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sillyswriting · 3 months ago

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: ̗̀➛ small town johnny 'soap' mactavish

cw : smut, johnny wears rings and necklaces, chubby reader but that usual, pan johnny but that also his usual

ㅤㅤ ㅤ collection

those stupid fucking rings.

it drove you mad to see them all the time. they had appeared out of nowhere and never left. it was hard enough to concentrate when he was around, but this was the last straw.

you didn't remember when johnny had started to become a constant in your life; it was a small town, after all. word had spread that a handsome scottish soldier had settled down for good. it wasn’t a cliché—small countryside towns truly loved to gossip.

"heard he got shot in the head," you overheard two old ladies gossiping one day.

the other only chuckled, shaking her head. "if that were true, he’d be dead."

truth was, he had been shot in the head—just lucky enough for it to miss anything vital. he bore a nasty-looking scar on the left side of his scalp, a relic of the past he wore like a badge of honor. it got him plenty of attention, and the bastard basked in it.

old ladies loved his accent as well. everything about him was adored by the old folks of the town. well, not just the old ones. young women, and men, fawned over him just as much. something new happening in a small village like this was always a big deal.

it was also undeniable that he was truly handsome. and genuinely nice. he helped around a lot, taking every small job that popped up. a roof needing fixing? he showed up with his tools the next day. a construction site needing another set of hands to finish on time? he was waiting at the gate, a coffee in hand, the following morning.

he never complained, a smile always on his lips.

and as the proud owner of the only coffee shop in town, you saw him almost every morning since he set foot here.

at first, he was just another nice face you'd see every day. truth was, your job was a bit boring. you saw the same people every day, ordering the exact same things, never wavering from their usual.

and then johnny became special. he had been dead set on tasting everything you had to offer. every day was a new coffee order and a new pastry until he had tried them all. sometimes, he'd even stop by to try your sandwiches for lunch. before long, you started slipping free little sweets into his orders—he was your number one fan, after all, always eager to try the new batches. even the messed-up ones.

you paid it no mind. sure, he was attractive, but you were convinced you weren’t his type. even if he flirted with you every chance he got, you figured that was just who he was—a flirt.

oh, how he hated how oblivious you were.

so, he came in one morning with rings on his fingers. that had hardwired your brain. you still didn't how it was possible to lost all your composure like this, but it had been embarrassing. the way they just sat on his fingers just right had made it hard for you to focus on anything else.

you had stuttered, lost your train of thought entirely, your words fumbling out of your mouth like a damn fool. your eyes couldn’t focus on anything but his hands, tracing over the silver bands like they held some kind of forbidden power over you. it had been pathetic.

but god, did johnny enjoy it.

the way your breath hitched, the way your fingers fumbled with the register, the way your gaze kept flickering back to his hands like they were some kind of sin you weren’t supposed to be looking at. he noticed every little thing, and it fed his ego like nothing else.

he loved the way red dusted your cheeks and neck. he exaggerated every movement, gesturing more than usual, just to keep your eyes locked on his hands. every time you caught yourself staring and quickly looked away, he had to fight back a smirk.

even if he wanted to take credit, he couldn't. back when he was scheming ways to make you notice him, he remembered something some drunk lad had slurred at him in a pub.

"ya got real pretty hands, man," the guy slurred, words tumbling out of his mouth. "should—should decorate 'em, y'know? few rings here 'n there... they'd make... the perfect necklace."

that had been one of the best compliments, and johnny had made sure to thank the guy by fucking him so sweetly. it had been a really good night.

he hadn’t expect it to go this well.

that had been a couple of weeks ago, and even now, you still had trouble tearing your eyes away from his hands—especially as he tasted the new recipe you had made that morning.

it was fairly early, the world still buried in the quiet of the morning. but you knew johnny was an early bird—always the first customer of the day. he would linger, sipping his coffee, chatting, killing time until it was time for him to get on with his day. you usually didn't mind. but right now, you just wished he would leave.

the sight was unholy.

sugar clung to his fingers, and he moaned as he brought them to his lips, tasting the pastry for the first time. it was still warm, the flavors bursting on his tongue. he swore you had to be a witch—everything you made was downright sinful.

that was enough to send heat rushing to your face, a strange, unwelcome sensation pooling between your legs. but just as if he could see straight into the wicked fantasies echoing in your mind, he licked his fingers—slow, deliberate—his eyes never leaving yours.

and as if nothing had happened, he left to start his day, while you were left hot and bothered, the feeling lingering far longer than you'd like to admit.

that night, lying in your bed, your hand might have drifted past the waistband of your panties, thoughts of him flooding your mind. it felt good—too good—but it did nothing to satisfy the ache buried deep inside you.

here and there, you decided two could play this game.

when he arrived the next day, johnny stopped dead in his tracks. here you were, looking prettier than ever. don't get him wrong, you were always pretty, but this was a sight heaven worth.

you were wearing a pretty floral blouse, just a size too small. it hugged your curves in all the right ways, pressing against your chest, making it seem like your breasts might spill out at any moment. the fabric clung to the soft swell of your stomach, and johnny felt the blood rush straight to his cock at the mere sight of you.

his semi-hard cock turned fully stiff the moment he noticed the skirt hugging your hips just right, giving him a perfect view of your exposed thighs.

it didn't help that you were perched over the counter, wiping it down. johnny felt like icarus, flying too close to the sun. but if this was the price for burning his wings, he'd do it again without hesitation.

looking up, you gave him that soft smile, the same one you greeted him with every morning. but johnny was too preoccupied with making sure you didn’t notice the growing bulge in his trousers to catch the mischievous glint in your eyes.

he left as quickly as he had arrived, mumbling something about an emergency. technically, he wasn’t lying. the moment he got home, he fisted his cock with a desperate urgency, replaying the sight of you over and over in his mind until he was utterly spent.

he had felt filthy after it, like he’d done something wrong. yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop picturing you—naked, beneath him, moaning his name so sweetly. he was done for. completely gone.

he had to make a move, and soon. before he lost his damn mind.

that was how you’d found yourself sitting across from him in the only restaurant in town. it wasn’t anything fancy—more family-friendly than romantic—but it was enough.

he had rushed in that morning, eyes locked on yours with a determination that left no room for argument. he didn’t ask; he told you. he was taking you out tonight. no hesitation. no chance to say no.

it had been the first time he’d walked into your shop and left without buying anything.

it had been a lovely meal, your eyes grazing over his hands here and there. it almost seemed like he had more rings on than before.

he talked—a lot. he told you everything. about his childhood, scotland, the army, his friends, his task force, the accident. every little detail, like he wanted you to know him, truly know him.

and once you started sharing, he listened—really listened. he soaked up every detail you trusted him with, tucking them away like they were precious. how your mother had been hard on you growing up, how college had drained you until you finally dropped out and settled here, how you had met the kind old man who owned the coffee shop before you.

every little piece of your story, he kept close, unwilling to let any of it slip away.

this date—because johnny insisted it was one—felt different. you could see it in his eyes: real interest. it wasn’t like the other dates you’d been on recently, the ones where the only goal had been a warm body for the night.

you weren’t naive; you knew johnny wanted you. but for the first time in a long time, you were sure he didn’t just want to fuck you.

so when he kissed you on your doorstep, you let him.

raw passion—that’s what it was. johnny was nasty with it, all tongue and needy groans, like a starving man finally getting his first taste. like a dog that had waited long enough. it was perfect.

you had spent night after night imagining how he would be, and, of course, he shattered every last trace of your imagination—effortlessly.

the sheer force of him had turned you on instantly. he had lifted you into his arms like you weighed nothing, carrying you to the bed before tossing you onto it with ease. he looked like a savage warrior claiming his prize after a long, ruthless hunt.

as he pulled his shirt over his head and joined you on the bed, your eyes zeroed in on his neck. two necklaces swung with his movements, the soft clinking of metal filling the space between you. dog tags and a small cross—tokens of his past, his faith.

his fucking jewelry.

the sound that left you was somewhere between a moan and a whine, your thighs pressing together instinctively.

"love the jewelry, bonnie?" johnny mocked, his smirk sharp, teasing—knowing.

he was on you a second later, kissing you again, deep and hungry. the cold of his dangling chains met your cleavage, sending a shiver down your spine. you never knew something so small could turn you on, but then again, you’d never been this bothered before.

it felt rushed, your clothes disappearing quickly along with his, both lost somewhere on your bedroom floor as you explored each other with eager hands and hungry mouths.

"please, bonnie, i need ye," johnny whined when your hand wrapped around his hard cock.

you hadn't even done much, just gripped him a little, and he was already falling apart, whining so sweetly in your ear. how you ever thought this man wasn’t interesting was beyond you.

"please, baby, let me put it in," he begged again, his accent was thicker than ever, sending a shock straight between your legs. you swore you could come just from the sound of his voice alone.

his fingers sliding through your slick folds, feeling just how ready you were for him. "promise i'll tak' ma time wi ye later, but right now... please, i need ye."

it was pathetic, but you were no better.

entering you felt like knocking on heaven's door. johnny swore he died right then and there, only to come back to life in your warmth. nothing had ever felt like this before.

all the softness your body had to offer contrasted against his solid one, making it the perfect mix. his hands kept roaming over your legs, feeling your thighs, your hips, your stomach rolls—god, everything about you was just soft. he had to stop his movements for a second, scared of ruining it by coming too soon—like a damn teenager.

you had whined at his impromptu stop, and he had apologized with a hard thrust and a sweet kiss on your neck. as his movements picked up, your brain shut down—everything else faded away. all you could do was feel him. the heat of his stomach pressed against yours, the way his thighs slapped against you, the deep grunts and breathless praises spilling from his lips.

it was all too much, yet somehow, not enough.

in your hazy state, you grabbed his left hand—the one adorned with more rings—guiding it up until it rested against your neck. your own fingers wrapped around his, applying pressure, silently passing him the message.

johnny groaned at the silent request, his breath hitching as he tightened his grip just enough to make your eyes flutter.

"fuck, bonnie," he rasped, his thumb grazing your pulse, feeling how wildly it beat for him.

the sight of you beneath him, desperate for more, for him, sent a shiver down his spine. he squeezed a little harder, watching your lips part in a silent moan, your body arching into his like you couldn’t get close enough.

it had been the last straw for you—your body arched as a shattering orgasm ripped through you. the heat and tightness of you sent johnny over the edge, his own release crashing into him. his body gave out, and he collapsed, crushing you beneath him.

you moaned at the feeling, your cunt squeezing him still buried deep inside you. he groaned in response, his hands gripping your hips with a mix of possessiveness and tenderness. he never wanted to let you go.

and god, the fucker had been right. his hands were the perfect necklace.

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