#he gets john turned into a bug | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

psychedelic-ink · 8 months

Text

'𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐰.

pairing: contractor!joel miller x f!reader

genre: no outbreak au, modern au, explicit smut, minors dni

word count: 3k

summary: joel is used to asshole clients, and when one of them calls him an old man and basically demands him to finish his girlfriend's kitchen in time, he expects you to be the same. But you're the opposite. when he learns how you've been treated, he comes up with a plan to get back at your boyfriend.

warnings: hints of reader being in a toxic relationship, age gap, daddy kink, piv, dirty talk , revenge sex and filming it, infidelity (reader cheating on her bf), praise kink

a/n: This was completely spontaneous, normally I was going to finish one of the haunted hoedown entries but I saw a ✨ s p i c y ✨ video and instantly got up to write this because that video was something else I tell you. Sucks that they don't credit those things on twitter so I can find more of the guy he was also older hence the age gap fgbgfbf

thank you to @johnwatsn for beta'ing this (and sorry for all the typos lmaodfbfg) and thank you to @pedrorascal for the stunning gif 💜

“I’m not paying extra if you do overtime, old man. You said a week and you’ll finish in a week. I don’t care if your knees hurt or you have a heart attack in the middle of hammering a nail—you finish my girlfriend’s kitchen in time. Got it?”

Joel had a lot of unpleasant customers. John was just one of many but his comment had stuck with him. And it wasn’t the rude comments or the tone that basically told Joel that John thought of him as dog shit; no, it was none of that. It was the old man that had bugged him. The hissed comment of his age slithering under his skin and agitating his body.

Joel knew that it only bothered him because it was true. He was an old man. His daughter in her last year of college, doing her absolute best and growing while he was getting old. His skin creasing at the eyes every time he laughed and his hair more salt than pepper.

The thoughts continuing to swirl in his head, with a sigh, he knocks on the door of John’s girlfriend, expecting a woman as equally as unpleasant and demanding.

You’re far from what he expected. Your smile is bright, your eyes kind and lips looking soft and shiny. Joel has trouble gathering himself when you extend a hand, not a care in the world. His eyes drop to where your sweetheart neckline pushes your breasts together, slightly spilling over the fabric. His mouth goes dry, cock twitching under the denim.

Guess some parts of him didn’t get the memo that he was an old man now.

“Joel, right?” you ask, voice unsure and timid. Your eyes gradually take in the height of him, moving to explore the broadness of his shoulders and stopping at his eyes. “John mentioned you.”

Joel’s stomach suddenly turns sour, it’s enough for him to snap out of the sudden lustful gaze he found himself in. He grabs your hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “That’s right. Joel Miller at your service, ma’am.”

He might be imagining it, but he swears your breath hitches just a little when he takes your hand.

“How chivalrous,” you smile and move to the side. “Come on in, Mr. Miller.”

“Joel is just fine,” he grunts, reminded of the old-age comment. How young were you, he wonders. Late twenties, early thirties? He has no idea. He’s also not sure if he wants to know.

You close the door behind him and nod, “Alright then Joel,” you step in front of him, walking towards what he assumes is the kitchen. Joel dutifully follows. “I’m sure John told you about what needs to be done, so hopefully you don’t have any questions.”

He raises an eyebrow at that, confusion swirling in his expression. You don’t turn to look at him, entering the kitchen, you continue, “I had something else in mind originally but he told me to trust him so... I guess that’s what I’m doing now.”

“That don’t sound right,” Joel mumbles. He gives the area a once over, he sees a lot of pink, clean, and polished furniture. The windows are large, allowing the sun to bathe everything within. He vaguely remembers John mentioning a dark, minimalist look but he wasn’t really listening at the time. “Isn’t this your kitchen?”

Your shoulders raise at his question and you finally turn to face him, kind eyes now tainted with a hint of sadness, “It’s going to be our kitchen soon. He probably thinks it’s too girly.”

“That’s no reason to leave you out of the design process,” Joel answers, taking a step closer. You smile helplessly with a shrug, your eyes dropping to his lips before averting them. His pulse races, something wicked forming in his head. He stops an inch away from you, a mere breeze would’ve been enough for your bodies to touch but he keeps still and so do you. You’re flustered, he can tell. “You wanna tell me what you had in mind?”

Your eyes briefly go wide, something like shame crossing your face but the expression is quickly replaced by understanding, “Oh the design,” you murmur, voice barely a whisper. “I honestly would’ve loved some more counter room since I love to bake.”

“Well, you’re in luck darlin’ because I don’t remember much of the details your boyfriend gave me,” he smiles when your brows furrow with confusion. “Meanin’ you have to lead me with the design.”

He swears your smile is the brightest damn thing he’s seen in a long while.

It’s the last day of the constructions in your kitchen but you’re not thinking of the new kitchen counter or the new cupboard, all you’re thinking of is Joel’s proposition, and how you were soaked with just the mere thought of it.

You and Joel had grown close during the time he fixed up your kitchen. Surprisingly, you actually went with the design you initially wanted and not the one John had in mind. You knew it would lead to a fight and some part of you was glad—John was meant to be perfect but it was only on paper. He was a dream boat when in public and amongst friends, but alone? Not a chance. He belittled you, hated almost all your hobbies and always made unnecessary comments on what you looked like.

Despite yourself, you had blabbed all of that to Joel. He made you feel safe, and the fact that he was very pleasant to look at helped. He didn’t say much but you could tell that he was livid, which secretly made you pleased. It was good to see that how John treated you wasn’t actually the norm.

You loved watching him work. The way sweat would slide all the way down to his neck and how his muscles would tense, straining the fabric of his shirt.

He told you about how John had treated him, confessed he thought you would be the same. Your insides had boiled with anger. You apologized profusely and he just shook it off, saying it wasn’t your fault.

Then the kiss had happened.

It had happened on a particularly bad day. You were upset, filled with negative emotions to the brim and all you wanted was unconditional comfort. You kissed him, he didn’t stop you until your hand reached for his belt.

“I wanna show that asshole how amazin’ you are,” he had said. “Will you let me?”

At the time you hadn’t known what he meant by that.

But now you do.

“Look into the camera, sweetheart,” he murmurs, mouth pressed against your ear. You shudder, your bare body feeling good against his, like you were made for him. Your pussy throbs and drools all over his cock that slides agonizingly slow between your folds. You try to do as he says but it’s just too hard when your eyes are constantly on the brink of rolling back into your skull. He drags his lips down your neck as his large hands knead your breasts, your nipples achingly hard. “Don’t make me say it again, honey. Don’t make me be mean when you’re such a good girl.”

“Oh, fuck—” your body shudders, lashes fluttering as you stare right into the camera with a lost expression. You see yourself, Joel right behind you. You don’t know how but he looks even taller while his body splays over yours, bending you over. He presses his palm over your forehead, forcing the arch of your back. Your inner thighs are soaked, his cock moving between your legs. You see the flash of the glistening head every time he rocks himself forward.

He looks into the camera and your entire body clenches with want, “Look at that,” he hums, laving your neck in open-mouthed wet kisses. “Your girlfriend already going stupid with my cock. Not so bad for an old man huh?”

Joel’s lips stretch menacingly, eyes shining with amusement. Letting go of your forehead, he pushes both your tits closer to the camera, thumbs moving over the pebbled flesh. You moan loudly and your legs quiver.

“Sweet thing over here tells me you don’t let her ride you—I thought you were a dumbass before but now I think you’re a downright moron. Fuckin’ hell, who wouldn’t want such an eager thing jumpin’ up and down his cock.”

You whimper, eyes going teary. Your heart races wildly in your chest. “J—Joel, please. . .”

“Hear that, John,” he growls, the tremble of each word reverberating into your skin. “She’s beggin’ for my cock. Ain’t that right, darlin’?”

You nod but it’s not enough for him, not enough for Joel. “Don’t be shy now, tell him. He ever got you this wet?”

“N-No,” you breathe out and maniacally shake your head. “N-Never.”

“Poor thing,” he clicks his tongue. “Poor poor thing. Don’t worry, daddy’s got you now. Doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” you slur, pushing back your hips. “Fuck me, fuck me—Fuck me, daddy, please.”

“Say it again,” his teeth sink into your skin. “One more and I’ll fuck you.”

“Daddy,” you moan, eyes rolling back. “Daddy, need you, need your cock. Fuck me, please.”

He hums in satisfaction, “Well, since you asked so darn nicely,” Joel kisses your temple and his lips move over your skin as he speaks to the camera, “Looks like she’s my girl now, my good girl.”

When he buries himself into you, inch by inch, your jaw goes slack and your nipples go tight. You forget about the camera, about John who’ll see this. You only think of him. He stretches you to your very limit, his cock thick and hard. It takes you everything not to move your hips. You want Joel to tell you what to do. You want him to fuck you so good that your mind will go blank as you start bouncing on his cock. His one hand grips your waist firmly as the other remains underneath your breast, the sensitive flesh spilling over his hand while holding you.

“How does it feel?” he murmurs into your ear, his cruel teasing from earlier gone.

“Good,” you whimper, squeezing him tight. “So fucking good, the biggest I’ve ever had.”

“Fuck, darlin’,” he kisses the skin behind your ear. “Such a filthy mouth on such an innocent lookin’ girl. You were wasted on that jackass.”

He knocks the air from your lungs before you can answer. The drag of his cock like lightning searing your skin. He fucks you hard, almost angrily, but you know it’s not directed at you. Never at you. The smack of his balls against your ass fills the bedroom, and you’re positive the phone is recording every wet, filthy sound. It doesn’t take much for Joel to reduce you into a withering mess, every word forgotten, his hips relentless as he fucks deeper and deeper into you.

Then suddenly you’re tilting back, his arm an anchor around your stomach as you find yourself between his thighs sitting on his lap. Your eyes move to the screen, you look perfect between his legs, the muscles tensing and flexing as he grinds his hips. Your skin pleasantly burns.

“Come on, sweetheart, show him what he’s been missin’ out on.”

Joel leans back, palm planted firmly on your mattress with pretty pink flowers that John hates.

Your body takes control, your brain swimming in a fog of lust and pleasure. You grip his thick thighs, bracing yourself, you begin to move up and down his cock. He fills you beautifully. His gaze is fixed on the tiny camera, staring directly into it as you try your best to please him. Arousal coils tight in your stomach. Your breasts sway with your every move, your body coating him in shiny slick.

“A throne for a princess,” he groans, eyes moving from the camera to your reflection on the screen. Fire burns down your spine. His gaze and presence alone choking the air from your lungs. You twist yourself to get a better look at him, catching his gaze momentarily, you moan wantonly at the sight. Him only sitting, relaxed while you’re breaking down sends jolts of electricity up and down your spine. You sit wholly, grinding down while keeping his cock buried deep inside, searching for that devastating spot inside you.

The world around you becomes a bright white when you do.

Your ears start ringing, and you begin to shake, legs clamp together as you shudder around the length of him. A choked sound between laughter and bewilderment tears from your throat. Your body moves of its own accord now, helplessly bouncing on his cock, the bulbous head grazing against a certain spot that just makes you want more and more and more—

“Yes yes yes yes,” you chant. Joel’s head disappears from view everytime you move up. You hear his moans, they become louder and louder, his southern drawl becoming prominent the more fucked out he gets.

His sounds only spur you on, making you ride him harder, sweat beading at your tailbone. Your pussy swallows him hungrily, every inch of him without protest. While you’re absolutely lost on his cock, you notice him tilting his head so he’s in view again. You hold your breath. His mouth parts, the tip of his tongue touching the corner of his lips, he gives the camera a taunting look. Joel’s expression turns into a half smile and he wraps his arms around you. One going over right above your breasts and the other around your stomach. His hand cups the side of your neck. He drags his mouth down and up your cheek.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he rasps, kissing you. You look to the camera, hips slowing but not stopping. “Yes, pretty girl, just like that,” another kiss. “Look at that pretty girl getting fucked.”

Joel squeezes your breast as his arm comes down, both of them now tight around your stomach. You feel him pulsing deep inside you. His voice is thick with arousal. “Look how beautiful you are on my dick. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?”

You nod and grind against him, loving how deep he feels. He kisses your neck, tongue tracing shapes into your skin as both his hands come up to your tits and squeezes them, the plump flesh spilling from between his knuckles. His lips move down your shoulder and back up your neck, following the same path over and over again, decorating it with slow kisses.

Joel gives the camera one last look before disappearing behind you, fingers sprawled over your stomach and down between your legs. You feel the rough hairs between your shoulder blades first, then the softness of his lips follows through. Your eyes flutter closed and your head falls back, his mouth is so goddamn soft, the skin tingling and burning at the same time.

His hips snap up, and with the sudden movement, a fresh wave of wetness coats his cock. You lean forward, face closer to the camera, while he lays back, watching hungirly at the way your ass moves.

“Yeah, just like that,” he groans, smacking both your asscheeks simultaneously.

Then before you know it he’s moving, pressing you fully over the table in front of you, the phone shaking as he begins to hammer into you. You can’t even see what you look like anymore, your head dropping, you cry out his name. If it wasn’t for his hands on your hips, you would’ve collapsed to the ground.

“That’s it, come on my cock,” he nips at your shoulders. “Fuck, you’re so fucking wet—can you hear that? Can you hear how fuckin’ soaked your girlfriend is on an old man’s cock?”

It takes you a second to realize he’s not talking to you, but the camera. You flutter around him, squeezing him tight enough that he moans, hips slowing. “Daddy,” you gasp. And with that, you finally let go, cunt gushing around him, coating him with slick. Joel peppers your back with soft, quick kisses, whispering praise between every kiss.

“That’s it, sweetheart, bet you never came that hard before. Good girl—my good fuckin’ girl, wettin’ my cock so well.”

You tighten and gush around him a second time, you swear by how hard you’re clenching your insides most likely have taken the shape of him.

“Where do you want me?” he whispers into your skin. Words coming muffled and hoarse, dripping slow like molasses. You push back against him, looking into the camera with a small smile.

“Inside me, daddy, please.”

“Oh shit—” he picks up the pace, the thrust of his hips sloppy and needy. “Shit shit shit—so fuckin’ perfect, so good for allowin’ this old man to wreck her good—So good for tellin’ me to fill her up—fuck—”

You’re blindsided by how honest he suddenly is, the rasp of his voice going straight between your legs. His hips stutter and Joel comes with a loud, thick moan, spilling into you. You moan right alongside him. He continues to rock into you with shallow thrusts, laying kisses on every patch of skin his lips can reach.

While you’re lost in complete bliss, he reaches around you and grabs the phone, stopping the recording before collapsing back to the bed, pulling you along with him.

“You feel so good,” he says, cock softening inside. You feel his come trickling down from between your thighs and shiver.

“You feel good too,” you say, wrapping your arms around him and covering his lips with your own. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard.”

“Guess this old man still has some tricks up his sleeve,” he chuckles weakly and you press another kiss, this time on his cheek. “We don’t have to by the way.”

“Don’t have to what?”

“Send the video.”

You stare at the phone for a second, brows furrowed as you think. Then with a quick shrug, you turn back to him. “Nah, let him see it. I could’ve forgiven how he treated me but not you.”

He clicks his tongue with disapproval, “You shouldn’t forgive him for how he treated you either, darlin’. You deserve better.”

“Well, I guess you’re just going to have to prove it me then,” you smile and with a sudden impulse, boop his nose. He laughs, nipping the pad of your finger.

“I guess I will.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #tw daddy kink #tlou fanfic #the last fo us fanfiction #hbo tlou fanfic #hbo the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfic

6K notes · View notes

karmavongrim · 4 months

Text

Dear Father fanfic idea

DC x DP crossover fanfiction

Fanfic idea of Danny adopting everyone. He’s worse than Batman since he does it 200% deliberately with no age nor race restriction.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Absolutely fucking not.”

Yeah, nope. No way in hell was he, John mother-fucking Constantine going to let this happen. Only over his dead body, which might actually be the case by the end of the bloody day if they couldn’t come up with something else other than that. And he wasn’t going to change his mind no matter how much the kid currently gallivanting as a demi-god whined. Wasn’t that a news when he found out several months ago.

“Come on Constans, we both know he wouldn’t mind. Besides what else can we do, we’ve tried everything.” Captain Marvel pleaded with the older man as he gestured their surroundings.

It couldn’t be described as anything else other than apocalyptic. A complete fucking shitshow.

Apparently a prophecy of some kind came to fruition right under their bloody noses and they were left grasping straws to try and stop the end of the world from happening. If only-

“Call him or I’ll call him John! Your choice.” Pressed Marvel who was getting fed up with the magician’s nonsense but he wasn’t bugging, no siree!

“Shut up, we don’t need his help! Just let me-” John yelled while buried head first in his spell book, desperately trying to find away that didn’t require him to relinquish the last few pits of his shabby dignity. Or what was left of it anyways. But Marvel was having non of it.

“Nope, that’s it! I’m making the call!” The red glad man shouted over the blonde brit and pulled out his personal phone which looked like it had been pulled strait out of a sci-fi movie.

This caused John to lunge at Marvel who in return floated away out of his reach.

“Are you daft? I’ll never hear the end of it so don’t even- Hey! Don’t you dare, I swear-!” They were quickly interrupted by a black looming silhouette quickly approaching them.

“I hope that you two have come up with something since you’re able to play around like this.” Batman demanded in gruff manner, man looking worse for wear just like the rest of them. Marvel swiftly positioned the dark one between him and his would-be assailant.

“Oh we did have a solution from the very start but someone thinks that we don’t need any help. His poor ego wouldn’t be able to handle it.” He told as he threw a look over his makeshift barrier’s shoulder.

“Shut your cakehole.” John hissed but was reluctantly put in place by a hard glare from mister darker and gloomier who turned to the floating magic-user.

“What is this solution exactly? Help from who or what?” At his inquiry the boy-man hero couldn’t help but beam when he began to explain what, or rather who he had in mind.

“Well I was thinking calling our-” But he was rudely cut in before he could get far.

“We aren’t calling anybody because we don’t need his help! We can take care of this on our own!” Batman turned back to the blond and was clearly at the end of his patience.

“We are running on borrowed time Constantine, if there is any chance to for us to stop this then we should take it since we don’t have any other options left.”

The two began to argue so heatedly that they didn’t pay attention to Marvel speed dialing the number he kept close to his heart. With a dopey grin he bounced on his heels while he waited for the other side to answer. After just two rings the line connected.

“Hi kid! What are you calling in for, did you get out of work already?” A jovial, baritone voice rang out which instantly relaxed the kid-not-kid hero. The all-composing feeling of warmth, protection and safety could almost be felt through the phone which never failed to make him feel comfortable and at peace.

“Hi dad! No, I’m still at work and we kinda shorta need your help. Badly.”

He could near feel the change in his father’s mood and he definitely heard it in his voice.

“What do you need? Where are you?” Came the rapid questioning. His smile never left as he thought how dad always went strait to business when it came to his family and friends. Always ready to help no matter what or why.

“Well, apparently the apocalypse is happening and we have no idea how to stop it… Can you help us? Please?” He tentatively asked as he glanced back at the bickering duo. Sometimes he asked himself if he really was the only secret child there.

“Ha ha, no need to beg, let alone ask. I’ll be there in a jiffy once I know where you guys are. Just try and hang in there kid.” Voice on the other side commented in lighter tone.

Marvel let out a sigh. He knew that everything would be okay after all.

“Thanks dad. We are currently stuck on Metropolis in it’s central, it’s a complete mess in here.”

“Everything will be fine. See you soon.” The voice chuckled and cut the call.

Yes, everything would be just fine. He turned to call out to the idiots who looked to be near ripping each other a new one.

“You two can stop now, he’s already on his way!”

He had to wince at the speed which the blonde turned his head to stare at him. Then came the familiar cursing.

“Fucking shite!”

He merely rolled his eyes and crossed his arms in irritation. He glared at the magician.

“Seriously, what’s your problem? It doesn’t have to be this difficult you know.”

Before John could comment, Batman pushed pass and stalked up to Marvel.

“Who did you call?”

He couldn’t say much before more of their fellow heroes started to trickle in. Flash no surprise being the first.

“Hope you got something up your utility belt Bats, we can’t take this much longer.” Pleaded the red speedster. He was joined by Green Lantern carrying injured Superman and ouch did he look roughened up.

“Have to agree with Flashpoint. Were running out of juice fast, and even Big Blue is out cold.”

Marvel looked at the others coming in. Martian Manhunter, Zatara, Wonder Woman, Black Canary and even Doctor Fate was there, none of them looking any better.

“Well, I’m glad to announce that help is on their way so we can all sit back and relax for a bit. This will be over in no time.” He declared brightly.

The others goggled at him like he made the most outlandish statement in all of history, minus Constantine who has decided to use this small window of calm to drown his headache in his flask while he still can.

“What the hell are you on about? What help? Who could possibly help with this!” Flash yelled out the question in everybodies mind.

“I would like to known this too finally.” Batman demanded this as well.

Seeing everybody hanging onto his up coming explanation he smirked at John who gave him oh-so-eloquently middle finder in retaliation. Well to bad, he would have to just deal with it, the big baby.

“Oh nobody too important, just the most powerful and influential being in all multiverse. Some of you might know him by his monikers like the First Champion, the Balancer, the High King and the Great One.” He said flippantly as he pretended to check his nails, trying his absolute best to hid his smug smile when he noticed Zatara and Fate going rigid and pale.

Zatara near stumbled thanks to his shaking knees. He took couple faltering steps towards the Champion of Magic. His expression mix of reverence and fear as started to whisper as if dreading that someone or something might hear him if he spoke too loudly.

“Y-You couldn’t possibly mean King-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence for they all felt the change in the air, in the ground.

He has arrived.

Time came to a crawl, the world slowed it’s movements in face of approaching force. It quaked, it trembled, it slithered. Leak becoming a downpour, a tear in reality of sickly green opened above the group, high out of reach. What little light still had remained in the hellish landscape around them were drained as if all the world’s shadow congregated around the opening to greet its master like a deprived servant. Then a figure of black and white caped in light seemingly holy, descended from it. Even from afar they could distinguish their towering form who’s muscles failed to hide under its full-body armor. Their mountainous presence becomes more and more apparent the closer they came. What they thought as wings of pure and white was actually a cape of moving light.

Blazing green eyes as that of the tear gazed upon them from under their moonlight hair, which coupled with the iron grown of flames created figures of shadow dancing across their hardened features as if to praise their beholder’s glory.

Zatara had already collapsed on the ground in utter disbelieve. All the myths and legends were true all along.

“King Phantom.” He spoke in awe and bowed before the king as did equally shocked Doctor Fate.

“Hi dad!” Marvel yelled and dragged the laughing magician by his coat to greet their new arrival.

All of their associates looked between the clear powerhouse of a being and their red heavy hitter in utter incredulity at the revelation. Zatara and Fate near had a heart attack at the way their magical colleague addressed the mythical presence. Marvel had a father? And this horrifying existence was it? What sent them reeling even more was how the king’s responded.

With his arms stretched he lowered himself fully to gather the two smaller men in his embrace.

“Kids! Boy, when you said that you needed help bad I think you might have underestimated a tiny bit.” He joked with a toothy smile as he moved to get a better look at his more-or-less willing captees of his affection. His expression softened even more at the face of Constantine, not the others could see.

“John, it’s so good to see you as well.” He said softly and ruffled both of their hairs, eliciting a laugh from his youngest and indignant pout from his fourth oldest who tried to swat the offending hand away.

“Whatever.” John growled but Phantom didn’t mind since he could see the blush caking his scratched up cheeks.

Now this drew his attention, both of his boys were in horrendous shape and he would do something about it after his job was completed. Looking at the blood willed sky no longer colored by his green and the burning wreckage that is this dimensions earth, he knew he didn’t have much time.

“I suppose we should get this over with then. You two better get back to the Keep after this, understood.” He stated and then was gone just like that.

Now that the oppressive feeling of death and power has left along with the godly being, every single one of the heroes present turned to the two for explanation. Marvel send a pleading look towards his brother, but John pointedly turned away and began to nurse his briefly forgotten drink which was now empty, damn you dad.

Discreetly gulping his nerves down he twirled to face his peers.

“Okay, let’s start with one question at a time please.”

This caused the floodgates to open and Zatara practically jumped him in his feverishness.

“You are a son of King Phantom? The King Phantom? I thought he was nothing more than a myth! A legend told through out several histories!”

As Marvel was trying to dislodge the man he was approached by Doctor Fate.

“I too held the believe that he was nothing more than a story to strike fear onto the forces of evil and to aspire heroes of both old and new. To think he was real this entire time.” He mused, and before Marvel could say anything, Flash barged in as well.

“And what about you John? This might be the first time I’ve seen any otherworldly being be happy to see you.” He pointed at the man who chose to wisely stay far behind.

“Fuck you too!” Shouts the offended man from the back. Even if it’s true doesn’t make it any less rude. And oh look here comes Batman.

“Enough! Marvel, explain.” He demands as he moves effortlessly to the front of the pack.

“Well… you see-” Marvel stammers as he tries under the pressure to come up with something to say but was thankfully saved by the sky shifting again.

As quick as a snap the red sky was returned to its blue color, signaling the King’s victory over his enemy. Marvel smiled widely and even John couldn’t stop a heavy sigh of relieve from escaping his mouth. Good old dad, always up to any task he comes across.

“Incredible.” Wonder Woman gasped, even Lantern had to give an impressed eyebrow at the instant change in atmosphere. And while everyone was distracted by his dad’s handiwork, Marvel shimmied his way to the grumpy magician who was in progress of making his getaway.

“I think we should continue this some other time, there’s a lot of cleaning up to do and me and my bro need to do a little house call. So bye!” He called out with a wave as he was crabbed and transported to their destination before anyone could stop them.

Others could do more than blink as Batman stewed in his place. In Lantern’s arms Superman began to stir.

“H-huh, what did I miss?”

1K notes · View notes

starstruckmiraclekitty · 1 year

Note

Hello! I hope your day is going well.

I wanted to ask if you could do something with the 141 boys and könig with a fem reader who is an absolute cuddle bug when they're exhausted? Bonus points if you can make it plus size and short reader. Thank you so much ❤❤❤

Thanks for this request! Hope this is what you were looking for. I did some basic cuddling headcannons with this, too!!🙂

141 + König With Reader Who is a Major Cuddlebug

Warnings: fluff, minor swearing

Simon Ghost Riley-

You latch onto this man like no other when you're tired

It's like a full 30-minute process for him to actually get out of bed in the morning

Lowkey loves when you cuddle him, not that he'd ever admit that out loud

Man becomes PUTTY in your hands when you lay on his back, rubbing soft circles into his shoulder blades

Simon usually sleeps on his back, with you curled into his side, head laying on his chest

"No, don't get up. Tell them you're too busy to go in today." You groaned, throwing your head into your husbands shoulder.

"Can't love, you know that." Simon chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

The two of you laid like that for a few more minutes, the only sounds that filled the room was your soft breathing. Simon lived for quiet moments like these. He loved nothing more than holding you in his arms, nothing else in the world mattering, just the two of you in that moment.

He started to slowly get up, causing you to huff loudly in frustration, throwing your leg around his midsection, effectively trapping him. "I won't let you go."

"That so?" Simon raised a brow but gave into your pleas, wrapping his arms around you, softly squeezing the flesh of your belly. "Needy little thing, aren't you."

You let out a whine, moving your face to his neck, pressing a soft kiss to the flesh there. "Don't hear you complaining."

"Never." He said, pulling you closer. Needless to say, he was late to work that day.

John Soap MacTavish-

You both are HUGE cuddle bugs

There's rarely a time when you aren't attached at the hip when you're home together

The two of you practically sleep on top of each other in bed

Always find excuses to touch each other. Whether it be on the couch, cooking dinner, driving or sleeping, you two always have some part of your bodies touching

Adores laying on top of you, loves the fact that his body literally dwarves yours

Literally will smother you with affection if you ask

"Sweets, I'm home." Johnny called out as he walked through the front door.

He peeked around the room, eyes landing on your sleeping frame on the couch. A small smile formed on his lips as he closed the door quietly.

He made his way over to you, peppering light kisses all over your face. "Hey, baby. I'm home."

You stirred, eyes blinking the sleep away as you turned to look at him. "Mmm, Johnny."

He chuckled at your state and allowed you to pull him on top of you. "Sleepy, bug?"

You nodded your head as Johnny relaxed his weight on you and sighed deeply at the feeling of him against you.

"Why don't we head on upstairs? I'll-." Johnny started, only to be cut off by a protesting whine from you, and your arms pulling him closer. "Ookay, here it is then."

He let out a soft laugh and nuzzled his face into your neck as he kicked his shoes off. He reached to the back of the couch and pulled out a blanket, laying it over the two of you as he flipped over to his side so you were flush against him, your face pressed firmly to his shoulder.

He pressed a loving kiss to your hair and wrapped himself tightly around you, and felt your arms do the same. The two of you fell asleep minutes later, not waking up until the next morning.

John Price-

100% touch starved, so loves when you want to cuddle

He loves it when you stroke his hair when his head rests against your chest

This man screams BIG SPOON. He loves holding you close and feeling you against him

Also, he's totally okay with you lying on top of him and eases any worries you may have about being too heavy

Loves to squeeze your love handles when cuddling. Drives him mad

"Yes. Yes, sir, that's what was in the report." Price spoke into his phone. He'd been on the phone for the better part of two hours, and you were growing rather tired, desperate for affection from your husband.

Price had stopped his pacing and sat down in his chair, giving you ample opportunity to run over and throw yourself in his lap.

He quickly muted the conference call and looked down at you with a smirk. "And just what do you think you're doing?"

"Getting much deserved affection?" You questioned, moving to nuzzle your face in his neck.

You exhaled deeply, breathing in his scent as your eyelids started to droop. You felt his arm wrap around your back to support you.

"Shouldn't be much longer, sweetheart, we'll go up to bed soon." He cooed, leaning his head against yours.

It wasn't long before you passed out in his arms, soft snores emitting from your lips. Price chuckled to himself before disconnecting the call and moving to stand with you in his arms.

He moved to the bedroom, setting you down gently when he felt your hands pulling him down with you. "Don't go."

"Just gotta get some sleepwear, babe." He said softly. You didn't relent, however, as your grip only tightened.

Price gave a defeated sigh, a smile making its way to his lips. He knew there was no use in fighting you and spent the night sleeping in his work clothes, with you safe in his arms.

Kyle Gaz Garrick-

100% the type of boyfriend to have you wrapped in his arms while gaming/watching tv

Totally little spoon in bed

Your legs always curl around his midsection as you cuddle him from behind

Loves to cuddle you, but always blushes when you initiate it

Adores how small you are compared to him, loves to cocoon you when cuddling

You were watching your boyfriend game with his friends late one night on the couch, when you felt yourself dozing off slightly.

You looked over to see Kyle staring at the TV screen in concentration and slowly crawled over to him. He looked at you with a warm smile before opening his arms to you. You sat on his lap, crossing your legs around his midsection and resting your head on his shoulder.

"Tired love?" He asked.

You nodded wordlessly, and nuzzled your head against his neck.

He pressed a kiss to your brow before returning to the game, his arms wrapping around your torso to grab his controller once more. Kyle would occasionally rub soothing circles in your back when he'd die in his game or would take a small break. The two of you stayed like that for nearly 40 minutes before he felt the deep rise and fall of your chest, telling him you'd fallen asleep.

As he didn't want to accidentally wake you up, he turned off the TV, setting his controller aside. He moved up as gently as he could and carried your sleeping form to the bedroom.

Laying you in bed, he was quick to strip his hoodie and pants and join you. He pulled you into him and sighed deeply. It wasn't long before he himself fell asleep, listening to the sounds of your breathing.

König-

You love (and so does he) the fact that you can climb this man like a koala bear

You love clinging to any part of his body that you can, arms, torso, legs, you name it.

König has a size kink, so he loves it when his body dwarves over your tiny one, makes him feel like he's protecting you (also gets him mildly horny)

Loves to grab at your flesh, especially if you have a little extra (insists there's just more to love)

He gets nervous to fall asleep while cuddling you. He's scared he'll roll over and crush you in his sleep because you're so small. So he often puts some space in between you, but one of his limbs is always touching you.

So incredibly gentle when touching you in any way, his touches were always feather like

"Have I ever told you how handsome you are?" You asked, watching as your boyfriend König dried himself off from the shower.

He walked into the bedroom with a small smile, red littering his cheeks. "Thank you, Maus."

"Mmhmm. Very handsome." You repeated, your sleepiness starting to overtake your voice.

König came to press a kiss to your forehead before moving back to put on his sweatpants.

"C'mere." You stretched your hands out in a childlike motion, making grabbing hands at your lover.

König chuckled at your antics, and threw the towel on the ground before making his way to you.

"Lay on top of me." You demanded, as a sleepy smile made its way to your lips.

"M..maus, I'll crush you." König stuttered out, his eyes widening at your request.

"No, you won't. 'S okay." You gave him a reassuring nod.

He hesitated a moment before giving into your wishes. He gently laid himself on top of your tiny frame, a small giggle bubbling from him as he heard you sigh deeply in content.

"So big Kö, it's nice." You mumbled into his chest. König felt his cheeks burn at your words once more. He rolled over in one fluid motion so that now you were lying on top of him.

"I love you, Maus." He whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. You gave a soft whine as sleep overtook you, and buried your head into his chest.

König smiled down at you, wrapping his arms around you tightly. He was exhausted himself but wanted to stay awake just a bit longer, to relish in this moment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Thanks, as always, for reading!❤️❤️❤️ (also don't know why gaz is always gaming in my blurbs😅😭)

5K notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 3 months

Text

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.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

1K notes · View notes

princessbrunette · 2 months

Note

I have been doing ballet rehearsals alllll day and I’m so soreeee!! just thinking about John b n his magical massage skills + dick like ugh he would make EVERYTHING better

this is so relatable bc after ballet john b n his firm hands n gentle ways is always who im craving <3

⤷ ‧₊˚ 🐶🩰🎀 ⋅ ˚⭑

john b can always trust that when you come home from ballet you’re going to be in a mood. it’s one of the more graceful forms of dance, so it always catches him off guard to see the comparison of your body language when you arrive back to the chateau, slumped and sore with a pouty attitude and permanent frown.

luckily for you, your boyfriend is a problem fixer. always has been, and dating you means he understands the formula behind getting you to do certain things. in this case, he wanted to rid of your attitude — and whilst you weren’t necessarily being mean or doing anything that warranted punishment, the only other option was that you needed your brain turned off for a little while. he knew just how to sink you into that soft subspace in the clouds.

he’s got you sat on his lap with his dick inside you to the hilt. yes, to the hilt. john b was big, obscenely so — which meant sometimes having him in all the way would be just enough to have you speechless, unable to form a coherent thought. having your tight walls warming his length wasn’t enough to get you to fully switch off though, not like this anyway. for special occasions like this, he reserved his magic combination. dick in your guts, and a little pink vibrator held to your clit.

your mouth is open but sound rarely leaves you, just small squeaks and little sobs of overstimulation. he’d already had you cum on his cock from just this, wincing and letting out bass-y hums from his chest as your soaked walls squeeze and flutter around him incessantly, your own release squelching and dripping down to collect beneath the two of you. he doesn’t relent with the vibrator, your body frail and trembling in his arms as he continues his magic on your clit.

“okay, bug. let it out. i knooow.” he cooes, voice deep and warm and comforting — the only thing grounding you. with the pleasure and sensitivity coursing through your body, you can no longer feel the ache in your back or the fresh bruises on your feet. “would i ever just let my puppy be in pain? must’ve known i’d fix you right up, sweetheart. daddies always got you, huh?”

his free hand slides up the centre of your body, fingers splayed and palm coarse. it makes you shudder, clenching around him hard as it continues its descent until his thumb is tapping at your lips, the rest of his fingers curling beneath your chin. “you might want something to suck on, sweet girl. gonna make you cum another couple’a times. you know, gotta make sure i really hit your off switch.”

⤷ ‧₊˚ 🐶🩰🎀 ⋅ ˚⭑

#anon #john b prompt #puppy!reader

439 notes · View notes

erwinsvow · 2 months

Text

They call you the clueless pogue. The pretty one.

You don’t care much either way—that comes from years of being Kiara’s best friend, she’s taught you well on how to ignore what other people think and say about you. Maybe you would care more, you think one day, watching JJ and Pope drive each other crazy while trying to fix something that’s inexplicably gone wrong with the Twinkie. John B is swinging in the hammock, eyes closed, empty beer in his hand that is soon replaced with a fresh one by Kie. She drops the old can into a bin that has the recycling symbol drawn on with a sharpie, her own creation. She walks towards you with a can of fruity seltzer since it’s well known with your new friends that you refuse to drink beer—and it all feels very domestic.

You might care about what other people say if you didn’t love your friends so much.

You are a little clueless though—at least the boys think so. They wouldn’t dare to say anything when your protective best friend was around, but when it’s just you and one of them, or all of them, it comes out a little more.

You wear the kind of clothes that they wouldn’t let a sister of theirs be caught dead in. They never used to care about stuff like that, not until you started hanging around more often. It was the result of absent parents that were only on the island a few months out of the year. The rest of the time you had free reign, and an unlimited credit card that often funded their adventures—gas for the Twinkie, beer for the night, a new outfit to wear to the party.

JJ gets into a fist-fight with a guy who keeps offering you a drink from the keg, not listening no matter how many times you refuse and grabbing the short hem of your yellow dress to yank you back. JJ doesn’t mean to knock him out—it’s just like instinct, he explains later that night to John B and Pope while you’re sound asleep on the pull-out with Kiara—the way he feels protective over you.

“Are you okay?” Kie asks, and you smooth out your dress from where that guy had grabbed it.

“Only because JJ saved me,” you say, looking at him with big doe eyes and fluttering eyelashes. He swallows uncomfortably.

“No biggie, princess, I mean you know me, I’m a big damsel-in-stress kinda guy-” Kiara rolls her eyes and brings you inside, and he’s left standing there with pink-tinged ears.

He doesn’t tell them about how you were looking around for someone, anyone to help, how scared you look when he touched you, how your face visibly eased when you locked eyes with JJ, how you held a bag of frozen peas to his black eye and kissed his cheek before going back to find everyone earlier. He decides to keep that for himself.

You don’t keep an eye out for your surroundings when you tag along on their adventures either. That’s pretty much John B’s responsibility now, walking towards the back with you. You often start looking around, head in the clouds, staring at the trees and sky and walking right into a pile of mud or a puddle.

“Wow, the air is so clean out here,” you comment while taking a deep breath. It’s said quiet enough that only he can hear you.

“Yeah, pretty girl, that’s because of all the trees.” You laugh and shove his arm, because duh, but you can’t respond because the others are yelling for you two to catch up.

He doesn’t let you lead—you’ve cried over too many ruined shoes for him to risk it anymore—instead he holds onto your hand firmly, gripping tight when he needs you to slow down and pulling gently when it’s okay to proceed. It’s his job to make sure all the bugs are out of the way, that you’re not walking into a spiderweb or running after a butterfly or pretty bird. The others tease you two and laugh, but you still thank him with a tight hug, the thin material of your sports bra not really hiding much, murmuring something about no signs of mud on your new sneakers.

“Yeah, anytime,” he breathes after you’ve already walked away. You turn back to smile at him, adjusting your ridden-up tennis skirt you’d sported today. “Wouldn’t wanna dirty those shoes.”

You make Pope feel like the smartest guy in the world sometimes, without even trying. It’s not like you’re stupid, because he knows you’re not, but when you bite your cheek and tap his shoulder to ask him another question about whatever you were working on, your words start going to his head.

“So if I wanna save this and put them all together, I just use this program? And I just use the mouse?” you say thoughtfully, repeating his instructions back to him.

“Yes, sweetheart,” and he tries his best to make sure he sounds patient—he’s learned from experience you don’t react well if you even suspect he’s getting frustrated.

Pope watches you play with the thin straps of your shirt before the string idly falls off your shoulder, exposing a swath of soft, sweet-smelling skin to him. Staring at your bare shoulder, he thinks he could never get frustrated at you even if he tried his hardest. When you finish making your little vision-board on photoshop, you turn to show him proudly, and he is proud, with how well you followed his instructions and weren’t too shy to keep asking for his help. Later that night at the Chateau, you lean against his shoulder with his arm swung around you on the couch and explain what each of the images mean until you fall asleep.

They’re all playing a game of chicken—wondering which one will be the first to cross that line and suggest something more than just friendship to you. Through empty cases of beer and boys-only fishing trips they’ve briefly discussed to each other that they’re interested, but of respect—to each other, not really to you—they haven’t made the first move just yet. No matter how difficult you make it.

At the beach you help the boys wax their surfboards, taking turns with each one, floating around a little tipsy already from your fruity drink. They’re all talking, but you don’t really pay attention, eyes staring at something in the distance.

JJ covers his mouth, imitating a walkie noise.

“Hello, uh, earth to princess, over.”

You turn back to him and his board, dropping the chunk of wax and leaning in. He blanks for a second—your pretty face getting closer, an eyeful of your tits in the tiny bikini you’re wearing today making his head spin. And you’re infront of everyone, which is definitely not how he’d thought he would win this little competition.

“Do you see that pretty girl over there? Three o’clock?”

“I see a pretty girl right in front of me,” he says, and you laugh, pushing his shoulder. He doesn’t realize that you think he’s just joking.

“Jayj, seriously. See her?” He nods, but still doesn’t turn to look. “She’s been staring at you for, like, ten minutes. You should go over there!”

You’re smiling big, like the idea of another girl talking to him sounds fun. He pulls back from you, confused.

“I need another beer.” He stalks off, walking to the boys while you turn to Kiara.

“What did I do wrong? I’m trying to get him laid-” Kiara rolls her eyes. You turn and see the boys in deep conversation, occasionally glancing back at you and Kie.

“She just told me to go flirt with some girl, like, right in front of her. I mean is this some kind of test?” He takes a long chug of the beer, sounding about as stressed as Pope and John B have ever seen. “Do I fail if I hook up with some rando? Or do I fail if I don’t hook up? It’s Schindler’s cat, man-”

“That’s not-” Pope starts, before being cut off.

“Sorry, sorry. Schrodinger’s kids.”

“No, JJ-”

“What the hell does she mean? So she wants us to hook up with other people?” John B cuts in, looking back at you, but something else on the beach seems to have caught your attention.

“Woah, I’m not doing that, but you two are more than welcome-”

“Yeah, nice try, Pope. We get with some girl so you can tell her you stayed loyal and win her over? I don’t think so, genius-”

“Well, you’re the one she’s trying to set up so I think I’m pretty safe right now-”

“It’s not a reality show Pope, you can’t eliminate me.”

“Guys,” John B speaks up.

“If this was a show, I’d clearly be the fan favorite and the winner-”

“Uh, says who? I would so win, let’s do a poll right now and survey this beach-”

“Guys.” Louder this time, they listen to John. He doesn’t say anything, just stares into the distance and soon they join him, to see what he’s looking at.

“Y’gotta be fucking kidding me,” JJ says, watching you run into Rafe’s arms, swinging around before giving him a kiss. Rafe pulls away and looks straight at the three of them, while giving them a wave.

#i am a proud supporter of reader x all three pogue boys <3 #obx #john b routledge #jj maybank #pope heyward #rafe cameron

427 notes · View notes

alastor-simp · 3 months

Text

Hugging Them Out Of Nowhere - Hazbin Hotel Gang x Female Reader

Charlie🌈 -

🌈EEEE! HUGSSS! Charlie doesn’t even question why you are hugging her right now. She will instantly hug you back.

🌈She had just gotten back from a failed attempt at getting some patrons to come to the hotel. Feeling upset, she was sitting on the couch in the lobby by herself. The thundering of footsteps alerted her, and soon enough a pair of arms had wrapped around her body.

🌈She was expecting it to be Vaggie, but she noticed the lack of silver hair and bow. Realizing it was you, she questioned why the sudden hug before she shrugged her shoulders and squeezed back tightly, smile on her face.

🌈Letting go, you gazed straight into her eyes, shy expression on your face. “Sorry for the sudden hug. You seemed sad so I figured a hug would make you feel better. Did it?” Oh Charlie’s heart was squealing at the cuteness. She didn’t even answer your question, as she hugged you even tighter, yelling out so many thank you’s

Vaggie🎀-

🎀This one almost got you a spear in the gut. Vaggie wasn’t use to affection from anyone but Charlie, so don’t blame her for nearly killing you. She would calm down knowing it was you, but wouldn’t hug back until she knew the reason why.

🎀It wasn’t her day today. Alastor was bugging the hell out her with his numerous dad jokes. Niffty nearly speared her with the needle, chasing after a cockroach, and Husk had passed out drunk at the bar, leaving him not doing his duties as the hotel bartender.

🎀It left her fuming, but she didn’t want to instigate it more and end up using her spear, so she walked outside to the hotel rooftop to get some air. After a few minutes and taking some calming breaths, she heard the sound of the roof top door opening. She turned expecting Charlie, but she was then pulled into a hug.

🎀 “Que carajo!!” She was about the grab her spear, until she recognized it was. She stood confused as you were still hugging her. “Umm Y/N? Why are you hugging me?”

🎀Removing your arms from her, you stepped back and looked at her. Rubbing the back of your neck, you turned away shyly. “Sorry! You looked upset about something and hugs always make me feel better so I figured you needed one. Sorry if I overstepped, I know you don’t like being touched by anyone other than Charlie so….”

🎀Vaggie’s sharp gaze softened at your reasoning. She’s been in hell for a long time, and she has grown to distrust a lot of them, except Charlie and Angel Dust, a bit. She realized that you were much different. You cared about others and your friends, and you were kind and supportive.

🎀Looking back at Vaggie, you realized she was smiling at you softly, which is what you didn’t suspect. She got closer to you and gave you a slight shoulder hug. “Thanks Y/N. You’re a good amiga.”

Angel Dust🕷️-

🕷️ “Heh toots, if you wanted to jump me, all you had to do was ask~” His first reaction would be to flirt with you. Figures, but he was a porn star so he was used to stuff like this, yet more aggressively.

🕷️He entered through the hotel doors, muttering a groan. His body was aching from the amount of times he was doing it with some random john’s in Valentinos new porn video. Not only that, he had to suffer through the abuse that his boss gave him after he told him if he could stop since it was starting to hurt, but that earned him a slap on the face and cut lip.

🕷️Bypassing everyone in the lobby, he made his way upstairs and headed towards his room. Once he entered, he picked up Fat Nuggets from the floor and laid on the bed, with his pet pig lying in his chest fluff. He was given a bit of peace, until it was interrupted by a knock at the door.

🕷️ “Who is it?” Angel leaned his head up to stare at the door. He heard from the other side that it was you. Heaving a sigh, he placed Fat Nuggets on the bed, and made his way towards the door. Opening it, he saw you standing there. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the door frame. “Whatcha want toots?”

🕷️Suddenly, he was pushed back inside of his room. You flung yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his back, face placed into his fluff. Dumbfounded, he stood frozen, wondering what the hell was happening. After a while, a smirk appeared on his face, and he wrapped two of his hands around you while using the other two to tilt your head up at him.

🕷️ “Well well, you wanted to cop a feel that badly~.” He pulled you further inside the room, using his long legs to close his door. Shaking your head, you told him that’s not what you were trying to do. Confused, he let you go, giving you time to step back and stand in front of him. Raising his eyebrow, he asked what you just jumped at him like that.

🕷️Blushing a bit, you looked away at the ground. “ I noticed that you looked very upset when you passed the lobby. I figured something must of happened at your job, given the slight cut on your lip. I wanted to cheer you up so I thought a hug might help.” His eyes widen at your reasoning. Mushy gooey stuff like this always annoyed him, he rather just get down to the business. But, you were changing how he felt about it.

🕷️Looking up at Angel, you gaped a bit. He was wearing a sad smile on his face, eyes a bit watery. “Angel are you ok-” Your words were cut off as Angel grabbed you again, hugging you tightly to himself. He motioned himself back to his bed and sat down, positioning you to sit on his lap. “Thanks toots” You hummed a response and hugged him back.

Niffty🪡

🪡Niffty would be ecstatic when you hugged her. Despite how scary she could be at times, she was an affectionate demon.

🪡She always was beaming with energy, smiling wildly with her large eye beaming. Today was an off day for her. She was in a cheery mood, but less than usual. The pesky cockroaches kept escaping her and not only that Husk accidentally vomited on her, ruining her favorite dress. She was lucky Husk was her friend or she would have mutilated with the kitchen knife.

🪡She was in the hotel laundry room, washing her dirty dress, and wearing a different one. She heard the sound of the door opening and saw you walking in. Excited she greeted you, “Hi Y/N!!” She waved her hand, and zipped up next to you. She saw you bend down to your knees, which confused her until she felt you lift her up and gave her a hug.

🪡Niffty was still for a second until she hugged back, giggling. The both of you stayed like that for a bit until you set her back down. “Sorry for hugging you out of nowhere Niffty. You liked slightly upset even though you are still beaming with excitement so I thought a hug would help.”

🪡The smile on Niffty face got almost as big as Al’s. She jumped up and hugged you again, repeating how cute you were.

Husk🍺-

🍺 "Hey kid, what the hell you doing?" Husk would react a bit rudely at first. Don't blame him, he lost his ability to love years ago, so stuff like that threw him off a bit.

🍺Grumbling to himself, Husk was wiping the bar stand aggressively. He had to deal with Al telling his annoying dad jokes for 3 hours, and not only that Angel had come after that and constantly flirted with him. He was able to tell Angel to f✪✪✪ off for the 40th time, to which Angel did leave. He was getting to old for this sh✪✪.

🍺Grabbing a bottle of cheap booze, he started to guzzle it down. His ears perked up at the sounds of feet tapping behind him. Turning around he saw you walking towards him. Confused he questioned you, before he was pushed back a bit by you hugging him

🍺The bottle he was holding nearly fell from his hand, but he was able to hold on to it. He was standing there dumbfounded, wondering what the hell was happening. "Oy kid, the hell are you doing? Ya better not be two sheets to the wind." he heard you chuckled against him, before letting him go. "Sorry Husk, you looked a little more grumpy then usual so I figured a hug might help out a bit."

🍺Well that made his heart ache a bit. Stuff like affection he's pushed away for a long time and numbed it with alcohol, but the act that you did was making him feel those again. Feeling that you made him angry, you apologize and went to leave, before your were pulled back into another hug by him, wings wrapping around your back. "Heh thanks kid. You're a good one."

Alastor🦌

🦌Yeah this one was gonna be very difficult. Alastor detested being touch, and he rather prefer if he was the one initiating the contact. Anyone who would even think of touching him would be sucked up into his microphone, never to be seen again

🦌Alastor was pacing back and forth in his studio. His smile was still on his face, but it was more strained then usual. Some wayward soul had tried to rob rim, resulting in his favorite coat being ripped slightly. Well that sinner was taken care of, but he had ruined Al's good day. The icing on the cake was hearing the piece-of-sh✪✪ television, running his mouth and calling him a coward. Alastor knew better then to pick a fight with an egotistical overlord, that wasn't worth his time, but the insults only fueled his rage more.

🦌His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door. Ears perking at that, he walked over and opened the door, seeing you standing there with a smile. "Well hello my dear! Is there something you needed to discuss with me about?" His smile widen as his crimson eyes glowed down at you. Nodding, you asked if it was alright to come in. Alastor moved back, letting you walk inside his private studio. Having close the door, Alastor walked past you and sat on his chair, crossing his legs to gaze at you. "Now then! What would you like to chat about? Possibly a deal perhaps?" The air grew a bit tense at the mention of a deal, but you shook your head no. "No I'm not here for a deal. I'm just wondering if i could....um..." Trailing off, you looked to the side, feeling nervous.

🦌Tilting his head at you, he wonder what exactly you were here for. Looking back at him, you gave him a look of confidence. "May I have permission to do something to you for five seconds?" Arching his eyebrow at that, he wondered what you meant by that. Standing up from his chair, he walked closer to you, peering down at you. His smile looked fairly ominous, and some demonic symbols were appearing from behind him. "Do what exactly?" You felt that you overstepped and wanted to leave, but you stood your ground. "I-its nothing inappropriate I swear! If you don't like it, you can push me back." His eyes gazed down at you, searching for any signs of deceit. He found none, so he relaxed a bit and his powers toned down.

🦌"Alright my dear! You have permission for five seconds!" Alastor stood smiling, hands behind his back. Heaving a sigh of relief, you were happy that Al allowed you to do something. "Ok...um." Moving slowly, you walked closer, wrapping you arms around him. Radio screech, Al was left befuddled by your actions, his arms raised up a bit. Quickly you pulled back. "Okay! All done!" Smiling up at him, you stood back and stared up at him. Alastor couldn't figure out what on earth just happened. You just wanted to hug him? "My dear. May I ask why the sudden act of affection?" His eyes were glazed with curiosity, better then them being glazed with fury.

🦌Flushing a bit, you started to twiddle your fingers. "I noticed you seemed a bit off today. Yes you are always smiling, but it seemed a bit strained. Something had to have bothered you or make you upset, so I thought maybe hugging you would cheer you up. I know you don't like others touching you, so I wasn't going to do it without your permission. Sorry if I had made you uncomfortable with my actions" Al heard you explain all of this to him, eyes gazing down at the floor.

🦌Oh what an adorable creature you were! Alastor found your actions to be quite sweet. He will admit that he was harden by being in hell for so long, and the only time he remembers any ounce of kindness and warmth being given to him was by his own mother. The annoying feelings of anger and fury had melted away instantly at your little action. The silence in the room was killing you. You were afraid to look at Al, expecting to see radio dials flashing on his face. Suddenly arms had wrapped around you back, lifting you up of the ground. "You are such a delight, darling!" He had spun you around, causing you to laugh. Finally he stopped and had set you down, gazing at you with soft eyes. "There were a few inconveniences today that left me in a foul mood. But! I'm feeling right as rain right now! Thank you, my dear!" He had placed a hand on your head, ruffling you hair a bit.

🦌Happy that he was feeling better you smiled at him. Alastor's ears perked at bit, having come up with an idea. "Since you went out of you way to appease my mood, I can offer you a simple wish. No deal attached!" He was leaning down, face moving closer to yours, waiting for your response. You didn't really want anything, as you only wanted to make Al feel better. After giving it some thought, you came up with your answer. "Could I stay and listen to your broadcast please?" Alastor nearly jumped with excitement at your answer. Snapping his fingers, another chair had appeared next to his desk, along with a cup of coffee and some of your favorite snacks. Wrapping an arm around you, he pulled you closer, "Come along my dear! Its showtime!"

Sir Pentious🐍

🐍"MADAM, WHAT ISSSSS THE MEANING OF THISSSSSS?!?!?!?" Pentious was not use to any actions that involved affection. Don't blame the guy, he lived during the era where actions like that were very sacred.

🐍He was inside his blimp that was attached to the hotel. He was sobbing due to his egg minions being taken away by Vaggie and given to Alastor. He loved his minions like they were his kids, and the thought of them being taken away made his heart break.

🐍He shot up in shock when he heard the sound of the door slide open. Turning around he saw you entering inside the room, walking closer to him. "Ahh misssssss Y/N, how may I assist you?" He tried to play it off that he was ok, wiping the tears that were on his face. He wondered why you gave no response back to him, and continued to walk closer to him. He jumped a shock and let out a girly shriek when he felt you wrap your arms around him. He and his hat looked at you in shock, bewildered by what you were doing.

🐍MISSSSSS Y/N????? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Pentious was literally shaking, emotions running high that you were hugging him. Pulling away, you stepped back, and watch Pentious place a hand on his chest, trying to calm down. "Sorry Pentious. I knew you were upset about losing your minions, so I wanted to cheer you up."

🐍His dark face began to become a pure red, and if he had ears they would be steaming. What a thoughtful person you were. Coming all the way here just to make him feel better? His heart was going a mile a minute. "Oh I see.....Thank you y/n." He smiled at you including his hat that appeared to have a heart symbol in its iris. "W-ould you care to have s-some tea with me?" his nerves were back again, as he was fumbling with words. You agreed and the both of you had tea together.

🐍Luckily for him, Vaggie allowed him to have his egg bois back, leading to him pulling them into a hug, including you, before he let you go quickly, letting out an embarrassed cough before slithering away to his room

Tagging:

@pepperycookie , @yourdoorisunlocked, @ghostdoodlen, @aceofcards0-0, @jyoongim, @saturnhas82moons, @unholycheesesnack , @luujjvi, @forbidden-sunlight, @pinkcrystal44 , @veethewriter , @rains-sleeping @danveration , @demoarah, @cookiekyo , @iiotic, @delectableworm , @91062854-ka , @alastorsgoldie , @lokis-imaginary-friend , @themysteriousslenderman

588 notes · View notes

toshidou · 1 year

Text

taskforce 141 - favourite positions . . .

Characters // Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" Mactavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Captain John Price

Tags // 18+ ONLY, afab reader, creampie, biting, squirting, smoking, dominant Price.

AN // don't ask me why the price one was so long, because the only answer you're going to get is "excruciating brainrot"

(if you don't know any of the positions, don't be afraid to get on with some googling. i promise it'll be totally worth the bug-eyed stare you'll be getting from your assigned FBI agent.)

Simon “Ghost” Riley - Doggy style

He knows it’s cliché as fuck, but there’s something about being able to hold your hips as he loses himself in you that just drives him fucking wild.

Especially when he fucks you so good, your arms give out, your back arched so perfectly before him. You look like the definition of ‘face down, ass up', so much so that the sight alone has his eyes rolling straight to the back of his head.

He’ll make you hold that position for as long as possible, veins popping in his arms as he holds your hips up for you, cock drilling near torturously against your fluttering walls, clenching each time his balls slap against your throbbing clit.

It's addictive, being able to watch how well you take his cock, blackened eyes locked on the way your pussy takes every thick inch of him, strong fingers prying apart the reddened globes of your ass to get a better look at how prettily your cunt spasms around his shaft, at how your velvet walls desperately attempt to suck him in to the hilt.

And it always takes every ounce of strength within him not to cum on the spot when he glances up and sees your face tilted to the side from where it's pressed against a drool soaked pillow; lidded, molten eyes pinned on him from under your lashes, perfectly pink lips stretched open, leaking endless breathy whines and soft moans of his name that have him turning near fucking feral.

When he's getting close, he'll plaster his chest to your back, hands coming down harshly, planted either side of your head, low grunts and harsh breaths panted against the shell of your ear, "that's it, sweetheart, takin' my cock like you were fuckin' made for it, made just for me."

Anytime he has your skin within reach of his mouth, he never hesitates to bite down, adorning every inch of your skin with teeth indentations that bruise, semi-permanent reminders that you're his (the knowledge that you wear his marks when he's away are sometimes the only thing that get's him through).

He'll lean back up before he climaxes, not afraid to admit he has an addiction to watching the way his cum dribbles in thick rivulets down your thighs, unable to stop himself from dragging his spent cock up your sweat and cum slicked skin, gathering his seed on the reddened tip, only to lazily push it back right back into you.

(Sometimes that alone has the blood rushing right back to his dick, fucking you straight into round two, no breaks required. That's the effect you have on him.)

John “Soap” Mactavish - G-Whiz

No matter how it starts, you will always end up in this position, your legs thrown over Johnny's shoulders, his hands gripping your outer thighs so hard you know he's left bruises, again.

Not that either of you are complaining, not when you know just how wild having you like this drives him, frenzied eyes darting constantly up the length of your body, from your fucked out face, down to the way your tits bounce with every aggressive cant of his hips against your ass, finally landing on the piece de résistance, your perfect little hole, stretched so beautifully around him.

There are many reasons this is favourite way to fuck you senseless, almost too many to name. Whether it be the way he can drag his fingers up your quivering legs, holding your knees from where they hook over thick, built shoulders, using them as a leverage to fuck into your pussy harder, harder, harder, just like you're senselessly begging him for between hiccupped breaths.

Or maybe because he knows that when he's away, the only thing you'll be thinking about as you frantically grind your core against his pillow will be this. The perfect way he rolls his hips, hitting the angle that has you screaming his name every single fucking time without fail. Thick, rough fingers rubbing harsh circles against your abused clit as you squirt around his cock, shaking hands forming an ironclad grip on his wrist that lets him know that you're teetering on the edge of insanity, body unable to work out whether it wants him to stop, or if it needs more.

He knows it's always the latter.

"C'mon hen, I know you can gimme more, show me how pretty you look when I fuckin' ruin ya."

When he's finally done with you, his cockhead buried against your cervix, pumping you full of every drop of cum he has to offer, he'll litter the side of your thighs with feather-light kisses and gentle praises, all uttered against your skin with a giddy smile that won't leave his lips for hours afterwards.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick - Pretzel Dip

Without a doubt, there's nothing that Gaz could say he loves more than eye contact. The intimacy he feels from keeping his gaze locked to yours as you fall apart on his cock has kept him awake on more nights that he cares to admit whenever you're apart.

Plagued by the image of you half leant on your side, head lolling as your energy dips, all consumed by the pleasure that rolls through your nervous system in continuous, agonising waves. Haunted by the memories of one of his thighs sandwiched betwixt both of yours, clenching around him in unison with the walls of your pussy as he drags his cock against it in torturously slow, deep thrusts.

He saves fucking you like this for when he's finally reunited with you, uses it as one of his many motivations to return home safe, because when you're finally cradled in his arms once more, it's only a matter of minutes before he has you just the way he wants you: on your side and shaking. It works for you as well, unable to prevent the wetness that gathers between your thighs when you learn that Kyle is mere hours from returning, knowing what will inevitably come the second he walks through the door.

He doesn't let his eyes leave yours for a second, barely remembers to fucking blink, because he knows how flustered you get when he looks at you like this, like a man starved and the only thing that could ever satiate him is you.

He'll keep the pace languid, if only to watch the way soft gasps turn to keening pleas, adorable little begs falling from your mouth when the contentedness of his return transforms into unbridled desperation, not a single thought residing in your mind other than the all consuming need to cum.

He'll only begins to really fuck you when he feels the coil in his gut start to wind, unable to hold back the animalistic urge to pound you into the mattress, his gaze turning from soft, to predatory in mere seconds. It's the only hint you get before he's splitting you in half, watching you with wild eyes as you grip onto the bedsheets in a last ditch attempt to find purchase, to keep you somewhat anchored as his cock slams into you at near inhuman speed.

Neither of you last much longer after that, frenzied hips stuttering to a standstill as the coil finally snaps, lidded eyes still remain fixed to yours, only closing when he leans down and captures your lips with his, cradling your tired neck with such care, it has you preening into his touch.

"God, I've missed you, gorgeous."

"Missed me, or my pussy?"

"Am I not allowed to say both? I feel like I'm not allowed to say both."

"... I mean I missed your dick. Can't say as much about the rest of you -oof- no! No hickies, I have work tomorrow you fucking heathen—"

John Price - Cowgirl

There aren't many things John can say he loves more than watching you ride his cock. Of course, he loves his cigars, and will never pass up a glass of whiskey after a long night. But this? Nothing comes fucking close.

No, none of those things are a patch on the sight of you fucking yourself on his cock, hands much daintier than his could ever be planted squarely against his chest, wisps of curled hair peaking from between spread fingers as you use his torso as leverage to bounce harder, faster on his twitching length.

He lets you do all the work, lidded, relaxed eyes languidly taking in the way your face twists in frustration, eyebrows pinched together, annoyed little humphs exhaled past downturned lips as your energy rapidly depletes, thigh muscles burning from overexertion battling against the need to please, to wipe the smug, cocky smirk from the Captain's lips and leave him breathless instead.

Sometimes, if he's really looking to rile you up, he'll reach his hands down towards your waist, savouring the way your eyes light up, only to see that optimism snuffed out the second he reaches for his trouser pocket, hanging just below his hips, and pulls out a fresh cigar and his favourite lighter, the one you bought him. A purchase you sincerely regret every time it's used to taunt you.

He'll hang the rolled tobacco between self-satisfied lips, maintaining steady eye contact as he flicks open the cap of the stainless steel lighter, and sparks up. No matter how hard you try to keep your reactions at bay, they always slip through, fingernails biting into his skin, inking red crescents into his chest, rising to the challenge he sets, even if you know you're giving him exactly what he wants.

The taunting will only get worse, every drop in your pace has him smirking, fingers that remain attached to the cigar pull it from his lips, letting smoke billow from his open mouth, watching as it curls in playful tendrils, caressing your face as they pass by. Always followed by words that aim to goad, rasped out in a low, intoxicating tone so condescending that it has your knees shaking.

"Need help already, sweetheart?"

"Look at how much your thighs are shaking. Is that from exhaustion, or my cock?"

"Come on now, thought I taught you how to ride dick better than this, love."

And like clockwork, you snap, fingers plucking the lit cigar from his mouth and stamping it out against his discarded shirt. There are many ways you've fired him up enough to finally fuck you. But for a second you fear that the line may have been well and truly crossed.

"Now now, pet, I think you might live to regret that."

You'd get little other warning before rough hands come to grip the plush of your waist, lifting you enough to allow him to plant his feet against the bed and fuck up into you so hard you have little other choice than to collapse against his chest, fingernails leaving biting red lines across skin as you feel his cock hammer against the convulsing walls of your cunt, somehow deeper than you knew possible, dragging against pleasure points you didn't know existed until Price had come along and effectively ruined you for any other man.

It wouldn't take much to send you careening off the edge, pussy clamping down on his cock hard enough he can't help but follow, rough, deep groans reverberate through his chest, where your head is still firmly planted, exhaustion creeping through every aching muscle as you whimper pathetically into red, welted skin, finding comfort in the soft tickle of his chest hair against your tear splotched cheeks.

"Did so well for me, love, always make me feel so fuckin' good."

Because no matter how much Price loves to provoke you, he'll always be there to soothe you afterwards, with soft caresses and consuming kisses.

A pause—

"Can't believe you put out my fuckin' cigar, and on my favourite shirt, no less."

"It was the least you deserved, John, and you know it."

5K notes · View notes

flawdchaos · 2 months

Text

Opposites Do Attract

Gale ‘Buck’ Cleven x Reader

Word Count - 915

Based off of this request - Can I request a Buck x reader, where the reader is very extroverted, maybe even the opposite of Buck, but they fit so well together. They could be going out for drinks or her meeting the boys or something similar.

Anyone who met Buck Cleven and Y/N Y/L/N at Thorpe Abbotts shared a common thought - they were an unexpected pair. It had become all too common for the newcomers to assume Y/N was with Bucky with her loud, bubbly energy and it almost seemed brash for cool, calm, collected Buck to be with Ken Lemmons loudest female mechanic but damn, did it work. They had met one morning as Y/N was going over some last minute inspections on Buck’s plane for his daily missions.

“How’s she looking, ma’am?” his voice startled her, her head hitting against the plane’s metal.

“Good lord!” she exclaimed. “Give a girl a warning before you sneak up like that.” she complained, rubbing the back of her head. She fully stepped from under the plane's wings and caught a glimpse of the man behind the voice. Her eyes widened once she noticed a Major was standing before her awaiting her response. “Major Cleven” right hand flying to her forehead to salute “Plane is all ready, sir.”

“No need to salute, ma’am. Thank you for taking such good care of her. I put her through hell.” Buck spoke as he opened the plane’s hatch to stow his bag and she couldn’t stop the scoff that left her mouth. “I think that’s an understatement, sir.”

Most of the guys probably wouldn’t have taken this kind of attitude, per se, from a mechanic - let alone a woman- but he couldn’t care less. The sight of her almost made him want to laugh. There she stood, hip jutted out and hand secured atop it, eyes squinting up at him most likely awaiting some sort of angry remark but all he could do was shuffle the toothpick around in his mouth and nod in agreement. “I’ll be waiting to fix her right back up for ya later, Major.”

The couple had been sealed since. When Buck finally caved and spilled the beans about a woman to Bucky, he thought John was going to have a medical emergency right there in the mess hall.

“You have a woman and you just now think to bring it up?” Bucky said, astonished. “I didn’t want you to scare her away.” Buck quipped. If he only knew.

“Well.” Bucky clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder. “When am I gonna meet this mysterious young lady?” he urged, squeezing his hands down before an idea crossed his mind “Bring her to the pub tomorrow!”

______

If Buck could have taken a picture of the looks on the boys’ faces when he walked in with Y/N on his arm, he would have framed it and taken it with him on every flight he ventured out on. “Well I’ll be damned, Buck.” Bucky uttered, for once in his life he was almost speechless. Almost.

“I’d suggest you pick your jaw up off the floor, Major. I’d sure hate for you to swallow a bug.” She teased and the entire table erupted in laughter. Buck couldn’t help the small smile that broke out on his own face, a sense of pride soaring through his body. Bucky took a long swig of his drink before retorting. “Seems you’ve got yourself a jokester, Buck.” He nodded. “She’s a little more than that.”

“Wait, ain’t you the girl who works with Lemmons?” Blakely spoke, realization washing over the faces of a few of the men. “Yeah! You’re the girl who fixed my landing gear the other day.” Brady sat up, pointing at the girl standing firm besides Buck.

“You’re welcome by the way.” she waved her hand towards him. “Actually, everyone is welcome. You can thank me for getting you up in the air in the first place. Now I’m getting a drink. Keep the gossip to a minimum while I’m gone, now.” She turned, patting Buck on the chest. “You want something, baby?” looking up at her doe eyed boyfriend. “Just a Coke for me, honey.” She jokingly saluted, walking off towards the bar.

____

Buck had full confidence Y/N would fit in with his crew of men. Whether most of them had realized it before or not, she was the sole reason they were able to make it off the ground in the first place. He couldn’t help but say it almost made his heart swell with pride watching her interact with his friends. “Should I sing?” Bucky’s voice broke through his train of thought, hands tapping against his arm chair. There wasn’t time for him to protest before Y/N jumped up from her place on his lap. “Let’s go, Bucky!” Y/N’s laughed.

He couldn’t explain the feeling that was coursing through his body but as he watched his best friend - more so a brother at this point - and his newfound love sharing a laugh together over the less than perfect singing, he only grew more confident in his relationship. Many would describe Buck Cleven as a many of very little words but if anyone asked about Y/N, his Y/N, he didn’t think there were enough words in the dictionary to explain just how he felt.

Once the song stopped and the singing duo had left the stage, Buck watched as Y/N headed to the bar and Bucky made his way back to him.

“Buck, I gotta say -“ pausing to take a drink of his whisky. “You’ve found yourself a keeper. You two couldn’t be any more opposite but man, does it work.”

#masters of the air #masters of the air x reader #anthony boyle #gale cleven #john egan #masters of the air imagines #robert rosenthal #rosie rosenthal #gale cleven x reader #buck cleven x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader

318 notes · View notes

kneelingshadowsalome · 11 months

Note

I have an odd request… perhaps a captain price fic where the reader is much younger and edgy- likeee covered in tats and stuff,, and price isn’t rly used to that but finds it hot as hell… idk maybe they work together ?? Smut ensues …

IDK I have tatts and wonder what he’d think of that 👹👹

Just an idea 💡❤️😫

Fire it Up (John Price x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.8 k

Tags/warnings: Smut 🔞 mutual pining, flirting, swearing, older man/younger woman dynamic, forbidden love, smoking & drinking, voice kink, a tiny brat taming kink squeezed itself in here too. Reader has tattoos and works as a coder at the base. Rough ~10yrs age gap described, reader is of age I hope to god it goes without saying (Price is canonically 37) Also: no use of 'daddy' in this fic

A/N: I'm so glad for this request anon and I hope you like what I made! Also people please be gentle, this is my first Price fic 🥹 God I wish I could attach the fat scent of cigar here to give you the full experience.

You don't know what caught your attention first.

The cigar, perhaps. Or the beard? Might be his hips, the ass that tells you this man can fuck a woman for hours.

Or maybe it's the fact that he's too old for you.

No, not too old…

Just older than you. A decade, perhaps, if you were being gentle with him and lenient with yourself.

He certainly isn't old enough to be your father, but he wasn't the type of man your eyes usually drifted on either.

He looks like someone who's supposed to be fishing in Alaska, sucking that fat cigar while taking in the view of mountains while trying to catch wild fish in some wide, free stream.

He's supposed to come home to a remote cabin: to his little wife who pours him a scotch after he has shown her what he caught today. Make sweet love to her while stars shoot and speckle the indigo night.

He looks like someone who makes love to women.

You, on the other hand, want to ride with him to the sunset on the back of a Harley, clutch his jacket as he drives you to some bizarre highway motel. You want to watch him drink that scotch from your navel.

You'd do all kinds of crazy shit with him, keep his head between your legs with both hands, grind all over that mustache, and see how wet it gets. You want him to pound you with those narrow hips, take you from behind while you look back with parted, swollen lips and relish the sight of what must be a grown man's hardened body, covered with hair and scars and–

"The bug's still there."

You return to reality, look at the code on your screen, and then at your colleague, a 20-something bloke who looks at you with the lethargic stare that only belongs to techies. You've just been caught daydreaming your eyes off in the middle of a lazy afternoon. Coffee doesn't do shit after 2 PM…

"Yeah I know. I'm working on it," you say. But when the dude leaves, you decide it's time for a creative break. You tell yourself it's only because the code jumps on the screen, not because you hope to catch a certain someone smoking outside.

The leather jacket is a little too much these days, but you throw it on out of pure habit. You realize the weight of your mistake when you go outside from the ventilated building and notice the sweltering heat. Spring has finally turned into summer.

Coffee doesn’t do shit, but it’s time for another kind of wakey-wakey. And butterflies are a funny term for something that mainly feels like it’s eating your insides out of pure excitement.

Because he's here too.

Jonathan Price, although no one calls him Jonathan. Few call him John, either.

Mostly, he goes by the title Captain.

He's stressed; you can tell. But his eyes soften immediately when they fall on you, a brief look to the side, just to know who else comes out to have a breath of fresh air or a smoke. He looks like he's been expecting you, but that might only be a silly girl's daydream. You two share a vice, and you've never been more grateful for your bad habit before this place and him.

And you wouldn't call it necessarily a bad habit. It's simply stress relief if you do it once or twice every few weeks. It's not like you smoke two packs a day. It's not like you even smoke one cig per day.

Although ever since you started this odd little job in this odd little place, you've smoked one or two nearly every day… And it's not because of the stress.

It's because of Price.

John. You’d like to see his reaction to you moaning that word in his ear…

"How long have you been here?"

His eyes are still on you, mouth covered by a hand as he makes love to his cigar. And that bedroom voice always gets you. It's better than the upcoming slow drag of nicotine. You're not here for tobacco at all.

"Two weeks." You reach for your excuse and try to prevent your hands from trembling as you light the cig. Usually, you're not this shy with people. Not with men, anyway. But with him, your wits and words disappear.

You blow the smoke through the air with a quick, lively wisp where he lets it roll out his tongue in a heavy cloud. He's still watching you as if to weigh what kind of woman you are exactly.

"How about you?" You continue the small talk with nervous ease.

He chuckles; the little smile even shows a flash of teeth as he steals a look at the clouds, calculating years with those surprisingly lively eyebrows curled up toward the sky.

"Ages."

He's not that old. Perhaps well over his thirties, might be knocking his forties. The statement is merely an underline of his stress today. You can only wonder what kind of pressure the captain of Task Force 141 is under when you get sleepless nights from a stupid source code. There are a few wrinkles around his eyes, but they only tell you that this man smiles a lot. He might be the only one in this compound who smiles a lot.

"Have you ever tried a cigar?"

There's a glint in his eyes as he offers the thick roll of tobacco to you. It's suddenly difficult to breathe, difficult to even keep your thoughts together.

"No," you shake your head as if your answer wasn't enough to tell him he's the first person ever to offer you such a thing. Then you realize the word does not precisely deliver your eagerness to try that stout cigar.

"Would love to," you hurry to add with a soft smile. "Can I have a taste?"

He walks to you slowly, and your eyes drop to those hips, which sway like he's purposely trying to seduce you.

Fu–ck…

Then your eyes sink even lower, between his legs, to his fucking junk, and it's too fucking late–

Jesus–get your shit together…

You force your eyes back to his and see the little glimmer in them gain a surprised spark – you're totally caught red-handed on checking him out.

Fuck. How can you be so stu–

"Gently then, kid."

You swallow your heart and thoughts down and take the offered cigar; of course, your first thought is how thick and heavy it is. And somehow, you decide right then and there that you will no longer be the nervous, hot-cheeked woman on the corner.

It's time to make him flustered.

So you take a hollow-cheeked, slow suck on the fat cigar. A chaste, savory taste, more like, but there's nothing chaste in the way you raise your eyes to his, putting every ounce of soft seduction in that stare.

He draws breath slowly – his face is full of expression for an allegedly cold-hearted elite soldier. You don't know how often women flirt with this hunk of a man, but he sure looks taken aback by your sudden play. Probably thinks you're too young for him – and you curse the second time you put that jacket on. You want to see his reaction to your sleeves.

"Mm. It's thicker than I thought," you weigh the cigar between your fingertips and let the smoke roll out your mouth. The man switches his weight from one foot to another, speechless, and you suppress a big beam of a smile.

"The taste," you emphasize as if innocent, as if you didn't see that shocked little shift. "Round, and… god, it's almost sweet."

You smile as you give it back, and he chuffs an approving laugh through his nose – those eyes are bear-warm playful now, his mouth curves into an easy smile.

"Nice," you look him up and down as if you're talking about the man and not the cigar.

"Beats those little sticks."

His voice drops down a few notes; it's almost a husky growl. You barely make out the words he's saying. The tension in the air could form little balls of lightning around you, the flirt is over the roof, and there's even no roof because you're outside – and you take your jacket off, slowly, to make it clear it's summer and not spring.

His eyes fall on the ink immediately, and he blinks a few times, draws some more breath – you tweet your thanks accompanied by another smile and go back inside.

You know he's checking your ass in those black jeans as you walk away.

….....

It doesn't end there.

You see him again and again and again, and at some point you realize he has to walk almost 100 meters from the other end of the base to get to the little corner where the two of you smoke.

He's intrigued but decent. Holds a distance, never says anything that could be taken in the wrong way – or even in the right way. But he's fucking you with his eyes.

No… making love to you.

And it drives you crazy.

You don't want that. You don't need that. To be that little wife in the cabin. Pouring him a drink, climbing in his lap, ghosting a finger down the stubble on his chin, see how wide and proud it makes him smile to hold you like you're his and his alone...

God. When did it come to this?

You suck on his fat cigar every now and then. Look him in the eyes while you do it. Once, it makes his tongue dart out, it wets his bottom lip, and then he does that thing with his mouth... the thing where he kind of purses his lips and it makes the mustache dip, and you realize, you learn it's a sign that he's restless, he's flustered.

You make the big, burly captain of Task Force 141 flustered.

And he doesn't smell like the people inside smell. Of stale coder sweat and Joy Division and soft drinks and mommy's home-cooked meals. He smells of rich forest and fine bourbon and half-burnt gasoline. Maybe Saxon on vinyl. Definitely beats those little sticks that are your nerdy co-workers at the hacker department, as you call it.

He may have a flask somewhere; perhaps he takes a sip or two every now and then, whether at work or not. And you don't blame him. Even with those laugh lines and that brown bear benevolence, you can tell he's seen things.

You wonder what he's like out there in the field. Brutal? Or just efficient?

He never asks about your tattoos, but he eyes them often. There's a certain admiring esteem in his stare. He's checking you out, scratches his chin, and rips his eyes off when they start to drift down. He forces his eyes to stay above your neckline no matter the cost. You mourn that you got rid of the septum a few years ago: you're pretty sure he would've liked that, too. After all, it's a piercing that screams 'warrior' the most. Break after break, you return to your desk, aroused and giddy and surrounded by the rich, masculine aroma of his cigar.

One night, he drives by when you're walking home after what was supposed to be one or two pints.

The car is a big, black pick-up, and when it slows down and starts to inch by your side, your first reaction is a silent curse of why the fuck don't you carry some pepper spray in your pocket.

"Hey, you ok?"

Your head rises from the asphalt the second you recognize that smooth, pleasant voice of a man you had compared every guy to at the pub that evening. The whole man is brimming with burnt sienna, he's hard alcohol with no ice…

You stop and turn, a little wobbly from the pint turned to two or three. Or four.

"Yeah. Had a little girl's night out."

The car rumbles softly, not two meters away, and the sound reminds you of his voice. A soft purr that can turn into a growl, even a roar if he wants to.

He looks like he's going fishing, even without the boonie hat. The dark hair is cut short, so you won't have anything to tug if he ever ends up between your legs. But you don't really mourn that fact, because he looks so damn good.

He looks you up and down, and you notice the briefest blob of his Adam's apple before he gives you another offer.

"Want me to give you a ride?"

Would love a ride.

Would fucking love to ride you.

"Sure. That's kind of you."

Your eyes must be sparkling like the fucking stars.

"No problem at all," he leans his elbow on the open window and waits while you round the car and get in. You try to tone down your drunken state, but your moves are a little too brash for a calm and collected coder lady this man has usually caught leaning against the wall of the workplace you two share.

"Did you have fun?"

He sounds like a dad picking up his girl from a school disco, and you purse your lips in slight distaste and amusement.

"Yeah. You know how it is when someone asks you for a pint."

He gives a short laugh and starts to drive. "That never ends well."

You smile and turn to look at him.

"Mm… This one kinda did."

You enjoy the brief look out the window, the sight of someone so formidable and robust and experienced trying to find his way out by feigning something caught his attention in the black, empty distance of a quiet city.

"Glad I could be of service," he brushes off your flirt like it's nothing more than a speckle of dust on his coat.

The rest of the ride is silent, too silent. He turns the music off in case it "bothers you," and it turns into an awkward, overly polite fight about whether to keep it on or not.

It's a minor shock to notice he was listening to some classical. Not 80's rock, not country, not even BBC. He was just soothing his nerves.

You can't put your finger on what makes you feel so sheepish around this man – usually, you put men on a leash with a few dry jokes and a hearty laugh or two. Now, your flirting is shy and does nothing: there's a wall built up, and from behind that wall, only a few stolen looks…

The pick-up is humming, the engine is running at idle next to your place far too soon, and it's time you get off the car – but you have vehemently decided you will knock down that fucking wall even if you have to drag him to your bed.

"You wanna come up and have a nightcap?"

Another look out the window as he raises his hand over his mouth, fiddles with his mustache, and avoids the rising heat between you two.

"Thanks, kid. But you need to sleep."

Your heart is pumping, and you feel like a harasser as you place your hand on his thigh.

He doesn't move, but you can hear the audible swallow this time. He doesn't move a single finger even when you slide your palm down that leg, then drag it over to the inner thigh, and start to drift back up slowly, slowly, to give him the time and space to stop you before you reach….

….the visible bulge between those legs, the absolutely gorgeous, ample bump pulling at those pants, something so delicious that you must fight tooth and nail not to race your hand up there and give it a fond grope.

His hand falls over yours just before you reach it.

"Kid. Let's leave it here and call it a night."

His voice is strained and tight, and he's still looking out the window. You don't move your hand away because he doesn't move it away. His warmth stays there, keeping you against him, and you feel like shit for thinking it's not a no… That it's a yes when he seems to hold your hand as a prisoner, wanting to feel your dainty little palm against him.

Your fingers curl slightly, a hopeful gesture to imagine how it would feel to curl and claw at his hips and that ass while he's fucking you.

"Listen. You're a nice girl. A very nice–"

You give a heavy, demonstrative sigh and finally draw your hand away.

"Come on Cap… You're seriously going to give me the "you're a nice girl" talk?"

Finally, he turns. His nostrils quiver as he tries to keep his breaths calm. Your lips part like it's a whole caress he just gave you – and his gaze drops to your mouth instantly. You start to see where the problem is.

You're too young.

You're forbidden.

"I offered you a nightcap," you tilt your head slightly. "You can come up or you can go home."

You wet your lips, give the bottom lip a tiny little bite, and offer him the last, inviting, soft smile. It must hold an equal amount of sorrow because you can't drown the bitter feeling of rejection, no matter how many drinks you've had that night. No matter how much he seems to want you, it doesn't change the fact that he's apparently decided to stay strong and keep his hands off the cookie jar.

You turn and get out of the car, lean on the door for the final fucking time...

"Didn't know I'd only get to suck your cigar... You're all smoke and no fire, Price."

The door flies closed with a louder slam than you originally meant.

Now that was a little bit passive-aggressive, you have to admit. But you're drunk, and he's being a pain in the ass, calling you a kid, looking at you like that, having a fucking hard-on and giving you nothing.

…But it does the trick.

You smile like an idiot when you walk to your place and hear the purr of the engine stop. Another car door opens, then closes, wide footsteps follow you…

A nightcap it is, then.

He looks even bigger when inside a place with walls and a roof. He stands inside your apartment tall and wide as if he's waiting to call attention. Those large hands are over his crotch, concealing the swell of erection you already saw in the car.

You know the tank top you wear reveals even more skin covered in tats as you throw your jacket away and go get him that drink. The glasses glide on your table, slide nearly to the floor, and the bottle of Jim Beam meets the counter with a devastating clank. You look at the excuse to get him into your place and sigh.

"You know what… Fuck this."

Offering cheap bourbon to someone like him seems a bit ridiculous. So you offer him something he might actually like. Something he actually came here for.

You walk to him and throw your hands around him – he stiffens from the middle but looks down at you with a heated glimmer in those eyes. You could've sworn they were charred brown, the same color as his cigar, but up close you see they're actually molten iron. Mercurial.

"You sure about this?" He asks softly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He unclasps those hands from over his groin, and the warmest weight falls to rest on your waist, even steals a caress to your hip. You want to hurl yourself at him, press yourself against his crotch and grind until you bleed from just that tiny touch he finally gives you.

"You've had one too many, love."

Love…

Shit.

The warmth spreads from his eyes, from that hand, from the word that rolls out of his mouth like a beautiful puff of smoke. It unfurls inside your heart, swells inside your throat, plummets to your groin, and you switch the weight to your other leg to feel how that hand gains more weight as it gets pressed more firmly against you.

"Doesn't change the fact that I want you."

Your voice is nothing short of a purr. When have you ever purred like that to a man? You sound like a housecat, tame and adoring, waiting for a gourmet meal.

"You really want an old man?"

He still has that reserve in his eyes, decent and distant, but underneath, you sense a terrible heat, like the glow of a cigar lit in darkness, an adamant smolder that never dies out.

"You're not that old."

Your purr turns into a deprived meow. You dangle from his neck, and the smoke, the fire that surrounds him, blends into the gentle scent of a man, the musk of a mature beast. You know he's hairy under those clothes; he fucking has to be. The vision of how his cock must look, surrounded by untame, coarse fur, has tormented you night after night.

And now he's finally here. In your apartment.

You skate your hands over his chest while slowly dropping into a squat, then languidly kneeling in front of his crotch.

He doesn't stop you, not even when you open his belt and the zipper and crawl your fingers down the waistband of his underwear. You have to stifle a delighted gasp upon seeing how his cock springs free and stands proud in front of you in all its glory. And fuck yes he's hairy – the hairiest man you've ever had.

Cigars feel like tiny little sticks when you wrap one hand around him and lick the weeping slit like it's your favorite ice cream. The groan that follows is a husky eruption above you and gets stuck in his throat as you take him in your mouth.

"Fucking hell, kid…"

He's thick, broad, and the musk fills your nostrils, but what he just said makes you pull back and whisper on the bulbous tip–

"Don't call me a kid," you breathe on his cock, swirl your tongue around him, and his thighs bunch. "Old man."

You finally manage to push some buttons.

The back of his hand brushes your cheek, then slides over to your throat. He's gentle but firm as he forces a thumb under your chin, curls fingers around your neck as if you're a cat who's about to be force-fed some medicine that's only good for her.

"Is that how you wanna play it?"

His thumb brushes down the ridge of your throat. Tentative, promising.

"Perhaps," your lips quiver with anticipation as you smile; your voice is a pitched vibrato before it drops, just to give him a reason to put you in your place... "Old gum–"

The hand pulls up, the grip tightens just enough to guide you back to your feet and up to meet his face.

"Didn't know you asked me here to tame a brat."

Fuck…

You almost moan.

The hand doesn't choke you; it makes love to you. Claims you as his.

"Really…?" You sigh. Flash him a filthy, guiltless smile.

The fire surges forth and nearly buckles your knees. His eyes flash in rhythm with your grin, like a sudden flicker of a campfire in the middle of a dark, parched forest.

"This what you want? Hmm?"

The rumble reminds you of the engine of a Harley roaring to life. His throat is burned from the fire of his cigars, the hand on your throat is used to squeezing dead metal and pulling pins from frigid grenades. But even they can't stand a chance against his woodland fire and sycamore smoke. He could bring a cold, inanimate rock back to life with all that fire.

"Yes. I want it. John."

His name on your tongue is a cat's meow. It has the exact effect you hoped for.

"Let's get the brat tamed, then."

"Hah," you finally moan. "Promises, prom–"

The fingers around your throat pull you to his mouth with a python strength. His lips spread yours with soft devouring as he coats you in fire. The coarse beard smells of sweet tobacco – nothing like a pungent cigarette. It's like an old memory: safe and sturdy and strong. Male.

You moan in his mouth – god, what will it be like when he's inside you? – and he capes both arms around you and crushes you against him. Broad shoulders envelop you like a shroud of thick smoke, the cock gets trapped between you like a hot spear, and you mewl like a slut.

Your pussy clenches, just from his warm mouth, the rich velvet of his lips. He takes everything with that kiss, and you're weak in his arms as he bends and molds you against him just the way he wants, opens your mouth with his own and breathes you, samples you like those puffs of smoke he sucks from his cigar.

Your brain short-circuits, you barely notice how your top slides up as his hands go under it. It's dragged up, up, over your breasts and then over your head as he detaches just enough to rip that piece of clothing away.

You look at him like he's Christmas, then reach for your bra while he opens his pants more to get them down. Your jeans are accursedly tight, and he's breathless, too: the whole room is dark and filled with heavy breathing and rustle of clothes as you claw your socks off, slide your strings down and away, watch him get out of his shirt and throw it on the floor too, all propriety gone.

And then…

Jesusfuck–

He picks you up, lifts you from the ground like you're nothing but a leaf, and strides with you in his lap until your back meets a wall.

The barrel-like chest presses the air out of your lungs while your back travels up – you don't know if his arms or chest do the lifting, but you're being positioned for his cock to enter. Your hands try to grasp something solid before it's too late – his back and neck – your legs wrap around him, feet hooking over his ass as the thick of his tip pokes your soaked folds, and after a few seconds of probing, slides in.

"F–uck…" you gasp, sounding so needy that it could be a voiceline from a bad porno movie. His lips find the place between your ear and neck immediately.

"Be good for me now," he gruffs, dark and round like the sweetest bourbon, although you know he's the finest single malt in the world. "Be good…"

"Ah–John…"

I'll be good…

Just for you, I'll be so, so good.

He pants heavy on your neck, grunts as he starts to fuck you against that wall. You knew he might be intense, but apparently, you had no idea. The man is needy as fuck, and has concealed it up until this point.

You could cry, scream from joy from the thickness that spreads you, fills you with every fat glide of a thrust. The sex borders on rough but is so incredibly tender too, so needy it makes your heart collapse, compress into a taut knot in your chest. It's the softest rocking, the gentlest fucking as he retreats, then ruts into you again and again with sharp, rusty moans. You're in a slow but steady rodeo with this man, your breasts pressed against a solid chest covered with hair, and it tickles, even if his pecs threaten to crush your ribcage.

"You're one hell of a girl," he gruffs in your ear, beard grazing up and down your neck. "Taking me so– Fucking hell, look at you…"

His eyes are embers as they sweep over you: your abundant ink, the helpless, adoring look in your eyes, the little mouth that opens with a gasp, the trickle of sweat that forms between your breasts and meets the hair on his chest.

He doesn't have to look down to see how greedy your cunt is for him. He can feel it.

"This is what you wanted the whole time? Huh?"

He's all smoke. All fire.

"Yes…"

"Wanted me to take you against a fucking wall? Eh?"

"Yes…just, just take me," you moan and purr some more, giving him everything he wants. "Fuh–fuck me good…"

"Ahh shit..."

You know you're a drug to certain decent men. But to him, you're a forbidden fruit in all its aspects.

A calm, collected captain who enjoys wide respect, eyeing an edgy, younger woman from the tech department? That's not how this was supposed to go. Thirsting for someone who did what they wanted, looked just the way they wanted, walked this earth like a dark fairy – that's not his usual go, surely. He was supposed to settle down with a proper lady. If he were to settle down at all.

"I've dreamed of this," you whisper in his ear, lips moving just enough to deliver your secret to him.

"Yeah..? Me too," he gives your throat more love with a velvet growl. "Know I shouldn't, but–"

"Shh. Don't–don't…" You grip him tighter, taste the spruce and salt as you breathe his neck. "It's good. It's all good."

He rumbles in approval. Your skin is raw from his beard; even the coarse hair dusting his thighs feels too rough on your skin. And your skin is used to being needled, shot full of ink right inside the dermis. But this… This is branding.

You're silk in his rough embrace, and plundered with no remorse. You sigh and moan, hug him... And then he dares to stop, panting and throbbing inside you.

"Darlin'. Where's the bed?"

The soft question makes you panic. If you go to bed and let him push inside you while you're lying on your back, if you brave a look into those eyes while he takes you, you'll develop more than just a horrid lust for this man. If he collapses on top of you, spent and spoiled while you're at your most vulnerable, you'll tie a string from your heart to his, and you can't, you just can't allow that to happen.

Because he's untamed too. He's not a man who settles down, he's not up for domestication; he's a wandering fire.

"No–no bed," you pant on his muscles, the shoulder that keeps you safely pinned on the wall. "John…? Please."

He's breathing wild too, disguises his surprise well.

"Alright."

He sounds disappointed, and it's not because he doesn't have the strength to maul you against that wall. The rejection stings him too. It makes you want to offer a truce, a little something. When he rocks you again, you graze your fingers up the back of his neck, knowing he will feel ripples across his scalp from your caress.

"We can smoke a cigar after," you propose, not knowing why your voice still comes out as an airy whisper. "Together. I'll pour you that drink…"

His chest swells with a deep breath, he huffs fire on the hollow trench between your collarbones.

"Fuck, woman…"

It's dense syrup that surrounds you much like those shoulders and arms, that coarse hair, that bold male want.

"And after that I want you to…" You catch your breath and sound like a mouse with your next shy question. "Would you go down on me, John?"

It's like you're under a bear attack, but he stills; his head tilts a little to the side and meets your temple.

"You wouldn't tease a man like this," he says. A soft warning, brimstone coated in velour, but the core of it is despair. So much need, so much forbidden, distant want…

"Right? No more teasing."

He's still thinking that you're teasing him… That it's some kind of a joke that you want him.

"I'm serious... I want your mouth on me. I need your–"

"I'll put my mouth on you as soon as we're done here, love."

You have to bite your lips, suck them between your teeth to prevent another deprived moan from escaping.

"Want you to fuck me all night," you continue to whisper on his neck. You should shut the fuck up because it doesn't take a bed to tie that string from your heart to his. After all, they're right there, beating against each other through bone and skin and chest.

"Yeah? That's what you want?"

"Want you to… F-fuck me slow and good from behind and–"

You sniff. Whimper.

You should be ashamed: mewling for more when he's already buried inside you. What kind of a brat are you, wrapping your thighs around that narrow waist like you never want him to pull out?

And you're not crying.

It's just that the cock inside you is throbbing against your walls as if he's making a home there, his hands dig into your ass cheeks like you're his already, the breath upon your sweat and skin feels far too affectionate. When exactly did a raw wall-fuck turn into such an affectionate, gentle taste of love?

And it's not enough. You want to climb on top of him every morning, ride him slowly and watch him unravel as the sun climbs the sky and coats that fur in gold.

"Could you do that? Please… John, please," you whimper and whine, beg like you're tame already.

"I'll fuck you all night if that's what you want. Fill this pretty, tight cunt up every way you like."

It's coarse smoke. It caresses you until your legs start to shake. He adjusts his grip, drags the pull-outs like he drags those pulls from his tobacco. Keeps you nicely in place for him to drive back in–

"I'll fuck you 'till you cry, love. Yeah?"

He punctuates that promise with another good, fat thrust. You moan all tame now – a rippling stream, laughing and crying in his molten hold.

His cock fills you while your thighs quiver and tremble in his hands. Your pussy throbs; it sucks him already, the orgasm is seconds away, and your fingertips search for support but only slip over sweaty, hard muscle.

John. John.

"Fuh-…"

He spreads you a little. Those arms are pure iron as they mold you for him to plow. You know he can feel the waves, the way your cunt grips him with longer, deeper pulls as you start to sound downright pathetic.

"Just like that, just like… hah…"

"M-hm. Yeah," he bends the vowels, daubs them with smoke. "That's it. You're doing good. Doing so well my love."

He huffs between the thrusts that have turned into slow, intense love-making. He's making love to you – god, why does he have to be like this…

"Cum for me. Nice and pretty, yeah? Come on."

He encourages you with words, but you can't hear them anymore.

Heat coils in the pit of your core just before you burst with a heady scream.

The spasm is so sudden you almost hit your head on the wall. He's at your throat the minute it's exposed, and your scream turns into a weak wail when his tongue grazes your skin. It's blazing, and dips into the hollow between your collarbones like it's a shot glass full of scotch. Next thing you feel is fire, even some teeth on your neck.

And you thought Price might, just might be intense…

Your head drops as the blunt of the orgasm leaves you. Your feet unclasp, and next up would be some soft waves, but the man continues to fuck your shattered cunt and marshmallow soul with a good, intense pace. The words that pour out of your mouth are those of a brainless person.

"Ah–hah, God–"

"Where's that cheek now, mm..? Pretty little thing."

"John–h…"

The thrusts rub you against that wall like he wants to staple you there.

"So nice and good for me now, ain't ya? Cummin' on command…" An amused chuff right on your poor, chafed skin… "Begging for my mouth and cock."

You travel up and down in a limp heap, trying to hold on to him with weak limbs as he drives into you with a tight series of half-thrusts. Your legs hang loosely on the side, but he has no trouble carrying the full weight of you.

"Slow–slowly, Cap…"

"Ahh fuck–"

He swears on your ink, right on the trotting pulse on your neck. Through the vapor of man sweat and rich smoke and a whiff of cedar trees bending in the wind, you feel him tense and thicken.

"The fucking things you do to me…" he pants with a low growl, hushed but intense. Your pussy answers with a good, demanding pull.

"Fuck… fuck–!"

You're a limp doll between him and the wall when he comes. Pressed between a rock and a hard place, literally. His chest being the rock, an entire boulder that whips the oxygen from your lungs as he drives deep, his balls giving a few taut pulls against your ass as he empties himself into you with a satisfied, dry moan. A dark, ripe blossom, shooting straight to your core while you're sealed tight around him.

The world goes still after that; the only thing that moves is your breath and his, a refreshing hot breeze coursing through the stale air. The darkness of the room isn't half as snug as the safety of his arms.

Your fingers find his neck, the short-cut hair and the skin pounding with a rush of blood. He lets you go reluctantly, bends a little to set your feet back to the solid ground. He doesn't pull out, keeps huffing all over you even when you're returned back to the earth.

And you never want to come back. Your cunt still throbs around him and cries a tiny, thick stream down your thigh. His upper body still pins you against that wall, his breaths still mist your skin, caress the red burns of his beard.

He feels so good. Too good…

When he pulls out, he does so with intense care. He gives you some space to catch your breath, and you finally notice he has fucked your legs into splinters.

"I'm…" You break the hush of heavy breathing with a soft laugh. More viscous load pushes out of you with it. "I don't think I can stand."

"Yeah? Tried to take you to bed," he muses softly, sounding annoyingly content with his achievements.

"Gotta admit it was a good idea."

"As was the nightcap," he rasps, voice drenched in soft smoke.

"We'll get there eventually."

"I have no doubt about that."

You give him a soft, warm chuckle as you cast your eyes between the crest of his pecs. Rough, tight muscle meets your soft breasts with heaving breaths, and teases your nipples to taut little points. The wet hair on his chest looks good paired with your inked, smooth skin… You two look so goddamn fine together.

"I hope I didn't make you deaf with that scream."

He stands at his full height, but tilts his head down and slightly to the side as if you were a new, interesting species he's just found on his travels.

"Wouldn't complain, love," he says. More wet syrup, just for you. He weighs you with his stare, curious and appeased, and you feel shy. For fuck's sake, you still feel shy even though this man was inside you just a moment ago.

"The bed. Now be a good girl and tell me where it is."

"Down the…hallway."

A delicate little whisper, again.

It's laughable, how the veteran of Task Force 141 turns you into something so dainty and meek. Captain John Price takes you against a wall like you're nothing but a doll, makes you purr and beg, reassembles you into a weak-willed woman who gets carried to bed.

This is not how it was supposed to go...

He lifts you back in his lap while you continue to hold onto him like he's your prince Charming. A laugh spills on your lips when he tries to lay you gently on the bed and you manage to pull him down with you. You end up tumbling there in a sweaty, messy heap.

"Knew you were trouble," he's smiling too as he settles beside you. You curl and wrap yourself around him, your bodies mold and curve together like they're made for each other.

He's so solid, so warm, the kind of man you'd love to fall asleep on every night. No more cold sides of the pillow, no more tossing and turning and trying to get the code out of your head. Just… this chest, those ember eyes burning in the night. Some soft breathing, a roaring engine standing still, waiting for you, just for you…

"I hope this wasn't a one time only occasion," you test the waters.

"No." He shifts a little, disentangles from you slightly. "Unless you–"

"No."

You bend in his arms like a young willow, cut his doubts off with a kiss. It's passionate, and so sloppy it threatens to make the same sounds as your cunt and his cock a while ago.

The hand on your hip tows you closer, then steals its way down your leg. You hike your thigh up, perfectly willing. You're a sticky mess, but so is he: his rock-hard thigh meets your still soaked pussy like these two have always belonged together. And this man's full fire has escaped you until now. There are so many hidden, wild things in him too.

He would look so good on a Harley… He would look good on a motel bed after riding for days and days with you attached to him like an eloped dark bride. The nights would be smeared with hot sex and cinder and smoke, a dash of scotch on top, he could drink it from your lips. You would serve it to him from your mouth, round the taste a bit so that it wouldn't burn so much…

"Have you ever been to Alaska?"

The liquor is leaving you, but you don't feel any more sober. The lava in your veins has only been replaced by another kind of fire.

"No."

"Would you like to go?"

"What'ya mean," he murmurs on your tongue, and you know he's hard again just from the thick lust coating his voice. "What kind of question is that?"

"I was just thinking."

"What were you thinkin', kid..?"

"Don't… call me that," you laugh. In truth, you're growing quite fond of it. It reminds you of old movies. "Here's looking at you, kid" and all that.

His laugh is a charred roll in his chest. To him, you're a brat – an unruly kitten – no matter what you say.

"Kid. Why Alaska?"

He's curious. Borderline hooked. You steal a peek into those vulcan eyes.

"You'd look good in Alaska. Old man."

"Really," he rumbles a soft purr against your heart.

Another soft kiss follows. Affectionate… He plays time, but he's also a probing, scanning. You bloom in his embrace, unfurl on his lips like he just wrenched you wide. He could haul you to the cabin right now and you would only cook him dinner.

It's too late, even if you try to shift after such a kiss. Escape to press your cheek against that place between his pecs, the spot where the hair is darkest and thickest. You want to lick that valley where his heart meets his musk. That scent must be born from a good, stout heart.

"Would you take me with you…? If you ever decide to go."

It's a fragile question. A baring of the heart. It holds so much more than an inquiry about whether he would whisk you away on a secret leave. It's strings, pulling from your heart to his, taking root.

"Sure. But you're quite a handful, love."

"Is that so…?"

You crawl over him as gracefully as you can. He allows you to straddle him, and of course he does. You're no threat; you're only a one woman show. The only thing he's probably missing right now is a glass of scotch and a thick roll of tobacco.

He takes in the view with hunger: not satiated by that pent-up fuck, just like you're not...

But then his hands come to rest on your thighs to check if they're still shaking. The touch bleeds possessiveness: it's a thoroughly absent-minded, instinctual attempt to reach for you. It tells you you're exactly where you belong.

"You seem like the kind of woman who's not for the faint of heart," he says like you didn't just mewl in his arms like the tamest fucking housecat.

And perhaps that's what intrigues him. Contrasts. And even more than that, the odd place where black fuses into white, the gray area where everything is possible. The split-second moment when the skin accepts the ink and traps it in.

Everyone always says you get buried with your tattoos. That you should think twice before staining your skin with such permanent hookups.

But the thing is, you get addicted to it. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff before a bungee jump. You know you'll never be the same person after you jump, and you know you can't leave that cliff without jumping. It's a stalemate until you clear your mind of doubt and just plunge.

And you don't want to leave this earth without getting stained and sweaty, without dipping your soul into the full experience. You're supposed to get a little dirty. This is Earth, after all.

Your fingers disappear somewhere in his slick fur. Sunrise is hours away, but his eyes spark aflame. They're always, always smoldering like the butt of his cigar. He's a man who causes wildfires at the end of the world – he's a reckoning, a flicker in the dark forest, roaring into a bonfire as soon as the wind passes through the trees.

And you've always loved fire. Wild, and free. The only thing that competes with such freedom is a wide, wild stream.

"But you can handle me. Right?" Your fingers curl softly around the hair surrounding his navel. "Tame me and everything?"

It's an offering that causes even fire to tilt its head in curiosity. In the end, you're not sure who tamed who.

"Someone has to," he grabs your hips with rich promise.

You'll pour him that drink. Light him a cigar after his mouth is full of your taste, see how well it pairs with fire and smoke. You'll toast to the Harley, the crazy motel…

And Alaska.

#john price x you #john price x reader #john price x female reader #captain price x you #price x reader #captain price smut #captain price x reader #john price smut #john price #mw2 smut #captain john price #john price fanfic #cod fanfic

1K notes · View notes

tarrynightss · 4 months

Text

Under Captain Price’s desk

Synopsis: You give Price a blowjob underneath his desk, only for Soap to walk in. It would be better to stop before you get caught, but teasing Price is so much more fun

Warnings: Smut

Pairing: John Price x genderneutral reader

One of Price’s hands is wound tightly in your hair, the other one gripping onto the edge of his desk like his life depends on it. You are seated underneath it, on your knees, your mouth sliding along his cock deliciously. The sinful sight of it alone has a flush appearing behind his beard. You shouldn’t do this, not right here in his office during the day, but Price was far too eager for your touch to stop you. Your eyes stare up at his, tears pricking at the corners when you take him deep into your throat, your hands bracing you against his muscular thighs. With the way his hips sputter up against your face you can tell he’s close, his face scrunched up in pleasure. All you hear are his soft groans before a knock startles you both.

Price pulls you off of his cock with lightning speed, quickly pushing you further underneath his desk and scooting himself closer to it as well. Your back is pressed against the wood of his desk, his cock smearing your own spit and his precum along your cheek as there is little space for either of you to move to. Your face is essentially sandwhiched against his crotch, but not without reason, as within seconds you hear the door to his office opening.

“I did not tell you you could come in,” Price says gruffly, trying to appear as casual as possible.

You can feel your heartbeat in your throat as you realize you almost got caught on your knees in front of your captain. A shiver runs over your spine as you imagine what could’ve happened, the thought surprisingly not all that unpleasant…

A care-free laugh resounds through the room, and you quickly pinpoint it to be Soap’s. “Don’t be such a hard-ass cap, got those files you wanted.”

Price’s hand in your hair strokes you gently, clearly telling you to stay still as you hear footsteps approaching the desk. You really, really should, but another shiver of excitement runs through you as you turn your head slightly, smearing his cock over your lips. You can feel the muscles in his thighs flex under your fingers, the hand in your hair tightening in warning. A smile pulls at your lips as you move one hand to grip onto his cock, bringing the head directly against your mouth.

“Great,” Price coughs, covering up a surprised groan when your tongue flicks out to lick his tip. “Leave them here and I’ll look through them later.”

You hear the thick folder hit the wood above your head. “You sure cap? There’s a lot here to sift through. Seriously, when you start reading what this guy’s been up to…”

As Soap rattles on you stop listening, instead focusing on licking from the base of Price’s cock back up to the tip, circling your tongue around it teasingly. You can feel him twitch in your hand with every movement, his hips slightly bucking when you close your lips around the head. He tugs on your hair again, warning you, but you don’t relent.

“You alright? You’re looking a bit flushed, heard there’s a bug going around,” Soap says, blissfully unaware of what is actually happening.

Price curses under his breath as he runs a hand over his face. You would chuckle about how stressed you have him if your mouth wasn’t currently occupied otherwise, sliding his cock deeper and deeper into your throat.

“I’m fine, just real busy,” Price tells Soap. His hand tugs at your hair, but this time it isn’t to warn you to stop, oh no. You feel the difference, feel the edge of roughness as he does it. You’re definitely paying for this later. “Let’s meet up in two hours, yeah? Then we’ll go over the details.”

Soap lingers for a moment more before you hear his heavy boots retreating back to the door. “Understood, sir.”

You can feel Price’s muscles relax as soon as Soap closes the door behind himself, leaving the two of you alone again. He instantly scoots back his chair, pulling you off of him as you whine.

“Fuck, you want to get me in trouble, don’t you, love?” He says, his brows drawn together in a frown.

He’s a little frustrated, but there’s also clear desire in his gaze as he stares down at you. And he could never get mad at you, not really.

You give him a sheepish smile. “I can’t help that you didn’t lock your door.”

He grabs onto your arm, tugging you up on his lap till you’re practically face to face with him, uncaring about dirtying your pants or shirt as his cock presses up against your stomach. “Right, because I should’ve known you would crawl under my desk, suck my cock, and then not even stop when one of my men comes in.”

“A true lack of foresight on your part, captain.” You bite your lip to hold back a chuckle.

He grabs onto your chin with one hand, and a heavy second passes before a lazy grin pulls at his lips. “You are dirty little thing, you know that?”

“Affirmative.”

He groans in approval, pressing a soft yet hungry kiss to your lips before pulling away and slapping your ass.

“Now go lock the door, I’m not done with you yet.”

#john price x reader #smut #john price #John price x reader smut #john price x gender neutral reader #john price x female reader #cod #cod smut #cod x reader #call of duty #call of duty x reader #call of duty smut #cod price #captain price #price x reader

400 notes · View notes

reidintoit · 1 year

Text

cruel summer - j.m.

pairing: jj maybank x reader

summary: thigh riding supremacy

warnings: smut, language

an: more than happy to provide a part two :’))

wc: 1.4k

You were desperate. Completely and utterly desperate. And that was putting it lightly.

For the past hour or so, you had been sitting around the bonfire with the rest of the group on your boyfriend’s lap. While this usually isn’t a problem, tonight, JJ wouldn’t stop moving.

Each time his leg bounced up and down, you felt the stitching of your jean shorts brush against your core. At one point, you did your best to readjust but were immediately sliding back down as his leg continued to bounce relentlessly.

At first, you tried not to pay much attention to it, believing it was just JJ being restless. Which was probably true, but it quickly turned into something more.

“Ow!” Sarah exclaimed, jumping up from her chair and smacking her leg. “Fuckin’ mosquitos, I’m going inside!”

You hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation going on around you or the fact that it had gotten significantly darker out.

“I second that. These fuckers suck.” Kiara agreed, getting up to follow Sarah’s lead back into the house.

You glanced down at your legs, examining for any possible bites. You weren’t itchy, but even if you were, you weren’t confident that you’d have noticed. In fact, you had no clue what anyone had been talking about for the past hour.

“You guys coming?” John B asked, breaking the silence while throwing the last piece of firewood into the pit.

You looked back at JJ, who shook his head in response to John B without breaking eye contact with you.

As John B walked away, you started to get hot. Maybe it was the fire burning a bit higher or the fact JJ hadn’t stopped looking at you. Either way, you needed to get the hell out of dodge.

“I should.. probably go inside too. Bugs, yeah?” You struggled to form a proper sentence as you stood up.

“Y/N, wait.” JJ demanded, reaching out to grab your wrist, “Sit on me.”

“JJ, I have been sitting on you for the past-”

“No, I mean, take off your shorts and sit on me.. please?” He repeats himself.

You look down at JJ, who seemed to be completely serious about wanting this.

“J.. what about the others? They’re right inside.” You pleaded.

JJ glanced over at the Chateau, hearing nothing but Lizzo blasting from the speakers, then back at you. “I don’t believe they will hear a thing, darlin.”

You bite your lower lip, taking one last glance around before slowly unbuttoning your shorts. You allow them to fall onto the ground, stepping out and slipping your fingers on the sides of your bathing suit bottoms.

It’s obvious JJ noticed how ruined your bottoms are after rubbing against him for the past hour. The once pastel pink bottoms have a very prominent dark spot.

Suddenly, you feel your boyfriend’s fingers grazing the dark spot between your legs, getting a feel for just how wet you’ve been. “God damn..who’s got you like this?”

Instead of answering, you place your hands on JJ’s shoulders, sitting down on his thigh, and damn near gasping at the sudden contact.

JJ wastes no time slipping his fingers under your bottoms and pulling them to the side. “You’re soaked, baby,” he whispered, pushing his leg up into your bare pussy without warning and hearing a sharp moan escape your lips.

“You’re gonna ride my thigh until you cum, think you can handle that?” All you could do was nod in response at this point, feeling his hands fall to your sides.

“Words Y/N.” he demands.

“Yes, yes. Please.”

That was all JJ needed before gripping your sides and pulling your hips forward, encouraging you to move. You needed no further guidance, finding a pace that you knew was going to get you off quickly.

“JJ..” you whined softly.

He looked so incredibly hot like this. Watching you unravel on top of him had him painfully hard. He didn’t care about himself at this moment, just wanting to witness you use him.

“Such a slut, hm? Riding me out here..” he praised.

You whimpered in response, his words sending a flutter into your chest. The knot in your stomach tightened. You could feel your boyfriend’s intense stare as you fucked yourself on his thigh. You couldn’t focus on anything but how you felt. How slutty you felt at this moment. Sitting in your boyfriend's yard in your bathing suit top, grinding against his leg.

You rolled your hips against him, whining at the feeling of your clit against his thigh. Your pussy getting wetter and wetter with each roll of your hips. Your grip on JJ’s shirt tightened as you rocked against him, panting and incoherently mumbling.

You didn’t notice as he tore his eyes away from your face and down at his thigh. It was glistening from your arousal.

Your pace increased as you got closer, using your free hand to grip JJ’s arm.

“J - I - Please..” you whimpered, struggling to remain coherent as your hips grinded into him.

“Doing so well. Come for me, Y/N.”

You shake your head, “I- fuck, baby, baby,” not being able to finish that thought before waves of heat rush over you.

You practically collapse, burying your face into JJ’s shoulder as you ride out your orgasm. There was less friction as your cum coated his thigh, making each roll of your hips messier and slippery.

“JJ, JJ, mmph-“ You cry out as his leg suddenly bounces up into your clit.

“What baby? What’s wrong?” JJ asks, grinning from ear to ear. He’s incredibly proud of making you fall apart without touching you.

“Again… please?”

JJ leans back into his chair, hands making their way back to your thighs, gripping into your skin. You felt your face get hot as he continued to admire you.

“You want to get yourself off on me again?” You nod in response, leaning toward pressing your lips against his. A desperate attempt to get what you want. “Once more. Then you can fuck me.”

JJ looks past you, noticing no change in the volume of music from earlier. Whatever fun the pogues we’re having inside didn’t come close to this.

JJ’s grip on your thighs slowly moves up to your hips, “60 seconds,” he says as he leans forward to kiss you, “Go.”

You waste no time going back to the pace from before, failing to break the kiss. Your cum on his thigh was the perfect substitute for lube.

You feel JJ kiss you, taking in your bottom lip and gently biting as you whine into his mouth. Your eyes remain sewn shut as your head is up in the clouds. You weren’t going to last long again.

“15..” he reminded you.

It took one last roll as JJ jumped his leg into you for you to cum. Your head rolled back as you came, crying out without a worry of getting caught out here.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! JJ, fuck me.”

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank smut #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank one shot #obx #obx x reader #obx imagine #outer banks x reader #outer banks smut #jj obx #jj maybank blurb

1K notes · View notes

the-faceless-bride · 1 year

Text

In need of 'Correction'...

Summary -> You were working for the other side, and while trying to plant bugs to gather information you end up getting caught, and while you thought you would end up dead... It somehow leads to something else... It seems the ones who caught you deem you in need of correction... A sweet doe-eyed thing like you wouldn't have done something like this on your own, you've clearly been manipulated... Don't worry, they'll help you.

⚠️warnings: porn w/ little to no plot, Non-con/Dub-con, forced orgasms, squirting, double penetration, anal (reader receiving), manipulation, mind break (?), yandere behavior (if you squint), ooc task force 141, I tried my best to keep reader GN! Read is called Pretty and has a vigina, reader is smaller than tf 141, readers codename is "Bandit", smut, slapping, being held against will, forced kissing, forced touching, forced oral (giving and receiving), interrogation, threats, dark content, violence against reader, might make a part 2 if you really like it, let me know if I missed anything!!!⚠️

Characters include: John Price, Johnny Soap, Simon Ghost, Kyle Gaz, Alejandro

A/n: I'm not the best at writing in Spanish, correct me if I write something wrong or incorrect, also I've been gone for a while so I'm a little rusty, please forgive me if it's shitty, ESPECIALLY the smut. If you have any tips I appreciate it, likes and reblogs are welcome!

You woke up with a throbbing in your head, your vision slightly blurred and your skin felt gross with the amount of dried blood that had been caked onto your face under your mask. You looked around, you were tied to a wooden chair and pushed into a small table, a single bright light illuminating the small room. an investigation room?.where were you? You don't remember much but you do remember being sent to plant bugs where the information is sent and getting information on some files...

You held onto the rafters crawling across as quickly and quietly as you could. Trying to reach the vents to crawl through and get right into the main office, you needed to plant a few bugs to get important information about some files and documents.

When you got into the vents you crawled around for a while trying to remember the layout you saw on the map. But you stopped when you heard voices. "-not sure, but whoever they are, they're smart. We gotta find them. They could be useful." another voice. "Maybe they can be persuaded to join our side? Money?" another voice. "tsk- shouldn't give money to a waste of air. How the hell sells out for money?! A disgrace if you ask me." they were talking about you. they wanted to get you on their side? Why? What for? Information? Skill? Or- oh shit.

The vent creaked.

All hell broke loose. Everyone in that room from what you heard got up and scattered to block off your only exits. You had to move fast.

You thought for a moment and chose to take the long way. You kicked open the grate beneath you and drop to the floor below. You ran out of the room. Taking turns. Trying to remember the way out.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Then your luck ran out and you slammed into someone's chest. You might know all their names, but you would be an idiot to not know him.

Ghost.

Then after a moment, he held you tightly the mask over your face becoming suffocating. And your vision began to blur.

He let you go and your head hit the wall, and you finally blacked out.

You didn't have more time to think before the door slammed open and a group of men walked through. They were all eyeing you. A dark hunger in their eyes.

One takes a step forward. You assume he is Captain Price. You try not to flinch as he rips the mask from your head. You still flinched. Some parts of your hair stick to your face. You fight the urge to try and wipe it off. Not wanting to risk taking your eyes off of the group of men that stood in front of you.

"hm-" a man huffed looking at you "When I pictured you, I didn't think you'd be so... Pretty?" a man with a Scottish accent thought out loud, the man next to him chuckled. "Soap, Gaz. Please. Keep it in your pants... For now." Ghost sighed.

Soap. And Gaz. That was their names...

You looked back to Price, he pouts in mock sympathy. Before pulling over a chai and sitting across from you.

"what's your name." he wasn't asking. He was giving you a command. His voice was deep and dripped with authority. In other circumstances, you would've felt flustered. But at this moment you were just scared. You weren't an idiot. These men were all bigger than you. You were a good fighter. But you knew if you tried to fight you would lose. And you didn't want to die here.

You looked up, making eye contact with Price. "I... I'm Bandit." you tried to hold eye contact but it was difficult. It felt like he was looking into the depths of your soul. You looked at your feet. Only to jump when his hand slammed on the table.

A faint, "aw" could be heard. You felt pathetic. "well. Bandit. You don't seem cut out for this kind of work. Too soft. Too jumpy. I don't wanna have to hurt that pretty face. So why don't you just tell me what you know? Confirm who you work for, and why you are on their side. And I might think about letting you go without a scare on you."

You look from him to the men behind him, back to your feet. You couldn't tell them anything. Even if they let you go after this you'll be tracked down. From where you sit. Both end in death. You didn't know these men well. But you knew the men you worked with. They were cruel, and unforgiving, and would skin you alive and leave you for the rats to pick at. You chose to take your chances with these men.

"oh? No longer interested in talking? Fine. But you asked for it. Alejandro. If you wouldn't mind?" Price stood from his chair. And the man Alejandro walked towards you. Your heart rate picked up.

You didn't get a moment to think as a hard smack was sent to the side of your face, fuck did it hurt. You tried to hold in the tears as a whimper escaped you. Blow after blow to your ribs, cheek, legs, and hands. All dealt with the same amount of unforgiving force. Ten minutes in you were a whimpering tear-stained mess. Small gasps of "stop." and "please." you were never cut out for this pain. You had always stayed in the shadows away from the fire. Now you curse yourself for not training your body and pain tolerance.

The strikes stopped and the man named Gaz took a step forward, his hand coming up to your face and you flinch away. He coos at you. Mocking you.

"you poor thing. You just want this to stop." you lightly nod your head as he takes a rag that he dipped in a bucket of freezing water - was that bucket always there? - he softly runs the rag over your face cleaning you of the blood and sweat. Using a hand to move hair from your face. The softness makes you mean into his touch. No longer wanting the painful touch.

"If you want this to stop, all you have to do is tell us what you know. What they know and why. Okay?" your lip trembles, "I can't." you whisper. "It was just meant to be a quick cash grab. I needed to help pay off a debt and this money was meant to help. If I tell you I either end up dead or tracked down and beaten to death later." Gaz looks into your eyes for a moment before they shift to the other men. They all seem to nod their heads, having a secret conversation with themselves. "we can protect you. As long as you work for us instead."

"b-but I don't know anything important about the people who hired me. I-" he and the rest of the men let out low chuckles, "no, we don't mean that kind of work. Just, allow us to show you how you've been wrong and do some... Physical work for us."

"physical work? But I'm not as strong as you guys and I don't have that much pain tolerance when it comes to this stuff and-" you were cut off, "don't worry, you'll get more of a tolerance and you being weaker is just how we like it." you were so focused on trying to put the pieces together to notice the rest of the men closing in on you, "I can see in your pretty eyes that your confused, allow as to make it nice and easy for you to understand."

The ropes around your hands and legs were snapped and you were lifted onto the table. Soap and Alejandro held down your legs, as Ghost and Price help your arms, Gaz worked on unbuckling your belt. After a moment of shock, the pieces finally fell into their place.

You began to struggle. "wait! I- you can't! Let go! Let me go!" Alejandro laughs at your cries, "More vocal now, aren't you pequeña? Just enjoy it. It's better than the pain before isn't it?"

Your pants are now around your knees, you wish you could close your legs or cover them but you can't. "don't worry love, I'll be nice. I'll prepare you a little." Gaz smiles at you as he lowers his head. Pressing a kiss to your clit before taking a long and slow lick up your cunt. "no please!" you struggle to keep yourself composed.

He kisses and sucks lightly on your clit, coaxing more sweet slick to drip from you. You don't wanna like it. You've never felt such pleasure in this way before. You didn't have sex a lot with your job but when you did it was rushed and didn't focus solely on you. But at this moment that was the only thing happening.

You felt him push a finger in, searching for that sweet spot that would make you cry out. And after a moment a gasp from you told Gaz that he had found it. He then pushed in another finger, both pushing against that spongy spot within you, sucking your clit at the same time. Your back arches. Stop it! You don't want this. You don't want to like this. This was wrong. Gross. So why did your body respond so willingly to him?

"she's fighting it." Ghost groans out. Clearly enjoying your sounds of struggle and strangled whimpers.

"awe, com'on hen. Let go. Enjoy it."

You gasp as you feel the knot start to tighten more and more. Don't. Don't you dare. If you do they'll win! You can't! Don't!-

You gasp. you feel a gush of liquid as the knot pulls tight and snaps. You look up, your vision around you blurring as you look into the one light above you. After a beat, you look down between your legs. Gaz's lips, chin, and even his nose were covered in your slick. You felt your face go warm with embarrassment, you had never done that before.

"oh fuck yeah-" Soap groans out and the others make a sound of agreement, all of them now all over you. Your body feels numb and you don't know if you have it in you to struggle. Soap kissed his way up to your chest playing with your chest, Alejandro kissed and left marks on your hips, Price and Ghost kissed your neck and collarbone.

You heard the sound of a belt buckle before feeling something warm, soft, and round rubbing against your entrance. You whimper knowing what's coming.

"oh lovie don't whine like that, you'll almost make me feel bad." Gaz teased slowly pushing in with a soft sigh as you clench around him. He leans over careful of the others and kisses you. The kiss is sickeningly sweet and soft. The soft whine he makes also does no favors in helping you keep your composer.

Soap pulls away with a light, "fuck it" as he makes his way over to the other side undoing his belt, "Hen, mind given me a hand?" you don't really get to respond as he takes your hand and wraps it around his cock, using your hand as a fucktoy the precum oozing and making your hand slick and sticky. "oh, yeah hen~ such a good little pet~" he sighs Alejandro soon joining his making you use both hands, both men grinning as they chase their pleasure.

Gaz thrusts a few times testing to see if you've relaxed a bit more so he could slide in and out easier. Once he was satisfied he pulled away making a motion towards the other men, they all move to the side. Soap and Alejandro stroking their girths, Price and Ghost finally undoing their belts.

You were now laid onto of Gaz as he pushed himself back into your dripping pussy, Soap and Alejandro taking your hands to stroke their cocks again, Price and Ghost finally picking their spots.

Ghost pushes his angry red tip against your plush lips, his eyes giving you a warning to dare and disobey the Silent order. And Price made his way behind you with Gaz, he wasn't as kind as Gaz was he simply spreads your ass apart before spitting and letting his tip do the work of spreading the makeshift lube.

You lick your lips nervously as you slowly open your mouth for the man looming over you. He wastes no time pushing his way into your mouth and thrusting his hips making sure to touch the back of your throat each time. And Price simply pushed in, no warning, no stretch, the burn was painful. It made you whine and sputter around Ghost who was starting up an unforgiving rhythm that would surely leave your throat raw.

The mix of Pain from Price, the pleasure from Gaz and his perfectly arched cock hitting the most sensitive part inside of you, and the lack of oxygen due to Ghost's unforgiving thrusts and the dirty words in your ears from Alejandro and Soap was overwhelming. But fuck was it good.

All these feelings, the fear inside of you, the lust. You just couldn't take it anymore. Fighting would be useless at this point.

You start pumping Soap and Alejandro faster, they both let out a surprised sigh but quickly allow themselves to be taken care of.

"that's it hen, be a good little toy for us~ fuck your so hot hen~"

"Sí, así como así mi amor. Esa es una buena chica, sigue acariciándome así."

Ghost groans with a smirk, you can't see it behind his mask but if you could you'd melt.

"That's it dear, focus on sucking that cock. You like taking my cock, don't you? You'll swallow it all right baby?"

Gaz and Price fucking into you.

"Fucking Slut, you like taking cock huh? you like the way I fuck you? Fuck your tight, never taking it in the ass before huh? Well, you're gonna have to get used to it my little slut."

"Fuck lovie, you're so good for us. You'll be good, right? You'll stay and be our little cock slut? You'll play nice right? Can't wait for the others to see you like this. Such a perfect little pet for us~"

You whimper and moan, Fuck you're gonna cum again. And from the sounds around you, so are they.

In a few moments, Soap lets out a sweet moan and paints the left side of your face white with his cum. The sight made Alejandro groan, you looked so pretty, covering the right side of your face with His cum too. They pull away admiring their work.

Ghost's hips pick up in spread before he slams down holding your head in place, your nose against the ash-blonde happy trail. Cum flowed down your throat, swallowing all you could. He pulls back as you cough and suck in as much air as you could.

Your hands shoot down to hold onto Gaz's shoulders, your moans now free for all to hear. You moan as you feel yourself squirt again all over Gaz's thighs, a moment later feeling both men fill you with their cum. Price was the first to pull out with a low chuckle.

"so what do you say Lovie? Wanna stay with us? I promise we'll give you lots of orgasms~"

Part 2 ->

923 notes · View notes