of a quilt, and neither of you realizes it.
“You put a knife to my back first, Dearie.” John puffs and his face is right next to your ear as you both cross the stones—you lean into him and elbow his side before your arm slips into his. The man grunts, blinking as he chuckles above the slosh of water.
“So? Maybe I only point knives at the men I like.”
“Then I’d say you have every right to put one right at my throat.”
Feet move carefully over rocks and the spray of the water that coats them—a dance of wit in their own right. It was like animals circling one another, all sharp eyes and pulled lips trying to find weaknesses. Deadly flirting and addictive banter.
Where annoyance was such a common emotion, now there was a near expectation of jabs; of tantalizing quips for the glimpse of another's mind.
Neither of you could understand the other, which was exactly why you both reveled in the brush of warm flesh.
“Careful,” your feet meet the hard ground once more on the other side, and John only lets go when he knows that you don’t need him to steady you. “You’re engaged, Johnny Boy.”
Your tease slips in one ear and out the other, and the man watches you turn and begin walking again with sly eyes. John’s wide gaze stays stuck there for a moment—mouth eager to continue any conversation given. Watching you walk, his heart beats speedily.
“I think my, ah, reputation has all but ruined my chances on that front—”
There’s something unique about the sound of an arrow sinking into flesh that can’t really be forgotten. John had heard it many times—even been behind the bow that shot it; the slap of the string across his forearm, the set of his shoulder blades widening until the arrow disappeared.
But there’s something worse knowing that the sudden expulsion of air from lungs, in fact, belongs to you and not some wild animal.
You’re hit in a fraction of a second, down on the ground in less than that—your mind not even understanding above the immediate pressure and the slam of earth. You gasp loudly, and then the pain hits.
Hand snapping to your left bicep, your eyes slash down to stare as grass and mud fly into the air, rabid sounds escaping the back of your throat at the image that strikes you. An arrow was stuck deep into your skin—sticking out as blacked feathers flutter at the end of the shaft. The adrenaline hits rapidly, but the expression of horror still remains.
“Cat-Eyes!” Johnny yells, rushing forward, and unsheathing his sword, the sound of metal on metal harsh, but not as harsh as the sound of blood in the man’s ears.
You see the swelling of crimson, and, from under your fingers, the red of blood slips as your breathing gets hoarse. Biting into your lip, the quick sound of an under-the-breath groan of agony ripples.
But you’re not stupid.
Scrambling to your feet with the arrow still poking out of you, Johnny gets to you and pushes you behind him just as your shaking legs straighten—-your eyes slashing the woods in panic. Pain can wait.
The runaway groom spares you quick glances, pushing you further behind as his raging gaze darts this way and that. He yells into the trees, anger and order infecting his voice, “Show yourself!”
Just as suddenly, there’s a relieved call and a moving shadow. You clench your eyes tight and grit your teeth as a wave of pain rockets through you.
“Fuck,” you grind out, lost under the louder voice. Blood drips to the ground.
“My Lord!” Men burst through the leaves, bows, and swords aloft. “Quickly—to us!”
Johnny’s face is stiff; there isn’t an ounce of care, but the flash of recognition is swift, and in his chest, his heart, once beating so quickly, drops to his stomach.
Knights. His knights. Christ, the two of you hadn’t been fast enough.
“Stand down!” John spits, and cares little now for the thought of robbery or assault on his person—these men wouldn’t hurt him, but they were tasked to bring him back. “Fucking bawbags, the lot of you.”
His sword is sheathed by twitching fingers, and no sooner were those digits around you instead.
You pant hoarsely, face tight as your vibrating body tells you to run—eyes locked onto Johnny’s, the man in front of you ushers you over to the trunk of a tree hurriedly, uttering, “Just breathe now, Dearie—listen to me. It’s alright, aye?”
“What is this?” You raggedly push out, flinching as your spine meeting the bark jostles your arm painfully.
Your teeth grit, tears collecting in the corner of your vision.
“Knights,” John mutters as if his words are chased by wolves. “They’re after me—probably thought you were either holding me hostage or trying to lead me into an ambush.” The colorful fabric of his pinned tartan is dragged off from over his shoulder and shoved into your weeping flesh, and you lightly moan in agony, head falling back to the tree.
Tears slip from over your cheeks.
“Easy.” John’s concern is palpable. Worried eyes dart from your face to your wound. “Jesus,” he utters under his breath, anger flashing.
“Who is this?” One of the knights asks, taking a step forward as Johnny holds the fabric to your wound and speaks to you lowly, utterly ignoring the people behind him.
“I need to break the shaft off, okay?” Blue eyes try to keep even, and John’s other hand captures your cheek. He levels your face right in front of his, breathing lowly. The man clears his throat as your tight gaze flutters, tightening his grip. “Hey,” Johnny breathes. You grunt, voice a low grind.
“Just make it quick.”
John’s lips thin. “Yes, Ma’am.”
His large hand swiftly moves to the arrow, gripping around it just where flesh meets wood, you hiss loudly, spitting and raging as your vision partially blackens. Pain sparks up and down your spine, racing like a cat after a mouse.
“Lord,” one knight tries again, coming closer and reaching out for Johnny’s shoulder. “We need to get you back to Castle Campbell—we’ve been hoping to find you unharmed for your future wife’s comfort. Everyone is in a panic!”
“I’ll count down to three,” Johnny whispers to you, breathing heavily as he swallows and steady himself, hand lightly clammy. He wished he had his hunting gloves with him, but this was the best he could do. “Eh,” the man grunts, eyes steady, “You listening, Bonnie?”
“I don’t care what you count to,” you nearly bark, orbs flashing. “Just break the damn thing off—!”
The wood snaps with a defining splinter, and your scream afterward has the man having to hold you up with his arms around your waist, muttering into your ear with his lips against the shell.
“It’s alright, you’re alright,” John hears the clatter of the shaft to the grass just as the knight’s hand is heavily placed on his shoulder. “Breathe. M’right ‘ere.”
You sag into Johnny taking in the scent of sweat, blood, and dirt—the musk that stays even as your ears start ringing and the voices start getting louder.
“Best get your hands off o’ me before I break ‘em, Mate” Johnny grunts from deep in his chest, shifting your body to the side and effectively ripping his flesh out of the knight’s hold.
All the others shift nervously—hands on their swords and looking back and forth between the strange scene.
Who were you? A mistress? A bandit luring their Lord away? Why was he with you out here; going in the opposite direction of where the ceremony was supposed to take place? They’d been given orders, and a knight is no good unless he can follow them.
John MacTavish was needed, and their duty was to see it through.
Johnny’s tartan had fallen to the ground behind the two of you, getting kicked by feet as they shuffle and as your blood slips off of your limp fingers. Mind failing, your pain-addled form shakes even as the knowledge of imminent danger is present.
You needed to figure out a way to get out of here.
Pushing your head up from Johnny’s shoulder, your eyes flutter but manage to analyze what little you can see clearly—adrenaline can take care of most of your agony, only leaving a dull ache as your heart continues to rage.
A group of four knights have their hands on their swords, and all of their eyes are on John.
Run, a deep part of you urges. Your legs are still good. Take off—none of them know the terrain like you do. You’ll be free.
You pant, your nostrils flaring with every breath as your sweat trickles off your jawline. Johnny’s grip on you tightens, head shifting back and forth, unknowing where to anchor itself, not understanding which is more important—your state, or your safety.
Free, free, free.
Your mind flashes to an empty house: silent woods. How you would go months without seeing another human face, but that was your own choice.
Wasn’t it?
Your eyes slip to Johnny.
“We’ve been tasked with bringing you back, My Lord,” the first knight says, looking heavily upon the runaway. “We have our orders. Please understand.”
“And I’m telling you your orders are utter shite,” John spits. “So back the fuck up and drag yourself out of this place. Now.” He glares, teeth snapping. “Those are my orders.”
Your arm is numb, and your chest expands as it sits on John’s own. And you think.
You knew you were a selfish person.
There was no debate about it—even when you’d stolen enough coin to feed you for weeks, there was still a part of you that longed for some chase; some challenge to your senses. You liked stealing. You liked the looks on people's faces when they realized they were being swindled for every valuable item they had in their possession. But there was something you liked even more than all of that—a challenge.
Johnny, to you, was that challenge. He was the largest challenge you’d ever faced. A Lord who was running from a bride, a man who held his beliefs higher than praise or standing…a blue-eyed stranger who matches your poking jabs word for word.
“Damn,” your growl, and John takes it as an exclamation of pain.
He grits his teeth and studies you, opening his mouth as his concern grows at the smell of blood.
“We need to tie it off,” he utters. “Bastards made me drop the tartan—I’m sorry, Dearie.”
Your lips are near his ear.
“When I say ‘go,’ run to the left.”
Johnny halts, attention snapping down. His fingers flinch around you, face open until the mask of sudden knowledge flies over it like a curtain. But it’s gone just as quickly—hidden by intelligent eyes that glint.
He doesn’t question you, and, in the crux of your shoulder, you get a near-infinitesimal nod from Johnny’s head.
The guards grow suspicious, all mulling closer by the second the longer you two remain so close—on opposite ends, you feel your heart mirroring John’s in a rapid and ravaging pulse: Thump-thump, thump-pump, thump-pump-thump.
Your attention is split three ways.
One: the rising numbness of your limbs and the heat of your brain. Two: the spread of Johnny’s panting breath across your sweat-slick skin and his hands tightening. Three: knights and the clatter of their armor. How they slide their hands across their weapons like intimate partners—the tension building in a hemp bowstring and the sound of arrows hitting off one another; one taken and played with between fingers so similarly to how you would act.
Your tear-stained eyes glare at the knight who’d shot you, your expression building into an act of hatred.
They take a step forward.
“Cat-Eyes—” Johnny begins to warn slowly.
“Go.” Your words are no shout. They don’t echo off the trees, which all hold their breeze in expectation, they don’t ring in ears except the ones of the man holding you. But they’re like the personification of a sword strike—like the release of an arrow and the impending thump of it hitting home.
The knights dash forward with calls for their Lord to stand down, but John’s already flinched away with a heavy grunt.
You do the same, your plan already formed—you would run the opposite way as Johnny, only slipping off when the cover of bushes had enshrouded the both of you to create two sets of tracks. With any luck, the guards would break off into two groups and pursue the both of you, and you could easily lose yours.
From there, circle back and find John: get your bearings before—
Arms never detach from your waist, and you’re once more tossed into a strong grip.
Eyes bugging, your focus breaks as gravity leaves and your head goes light. Johnny dashes away, and, just as the last time, you’re in his boar-like hold.
“You idiot!” You bark, the only difference to your predicament now is that you’re held in a bridal grip and not slung over his sweaty shoulder. There was only a small sliver of relief before the annoyance overtook you.
Johnny’s body crashes through the leaves, the shouts of the knights following as he gruffly raises his voice to the wind. The trees shake with amusement.
“Thinking you could hand over some directions, Dearie?!”
“Thinking you could put me down?!” You shout back, your arm sparking with pain as your opposite wraps the man’s neck firmly. “Damn.” Your lips twist in response. “My legs work just fine, you know—I wasn’t shot in the arse!”
“Acting like you were,” John grumbles, a branch slapping his cheek before you can. Despite it all, he chuckles wholeheartedly at his own joke.
An arrow whizzes through the air, and you yelp, ducking behind his body even more as your skull fits under his jaw. Your eyes snap to the visible terrain as Johnny’s legs push from one side to the other, running in a zig-zag pattern to avoid any more injuries.
“There,” your brows rise, fighting past the pain to find the familiar slash of a gnarled willow tree that whizzes by in brown and dark green.
Your head rises to see more of the woods, only to be pushed back down by an all-expansive hand as John utters a fast-breathed and firm, “Not the best idea.”
He shoves through brambles, and the sounds of rampaging knights are gaining. The second John sloshes through a low pool with a loud curse, you know instantly where you two are.
“Take a left near the overhang with vines coming down!”
“That one?”
“Yes!”
And so this game continued long after the knights had been lost to the woods, stumbling about without any sense of where they were, and the two of you came to a panting halt an hour later. Deep night was setting in on the second day, and, as your shaky feet hit the ground, John kept a heavy eye on you.
“Steady,” he mutters, sweat pouring off his face; saturating his clothes. He worriedly stares, looking you up and down.
Your vision swirls, the glade around you the exact place you both needed to be. There were hills here—surrounded by thick trenches carved by rivers long dried. The stars were out, and the moon was shining down; one thin trickle of a river was feet away, the sound of water on rocks addictive to your pounding ears.
All of it was null to the way your gut flipped at the humming agony of your arm.
Your hand snaps to the puncture and the flood of blood is enough to leave your fingers dripping with crimson glinting in moonlight.
There’s a heavy ripping sound, and then you find yourself sitting down in the grass as Johnny shoves the torn fabric of his suit into the small river. You hear the splashing as you glance down at your arm before rapidly looking away, biting at your lip as your spine hunches.
“Christ almighty,” you growl, glaring to the side as your fingers quiver. Tears well.
“The arrowhead is keeping pressure,” John hurries to speak, trying to distract you just as his own exhaustion is bare to see. The rung-out fabric is looped around your arm, tying off until you have to strangle down a scream at the tightness on your flesh. “We have to keep it there until there’s enough sterile material to fix it up.”
“Your knights are pieces of work,” you hiss, more from the wound than anything.
John gives a little look, blue eyes darting up until falling.
“Aye, they are.” His strong jaw clenches. “This shouldn’t have happened, Dearie.”
You stare as he finishes up, and you feel his fingertips slipping along your arm. Your eyelids droop, closing as your nostrils suck in shaky air. You take a moment to take in the silence that follows, John’s eyes not straying as your face is illuminated.
He watches the streaks of dirt along your skin, and, in a soft attempt to fix this, he stands and moves to the river once more—cleaning his hands. Johnny takes the rag out of his sporran and wets it, coming back to your body as the grass waves back and forth.
“Let me…” the man says slowly, and your eyes open back up as the chilled item is pushed to your cheek.
Wide orbs staring forward, you swallow as John concentrates on cleaning your skin carefully.
“Infection is my immediate concern,” the man says with a sigh, yet continues as your tongue stays tied; face growing more heated by the second. “But you mentioned it takes three days to the town, aye? That’s not unmanageable with two already under our feet.”
Blood, dirt, and sweat slip away with every drag of the fabric, and, stuck into his suit, that boar broach still sits—crooked now, but still there.
Your attention is momentarily taken by it, and your fingers twitch before you notice how very close John’s face is to yours.
The man focuses, relaying a plan as you’re stuck mute; your arm holding its own heartbeat as the grass shifts.
“I’ll use what I have to get you into a doctor. Make sure there’ll be no problems before I get going.” John blinks, tilting his head. “‘Course, that’ll decrease the amount you’ll get in turn.”
“Fortunately for you,” you breathe, voice strained, and blue eyes stick to yours. John pauses, brows slightly pulling up on his face. “I value my own life too much to complain about a man paying for my care.”
John’s rag stays where he placed it, right on the swell of your cheek as, this close to one another, you can see the scar on his chin—one that curves to the muscle and bone.
He was handsome, make no mistake about it. You knew it; you understood it. A lord with morals and the smarts to go along with the strength—now that was utterly unheard of. You liked that, truthfully. Someone who could think, and plan.
And, of course, follow directions.
“You’ll be fine,” John mutters, glancing to the side, yet his head doesn’t move back. He clears his throat with a sigh.
You roll your eyes, moving out and grabbing his hand with the rag. Johnny’s expression startles, arm tensing as you steal the dripping fabric from him. Water runs down your neck.
“I know I am.” You huff, smiling.
You push the rag onto his own face, and begin your cat-like approval of his character, washing away the grime just as he had your own. A blue gaze stays firmly on your flesh, the man’s shoulders loosening until he’s sitting just in front of you. Verident grass whispers in a language like a soft breeze, and you study Johnny’s skin until everything becomes a mosaic of scars and blemishes—stories woven into sinews holding as much history as the tines on an elk or the chipped tusks of a boar.
Two days and he’d become even more of a mystery than he had been before. Or maybe he always had been, and now your previous contentment had grown into an addictive curiosity.
He’d called you Cat-Eyes.
You couldn’t love a title more—not even if Lady were on the table.
“I settle my scores,” you grunt, tilting your head as you push back mud from his forehead, leaning in. “You wash my face, I wash yours.”
“Literally, then?” A sarcastic eyebrow makes you huff.
“Is that not what I’m doing, Johnny Boy?”
“Seems so, Cat-Eyes.”
Your matching glares hold no venom.
Smirking, you lean back after the last swipe at his forehead, pushing Johnny’s skull back as he chuckles, moon-lit visage something you would see scrawled on the parchment of an old story-teller's sketches. A man not made for this age.
Your face softens slowly, and it is a strange thing sitting atop the sharpness of your eyes.
John’s chuckles fade, and his breath catches in his throat.
“You’re an odd fellow, John MacTavish,” you say, here, with blood from an arrow wound drying to crack along your skin.
Your head tilts, eyes narrowing.
John’s lips slowly pull upwards, and the water on both of your faces drips to the listening earth. This place is alive with possibilities, and all of them stem from the growing draw of twisted human souls.
A just Lord and a cunning thief.
A sharp-eyed cat and a strong-bodied boar.
A future and a past—riddled with arrow marks; long sword slashes.
“Well…then I’m thinking we make quite the pair, Bonnie.”
—
The third day was spent on the latter half of the journey. Re-correcting the course and giving the best directions you could with the numb ache of your arm spreading up your shoulder.
But the town came easily as the midday sun rose to crest your heads.
“Want to lean on me?” Johnny asks, standing close by, but you’re already shaking your head.
“Feels better to keep myself focused,” you mutter, grimacing. You look at the entrance to the town, and as you both walk it, the stares are immediate—shocked residents looking at the haggard appearance of two individuals.
“Alright,” John sighs, side-eyeing you. “Just let me know if you’re goin’ to keel over, yeah?”
“Duly noted,” you tilt your head his way. Your lips smirk like a smug child. “You’ll catch me, won’t you?”
Johnny chuckles, shrugging his wide shoulders as his tattered finery is chock-full of brambles and leaves.
“Can’t say no to that.”
The Lord kept his promise—the doctor took the arrowhead, cleaned, cauterized the wound, and sutured you back up. For payment, as you lightly touch the bandaged section of your arm, you find your eyes freezing as a silver glinting reflects off the light through the window.
Johnny hands over his boar broach to the doctor.
Widely staring at the prize being pawned off for your health, your heart stutters in heavy greed.
No, you rapidly think. No, that was the one thing that I—
Your eyes inexplicably snap to Johnny.
The immediate thought is that he looks angry, but, the next and more accurate one, is that he looks sad.
John’s blues continue to follow the broach as it disappears into the doctor's pocket, and you see the weight fall back to his chest and arms—sitting heavy like a stone. The man’s feet shift along the ground for a moment, and he looks like he’s about to say something before he grits his teeth and shakes his head to himself. John grunts, fixing his nose.
You blink, and then your heart twists in on itself for no reason at all.
Or maybe there was a reason.
“C’mon, Cat-Eyes,” Johnny sighs heavily, tilting his head as his arms cross. “Time to see me off, then.”
He walks out the door, and your eyes follow like a loyal dog.
Standing there for a moment, your lips contort your face into a deep frown, sharp eyes gaining a sheen of light anxiety. Yet, there was no mistaking it—it had been said a million times—if there was one thing you could do, it was play a game.
Maybe you weren’t so bad after all.
“Oh my,” you mutter, putting a hand to your head and stumbling.
The doctor starts forward quickly, grasping at your un-injured arm. “Careful now, Woman. Don’t rip my sutures.”
He tells you, getting you fully up as you chuckle, placing your hands above his thigh, fingers twitching on the fabric.
“Apologies, apologies,” you mutter, retracting your hand and cupping it against your abdomen with a meek smile. “Just a little lightheaded. Thank you, Doctor.”
“Best be off, now,” the man grumbles, and you’re out the door swiftly.
Your shoes meet the cobble as you shift your hands into your pockets, shifting your body to look along after the large form that leans against the home waiting for you.
“Ready?” Johnny asks, though his attention is firmly planted on the ground five feet away, lost in thought.
“Aye,” you sigh, nodding your head to the East. “Port’s that way—let’s get this nightmare over with.”
“Hm,” Johnny agrees, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Quite the adventure for a runaway.”
“You can’t have thought it would be easy?” Your brows furrow. “You’re heir to the MacTavish lands.”
“I never said I thought it would be easy,” John moves at your side, a great hulk of honesty. He hands over his attention at last as you fiddle with the smooth item in your pocket. He huffs. “Just that it was an…experience, to say the least. One I’m not sure I’d want to go through again.”
“You’ll miss me,” you say confidently, meeting eyes with a smirk and a cocky shift to your form despite the lessening pain.
Johnny watches. He smiles, eyes crinkling. “Aye. I will.” You pause, expression stilling. The man hums, and you swear there’s something special in the way you can describe his look as delicate.
“You were the one part that I don’t regret,” he says lastly to you as if the words aren’t spears laced with poison.
Your breath gets caught in a way it never has, and John seems not to notice as he pulls ahead, muttering about him seeing the docks. The smell of salt water slaps your nostrils.
The legs under you slow until they’re stopped, and you look after the man as he begins speaking to workers along the port, asking for a spot on the large ships that sit in the water, rocking with the winds.
Your eyes trail, seeing the way he talks with such confidence—openly offering physical labor as his payment for even the dark quarters with the other laborers.
After what seems like hours of watching, you see him shake another man’s hand, and, just like that, passage is earned. He jogs back over, smiling.
You open your mouth to say something, but find the words null and void. You don’t know what to express. For once in your life, everything seems to be moving horrifically fast.
“Well,” John’s expression slowly sombers. “I suppose this is it then. I said you could ask for anything, and, I suppose,” he shifts the sword on his belt off after a moment, looking down at it. He holds the item, testing its weight. “I suppose this is all I have left.” Blue eyes slowly meet yours. “If you’ll take it.”
Always a thief, never a saint.
“I suppose it’ll have to do, Johnny Boy,” you sigh, the pain in your heart outweighing the one on your arm. “Hand it over.”
The sword is transferred and slipped to your waist. Many a man on the docks gives you strange looks, and, you find you welcome it—none could compare to the admiration in Johnny’s.
You lick your lips.
“Do one thing for me, hm?”
“Anything,” John mutters, not blinking.
You move forward, and place a firm kiss to his lips.
The man freezes, fingers twitching at his sides, before he sags and bends into you—his great hand capturing your cheek until all that remains in the sear of his heat and the scent of the earth.
You softly pull away, though not far enough as to where you can’t feel his breath on yours. Gazing into his eyes, you smile the widest you can remember.
“Don’t go running away from another wedding anytime soon. I can only save so many Lords until my reputation gets slandered.”
“You’re ruthless,” John growls, smirking as his eyes glint, looking you up and down. “Little Thief.”
He leans in for another kiss, but your hands only shift above his sporran before you dart back, chuckling.
“Always,” your hands brush his sword on your hip as you walk backward, grinning behind the strange pressure in your heart. If someone asked, you wouldn’t even know how to describe it.
John takes a step after you, face open and raw—an emotion you feel like mirroring if not for your excellent control.
Not yet.
“I’ll take care of this,” you call, patting the weapon.
“Good,” Johnny calls, taking one more step forward before stopping himself. One of the shipmates calls from the dock, and his eyes snap there with a jaw tense. He looks back at you and blinks, brows pulling in. In the heat of the moment, he exclaimed, “I’ll be back for it one day, Cat-Eyes!”
“Lovely!” You yell, back turning. “I’ll be waiting for you then. I do hope you’ll be able to get through the woods, and, please, don’t keep a woman waiting! You’re much too handsome for any of that.”
And then you’re gone.
Johnny stares at where you were, his smile large and his face heated, and after a louder call from the dock, he’s forced to turn and jog to the ship, hurrying up the board until he can stand on the swaying deck with his two feet.
He looks around, chuckling to himself, and still, his eyes shift back to land without fail; hoping for a glimpse—a small shadow.
Shaking his head at his own foolishness, the man reaches into his sporran for his rag, intent to clean and set it to dry when he’s able to get the chance to settle in. It’s one of the last items to his name no matter how pathetic.
Yet, his hands touch something far more precious.
Johnny’s body goes as straight as a tree when his fingers caress smooth metal, and, slowly, his grip pulls out the silver of his broach.
It glints in his palm as he sets it there, and his breath is stolen in one great bound of shock and confusion.
“What in the…” He already knows.
Johnny’s feet take him to the railing gently, and his body stands there—torn wedding clothes and all looking over a town that begins to move as the ship sets sail. He holds the broach carefully, not intending to let it go for an age. He just needs to lay low for a while. He needs time.
John smiles.
“I won’t keep you waiting,” he mutters to the moving homes, and he swears he sees the glint of a sword from between the buildings, and two sharp eyes digging into him.
You’re there, of course. Hidden as always.
You want your trees back, and you think that a day of sitting in your Oak is a good idea.
There’s dirt on your face again—your lips are chapped and your face is bitten by the wind; scars and blemishes that time won't heal but make all the more visible as the ages pass by on bird’s wings and cat purrs. Yet here is an action held immemorial.
A gift given freely by a thief is one to be treasured like pure gold, and the man on the ship knows that more intimately than any other as he clips the broach to himself with a hum.
You both watch the other from opposite, distant points until there’s no sun in the sky left to see with. Just a faint hope lights the way: the hope that your eyes will grace each other's visage, at the very least, just one more time in your life.
There was never a story so willing to be experienced than that of a runaway groom and his cat-eyed Thief.
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#cod#cod x reader#cod x you#call of duty#x female reader#call of duty x you#cod mw22#mw2#mw2 2022#johnny mactavish x reader#johnny soap mactavish#john mactavish x you#john mactavish x reader#john mactavish#soap mactavish#soap call of duty#soap cod#soap mw2#john soap mactavish#soap x reader#soap x you#x fem!reader#cod x female reader
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cw: explicit smut, johnny being a perv, mentions of reader and price being parental figures but not in a weird way, praise kink, price is mushy gushy but also rough, idek what else to put its just johnny perving on price and wife thats it thats the drabble
Sergeant John "Soap" Mactavish had seen the absolute worst of the world in his years working in the army. Things no human should ever have to witness; scenes so grotesque, heart-wrenching, and downright deplorable that they could only be conjured by hell.
But this? Not even the purest form of bleach would cleanse this from his eyes, nor the sweet freedom of death enough to erase this from his soul. Price, his beloved captain and father figure, and you, the wife of said captain, who just happened to be 141’s sweet little medic, going at it like catholic fucking rabbits in your empty office. All he had wanted was an extra dosage of melatonin following a rough mission, but the scene laid out in front of him would serve to keep him awake and squirming the remainder of the night.
But... the way his superior's hands so gently cupped your cheek and ran through your tousled locks - a direct contrast to his brutal thrusts that bounced you across your consultation table - had his boots glued to the linoleum floor. How long had it been since Soap had indulged in the touch of another? Even longer, the last time he muttered anything along the lines of what filth the captain cooed into your ear.
Shit, it was bad enough seeing the woman he looks up to as practically a mother get defiled by his hypothetical father, so why, why, could he feel himself getting hard in his pants? With bated breath, Johnny ignored the screaming bastard in his mind telling him to run like his ass caught fire and leant ever so slightly more into the doorway, enabling him to hear more of the filth his comrades were indulging in.
His sensitive ears first caught on to the wet 'schmick' of John's hips connecting with yours, then the heavenly sound of your sweet, sweet whimpers and moans. He ignored the moral questions his eavesdropping - no, perving - raised, and reached his hand around to the front of his pants, hand cautiously cupping himself.
"Fuck, honey, takin' it all so fuckin' well f' me," John groaned, panting into your ear.
"Jus' need one more from you, darlin' and I'll give it to you, yeah? Fill you up just like you need, finally get you fuckin' full of my babies." He babbles, clearly close to finishing himself, only holding off to feel the tight squeeze of your warmth milking him for everything he's worth one last time. You only whine out a weak "yes," far too fucked out to give any sophisticated answer, though it's clearly plenty for both your husband and the sneaky voyeur listening in.
Soap bites into his free fist, muffled a choked groan as he reaches into his pants, running along the length of himself to teasingly rub his thumb against his tip. It's easy to imagine himself in his captain's place, losing himself in the ecstasy of your sweet little cunt, all his for the taking. He's embarrassingly sensitive as he begins stroking himself in earnest, wishing for a moment that he could freely fuck his fist outside of the confines of his cargos.
"Fuck!" Johnny stills for a moment following the obscenity John shouts, then quickly gets right back to his rhythm, finding his Captain enjoying every second of your orgasm. Johnny himself bites back a pitiful sob as he imagines how tight your cunt must be in that moment, enough to make a stoney man such as Price break in your arms.
"Shit, shit, shitshitshit, honey, you feel so fuckin' good, baby, such a good little wife f' me, gonna fuckin pump my fuckin' babies into this delectable little cunt a' yours, yeah, baby? How's that sound? I'll have you barefoot 'nd pregnant f' me in no fuckin' time, honey." Price rambles, utterly pussy drunk as he rapidly approaches his high. His thrusts stutter only to press himself as deep as possible into you, which in turn roughly shoves you up the table, then he's grunting low in his throat, pressing his cold nose to your jaw and releasing all of himself into your abused heat.
At the same moment, Johnny's tossing his head back, ruining his own pants with his filth. His teeth nearly draw blood as they press sharply into his fist, though it does nothing to slow or ease Soap's ecstasy as his cock twitches in his grip and spurts out every last drop of cum in his heavy balls. He has half the mind to quiet his breathing, at last letting off his fist, leaning against the wall.
Pulling his hand from his boxers, he wipes it lazily on his cargos, daring one last risky glance into the room that holds his captain and medic, only to find one cheeky John fucking Price staring right back at him.
finally getting back into writing. i have no idea if this even makes any fuckin sense >:'c also i wasnt sure if i should tag it as a soap x reader, since he's not technically with the reader? but i went ahead and did, so just lmk if it shouldnt and ill fix it c:
~ mouse
#john price x reader#captain price x reader#mouse's mess#captain john price x reader#john price smut#captain price smut#captain john price smut#john soap mactavish x reader#soap mactavish x reader#soap mactavish smut#john mactavish smut#cod smut#call of duty smut#cod x reader#call of duty x reader#cod x you
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strangers : fog | dave york
pairing: dave york x f!reader
word count: 5208
chapter warning's: 18+ blog: established relationship, workaholic Dave, soft Dave, miscommunication, Smut (slight exhibitionism, dry humping, orgasms, keeping kind of vague for the sake of not giving things away), implied/alluding to infidelity (there is none, reader just doesn’t know this), Dave’s phone makes an appearance- shocking, drinking alcohol, smoking cigarettes, conversations with bestie, reader is mentioned wearing lingerie and a bathing suit- but zero description features, no age given but it’s implied she’s at least over 30, no y/n, this is au- no Carol (at least not canon Carol) or kids, if I missed anything let me know
notes: I kind of struggled with the end of this one. It felt very flat and blah, but thankfully @gnpwdrnwhiskey
Is a gem and helped me, and it feels good now. So grateful for all of you who’ve been following along. Xoxo
strangers masterlist | previous | next | playlist | inspo board
It’s sweet.
But not the kind of sweet that aches and destroys your addiction.
It’s perfect. Just enough.
The kind of sweet that falls somewhere in the middle. Satiating that deep seeded craving that burns through your every fiber.
Like a glass of ice cold tea under the Texas sun, sweetened to perfection. Each tantalizing drop coating your tongue, idly encompassing every single taste bud with refreshing pleasure.
You're greedy. Reveling in your consumption. Take. Take. Take. Because it’s all you want and everything you’ve been needing.
Finally.
You feel him everywhere. The weight of him is substantial, pressing you into the side of the pool. A secure grip onto the ledge, the swell of his biceps flexed as he does his best to keep you both suspended and unmoving from your secluded spot.
He’s a blistering summer heatwave, one you’re fully hydrated and prepared for, but still stunned by its sultriness.
“You think they’re watching us right? All of them so fucking jealous at how good I’m makin’ you feel.” You don’t bother to take a look when he says it, your head angled back and eyes closed as his lips work their way up your neck, your only concern at the moment.
“Mmhmm— I honestly don’t care. Let them watch. Let them see how good you’re taking care of me— fuckbaby!” Your train of thought derailed when his hips jerk up with a little more eagerness than you expected.
The cool water laps rhythmically against you both. The tiniest of splashes to your exposed skin as it surrounds your bodies, relieving the heat that’s burning through you.
“Ahh!” You gasp at the sensation of his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Nipping and pulling. The gentle glide of his tongue soothing over the pleasant sting.
“Sorry—“ He manages to get out. “Didn’t mean to be so rough, but also been wantin’ this so fuckin’ bad.”
His lips seal over yours again, groaning where he can feel you grinding against him, discreetly hidden below the surface of the water. Your legs wrapped tightly around his narrow waist, holding him as close as possible.
He’s unbelievably hard. Cock nudging against your aching core, the water aiding in the flow of your hips moving over him in search of relief.
“I’m definitely not complaining in the slightest. If anything, I’m entirely enjoying the roughness— wouldn’t be opposed to more of it.” You say smiling against his swollen lips.
Your words lure him back in, driven by a deeper sense of want forging beneath the water. Lashes fluttering shut as every bit of him consumes your senses. All tongues and teeth, tracing over every ridge and fleshy surface. A sweet delicate dance of unbridled emotions.
It's a slow building, intensely breathtaking. Your body ignited by self-indulgent energy, so hell-bent on seeking out unrivaled satisfaction, but you don’t seem to care. Focused solely on how each and every nerve lights up because of him, desperately wanting a release. A natural response to the way he’s holding you, kissing you, his determination to bring you closer and closer to the edge.
“Fuck— that feels so good!” Breathless and anchoring yourself to his warm body.
“Yeah? You think you can come like this?” One of his hands settles on your hip, helping your unfaltering movements, hitting that ever so desirable spot just right. “There you go, gorgeous— just like that.”
“ohmygod!! I’m so close— don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.“ Your grip secure on his taut shoulders, unmoving even under the wet conditions. Your head falling onto his forehead, noses nudging, exchanging desperate wordless breaths.
“I’ve got ya.” He whispers, nodding softly as your body writhes against him. “Come for me, Baby.”
“Oh fuck! oh fuck! oh fuck— I’m coming!” Everything dissolves into pleasure. Tense and blissed out as your cunt contracts around nothing.
“Open your eyes, Baby. Let me see you come undone.”
You pull back just enough to see him. He’s beautiful, framed in a hazy white vignette. His patchy beard is both rough and soft beneath your fingertips, tracing over every little detail of him while you still can. His rich brown eyes now a golden hue as the light hits them from the reflection of the water.
“Fuck— Joel!”
You’re floating. Further and further away. Every detail of him slowly dissolving into nothingness.
Your body jolts awake, Oh god, That felt so fucking real. Quickly sitting up, your hand to your chest feeling where your heart is frantically pounding.
The dry air from the vent billows out from above you, cooling as it skims over your tacky skin.
The remnants of last night's headache still remain. Though it wanes in intensity, the throbbing pain continues. Rubbing at your temples, the added pressure doing absolutely nothing.
There’s a faint familiar ache that catches your attention from below the sheets, prompting you to throw them off, finding a pillow still tucked tightly between your legs. The experimental squeeze of your thighs around the pillow sends a fresh ripple of pleasure from your fading orgasm, causing you to inhale sharply. Your palms clamping over your mouth, breath more constricted than the last as a strong feeling of shame begins to surge through your veins.
The hotel room feels paralyzing, especially with Dave sleeping beside you.
The beach.
Needing some fresh air and some time to collect your irrational thoughts, away from this confined space where everything seems to be closing in on you. Hastily, you manage to pull on some warm clothes and sandals while throwing your wallet and phone in your purse without waking Dave.
You know the minute he wakes up to find you gone he’ll panic. It will take only minutes to have all his agent buddies pulling maps and running background checks on anyone who lives within a mile radius of the hotel. You’re already annoyed with his distant behavior, you don’t have it in you to deal with the added disgruntlement that will ensue.
Grabbing for the monogrammed hotel stationary, you scratch out a note to leave on this nightstand for him to find when he does wake.
Good Morning, Babe
Couldn’t sleep. Went for a walk down to the beach. I have my phone. Will be back in a bit.
Love you
Xoxo
You two his phone screen, noting the time at the bottom— 8:00 am —a little tactic Dave had ingrained in you for matters as such, giving a starting point in the case anything were to happen to you, taking the guessing game of when out of the equation.
A New Message glows on the screen, came in sometime last night after you both got back from dinner, he must have fallen asleep before seeing it.
Double checking, you peek over the mound of blankets that is Dave’s solid body— still sleeping. The side of his face buried into his pillow and his plush lips parted. No worry lines etched across his forehead. No tension pulling at his jawline. His perfectly groomed hair, all disheveled and twisted in all directions.
Your heart blooms at how handsome he is, his truest self on full display. A running joke between you, how others would be disappointed to find out his grumpy exterior is all a show, only reserving his softer side and big heart for you.
Refocusing back to his phone, you tap the message to preview it— a message from his mom.
Mom: Did she find out? Call me when you can, we’ll talk about it then.
Did she find out? Find out what?
*
The beach isn’t far from the hotel. Grateful for only a few hellos and forced smiles exchanged on the shared path on the short walk.
The air is crisp the closer you get to the water, a light breeze blows over the shoreline bringing tiny bits of sand crystals through the air. You can feel the salt already crystallizing against your cheeks.
The lingering fog adds a bit of gloom to the atmosphere as you look out over the horizon in front of you. The white caps of the waves slowly roll over into the next, pushing their way through until they’ve reached the shore. The water fanning out as it moves, blanketing over the sand as it reaches where feet are planted firmly, now surrounded by the frigid sea water. Then it slowly slinks back out, leaving you numb as you wait for it to return.
Good Morning! Are you busy?
No. Are you okay?
Yeah, I’m fine. I just need someone to talk to.
One sec!
It takes a few flicks of the small metal dial for the flame to ignite, cupping your hand around to shelter it from the light wind threatening to squash your attempt at some sort of relief.
It’s instant when it hits the back of your mouth, swirling and stinging about as it creeps up the back of your throat. That burn is all too familiar, no longer a regular occurrence, but definitely not forgotten. It takes the edge off momentarily, it always does. You imagine blowing out all your pent up anger as your release the smoke into the oceanic air.
The cigarette sits between your fingers with ease, secure against those first knuckles as you bring it back to your lips for another desperate pull. That dedicated drag of your favorite menthol smokes had once been a regular part of your daily life in your college days. Getting you through long days of studying and working late hours, barely keeping your head above the water. Pack after pack. Light, smoke, tension gone, repeat.
Eventually it was downgraded to a social practice before finally kicking the habit all together. Something Dave never pushed for, but was proud of you nonetheless.
Your phone screen illuminates and buzzes simultaneously, a picture of Jacey double fisting some beers at last year's Fourth of July party pops up. The image alone already makes you feel better.
“Mmm… Hello?” You can tell she just woke up by the way she garbles her words into the phone.
“Hey, Jacey. I didn’t wake you did I?”
“Mhmm— Kind of but it’s okay— had a bit of a late night, but it’s fine. How are things going?”
“Fine. Good. Things are good.” Trying hard to keep your voice even without giving away too much— but she knows you too well.
“I’m calling bullshit. You’re seriously the worst liar ever. Spill.”
“Ugh. Where do I even start?” You tell her, audibly groaning into the brisk pacific air.
“I’ve got some time.”
Jacey has always been this way. Available whenever you’ve needed her, at a moment's notice. Connecting with her in college, your friendship has been a steady source of support and encouragement through the years. She stood by you when you married Dave— having her now makes you feel less alone.
“Well, if it’s not one thing it’s another. There were some high hopes for sex when we got in the other night, then he passed out— which is fine ‘cause traveling and what not. But I got in my head, questioning shit about myself and our relationship. Like maybe it’s me or something. He did try to initiate the next morning but I just kind of wasn’t feeling it— so we didn’t. Plus he had phone calls he needed to make so he wasn’t worrying about them the rest of our time here.”
“Hey, it’s not you at all. Don’t ever think that. You’re a catch— Dave knows that too.” She says, her reassurance firm but delivered sincerely.
“Thank you. I mean, we kind of fooled around at the pool yesterday.”
“Ooooh!! I love this for you.”
“Well, then he ran off right before I— you know.”
“Fucking men, I swear.”
“Only to find him on the phone when he said he wouldn’t be. Then he was all jealous over this stranger I was talking to. We got back to the room, things seemed a little tense— we still went to dinner. Don’t really remember much after that, because I kept ordering dirty martinis at dinner.”
After hearing the beginning of his phone call, the shower didn’t do much to help. You didn’t want to make a scene, deciding to just leave the hurt bubbling inside of you back in the room and make the best of the rest of the night.
Dave seemed pretty much his normal self going into dinner. Conversation was lighter than it was earlier in the room. You both caught up on things that you hadn’t really talked about in a while— details about his latest assignments (within reason), your own latest work projects, random tidbits about things —things felt normal.
There was a slight shift in the evening, when he was checking his phone more often than usual. Glancing at the screen between bites of his steak then trying to figure out where you left off in the conversation.
You hadn’t even planned on drinking, but the chilled cocktail in front of Dave had been taunting you, begging to help obliterate your lingering thoughts. Then it was I’ll have another, Maybe one more, Suuuuure another sounds grreat. The dim restaurant turned into hazy fractures of light. The steady buzz of alcohol had you feel giggling and sleepy, slumping back into the velvet cushion of the intimate booth. Dave cut you off before things turned into a wild evening, shifting from your introverted self into a very lively and friendly drunk.
You don’t even remember getting back to the room, just brief glimpses of Dave undressing you and helping you into one of his shirts, then tucking you into bed.
“Hold up. Rewind— you fucking hate martinis! What the hell happened?!” She knows you so well.
“Jacey, you’re my best friend. Someone who will be straight with me no matter what. I think— Do you think Dave is cheating on me?” You ask meekly, inhaling another minty pull from your nearly finished cigarette.
“What?! Babe, why would you think Dave is cheating on you? Did something happen?”
““No— I mean yes. I think so. Fuck! I don't know what to think. We got back to the room after the pool yesterday, talked for a little bit then I went to get ready for dinner. I guess he thought I closed the door or something but I could hear him talking to someone—“ You try to keep your voice steady, finding it hard to blink the tears away as the wind whips around you.
“Okay. Well, that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s cheating on you. It could have just been more work shit he said he wasn’t going to do. Maybe he figured he could squeeze it in before dinner— not wanting to upset you.” Jacey is all about layout the facts and details before jumping down dark rabbit holes.
“Ashley— Her name is Ashley. I heard him say her name.”
There’s a beat of silence on the line before you hear her sigh.
“Oh— what else did you hear?” She says, sounding a little more somber than before.
“Nothing. My brain kind of went blank after that and I just got ready for dinner like I didn’t hear anything. Hence the abundance of martinis I drank my way through. Which also explains the slight headache I woke up with this morning.”
“Okay. So whoever he was talking to—“
“Ashley.” Details Jacey.
“Right, Ashley. We don’t really know much, aside from that. So it could be anyone. Could be work related— Ashley could be a last name too. You know how they always do that last name first thing for whatever reason.” Somehow she always finds a way to get you to back away from the cliff, especially when your feet are over the edge.
“Yeah, probably.” You say softly in agreement. A flock of birds catching your attention, their wings moving in unison as they fly overhead.
“Look, like you said before— I’m gonna be straight with you. I don’t think Dave is cheating or would ever cheat. That man loves you. Sure, he’s kind of been a little too invested in work, which is affecting things with you. I don’t think there’s someone else. I promise. But I do think you both need to talk instead of this weird dance you both are doing, that way you’re both on the same page.”
“Okay. Yeah— you’re right. Thank you, Jace. Last thing— Does it make me a bad person if I had a dream about another man last night?” You ask, feeling a bit embarrassed as you voice it out loud.
“I have those all the time— especially with that cute actor from that narcos show we love. Dreams don’t equate to real life.” She only slightly laughs at your confession.
“What if it was with a guy I met at the pool who’s staying in the hotel, who listened to me spill my life away about how I’m not sure if my husband wants kids or not now— and how marriage feels like a mess.”
“Oh! Pool guy was cute— No, I don’t think that makes you a bad person. Your thoughts are just all over the place right now. It was a dream. You’re fine. Hey, I hate to bail on you— but I’m umm, getting another call. We will chat soon, then you can give me more details about the cute pool guy. Love you!”
“Love you too, Jace. Talk soon. Bye.”
The call clicks out. Waves crashing onto the shore brings you back to the beach. Your cheeks cold and feet stinging as the water recedes again.
It's nearing 10 am now, deciding to head back before Dave does in fact worry that you’ve been gone for too long. You snuff out the smoldering cigarette in the wet sand and stick it in your bag to dispose of later. The added nicotine now mingles poorly with your lingering hangover, body in desperate need of water and a strong pain reliever.
On your way back to the hotel, you take every bit of what Jacey said and truly let it sink in, even as hard as it is to not let your mind wander into dark territory. She’s right though, it doesn’t do you any good to dwell on situational events if you have zero proof of anything. That doesn’t mean that you’ve written off your uneasiness completely, just simply tucking it away for the time being.
The sweet bellmen welcomes you back with a friendly smile and a wave as he holds the door open for your return. The lobby now bustles with more guests than earlier. Some checking in for their stay, others enjoying the picturesque ambience of the hotel.
In the time that it takes to get up to your room, you’ve run through several different scenarios in your head. All feeling immensely overwhelming at the thought of talking with Dave about how you’ve been feeling since he hasn’t seemed to pick up on the subtle inklings that there’s been a definite shift in your relationship the past few months. You’re not really sure you even want to have the conversation now, let alone here— not wanting to ruin the rest of the vacation in the chance things don’t go as smoothly as you want. You ultimately decide to wait, once you’ve settled back in at home, finally address everything with him.
You can hear Dave’s voice muffled outside the door of your room as you search for your key card in your bag, sounding as if he’s talking to someone on the phone.
The room is bright as you enter, the curtains pulled open allowing the sun to shine through the large windows. The bed is somewhat made with the pillows stacked neatly and sheets straightened in an orderly Dave manner.
Food had already been ordered and delivered, set out on the small table on the balcony. Your favorite breakfast of eggs benedict and toast along with a fresh pot of coffee. Dave’s usual eggs and bacon sit untouched, waiting for your return to enjoy breakfast together.
Dave’s standing in front of the window, looking out at the scenery with his phone to his ear, but the sound of you entering the room has him turning towards you.
His hair is freshly washed, combed up and out of his face. Wearing his favorite blue jeans snug around his hips, a white patterned shirt just barely buttoned to reveal enough of his slightly burnt chest to make your mouth water. It’s his beaming smile, arguably his best accessory, that makes your chest flutter, drawing you in closer to where he’s standing.
“It’s my mother.” He whispers, covering the phone with his hand as she continues to talk into his ear.
Did she find out? Call me when you can, we’ll talk about it then. Still wondering what her vague text message meant.
“Yeah, Mom. She just walked through the door.” You hear her mention your name through the speaker. “My mom says hi.”
“Hi, Carol.” You say sweetly, kissing Dave’s cheek before turning to place your bag on the ground near the dresser, leaning back on the wall, watching Dave as he finishes the rest of the conversation.
“Okay, sounds good…Tell dad hello for us and we’ll talk to you later… Love you, too… bye.” The screen of his phone goes black and he tosses it over to the bed.
Grabbing a glass and some small pills resting on the dresser, closing the short distance to where you’re standing and holding the water and pain reliever out to you.
“I figured your head is probably killing you this morning.” Dave says smiling at you, no sign of annoyance in his face.
“Thanks— Sorry about last night. I don’t know what got into me.” Tossing back the pills back, gulping the water down quickly, your focus on the remaining drops of water sliding down the side of the glass, pooling together at the bottom.
Dave takes the glass from you, setting it over on the top of the dresser. One of his hands settles on your hip as the other tilts your chin up so your gaze is now directed at him.
“Did you have a good walk?” Dave asks. One of his warm hands now cupping the side of your neck, surely he can feel the way your pulse is quickening, elevated just by a simple touch from him.
“Yeah. It was nice— foggy, but beautiful. We should go again before we leave.” Your hands migrate to his shirt, fingers absentmindedly toying with the top abandoned buttons and soft silky fabric.
“Umm— I can smell the smoke on you. It’s fine, I don’t mind that you were— but is everything okay?” He knows, senses something is off, because he knows you don’t just smoke to smoke these days. Senses there’s something that triggered your need for your old vice, something to dull out whatever is silently bothering you.
Yet somehow you have almost forgotten about the cigarette until now when he asks. Feeling a bit of shame for the second time again this morning, though you don’t pick up on any sort of judgment when he does ask about it.
“Everything is fine. Just sounded good so I bought them on my way to the beach— don’t think I’ll even finish the pack though. I’m good.” Liar. You hate the way Dave winces at your answer. He knows there’s something simmering below the surface, but he doesn’t push for more.
“Okay— okay. There’s breakfast here and I was thinking afterwards we could go to some shops or something. I made reservations for tonight at 6, I thought you might want to find something new to wear. Maybe we can grab some lunch near the beach too.” He tells you, brushing off the small specks of sand cemented to your face.
You find yourself on the brink of tears, swallowing the little lump that started to form in your throat. Certain the next few days would be filled with worriment and noiseless vexation. There’s almost relief in hearing how he’s planned out the day, something he hasn’t done in months. Work and meetings always at the forefront of his planning lately, leaving little to no time for dinners or regular weekend getaways.
“Or we can stay in if you want.” His head tilts a little, brown eyes scanning over every detail of your face as you mull over his plans a little longer than he expected.
“No, that sounds nice. I brought some dresses that I can wear though, we don’t have to buy anything.” You shake your head in response. Pushing a few loose strands that had fallen out of place, his eyes closing at the sensation of your fingers combing through his hair.
“We can just look, and if you find something you like we can get it.” Dave suggests— a nice middle ground.
He leans in, his nose knocking against yours, humming as you continue to play with his hair.
“Okay.” You breathe out, his intense eye contact starting to ignite something within you.
“You’re sure everything’s okay?” Offering you another opportunity to bare it all out for him.
His lips graze over yours when he asks, just enough to have you wanting more.
“Yeah. Everything is fine— promise.”
“Alright. Let’s get some food in you and then we can get ready to head out. And there’s coffee—” His thought abandoned, his lips crashing into yours in a passionate kiss.
You eagerly respond, wrapping your arms around his neck as he presses you further into the wall. Your head swirling with want, thrilled at the fact that he’s so keen to give you exactly what you’ve been craving. The scent of his cologne mixed with the musky smell of him fills your senses, making you weak for him even more.
His tongue explores your mouth, tangled together in a heated dance as your bodies grind against each other, arousal growing with each passing moment.
His hands roam freely over your body, stopping at your hips to pull you in even closer has you gasping into his mouth.
“Fuck— Dave!”
“Yeah— that feel good, Baby?” Dave’s hard almost instantly, pressing against you as you slowly grind on him. You're scorching from the friction of your bodies, the coil already winding in your lower abdomen, shivers tingling up your spine.
“Yes!! Oh god, yes!! So good, Dave!” You cry out. The heat between you unbearable, the need for release is all consuming—- more more more.
Dave’s lips fuse to yours again, dragging one hand down between your bodies. He slips under the waistband of your leggings, deft fingers finding the damp fabric of your panties, a sticky mess because of him. He’s enlivened by the way your body writhes as a result of his touch. Fingers circling over your clit in a deliberate frenzied manner, causing you to release a breathy moan into his mouth.
“You think you can come right here? I’m not gonna last much longer.” He says breaking the kiss. His eyes are filled with a burning desire as he looks at you. You nod, encouraging him to continue his ministrations, before he’s capturing your lips again.
You whine at the loss of his fingers moving over your aching bundle of nerves, your body in dire need of his touch now that he’s giving you all of it.
Dave’s hands slip under your top, fingers trailing over your pebbled skin as he pulls it up and over your head. You help him, tossing it aside, leaving you in only your lace bra and bottoms as you lean back against the coolness of the wall, chest heaving with need.
“More— pl-please, I’m almost there. ohfuckyesyesyes!.” His hands explore your body, memorizing every curve and dip with a new surge of want and urgency, his fingers trailing down your back to grip your ass and pulling you closer— sparks of pleasure blazing through you nearing a fiery release.
‘I know baby, I’ve got you’ murmured against your neck, his words riddled with assurance as he sucks on the sensitive skin there.
Your hands grip his shoulders as he continues to explore you with his mouth, caressing every inch of you as he makes his way down to your chest, pulling the fabric of your bra down, his fingers gliding over the tight skin. He cups the weight of your breast in his hand, taking one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, teeth gently nipping as you moan louder and louder, while his other hand fondles and twists at your other side.
“Oh fuck! Baby, I’m gonna come—“ You gasp, arching your back, your nails digging into Dave’s shoulders has him clamping down harder on your overly sensitive nipple. The pleasing painful sting shoots straight to your core, your velvet walls pulsating, your climax within reach.
A pleasurable ache builds for the second time this morning, except this time it’s because of Dave. All your pent up emotions forging together, building into the most magnificent wave of arousal you’ve felt in a long time.
You pull his face up to meet yours, lips messily crashing against his in another bliss driven kiss. His hard cock straining behind the tightness of his jeans, tilting your cunt at the perfect angle while hoping Dave is reaping the benefits of your euphoric pursuit as you grind down on the rough seam of his denim that helps careen you over the edge.
It’s like a dream— except it's not, it’s better. Real and satiating. Your orgasm is forceful as it rips through you, taking every bit of residual tension along with it.
Dave’s movements become faster and more charged. His hips moving in a stuttering pattern— fuckfuckfuck —then stilling as a deep groan barrels through his chest. You wrap a leg around him as he collapses into you, his face nestled in the crook of your neck, holding him tightly to your body.
A breeze blows through the open balcony door, diffusing the layer of sexual haze wafting through the room. The air is welcoming, enveloping your bodies in the crispness that comes with being in close proximity to the Pacific.
It feels lighter. Less suffocating— even with the weight of your husband holding you against the wall. The low lying fog no longer a dense cloud looming over you, allowing the brightness to fully shine through.
The turbulent thoughts have settled, replaced with a mildness that seems more manageable for the time being. Your headache becomes a subsiding dullness, overpowered by the replenishment of a compelling desire.
“Shit— I came in my fucking pants like a goddamn teenager. Couldn’t even make it to the bed.” He says, post sexual vibrato etched into his voice, pressing a soft kiss to your collarbone as he lifts himself up to his full height.
Dave’s skin is glowing, a sheen of sweat glistening in the morning light. His cheeks flushed with a tinge of pink, the muscles in his neck flexing as he worked to control his breathing. The silkiness of his shirt now damp and stuck to his chest.
“Hmm. I feel too good to even care. You have no idea how bad I needed that.” You smile at him, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth, brushing a few fallen strands of hair away from his face.
The corner of his eyes crinkle. He’s beaming, infatuated with you as he leans in, resting his forehead on yours and whispers, “Do you have any idea how much I love you?.”
“Love you too, Dave.”
#Dave York#dave york x reader#Dave York x you#dave york x female reader#dave york x f!reader#pedro pascal#wildemaven writes#pedrostories
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too many teens whining for validation, this blog needs more weird and stupid so...
AITA for kidnapping my friend and trapping her in the cheesebarn?
Hear me out:
The story starts about a week before my (20 at the time ftm) 21st birthday. If you live in the US you know this isnt just some lame 7th birthday or 36th birthday, this is one of the big boy birthdays, the special ones. Its when you can legal buy alcohol and are therefore truly an adult in the eyes of the law.
Naturally my friends (20s) wanted to do something Big for our 21sts. So they asked me what i wanted to do and i said i didnt really care as long as I got a road trip somewhere with friends.
Everyone thought it was a fun idea but it was a little short notice for everyone to get time off from work, but my other friend we will call C also had her 21st exactly a month after mine to the day, and the two of us agreed to share our 21sts and not do much of anything on my actual birthday. This is important, bc it was a SHARED birthday road trip.
I agree to let C pick the destination and I provide the car. We didnt have much of a plan as we were going to meet up with C's old roommate who lives in the city we picked to show us a good time.
It was 5 of us total and about a 7 hour drive altogether there with not a whole lot on the way there. We get to the city she picked and meet the roommate and honestly the rest of this part is just standard 21st birthday shenanigans. Its when we start the drive home things really start.
Remember its a long drive with not much to see? Well that was a lie. On our way back we see it, the Real "Happiest Place on Earth" as far as places with a mouse for a mascot go:
Grandpa's.
Fuckin'.
Cheesebarn.
Obviously me and the other people on the trip want to stop and see the magic, but unfucking fortunately C happens to be the only Basic White Girl ™️ in the entire world who hates cheese and isnt even lactose intolerant. This girl is notorious for making "petty" and "I hate Cheese" her entire personality. She would constantly make faces and gagging noises and talk about how gross and nasty cheese is if you so much as eat a grilt cheese near her.
Clearly she made it known that she wasnt on board with it. "NO! FUCK YOU ALL IM NOT GOING TO A PLACE CALLED A CHEESEBARN ON MY BIRTHDAY!!" were her exact words.
But i remembered i was driving, it was my car, and it was supposed to be my birthday too. So I put it to a vote. "Raise your hand if you wanna go to Grandpa's Cheesebarn!"
All hands raise but one. With C out voted we head to the cheesebarn.
Guys. This place is amazing. Its obviously making cheese its main draw, but yhere's so much more, its every shitty midwest tourist trap rolled into one glorious place. There's even a chocolate shop. We even got C's roommate to ditch work and come meet us bc shr heard "Grandpa's Cheesebarn" and knew she had to drop everything.
All in all a good visit, C even seemed like she had fun once we got there (she sure spent $300 on candies and dip mixes anyway). We go home. Things seem fine.
Then C drops off the face of the earth.
She wont respond to our calls or texts and at first we thought maybe she was giing through a rough patch or something and try to just keep reaching out but give her space. But then we find out that not only is she still hanging our with our other friends who couldnt make the trip with us. So clearly she's just pissed at us about something.
Finally one day a few months later i catch her at her job and just tell her "I dont care if you hate us, we'll never speak to you again if you dont want us to, but what the hell did we do to you??"
And she just looked me over and says "Well. You kidnapped me."
lolwut
And she yells (bc this girl loves yelling at people) "YOU KIDNAPPED ME AND TRAPPED ME AT A CHEESEBARN ON. MY. BIRTHDAY!!!!!"
And i just said "Well it was my birthday too," and havent spoken to her since. Its been over a decade and "No ragrets" as we said back in the day, but uts baffled me for years that that was her reaction. "Im just over you guys" i can understand, and its not like she was shy about telling people she hates them and their out of her life ever before. And from what i ended up hearing from our other friends she kept talking with it really was about the cheesebarn and how we "ruined her birthday".
No but srsly AITA??? For making her go to a cheesebarn???
What are these acronyms?
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I don't know much about you as a person, but from what I can gather you've had a long journey with art, but still have the motivation to continue even when its rough. I'm sure you didn't start out making masterpieces, so if its not too much trouble, do you have any advice for a 16 year old artist losing motivation? i feel like im stagnating right now and its awful
Idk man, all I can say is, draw watchu want without the care who's gonna see it or what they gonna say , commit to new ideas and care less about pleasing everyone, because I know that way too well, I started learning by drawing animals, flowers and nature, "you should draw something else", switches to furries " No you must do human portraits", draws humans *no one fuckin cares*, and I felt miserable drawing what I didn't want all the damn time just trying to please everyone and be liked, hell, I still do that sometimes cuz I'm a dumbass. When in reality, when you do your own thing is when you're the happiest, this internet bullshit? Yeah don't trust the likes and favs, people like what they find relatable, no one really knows how much time you've spent on your drawing or how much you love it, when a 5 min doodle you did could do more than a painting that took 2 whole days to complete just to be scrapped in a new speedy record, paint what you love for yourself and you only.
Don't be shy to learn new things, I have tons of stuff I don't post here cuz I know people wouldn't care about it, but here for this post, have this that I practiced when I felt too depressed to think of anything good and wanted to step back from the MD artstyle
You'll see, you'll thrive when you draw what you want, and get yourself a drawing buddy! That way you'll stop focusing on the internet and more on each other, and each other's improvement. Tbh I struggled with that one. Since everyone I had were not into art irl, I somehow managed to find someone after 10 years of drawing alone. I honestly wanted more people to join in and make an improvement circle, but unfortunately that never happened.
I found myself twice as productive now than ever, even though I'm not active here as much I am still drawing and making things, ofc giving you more comics! And other fun things in the future I hope.
If you're struggling to draw something just do it, man commit, i was uncomfortable drawing men and male characters for years, I've wasted so many years being "too uncomfortable" and draw a naked person like yeesh who fucking cares, it's for studying.
And ofc if you feel like you're not improving at all please, please experiment with your artstyle and try something new, please refresh your mind, I was stuck for years doing the same thing over and over, same colors, same 2px brush, drawing like a machine same shit over and over, I felt so stuck and lost, but also afraid to do something new, idk why, I guess I never felt good enough or deserving of it. I also didn't go to art school, I am NOT a professional, nor will i ever be in my opinion. Hell, me feeling like I'll never be good enough left me afraid to try and apply for art school, they were asking for sculptures, different mediums all that scary stuff and I was like, I don't.. know.. how to do those things... I can't build a portfolio in less than 3 months?!?! I don't even know how to use half of what they're asking for!!
In reality at the end of the day, art is what you make of it and no one can stop you, search for inspirations and don't be afraid to try, yes you'll fail fist 2 or 10 or hell even 100 times, but you'll come back with more knowledge than ever.
For ending I give you the most confusing drawing to ever exist [dw he's just sleeping on top of her and she's just ghasping for air but awe romance or sum lol] is it weird? Yeah but I had a fun time making it hahaha
Idk I'm bad at putting my thoughts together, but hopefully some of this helps.
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Battle of the Bands
𓆩♡𓆪 Semi x reader
𓆩♡𓆪 wc: 3.5k
𓆩♡𓆪 cw: MDNI ! - language, rough sex/hate sex, degradation, semi eita is a fuckin tease, & a lil mean hehe, creampie, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, unprotected sex
synopsis: its the 4th annual battle of the bands and you long time rival is coming after the title.
the road to hell is paved with good sex… or something like that….
a/n: happy birthday semi semi <3 i’ve been working on this fic for far too long lmao time to release it into the wild. i hope y’all enjoy !! n tell semi happy birthday !!!
Nothing beat the rush you felt when you first got on stage. Your nerves turned into fire, melting everything around you. Any and all feelings of doubt would get caught up in the flames, clearing the way for you to light up the stage. All you needed was your trusty guitar and your fellow bandmates to get started. Each time you went on stage, the lights would beat down on you only to heighten the passion you had for what you did. Looking out to the sea of people never felt scary, in fact, it exhilarated you. They were here to see your band play. To win. And the last thing you wanted to do was disappoint them. it fueled the adrenaline that was already coursing through your veins. Buzzing, you were more than ready to give them the show of a lifetime.
But of course, there was balance in the world. With a great rush, comes an even greater buzzkill. Always lingering around corners, ready to strike whenever you had let your guard down. It hadn’t always been like this, but it easily manifested into this push and pull of power between the two of you.
Semi Eita.
The actual bane to your existence.
Tonight was your fourth time at Battle of the Bands. The last two times you guys had won first, eliciting the most applause from the crowd. It was exhilarating and you were determined to get it every year, no matter the cost.
Battle of the Bands was notorious for being a bloodbath between bands, but you never anticipated it to get so brutal. At first, it scared you shitless. So many people backstage yelling over one another, sabotaging each other’s wardrobes or even instruments. Just a constant rivalry between bands that started drama after drama.
Your bandmates usually didn’t participate in it, save for your drummer, Saeko. Normally, she didn’t start the feuds but she had no problem in finishing them. Your lead vocalist, Yachi, was always too concerned with calming her nerves before she tore it up on stage and Kiyoko, your bassist, never ran into any trouble. Probably because her boyfriend would go unleash hell on everyone if they tried it.
But this year, the energy felt different. Everyone was fired up, ready to snag the win this year. Even your bandmates seemed more fired up this time around. Probably because the winner also would win a hefty prize this year. Usually it was just bragging rights and good publicity, but this year was more intense. A record deal was at stake.
His band was up next so he was tuning one of his new guitars. The bastard insisted on getting a red one right after you had posted yours on instagram. He knew he pissed you off and it only encouraged him. He’d never been one for the petty arguments and dramatic sabotages, but when he first met you, he just couldn’t help himself.
The way you were so nervous at first, taking it all in, watching your back. No one else dared messed with you, so he had the opportunity to have you all to himself. Instantly, you found him annoying. He was always making passive aggressive comments towards you, sneering at you as you walked by, even going so far as posting a video of you tripping on twitter that regrettably went viral.
Now, you never let him get away with that kind of stuff. It still happened, but you’ve managed to get him back a few times. Snapping back at him anytime he decided to make silly comments towards you, sticking your tongue out at him anytime he decided to sneer at you, and getting him to apologize on twitter for embarrassing you. (Your fans mostly handled that one for you but it was still a sight to see his half-assed apology he wrote on his notes app uploaded onto twitter). The real kicker was when you slept with his drummer. That shut him up for a solid couple weeks.
His band took the stage, the crowd already cheering at their mere appearance. Objectively, they were a good looking group. Each of them had their own edgy style, confidence practically pouring off of them the moment they would get on the stage. It wasn’t surprising that most of the girls had pushed their way up to the front for their performance, screaming at the guys to notice them whilst tearing each other down.
Semi took it all in. Nothing beats the feeling of this. Being desired, being acknowledged, being appreciated. He was addicted to it. Plus, he got to play music with some of his favorite people in the world. His bandmates were like his brothers, and he wouldn’t be where he was today without them.
Everytime he took the stage, it was like a flip was switched. He went from being just a regular guy who worked as a civil servant to Semi Eita, the rockstar. His ultimate persona, the one that woo’d the stage and made people remember his name. His truest self, the one he wanted to be since he was a kid. He could just let loose and be himself; something he didn’t have the luxury of doing in his normal 9-5.
Looking to the side past the drawn back curtains, he can see a scowl take up your face. Another added bonus to getting up on stage. As he was one of the first acts of the night, he was able to command the crowd’s attention better. Most of them are still sober and fully invested in the music. The winner of last year’s battle had to go last, so you’d be hanging out on the side for a while.
The lights lowered down so they weren’t casted fully on his face. He was thankful that his vocalist asked them to turn it down because he’d get sweaty enough as is. With a nod to his bandmates, they were ready to play their song.
One beat, two beats, three beats, four. The stage exploded with sound, diving right into it. Semi’s hands flew over his guitar, strumming it like he was born to do it. Flashing a smile to the crowd as they all immediately go wild over the music they were playing.
Goosebumps threatened to litter your arms, so you clapped your hands over it trying to push them back down. You might’ve hated the guy, but hell, he was talented.
The moment he struck his guitar had you hooked. It was no secret that he was the band’s main talent. His guitar skills rivaled yours, which only made you hate him more.
“You’re tapping your foot.” Saeko pointed out, smirking at you.
“No I’m not, shut the fuck up.” You snap back, stilling your foot while heat rises to your face. Each band was able to play 4 songs. Your band did it so each instrument had a song they could flourish in, showing off their true skills. It’s how you’ve been able to win the past 2 years. But it looks like Semi’s band caught on, as they were all playing the best you’ve ever seen them play.
The worst part is how good he looked on stage. He had an aura about him tonight and it was drawing everyone in. Once he opened his mouth to sing, it was over. His deep voice overpowering the room, all the attention was on him. He looked like he was in his element, like this was exactly where he was meant to be.
By the end of their set, he was dripping in his own sweat. He waltzed off the stage, coming face to face with you. The smile he had on his face was almost infectious, but you held it together. The rush of coming off of a set beat any other high in the world. His face was still flushed, a droplet of sweat glided down his face and all you wanted to do was lick it off. The pre-performance nerves and his newfound confidence had your mind reeling.
Luckily, he was feeling the exact same way. His eyes were wild as they latched onto yours, a silent agreement made the moment they met. Semi somehow always seemed to find you after his sets. Usually, he’d taunt you to no end but today felt different. His hands still felt on fire from how intensely he was playing his guitar. He played his best performance to date and he couldn’t help but want to be around you. To brag, yes, but also he wanted to see your reaction — maybe get your approval.
His eyes flickered down to the revealing outfit you had decided to wear for your set today. A short dress with ripped thigh high tights. How cliche. The mood switched and he was instantly pissed off, tensing his jaw as his eyes flit back up to yours. You looked too good to be dressed like that for the crowd, it only made him more frustrated.
A small nod from you and the two of you didn’t need to say anything else as you guys made your way further backstage to one of the closets that was tucked away. You both slipped inside, Semi quickly closing the door behind you.
Semi wasted no time, roughly pushing you against the wall, caging you in between his long arms. He didn’t want to hear something snarky come out of your mouth so he placed his lips over yours, swallowing the taunting words that were itching to fire past your wicked mouth.
The after-performance glow was radiating off him, pouring over you while your pre-show nerves were still setting in. Your teeth clashed against his, knocking together in something that was too messy to keep up with. Neither of you could contain yourselves, Semi was already unbuttoning his jeans while you're pushing your panties to the side, slipping a finger in to prep yourself. It was almost too easy to lose yourself in him.
“You just crave attention don't you, the way you wear the skimpiest outfits on stage. You think the only way for you to win would be with a little fan service, huh?” He tsked, smirking and pushing aside your hands to take off your panties in a fluid motion. “Shame you don’t have more faith in your actual music.”
“Like your vocalist doesn’t. How many times do I have to see Suna shirtless for you guys to finally win? Maybe you’ll get it next year.” You fired back, clawing at his shirt so you could rip it off of him. Semi had taken his shirt off at a few shows so you knew how delicious his abs looked. You ran your fingers down them, relishing in the way he sucked in a breath. Your finger lightly traced over the tattoos he had scattered around his body.
“Looks like it’s working on you, isn’t it? Besides, I think we have a decent shot at winning tonight. I mean, even you’re so impressed that you want me to fuck you.” He grabbed you by the back of your head and pulled you in for a searing kiss. It pained you how true it was. He was on fire up there today and there was a good chance he could win. But your band had yet to play and you weren’t done. Your lips moved against his ferociously, saying everything you didn’t actually have the words for. How much you hate him, how much he frustrates you, how good he feels pressed up against you. Each second your lips were against his was a second too long but you hardly cared.
“I still hate you, you know.” You rasped into his mouth, trying to get a word in as he continued to attack your swollen lips. Fed up with you interrupting his make out session, he kisses down your throat to the junction between your neck and shoulder blade, sinking his teeth in before swirling his tongue around to soothe the sting. You let out a low hiss, holding his head in place as he sucked against it.
“Glad the feelings mutual.” He said gruffly into your skin. He needed to be inside of you, he was done with your antics for the night. The room spins as Semi turns you quickly, roughly pinning you against the wall. Your face collided with the cold concrete. It was grounding you on some level, the fog started to clear from your head. Until he pressed himself into your backside, rocking his hips against you, craving some sort of friction.
“Go on then. Stop wasting my time, I have to perform soon.” You wiggled your ass on his hard cock, trying to get him to pick up the pace. It was almost cute how much you wanted him, but Semi knew he needed you to say it. To admit to wanting him, the one you drove insane, the one you had teased long enough, your dear rival.
A low laugh filled the tiny space as you felt him tap his cock against you, taunting you and making a show over his power. Slipping his hard length between your thighs, he started to move his hips. You couldn’t hold the small whine from leaving your throat. The side of your closed fist meets the wall, frustration bubbling inside of you. “Seriously?”
“It's cute you think you’re in control here. Ask nicely and maybe I’ll consider fucking your slutty little cunt.” He slid his cock up further between your legs, brushing his tip against your clit before he continued his ministrations. The action had you clenching around nothing, desperately trying to seek for more friction from him. Your slick covered his cock, making it glide so much easier between the apex of your thighs.
“Semi please.” You moaned out, biting your fist to try and quiet yourself. He ripped your hand out of your mouth and pinned it against your back, securing it in place. The small stretch in your shoulder was welcome as Semi manhandled you, adjusting you so you were right where he wanted. He leaned closer, his voice fanning the side of your face.
“Couldn't catch that, what did you say?” He sneered, running his other hand up your side to latch onto your breasts, teasing each nipple. His cock continued to slide between your thighs, winding you up more and more.
“Semi please fuck me, need to feel you, please!” You cried out, not caring about how loud you were being. The next band was probably on stage anyway, drowning out any noises the two of you were making.
“That's funny, I don't think that’s my name.”
“Eita.” You whined softly. It was more than enough for him as he shoved his cock in your wet cunt. Filling you up deliciously, he eased himself in quickly, reluctantly feeling just as impatient as you. The stretch had you seeing stars. He didn’t bother waiting too long for you to adjust before he was slamming into you with all his might, fueled by his post-show adrenaline. With your one hand pinned against your back and the other being used to hold yourself up against the wall, all you could do was bite your lip to try and hold back your moans.
There wasn’t much of a point to it though, even though the music was playing off in the distance, anyone walking by the closet would know exactly what was going on. Between the squelching from your cunt and you and Semi’s shared moans, it wasn’t hard to figure out what was going on. Semi was entranced with the way your tight cunt sucked him in. His eyes couldn’t look away, It almost scared him how good this felt. He needed to remedy that, so he’d do it in the only way he knew how to with you.
“So tight around me. Don’t you feel pathetic? Thought you hated me and yet you’re letting me use you like some slut.” He teased in your ears. Tears burned in your eyes from his truthful words as well as how fucking good he felt. You didn’t care how pathetic it seemed, it was worth it in the end.
“Shut up Eita.” You fired back, meeting your hips to match his thrusts. His hips stuttered against yours before he picked the pace back up, invigorated. His other hand reached around you, playing with your neglected nub. “C-could say the same thing about you.”
There wasn’t any point in covering your moans so you let it out.
“You make the sluttiest sounds. Everyone will know exactly what we’re doing.” he laughed, letting go of your arm to smack your ass, enjoying the view of how much it bounced with each thrust he gave you. semi knew he wasn’t going to last much longer but he needed you to finish first. “I can feel you clenching around me so tightly. Maybe someone wants to get caught. Wouldn’t that be something? Imagine the headlines. You’d really go viral then, huh?”
“Bet you want us to get caught so you can get some clout for once.” You moaned, malice lacing your voice.
“Shut up.” He demanded, wrapping a hand around your throat. He didn’t squeeze, but he held it there, a looming, empty threat. “Just take my cock like a good little slut, yeah?”
Words escaped you as he thrusted into you harder, each thrust fueled by the hate he held for you. Or at least, that’s what he told himself. His mind reeled as your tight walls wrapped around his cock, trying to pull him even deeper.
“You gonna cum f’ me?” He asked. “Go ahead, cum all over my cock. Show me how good I make you feel.”
You keen, the coil inside of you threatening to snap. With semi’s sinful words and his talented fingers working away at your nub, you let it all go. Practically crying his name out, you cum all over his cock. He didn’t bother stopping, fucking you through your orgasm leading you right to overstimulation.
“Good girl.” He groaned, relishing in the feeling of your fluttering walls. How could something so evil feel so good? You were the perfect little sin and he knew that you were going to be the death of him. It would be a hell of a way to go. “Gonna cum in you, princess. Gonna make you my little cumdump.” Both of his hands were secured on your hips, fucking into you like his life depended on it. His hips thrusted up into you, the tip of his cock repeatedly hitting your sweetest spot.
“No, don’t you fucking dare.” You moaned out.
“Why not? You let me last time.” he smirked. He liked to remind you that no matter what you said or how you acted, you’d always come crawling back to him. The little situation between the two of you had been going on for quite some time. Besides, he knew you liked it when he came inside of you, filling you with all of his seed. The way you clenched around his cock only solidified that.
“Because this time I have to go on stage.” You clutched onto the wall, meeting his thrusts yet again, almost encouraging him to cum inside of you. The thought of you performing at battle of the bands with him cum fucked deep inside of you made him groan, hips stuttering as he was getting painfully close.
“Please.” he whispered out, even though he knew you wanted him too, he needed to hear you say it.
“Eita please cum in me.” You cried out, dangerously past the line of overstimulation and well on your way to another orgasm. He groaned as he watched your hand reach between your legs, getting yourself off to how Semi used your cunt to his pleasure.
“F-fuck.” He groaned out your name, pushing all the way into you as he came hard, gripping onto your hips so tightly you knew they’d leave a lasting reminder of this. You release as he’s still slowly thrusting into you, milking him for all he’s worth. You look backed at him while riding out your orgasm and see his head tossed back, totally fucked out. His jaw was slack as he gazed down at you with half-lidded eyes. Absolutely wiped from performing earlier and pumping all his cum into you.
You couldn’t choke back the whine that escaped you as he pulled out. His fingers quickly found your entrance, pushing all of his cum back into you. Your knees buckled from the overstimulation, but he easily caught you, slipping his fingers back out.
“Easy there. Might want to steady yourself because I think you’re up next.” He teased as you turned around to face him. He reached up to your eyes, smudging out some of the makeup that had started to run down your face. Even though he hated you, he didn’t want you to go up on stage looking totally fucked out. Besides, he planned on meeting up with you after the set anyway.
“You’re such an ass.” You huffed, pulling your panties up to keep the cum from dripping down your leg. You adjust the thigh highs that were barely hanging on — somewhat pooled around your ankles. He laughed at you struggling, enjoying the fact that you were about to get on stage with his cum buried deep inside of you. “Shut up. I hate you.”
“Sure you do.” He nodded, throwing his shirt back on. and ruffling up his hair.
“That was the last time.” you muttered, getting ready to leave the closet as you heard the band finishing up their set. You were up next and all your nerves came rushing back.
“Whatever you say princess.”
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moar you say.. why then gregor and rodya of coarse....
where would i be without rodigor. where would WE be, without rodigor.
first impression: THE fuckin guy. this dude owns. (insert 50 invasive questions about cockroach anatomy and behavior) i was peeved his roach arm resembled more of a beetle horn than a arm
current impression: when chef greg dropped i got so horny i went to bed lightheaded i still love gregor dearly but my love for him has mellowed like the fondness for a favorite pasta dish.
favorite moment: literally every old fart moment he has. when he forgets names when he berated sinclair for not cleaning his plate when he goes uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh in his dialogue because he doesnt know where hes going with this
story idea: despite his deep frying and boiling during hells chicken i think the bus kinda Likes this guy. gregors a bit of a hot commodity. hes just a fella you can Jive with. a real Stand Up guy. now let him be loved, if obliviously through his own self consciousness. a friendly heathcliff rough slap on the back delays his depressive episode by 15 minutes
fav relationship: oh boy where to start!!!! rodigor. enough on that. meurgreg, not really romantic to me but i like the art of it that is. it revolves around a big fella carrying him under his arm so automatic slay. ive seen a little gregcliff action on the TL but its more of a 'work got me friends with people twice my age like whats uncle greg up to' ordeal to me. now lets get insane. gregsang is incredible to me because yi sang is the only mf on that bus EASIER than gregor. gregor got game? that hes aware of? while stuttering the whole journey? its kind of crazy. i dont actually have a reason why they would even like eachother yet but put rodya in there somewhere to toy with them if you want true crackshipping fun
fav headcanon: hes a little chunky
RODYA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! my favit
first impression: me furiously searching for her height on the wiki + nodding my head sagely deciding woman with sleepy eyes is peak character design (faust included). i trust her wholeheartedly even if she leads me hand in hand into a woodchipper
current impression: waiting for projmoon to drop more lore on her desperately because i know canto 2 wasnt everything. i feel a disconnect with the fanbase about her because i see rodya characterized sooooo differently than how i think of her. the gambling thing and her effortless confidence for example isnt really questioned like how it is with dons bravado. i see her gambling as an outlet for her complicated views on money. she feels as though being financially 'secure' as the lone survivor as a betrayal to all the deaths she caused. gambling not only aligns with her current im the hottest shit attitude but also is a way for her to not be responsible for money. the hoarding of wealth is what caused her community to starve, why would she want to do something that seems to harm others? shes very self destructive, and feigning as slots star is just one of the ways she forces herself to 'stay in the cold'. ummmmmmmmm anyway im really normal about rodya and think about her a normal amount also her love for decadant food really resonates with me as someone who was poor in childhood because the difference between eating to live and living to eat is Astronomical
favorite moment: shes started branching out and calling other people than greg pet names and it is so exciting. faust has now reached babe status!! good for her!!! also when she infantalizes sinclair its terrible for him but REALLY funny for me when he responds back and reminds her oh right this is a 22 year old man. also her random interjections that are socialist ideology are really funny because they always feel so fucking random and like projmoon is remembering why crime and punishment was written and going drop this bomb ass line itll go so hard guys
story idea: i want her to play poker against yi sang because hes weird and also his poker face is like. genuine and dear adoration for being able to play with his companions because deep in his soul is gardens and butterflies. she would be so freaked out not only because this guy agreed to playing poker but also because he is invasively (he didnt mean it) staring into her SOUL to find solutions
fav relationship: my thoughts are half the bus are in love with gregor and the other half with rodya with cases of overlap. rodya is so epic because shes seemingly got it together to the more deranged sinners but to anyone else its like oh my god this paper mache bitch the former being more faustish the latter being more ryoshuish. faustya is cute because faust initially wanted to absorb more Bad Bitch Strategems and then kinda got a crush and is hardcore malfunctioning also kurokumo ryodion got sumn GOING yall crazy love is love though
fav headcanon: shes actually really short for Lobotomy Corp Backstreets Russia and everyone there is just freakishly tall (see: sonya)
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Not Alive, Nor Dead
[PREV PART] [AO3]
This is (probably) the shortest chapter I've ever posted. Just didn't feel right to start another day.
Also my brain is actually melting from uni work please save me
Someone is screaming his name. A voice, loud and muted, clear and rough.
Ghost groans. Colors burst behind his eyelids.
“SIMON RILEY”
He opens his eyes. The world is a mess of fog and stardust. Ladder-like patterns swirl around him.
“Reaper…” he whispers.
“GET UP”
Ghost tries to take control over his shaking limbs. Pain flashes like lightning down his arms, as he slowly pushes himself off the ground.
He looks up at his Reaper, frowning. The realm… it’s… different.
Little moths inhabit the Reaper’s domain, flying around the patterns it creates, landing on its shoulders.
“What happened?” Ghost’s voice quivers.
His Reaper lowers its head to watch him closely, “I WARNED YOU OF THIS. YOU REFUSED TO LISTEN. BARE WITNESS TO THE RAMIFICATIONS OF YOUR ACTIONS.”
Moths startle as his Reaper gestures around them.
“YOU LET THE REVENANT OF DESTRUCTION JOIN YOUR VOID, SIMON RILEY.”
Ghost’s head is thumping a rapid rhythm, and he struggles to comprehend, “what does that mean?”
The Reaper’s eyes glow red, the air around him chills.
“IT MEANS HE HAS REIGN OVER YOUR LIMBO. HE, AND ONLY HE, IS ABLE TO SLAUGHTER YOU THERE.”
The moths swarm around the raging being, their fire casting terrifying shadows over bioluminescent skin.
“FEAR NOT, SIMON RILEY. YOU HAVE STOLEN SOMETHING FROM THE REAPER OF DESTRUCTION AS WELL.”
The world around them starts collapsing, Ghost hypnotized by the Reaper’s eyes, 6 red dwarves exploding in the never-ending universe.
“YOU STOLE LIGHT.
A SWORD AND A SHIELD.
I WILL KEEP YOU ALIVE
FOR NOW
DO NOT FAIL ME, REVENANT.”
Someone is calling his name. A voice, warm and soft, desperate and calming.
“-Simon!”
He hums. Something is feeling his shoulders, neck, lips… the touch is warm, it pulls him back to sleep.
“-Please, please… wake up…”
It sounds so achingly like home. Flames ignite in his chest, and Simon smiles, “Johnny…”
“-Oh Reapers above, thank god!-”
Simon drifts away again, following a lilting voice to a dreamless sleep.
Ghost feels weightless. Almost like he’s still sleeping.
“How far until the safe house?”
Someone sighs, “3 clicks.”
There’s a hand on his left arm, he notes.
“Bloody hell… we’re too exposed with 2 fuckin’ corpses floating around us.”
“Don’t call them that, hermano… what if they’re really-”
“They’re not dead.” the other person grounds, “Soap wouldn’t be able to drag himself that far otherwise-”
Soap. Johnny. JOHNNY.
Ghost snaps his eyes open, taking the (moving?) night sky for half a second, before snarling and thrashing around.
“Bloody-!” The hand on him retreats, and Ghost drops to the ground with a gasp.
The pain that shoots through his entire body momentarily blinds him. “Fuckin’ hell…” he mutters through clenched teeth.
“Ghost?! Shit, are you okay?” his eyes finally focus on the figures in front of him.
Gaz is crouching, one hand hesitantly reaching for him, the other on a prone person, floating midair just like Ghost was up until a few seconds ago.
Rudy pops up behind him, relief obvious on his features, “are you injured, Fantasma?”
“Where’s-” Ghost hissed as he lifts from the ground, Rudy rushing to support his back, “where’s Johnny?”
Gaz steps to the side, bringing the floating man closer.
“He… hasn’t woken up since we found him.” Garrick gently moves Soap down to the dirt, “only injury I could find on him is this…”
Gaz lifts Soap’s left arm, streaks of black covering his entire forearm, as if someone clawed at it.
Ghost lowers his head, breathing heavily. Limbo, Johnny, his victims scrambling to take his fire-
“YOU STOLE LIGHT.”
“It’s my fault.” Ghost covers his eyes with a trembling hand, “I sent him to Limbo… he was too far to reach… I-” his breaths come out quicker and quicker, “he’s not gonna-”
“He will be alright, Ghost.” Gaz firmly says, “when we found you, you were together. Soap got all the way from the compound to you before passing out.” he sounds so sure, Ghost can’t tell if he’s trying to convince himself as well.
Ghost removes his hand to look at Garrick, who offers him a hand, “c’mon. Rudy knows a safe house not too far from here, maybe the others made it out as well.”
He takes the hand, lifting easily off the dry earth. Rudy supports him when Ghost almost falls back down, his touch cool compared to Las Almas’ air.
Ghost bares his teeth, muttering, “what happened?”
“After you and Soap destroyed the entire compound?” Rudy takes some of his weight as they start walking, “Graves and his Shadows appeared behind us. They tried to capture us.”
“Rounding us up like fuckin’ cattle” Gaz growls.
Ghost groans as his leg gives out, Garrick instantly reaching to help him up, “how did you escape?”
Guilt paints Gaz’s face, “Price ordered me to get you two. I tried to take him with me, but… he refused.” Gaz tilts his head down, hiding his eyes under his baseball cap, “I found Alejandro and Rudy on the way. I was too late.”
Rudy clicks his tongue, “you did what you could, hermano. Ale was pushing me away. Pandejo always tries to save me first…”
A heavy weight in his chest pulls at his insides. “Any… casualties?”
The two men supporting him are silent for a few seconds, “we don’t know.”
They remain quiet as they continue to make their way to Alejandro’s safe house. Ghost’s mind is a cacophony of screams, each thought competing for attention.
Could Graves really kill several dozen of trained revenant operators? How could Ghost not see it, why didn’t he follow his gut for once, and cut off the snake’s head before it could bite?
A voice shouts louder than the rest, mourning his teammates, his friends. Johnny.
He grits his teeth and pushes on.
Ghost has almost forgotten true despair. How lucky he is, life has a way to always remind him.
The safe house’s windows are dark when their little group reaches it. Gaz and Ghost look at Rudy, whose face sours the closer they get to the small building.
Ghost can’t see any tire tracks, footprints, anything to suggest any human has been present in the last couple of days.
“Ale set up some pressure plates at the front doors”, Rudy murmurs, voice lifeless as their surroundings, “I’ll… go take care of that.”
The Vaquero walks ahead, steps more assured than his spirit. Ghost takes the moment to glance at Johnny. He hasn’t moved an inch since Ghost woke up. According to Gaz, he found them over 3 hours ago.
Ghost shoves away the thoughts, that yell that he will never wake up. That it’s all his fault.
The latter are not wrong. He just can’t think about that right now, not without losing what little composure he gained.
Gaz tries to give him a reassuring smile, and Ghost sharply nods in return. He doesn’t know what he would’ve done if they didn’t find them, if Ghost woke up and all he had was an unconscious Johnny by his side, baring the mark of his violence.
Rudy waves at them, signaling the way in is safe. Ghost collects his thoughts and drowns them under the physical pain of walking. At least it makes for a great distraction.
“Nobody was here, Rudy.”
Gaz left Johnny on a moth-eaten couch, now standing in the eerily quiet hallway, watching Rudy rush from room to room, attempting to find any signs of life.
Ghost let himself down next to his Sergeant, when his legs started shaking so much he couldn’t stand anymore. Pain still pulses down his limbs with every heartbeat, and Ghost tries to focus on that instead of Johnny’s weak exhales.
Rudy eventually stops, returning to the room they’re all in, eyes tired beyond his years, breath fogging the air more than usual. He looks like he’s barely hanging on at this point. Ghost is sure they all do.
Ghost takes stock of their situation - all Los Vaqueros missing, the Captain, Commander Karim and Keller, status unknown. Location, unknown. Laswell, possibly collaborating on the betrayal. Shepherd, highly likely, not confirmed.
Graves, turned hostile.
Gaz is tired, he’s been using his powers for hours now. Even if it’s a small task, arms start hurting after you just hold a glass of water after several hours.
Rodolfo… he’s not in any state to fight, exhausted and shaken from the whole affair.
Johnny’s broken. To what extent, only time will tell.
“We can’t make any moves at our current state”, Ghost tries to sound as commanding as he usually does, “we need to rest and recharge. Take turns on lookout, in case anyone tailed us, hostile or not.”
Garrick nods, returning a “yes sir”, but Rudy stares at him for a few moments, conflicted. Eventually he sighs, looking away and heading towards what seems like a storage room.
He comes back out with a pile of blankets and pillows, calling Gaz over to take a pair, and giving Ghost two.
“For Jabón.” he explains as he walks to one of the windows, dragging a chair behind him, “I’ll take first watch. Rest easy, hermanos.”
Ghost feels the blankets for a moment, finding the softer one and wrapping it around Johnny’s still form, with gentleness that is outside his nature. He lifts Soap’s head to slide a pillow underneath, and pauses.
Johnny’s face is lax, unmoving and emotionless, in a way that is so unnatural, Ghost keeps waiting for the moment he opens his eyes, announcing the whole thing as the world’s worst prank.
He takes Johnny’s left arm in his, examining what Limbo left for him as a memory. Fingerprints wrap around his skin, cool to the touch when Ghost brushes over it.
Ghost then remembers Graves’ daft monologue, when shock and rage prevented him from truly processing what he heard.
“I’ve always wondered just how strong Soap is… after the carnage he left in Verdansk”
He caresses charred hands, their flame extinguished. Like water trickling down his spine, the pieces that make up Soap’s Reaping fall together.
There was never an explosion in a factory, was there, he wants to ask Johnny.
Soap killed Konchar, he got his revenge. The cost, the citizens of Verdansk.
Johnny is more destructive than any of them could imagine. Ghost looks back at every time he watched his Sergeant using his powers, how hesitant he was of them, almost scared.
He wasn’t afraid to be too weak. He feared he was too strong, terrified of hurting, of hands made for senseless violence.
Hands akin to his own.
Ghost doesn’t sleep. His heart does not calm, his mind doesn’t quiet down. He watches the sun rise, grey skies casting soft light over the barren rooms of the safe house, Rudy long fallen asleep in his watch.
A new day greets Ghost, alone.
The hurt gotta hurt for the comfort to be good.
#call of duty modern warfare 2#cod mw2#cod ghost#cod soap#cod gaz#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#rodolfo parra#revenant au#call of duty fic#call of duty fanfic#call of duty modern warfare#cod fic#cod fanfic#ghostsoap#soapghost#ghoap#Soap's Reaping is solved... but at what cost#in canon only Alejandro and the entire Vaqueros were missing#here literally almost everyone is fucking gone lol#shit is dire
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This is just personal exp with being hyper fem as a kid and then coming out as trans masc as a teen and accepting myself, but it is a lil rough seeing so many ppl pointing to Roxy's feminity as reason why she can't be trans masc in the epilogues and as much as I disagree with Rox being trans masc it's also the first trans masc character I've seen who gets to have their femininity and be masc at the same time which reflects my exp. Overall, postcanon fuckin sucks and her being trans fem is forever but somethin abt how ppl are handling the trans masc stuff is uh lil disconcerting? Like I feel its kind of being swept under the rug how some trans mascs try to force themselves to be Girl the way Roxy has the same way trans fems try to be Boy the way June did b4 coming out and getting to vibe as ourselves. I get it and feel like I need to disclaimer the hell out of this bc "trans men arent oppressed as much as trans women" is a too common sentiment Ive seen these days. Also Dave and Dirk are Right There who I hc as trans masc/male. Like Rox didn't need to have this happen to her, at the same time the way some ppl in the fandom are handling it is coming off rough.
god we are SO fuckin sad wrestling over literal fuckin table scraps.
if their journey through gender expression and discover mirrors ur own, cool. theres not many trans people in media IN GENERAL. still, the epilogues could have like. chosen another person to go through that journey: JANE. instead of making her a 2d big bad, there could have been an internal struggle mirroring her gender she feels she has to be and to the empire she felt she was destined to create. while not quite the same as coming out, dirk and roxy elaborating on their own transness still means something. then again all this would require the epilogues to not be All Of That.
her femininity isnt the reason why people are saying roxy's trans fem (see the reasoning i gave) much in the same way callie dresses masc but is a trans woman. it's about background themes that are baked into her story. again, jane would be a stellar complement to her since they're best friends. also like. most people in our circles realize their trans after wrestling with the gender they were assigned. trans women dont relate to her for the reason she wears a skirt, especially not out ones.
and also like. theres a reason you sent this. the last paragraph of that post i said theres nothing i can do (or would do) to stop anyone from enjoying trans masc roxy. at the same time u dont have to tell the person explaining why the direction they went with roxy was a backhand and that they're tired of the treatment of trans women that you happen to actually like the development with roxy. is liking trans masc roxy inherently transmisogynistic? no, BUT we can both stay in our own lanes forever and ever peace on earth.
#not answering any more asks about this.#and not addressing the third to last sentence bc i dont want to.#d talks#ask
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Hiii‼️‼️ I M SO GLAD THAT TLOU TICKLE COMMUNITY IS GETTING BIGGER🫶🫶 and I have a few fics ab tlou myself so if you wanna check it or what you are free to go, but I have a few tickle ideas for Ellie and Joel because I LOVE THEM
Soo
1. Ellie is trying to get Joel laughing but it can be reversed into a tickle fight
2. Joel is just messing with Ellie when teaching her how to play a guitar
3. Tickle fight between Tommy and Joel (brotherly moment) (and Ellie could just saw it and join😭😭)
omg I literally want to do all of these(and i probably will at some point) they are so good but i have to do #3 I have the best little drabble in my head! hope u enjoy🫶 srry it’s rough, i wrote this in one night and i got a bit carried away lol
also go check out @potatohater their fics are big slay ! ! !
Brotherly Love
“there is no way im helping you with the truck”
“quit throwing such a fit ya stubborn asshole” Joel smiled and shoved into his brother’s shoulder as he scooted his way over in the kitchen to the lukewarm pot of coffee.
Joel was in quiet the good mood today. A few days ago on a patrol around Jackson, he found himself upon a bright red 2003 Ford-F150. Well, he assumed it was bright red in its glory days, as by now it had accumulated a dull rusty exterior followed by a coat of moss that had begun creeping up off the tires and onto the rest of the car. But he didn’t seem to care, as all he saw was an opportunity in front of him. While Jackson provided Ellie and him with a sense of comfort, he selfishly missed the days of traveling across the states together, and he could sense that restless energy in Ellie as well. Even if they were short trips, he wanted something back that he felt like he was missing since they had settled. Yes, Ellie relying on him scared him, but it also seemed to give him a sense of purpose he just couldn’t quite find here.
“Joel, i-i got the kid this weekend, Maria’s on patrol and in meetings an-”
“you are such a bad liar little brother” Joel looked up from his mug as he sipped and gave Tommy a sly smile.
“I already talked to her this mornin’. Said you’d be just fineee helpin’ out.” Joel smirked and leaned up against the counter behind him. “Said it’d keep you outta trouble”
Tommy shot Joel a side eye and shook his head as he let out a sigh
“Talk about trouble, what the hell do you think your gonna do with that truck Joel”
“Mmm so you are gonna help me now huh?”
“There is no way in hell, but if I were, I’d want to make sure you don’t kill yourself once it’s all done with” Tommy’s eyes searched the counter that Joel was leaned up against as he spoke.
“This can’t be just for joyrides Joel, where the hell is it you’re wantin’ to go?”
“You gotta shake on it first”
Tommy shot another look at Joel as he remembered where what he was looking for was.
“Look, I’m just saying messin with that truck in any regard is a stupid fuckin idea I mea-EAN-!” Tommy was suddenly cut off while he opened the overhead cabinet diagonal to Joel’s head to grab a pan for his morning eggs. Out of nowhere, Joel jabbed his fingers into Tommy’s side, almost as if it was a reflex. Tommy entire body jolted accompanied by a concealed squeal that he tried to play off by clearing his throat, but it seemed to be too late for him, as the stare Joel was sending him was already telling him everything he needed to know.
The two brothers stared at each other in silence, both quite shocked to what transpired seconds before. After the jab Tommy had jumped back about a foot, but he was still in close enough territory to remain nervous about his big brother’s next move.
Joel had his eyebrows slightly raised with slightly squinted eyes, but he held a straight face and a calm demeanor, even still, you could hear that hint of smirk behind every word.
“Hey Tommy, would you come here for a second?”
Tommy’s face looked angry, but was almost ghost white with fear at the same time, like he knew what could happen at any second.
“Don’t you dare Joel”
“Awh don’t be so shy baby brother”
In a whorl-wind, Joel leap over at Tommy, hands outstretched like bear claws towards his torso. In a spontaneous yet, extremely strategic move, Joel wrapped his hands around Tommy’s sides and squeezed. Tommy’s once escape plan of sprinting away crumbled in front of him as he felt himself crumble with a grunt under Joel’s grasp, and in a swift move Joel has knocked him off his feet and pinned him beneath him on the kitchen floor. From here Tommy began to struggle below his older brother, and as his feet slipped against the hardwood floor a familiar helpless feeling began to fade back in.
“Just like ol’ times eh Tom?”
“You old fucker get off of mEHEHA-”
Tommy felt his dignity slip from his grasp as his brother enormous hands shook around his ribcage. There was little time between the stifling spurts of laughter to full on childlike giggles pouring out of Tommy’s mouth, and Joel was eating up every minute of it. He pretended like he wasn’t paying attention as his little brother was bouncing below him, fit to be tied with his own laughter, but there was a recognizable smile that crept onto Joel’s face wether he liked it or not. There seemed to be little to none of these nostalgic brotherly moments for them these days, so for Joel to catch him like this was music to his ears.
“I’m sorry what’s that Tommy? somethin about helpin me with the truck?” Joel chuckled as he pretended to yell over Tommy’s laughing fits as he switched to digging his knuckles into his brothers sides.
“ YOUHUO DUHUMB SOSHAHN OF A BIHIHTCH I’LL KIHIILL YOHAHA”
“Mmm yeah you definitely seem to be in a position to do that brother.” Joel smirked, he was having way too much fun with this.
Tommy was continuously trying to push against Joel’s hands digging away at his sides, when Joel saw an opportunity to snake his hands up underneath Tommy’s arms where he realized Tommy’s laughter could reach a new octave.
“JEHEHAHSUS JOEHEL MERMHECY”
Tommy’s head was thrown back and arms clamped to his sides as he sucumbed to the torture joel was dealing him. His laughter was on the verge of silence and he couldn’t beli-
“What the fuck joel are you trying to kill him?”
Between all the commotion, neither brother had bothered to notice a shocked Ellie waltz downstairs, most probably woken up from all the ruckus they were causing. Both brothers turned to look at her, Joel stopped his assault but did not get up, while Tommy was merely attempting to catch his breath.
“Uhhh he owes me a favor El.” Joel replied with a smirk on his face, yet slightly embarrassed from Ellie witnessing the encounter.
“Uh-huh” Ellie replied, still in shock to see the brothers this affectionate.
“H-He’s a fuckin’ liar E-Ellie don’t fall f-for it” Tommy sputtered out, still trying to recover.
Joel shot him a dirty look, but a smile began to creep on to his face, one that terrified Tommy.
“Hey kid, care to help?”
Immediately Tommy’s chorus of no’s directed at Ellie filled the room followed by a desperate “you gotta help me El” only to be followed up with muffled chatter as one of Joel’s hands covered his mouth.
Ellie took a few seconds to realize what she was getting herself into, after all not every morning at the Millers presented an opportunity like this, but she knew what she had to do.
“Want me to get his knees?” She asked almost too excitedly, causing Tommy to groan beneath Joel.
“Smart kid”
Joel gesture her over and she placed her knees on either side of Tommy’s shins.
“Ready El?”
“Sure am”
Tommy’s pleas continued, growing in volume the closer Joes hands got. But, as soon as Joel reached his arms forward into Tommy’s sides, Ellie saw the opportunity she needed. She shot her hands forward right underneath Joel’s arms and squeezed like there was no tomorrow. She felt the confusion in Joel’s body, first tightness and then resistance, and for a scary second she thought he might not b-
“E-ELHEHIE NOHOHO DOHONT-”
Joel’s entire body began fighting the ticklish sensation pulsating through his body, curving and arching his back in anyway he could to shake the little rascal off. He had completely forgotten his attack on Tommy, giving his little brother the opportunity to help out with the onslaught but wrapping his hands around Joel’s hipbones, and from there Joel was done for.
With attacks coming from both sides his body seemed to be in sensory overload, as he didn’t even notice Tommy slip out from underneath him, where he then pushed him to his side, and pinned him down himself, never ceasing the rhythm of jabs into his hips. Ellie at this point was able to let Tommy take over, well until-
“Hey Ellie, get his knees!”
“DOHONT YOUHU DAHAHRE ELLEEHEIE”
Joel was continuously trying to compose himself, but as Tommy moved his attack up his older brothers sides, the electrical ticklish shocks he felt throughout his body caused any gruff, strength, and pride he had in his tough demeanor to slowly fade away.
“Gladly”
Ellie’s smile was as big as Joel’s at this point, she had never seen the man who protected her across the US from infected, cannibals, and everything else in between, giggle, at least never like this. She couldn’t help but join in herself as she positioned herself so familiarly over Joel’s shins.
Tommy paused for a brief second as Joel was too incapacitated by exhaustion to back any kinds of counter attack.
“Do right above the kneecaps, he’ll love that”
“Oooo your gonna get it motherfucker” Ellie smiled and positioned her hands.
“N-Now if y-you asshats do-HOHONT KNOHAHCKAHAHA-”
There was not even a second for Joel to keep his cool as Tommy dove his hands into each space within his ribcage accompanied by the rapid squeezing provided by Ellie, this was full on torture for the man.
“Nothin but a bit of brotherly love eh Joel?”
“SHUHUAHAUT IHIT TOHAHAHMOHMY”
“Awh quit throwing such a fit ya stubborn asshole”
Even as his own words were used against him, Joel couldn’t fight the joyful snickers and uncontrollable laughter that seems to bubble out of him, for a a strong as he is he felt everything leave him under the touch of the two smiling bafoons that held him down.
“Joel you’re such an asshole for never mentioning this, you made me use the joke book to make you laugh?” Ellie smiled and joined in on the tease, as she was now squeezed to the rhythm of an old song she used to have on tape.
Joel had no response to the teenagers quip as he held is head in his palm in his own fit of giggles, surprising even Tommy at this point.
“Alright alright, we probably shouldn’t kill the old man” Tommy let up on his brother, patting his shoulder as he stood up.
“U-uh we might not have killed him but he looks pretty fucking broken. This isn’t the Joel I ever remember” Ellie had gotten up at this point and was now squatted next to Joel, holding the sides of his head at his temples. His eyes were closed as he was attempting to regain himself but the constant sputter of laughter would seep out through his nose or mouth, almost as though there were residual tickles all on and around him.
This by far was the most relaxed Joel’s felt in years, his brain had completely let go and although he would never admit it, he would probably say that brotherly love did him more good than a rusty old truck ever could. Instead, he finally regained his breath after a few more out-spurts and turned his smile into one of his disapproving frowns as he opened his eyes and looked up at Ellie and Tommy.
“If either of you ever do that again, so help me god I will break your godamn jaws”
“Awh just say you liked it motherfucker”
#tlou#so many typos oops#tlou tickle#tickle fic#lee!tommy#lee!joel#ler!tommy#ler!joel#ler!ellie#the last of us#tlou fluff#tlou tickle fic#writing drought is over bby
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welcome back to watchmojo where we are counting down ren's top 5 mike murdock moments
5. Killing Bullseye that one time
so, technically this didnt ACTUALLY happen (or itd be my number one lmfao), it was in a dream Matt was having while he was dying. but listen, okay, mike was still so real for this. bullseye was this close to killing Matt and Mike comes outta nowhere, declares his love for Karen Page, and boom shoots the guy right off a fuckin skyscraper how could i NOT talk about this, okay?
4. Being thrown to the ground
listen, he looks good a little roughed up, alright? what are you, a fuckin cop or somethin? aint it my right as a living, breathing, human being to enjoy pretty boys being thrown around a lil sometimes? damn
for reference: the first photo was when he was pretending to be Matt, trying to deal with some mob bosses. one of them got angry and pushed him down. the second was when mike was first introduced in the soule/noto run. bad guys bust into the bar hes at and matt throws him behind cover lmfao
3. this EXCELLENT reintroduction in the 2020 annual
the 2020 annual is when we get mike's whole backstory and THIS is the first panel we see him in. this is genuinely poetic. mike murdock wouldnt exist without first being made-up by matt (and matt pretending to be mike). we all know the story of matt losing his eye sight, he pushed a person out of the way of a van that was carrying toxic chemicals, blah blah
well. here we are yet again. except everythings flipped on its head. mike is pretending to be matt. he's jumping in front of this van to make the guys think theyve hit him so he can help rob them. he isnt saving anyone but he sure as hell is putting himself in danger. it sets the tone for his whole character. its just. yeah. this was fantastic, honestly.
2. his reaction to butch assualting hammerhead
okay so this was the moment in vol 6 that genuinely caught my complete attention. this was the moment i realized just how different and special mike was.
murdocks are known for, well, violence. jack was a boxer, he wanted matt to grow up and be nothing like him. he didnt want matt to fight only for matt to become daredevil later in life. we are led to believe there's almost this inherent violent streak to being "a murdock"
this is after a mob boss meeting, mike is watching hammerhead (a boss) from the shadows, helping butch keep track of him. he lets butch know where hammerhead is. butch proceeds to threaten hammerhead, bash his head into a car, yell at him, then gouge one of his eyes out.
and, well. this was mike's reaction.
this is the first time we are given a glimpse of mike's morals, his values. besides how much he cares for the people close to him, we find out he has an aversion to violence. he's a career criminal, i'm not saying he doesnt know how to throw a punch, but he goes out of his way to avoid it.
he's repeatedly shown to be a voice of reason, a mediator, and every time a violent solution is brought up, he immediately protests and wants to figure out a different way. that's fascinating to me.
he's breaking the mold of being "a murdock" in the most unexpected way. we think he must be so much like jack to so easily get involved in crime (with even jack saying so himself), but here we are shown that's wrong.
i wish we could've gotten his and butch's convo directly after this. also, another thing, mike's reaction to people he cares about doing something he doesnt approve of isn't to get angry, it's to worry. which, again. fascinating. admirable, even.
when he finds out matt's "in rehab" he's worried, and yeah a little angry, but mostly concerned for his brother. even after this incident, we are seen mike being very worried later. he's concerned for butch's mental state and wants to stop him from making any rash decisions (ie killing someone)
but, yeah. sorry for the damn essay (and heres another) anyways
trying to save wilson fisk from being assassinated
christs sake hes so fucking gorgeous. also ignore matt being an asshole here because that's all he ever did when mike was around.
this was another very interesting moment in which we see mike's strong morals on full display. we are repeatedly told mike isn't the kind of person to be trusted, he doesnt take things seriously, he's morally ambiguous yada yada. and yet.
as soon as he finds out butch is planning to maybe (which he later find out he's correct about) put a hit on wilson fisk, wilson fuckin fisk, he wants to stop it. mike is under the impression that killing someone is not a line you can cross and come back from. he's deeply concerned about the path his friend is headed down.
In this scene, he's coming to visit foggy in the hospital to talk to him about maybe getting butch out of jail while also hoping to catch daredevil there. he does, obviously.
his full intention is to team up with daredevil to try and take fisk down. mike thinks if he can take fisk down it'll stop butch from trying to kill him.
him going to daredevil also shows his ability to extend his compassion to others. he has no fuckin reason to trust daredevil. daredevil has done nothing but insult mike, yell and argue with him, and even rough him up a couple of times. and still, mike decides to reach out because he knows daredevil is supposed to be a good guy. he also knows daredevil is supposed to be matt's close friend.
he brings it up more than once that the reason he trusts daredevil is because of matt being his friend (despite mike and matt supposedly not being close).
so, yeah, i got a little off-topic, but that's why i love this scene so much. it shows not only how deeply mike cares for people, but also his compassion and aversion to violence. he's trying to take care of his best friend and trust daredevil despite their differences. he's showing how good of a person he is and how dedicated he is to his cause of a "bloodless" coup.
-----
if you made it this far fuckin THANKS, mike is my favoritest most specialist boy lmao and this turned into a character study high key but im not mad about it
#mike murdock#mike meta#ren rambles#daredevil comics#mike murdock meta#ren writes#here queues... daredevil!
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Oh my god… those massive, MASSIVE middle fingers…
I’m picturing Steve, newly retired and without the responsibilities of an Avenger to constrain him, going to a protest that the police turn into a riot. One photog’s camera catches the moment he shoves a middle finger into cop’s face.
Bucky sees the picture the next morning. And of course he’s seething; kid causes trouble everywhere he does, doesn’t he? But Bucky’s also looking at that finger. A finger that’s been inside every hole Bucky has but it suddenly strikes him how LARGE it is on its own. Looming over that cop’s face. Thick, strong, defiant.
Bucky’s used to Steve fingering him in different ways; rushed and impatient or slower, leaning into the stretch, but no matter what, Steve isn’t satisfied until he has two or three fingers inside him.
Bucky isn’t a good actor, not around Steve. Steve gets it out of him.
That night he uses one finger. Just one. In and out and crooked, pressing against Bucky’s walls but careful not to strain his rim. Keeping that hole tight for Steve, tight so Bucky feels every single knuckle.
related to this
L i s t e n .
Everything about this is perfect: the peak Steve energy of post-retirement using his near immunity to protest and throw his weight behind the issues that matter (what're you gonna do? Arrest Steve Rogers? Ex-Captain America? They tried it once, and it didn't stick. So... they don't dare try again). AND Bucky being horny for His Steve, the Steve that's dumb as shit (affectionate) and doesn't like bullies. 🤌🏻Yes🤌🏻
And that idea you've got of Bucky slobbering, gagging, losing his simple little mind over having a single finger inside him...
Christ.
Bucky wouldn't know what to do with himself. Does he press back on that single finger and beg and beg for more? Writhing on the bed, spreading his legs and arching his back like the slut he is, using everything he has to get more. More from Steve. Another finger. Something bigger. Or does he yield to what Steve is clearly hell-bent on doing to him--fingering fucking his brain out with only a single finger? All the while, Steve barely breaks a sweat, hardly stretches his tight, pink, wet rim, and listens to all the gutted sounds Bucky can't possibly keep inside with a shit-eating grin painted across his stupid, handsome face.
What does Bucky do?
He doesn't fuckin' know!
It's so hard to know anything at all like this, spread out, pulled apart, foreplay being treated like the main event. If Steve wanted to, he could pry Bucky apart fast and hard with two, three, four fingers and then could split him open on his fat cock and Bucky would still love it. He loves the way it aches. The way it burns. The way it leaves him wobbling for the hours after before the serum has its way. He loves desperation and roughness. Anything Steve will give him, he loves. He craves.
But--
Steve just has a single fucking thick finger inside him instead, not two or three or four or his fucking DICK and Bucky doesn't know what to do about it.
All he's got is that image. Every time he shuts his eyes. There it is.
There is is.
That image is burned into the back of his eyelids--Steve's fingers, held up, thick, long, calloused, scarred, and just a little crooked after being broken a few times, then, behind those digits is Steve's face, flushed with anger, fire in his eyes, a snarl on his lips, defiance. That's his Steve.
It shouldn't turn Bucky on, but it does. Fuck, it does. It's like the first time Bucky got to fight with Steve post-serum all over again, once the haze of his capture was gone and the Holwies were with them. Bucky wants to climb his man like a fucking tree.
Sweaty, flushed, simmering with anger, and baring his teeth. God. It's hot.
Bucky whines, his muscles feel like ropes coiled into knots, tense. His rim is clenching onto Steve, trying to draw him in, aching for more, more, more. He's so tight that every time Steve moves his finger--thrusting in or out--Bucky feels each knuckle. The knuckle in the middle of his finger, especially--it's thick. Bucky's toes curl. He pants, strands of his hair hanging over his forehead as he bites the pillow under him as hard as he can.
Please.
More.
It's all he wants.
The hard, rubbing press of the pad of that single finger against his prostate has his cock twitching and drooling against the mattress, lying prone, but he's greedy. He wants more. He wants Steve to punch those fingers, that fucking hand, up there.
"Pl-please," Bucky finally chokes out the plea, lips dragging wetly against the pillow, sobbing.
"Nu-uh, baby," Steve's voice is gravel rough, dragging over Bucky's skin like nails, leaving raw, red trails, "you know what you were drooling over, you know what you're picturing right now, and you damn well know you don't need more--just this, just this," Steve tortures him, pressing against his prostate hard on every hard thrust of his finger into him.
He's not being nice!
Bucky wails, throwing his head down into the pillow he's ruining, shaking with how hard he's crying.
"Shhhh, honey, just enjoy it--"
Easy for you to say! Bucky wants to shout. But he can't. He can barely speak. All he can do is let his eyes roll back into his head, mouth wide open when Steve curls his finger and tugs at his clenched rim.
"So tight," Steve rumbles, almost talking to himself, almost talking to Bucky's tiny, little hole, eating up his finger, "can barely take one finger, huh? Don't see why I'd keep going..."
Bucky officially melts. He quakes, quivers, he trembles--just a puddle rippling now. Pathetic. There is nothing he can do, but let Steve play with his body. He asked for this, though, didn't he? Letting Steve catch him jerking off to that stupid fucking photo instead of using his goddamn enhanced hearing to know when Steve returned home and putting away his phone or pretending like he wasn't jerking it or done ANYTHING ELSE. He did that. So now he's suffering.
gif from capeandcastle.com
That gif has forever become the Steve-wiping-lube-off-of-his-fingers gif to me 😮💨😮💨
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May I request a vi and seperated clem headcannons with an s/o who takes care of their very young sibling? Like their sibling is 2 or 3 and they take care of them and how they react to it and how they interact with them
How Would: Clementine & Violet Interact With an S/O That Takes Care of Their Sibling
A/N: This was very fluffy. Thanks for the request!
SUMMARY: How would Clementine and Violet be with an S/O that takes care of their two-year-old sibling?
WARNINGS: Swearing, tooth-rotting fluff.
WORD COUNT: 1384
CLEMENTINE
Clementine isn’t really fazed at the fact that you have a younger sibling and take care of them, like how a parent would their child. She had taken over the same role when it came to AJ, so being her significant other and bringing a kid into her little family dynamic isn’t off-putting to her at all whatsoever. She wholeheartedly welcomed it, actually. You were someone who was already knowledgeable when it came to protecting and caring for a baby, even if you were still actively learning new things in the process. She makes sure she’s there to help you, considering she’s been through that part of parenting. That also means she knows how rough it can be, too. And the last thing she wants is for you to get stressed out.
Sure, you’ve been on the road for a long time, so you’d probably be used to taking care of your little sibling without the aid of another, but that was because you had no choice. Now you do, and so she wants to be there for you every step of the way. I mean, they’re still so young, right? They might have a lot of fits, and they might be restless some nights, too. Among other things. She wants to take some of that weight off of your shoulders, because she cares about you, and she wants you to be able to rely on her. You know… since she is your girlfriend and all.
I can imagine that Clementine would find herself unconsciously cooing at your younger sibling when they’re in her arms. You’re probably busy doing something around Ericson, like bettering its defenses or replacing something that might have rotted away. But then you eventually come back, and you’ll more often than not see your girlfriend sitting on a recliner in the music room, with your baby sister/brother sleeping soundly, while being cradled against the brunette’s chest. Their head lulled against her shoulder, and their lips faintly parted as small breaths escape them, just completely relaxed and comfortable with her? God, that’s so fuckin’ cute.
She just thinks your little sibling is so precious. She thinks you’re precious, too. Especially when she catches you spending time with your younger sibling. When the leaves start to fall the moment Autumn hits, she always enjoys watching you try and teach them the concept of leaf piles. They’re still so young, so they probably don’t completely understand just what the hell you’re talking about, but still, they always seem to look at you with a gleeful smile, or they giggle at you when one of the older members of Ericson comes by and decides to adorn the top of your head with a singular fall-colored leaf.
AJ is a good big bro to your sibling, too. He’s just so sweet around them, and he makes sure to protect them whenever you or Clementine have to step away for only a moment. He’s like their personal bodyguard. And you find that absolutely adorable. And relieving, too. Because there was once a time where you thought your girlfriends’ kid wouldn’t like your own, or he’d see them as a threat of some sort. But no, that wasn’t the case at all. He was actually ecstatic towards the idea of taking care of someone who was younger than him. According to him, it made him feel needed and important.
There’s definitely family cuddles by the end of stressful days. You’ll have your baby sibling resting on your chest, their little chubby fingers curled up to form a loose fist, and their body just sprawled out across your torso. And AJ’ll have his head resting on Clementine’s shoulder, as she keeps an arm secured around him and uses your shoulder as her own personal pillow (because you stole the only one). Both of you probably end up just laying on your backs like typical parents, while the two kids you and the brunette take care of cuddle up on or against the both of you.
The dynamic is just so wholesomely domestic.
VIOLET
Violet’s more on the hesitant side when it comes to your baby sibling. She doesn’t hate them or anything, she just doesn’t necessarily trust her abilities when it comes to being a caretaker for a literal child. She loves you dearly, of course, but she can’t lie and say that the idea of being a second parent to your sister/brother is an extremely scary thing. There’s a lot more reassurance and praise that ends up coming from you, instead of the other way around. And granted, that certainly helps, but she still has those moments where she doesn’t think she’d be a good guardian for your kid.
So, you teach her the things you know about taking care of a two-year-old. They’re fussy, they’re sometimes loud, they like to cry a lot, especially when they’re feeling uncomfortable, etcetera. Though, that doesn’t really help much, because then she starts overthinking, and so in turn you end up having to comfort her and apologize for making the concept of parenting seem like such a daunting thing. In actuality, it’s enjoyable, and sure, it can sometimes be very stressful, but it’s so worth it in the end. That’s what every adult you came across had told you. At first, you yourself didn’t believe them, but now, you understood. And eventually, so does your girlfriend.
Once the initial worry of messing up is out of Violet’s mind, she ends up being a natural. She���s so careful with your little buddy. You often see her pacing around your shared dorm room with your younger sibling cradled in her arms, getting lightly bounced and just staring up at the blonde with their expression painted in complete awe. The first time you saw that scene, you had to stop yourself from letting out a verbal coo, because it was just so freakin’ sweet. The woman who always showed herself to be so rough around the edges, was now a complete softy for a little kid that happened to be related to you.
How adorable.
Somehow, someway, Violet’s also got the magic touch. Whenever your younger sibling is having one of those nonstop crying days, it’s insanely difficult to get them to settle down yourself. Though the moment you hand them over to her, they quickly quiet down and focus on her face, as she sings to them softly. You always find yourself watching on with wide eyes, because how in the world is that possible? You’ve asked her so many times to teach you how she does it, but she always just shrugs and says, “guess I’m the favorite out of me and you,” with a huge, smug smirk on her face.
Violet is super duper protective over your kid, too. She doesn’t want anything to happen to them, so she watches them like a hawk whenever she chaperones them outside. If Willy, AJ, or Tenn are roughhousing and get too close to knocking your little buddy over when they’re playing with chalk, she’s going to give those boys hell. The other members of Ericson will even do the same, too, because your two-year-old sibling is a lot more fragile than those pre-teens horsing around. Sure, she doesn’t curse at them or scream, but by the time she’s done talking to the group, they make a note to never put your kiddo in danger again.
Loves reading to your younger sibling as well. You’ll often find her in the library on rainy days, reading in their ear to try and distract them from the booming thunder and crashing lightning. It’s a very sweet sight to see. Specifically after a long day that was cut short solely because of the weather. She’ll be sitting on one of those window benches with her legs stretched out, and your little sister/brother sitting between them with an open book in front of their face. Chubby little fingers will point at the ink lining each page as incoherent words, or made up ones come out of their mouth. But your girlfriend doesn’t mind it. She finds it amusing, as she giggles to herself and continues reading aloud.
And you always watch on for a little while longer, before eventually joining your makeshift family.
Apologies for the delay! Was having technical difficulties with my keyboard, so I had to get some new switches to remedy that. But I'm back and (hopefully) gonna be uploading some more.
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