#Cod Soap x reader

[gazstations]

Fatum signatum, Canis esuriens

CHAPTER TWO - anima mea turbata

ᯓᡣ𐭩 CHAPTER SUMMARY

You try to outrun Johnny, but he latches on. He also finds out that being home doesn't particularly mean peace as the past is surrounding him.

♡ Chapter Warnings: Implied abusive childhood, family issues, Johnny still doesn't know how to take no for an answer

◇ Notes: I love writing dark!Johnny, so much. I love that he just has one slightly off-putting vibe that everyone hates.

○●○ SERIES MASTERLIST ♡ PREV ♡ NEXT

NAVIGATION MASTERLIST

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

YOU FLEW THE ROOST THE VERY NEXT DAY.

It perturbed Johnny, really. Brought out a shimmering heat in the thick of his bloodstream when you pretended he didn’t exist in your world anymore. He always existed in your body, down to the deep rotten core of you. He was a foundation. A structural column that molded you into who you were today.

That date you promised him seemed to have floated away from your brain. It made Johnny pinch his eyebrows together and subtly curl his lip into one of disdain. Had you only agreed to get him off your back? Oh, doe, that wasn't going to work with him.

He was a leech.

He'd just keep siphoning until you were nothing more than a husk. And he really didn't want to scare you. He wanted his sweet little doe docile and sweet. If he could have you on your terms, then he would prefer that. Even if he had to woo you first. Anything for you.

Church was as montonous and mudane as he remembered. He lingered in the very back row closer to the corner and pretended to be surprised when he saw familiar faces blink into existence.

Old Miss Hannigan was still frail and somehow zippy as she paraded down the center aisle with eager footsteps. She wore a dress straight out of the 1800s. Johnny could almost guarantee it still smelled of dust and cedar wood from sitting in the closet a long time.

Then there was Ziggy. Johnny used to volunteer during the Thursday street markets with him. They'd whip out a mean burger or corndog. By the end of the day, Johnny always smelled like barbecue. It was his least favorite day.

He was the first person Johnny lost contact with after he deployed for the first time. Replaced. By the scrawny, anxious youngest son of the Maguire family. What a fucking load of bullshit.

Johnny sunk further into the pew when he saw his parents. The little boy in him cowered in shame still, while the fully grown adult cursed those two people that brought him into this world. It was a plethora of reactions that Johnny didn’t do well with. Instinctively, he wanted to seek absolution from them. Now, he wasn't so sure he'd be able to hold his tongue.

He frowned. His slouched, guarded posture thankfully deterred lollygaggers from sitting anywhere near him. Though, lucky for him, the 4 back rows always remained unattended. it was easy to slip away into the shadows and observe.

Yet, the moment he saw your glowy form enter the church, his mind started working. He watched as you offered a hug to Ziggy's sister, who still lingered by the entrance. His eyes half-lidded as you dipped your fingers into the bowl of holy water and made your sign of the cross. You were a sweet little thing as you started to gravitate towards the front of the church.

You were at the other end of the pew, waiting to navigate around a clustered family. Your hands were folded politely in front of you as you let them finish their conversation. Always the patient doe. Aren't you, bon?

Johnny was sliding down the legnthy bench seat before he could stop himself. You hadn’t noticed him yet, probably not see the danger while you were under the eyes of God. Even though he had already found you again in this very location. He needed you to sharpen your environmental awareness.

“Doe…” he spoke, and he watched you go rigid. Your fright didn't please him as much today. Instead, it made him grimace.

“Johnny?” You hissed quietly when his large hand enclosed on your bicep. You continued smiling, though, so that people didn't start looking too much. “What are you doing here?”

“Told ye, doe. Ah'm a changed lad,” Johnny said cooly. “Dinnae look so surprised. Ye ken ah was comin' again.”

Your eyes analyzed him closely. He at least had the audacity to dress nice for church, and he noticed your eyes unconsciously check him out. It made him preen like a bloody peacock, and he sat up a bit straighter in your gaze.

“Sit with me,” Johnny offered, but it really wasn't up for debate. He was already pulling you into the pew while you were pulling back.

“I sit in the front, Johnny,” you said and he made a “tsk” sound.

“Ah ken. One day in the back isnae going tae kill ye,” Johnny insisted. “Ye can have the folks think yer doin' charity if it helps.”

He watched you blow air out in exasperation. You knew you couldn’t fight him. He would just cling on and leech from your warm blood more. He loved your sweetness. It was easy to get underneath and choke the life out.

“Joh-”

You slid into the pew with a sigh, and he immediately had his arm around your shoulders. He was not shy like you. He wanted to show you off as his girl all the time. He found it best when you were secured against his side.

You started to complain, and Johnny shushed you quickly. “Easy, doe. Dinnae fash. Ah ken ye get cold in here.”

You slouched, by default that meant into him. He chuckled lowly and maneuvered you back towards the end of the pew closest to the corner. He knew people naturally skipped over the back pews, so it would be safer if both of you were further away. He had to make his pretty little doe comfortable, after all.

“Reckon we can ‘ave our date tonight, aye?” Johnny spoke.

“I have plans tonight,” you dismissed, and Johnny frowned.

No, that wasn't good.

“Plans?” He hummed. He looked down at you, and you shielded your gaze. “Doin' what?”

Johnny's plan wasn't to isolate you. That created resentment, and he didn't want you to resent him. That wasn’t fun. He wanted you to crave his touch just as you used to when he had you pinned in the back of his shitty Ford. Your babbles were music to his ears.

Last time you turned sour, the whole tree wilted. He lost contact with you for 7 years. He wasn't going to do that again. Yet, he was an impatient man, and you were resisting his advances. What was he supposed to do? Grin and bear it? He was not a good man. He didn't wait. He took selfishly from the ripest bunch.

“Girl’s night.” You muttered after a moment.

“Aye. Cannae miss a night with the lasses,” Johnny replied. “Ye gonna drink?”

“Maybe,” you shrugged.

“Can ah give ye a ride then?” Johnny asked.

You turned your head, blinking. You must've believed you had at least one day to yourself. Surely, Johnny wouldn't impede on girl's night. Not technically. He wasn't going to tarnish your fun. But what kind of man would he be if he didn't help you get home safely?

He was just showing you how chivalrous he was. You wouldn't get hurt if he helped you.

“I was just going to Uber,” you said in dismissal.

Johnny shook his head. He turned sideways in the pew and made you look at him. His finger touched the bottom of your chin as he observed you for a moment.

“Jus' wannae make sure my doe is safe,” he replied softly. “Ye dinnae need tae waste money on some ride.”

In another lifetime, those words would be intended to flatter. To charm innocently and prompt a further relationship. For Johnny, they were dripping possession and revealing the not so innocent mindset he had towards you. He simply believed he had the right to you because he deemed it so.

“We may be out pretty late.” You tried to deter, and he just shrugged.

“Tha's fine. Ah stay up,” Johnny said. He wasn't going to let you extend those sweet legs of yours and scramble away. Not anymore.

Your eyebrows pinched together. “Okay, fine. You can give me a ride.”

He could practically taste the anxiety on you. He noticed the way your head turned slightly as if trying to spy a good Samaritan to help you. It was adorable, really. You were trying so hard to fool him, to throw him off your scent. But he had a lock jaw. Once the canines sunk in, not even a kick to the head could shake him off.

Johnny was pleased, to say the least. He leaned back into the pew and spread out his legs, his lip curling into a small smirk. “Good girl,” he murmured, and he watched your body tense up with sick satisfaction.

You really had made a mistake humoring the man who had seen you at your most exposed. Who knew just the right way to get that honeyed pleasure to flip in pitch and waver. He remembered the hitch in your breath, the way you babbled so sweetly.

Fuck. He had missed you.

He adjusted his hips with a soft sigh, and you finally looked over at him with an incredulous look. You knew why he was adjusting, and you were obviously revolted.

He leaned down to your ear, “Dinnae fash, doe. Ah willnae try anythin’ under God’s nose.”

You side-eyed him. You were doubtful, he could tell. You knew better than to fall tor his rancid lies, but that didn't mean he wouldn't try to trap you by his side. He was a liar, sure. He would bend you over this pew if he had to.

The only reason he didn't was because he wanted you to be compliant. While his core burned, aching for a satiation, he played the long game. He lost you already by being a mutt that was lost in the throes of its rutting. This time, he knew better.

There was nothing sweeter than a doe that slowly succumbed to the gnashing teeth on their own.

The opening song began, and Johnny suddenly felt like a little boy again. But he was a soldier. If he had to sit still for an hour next to you to prove something, he would.

He noted the way you didn’t move his hand when it naturally fell upon the fat of your thigh.

♡◇♡

Getting in discretely was the easy part. Getting out while the God truthers mingled in the front entrance and out in the front lawn proved to be a challenge. It had been years since Johnny had found himself in this orbit, yet he doubted anyone forgot his face.

He was the troublemaker. The teenager who turned his nose up at social etiquette and instead danced to his own tune. He was the one who found the chemical benefits of marijuana at fifteen and got the McLeary boys addicted. The one that acted out in class and spent more time in trouble than he ever did learning.

He was one that disappointed his family when he put pen to paper and recruited himself into the military.

He was the bane of most people’s existence because he was also deeply charming. Got along with most people, could sweet talk and pamper, and was always willing to help out. It was a contradiction most of the time. He knew and acknowledged that one small synapse in his head was misfiring, and he relished in it.

He was brought out of his humbled thoughts when a voice broke over the crowd.

“John MacTavish, wha’ are ye doin, ‘ere?”

Johnny stiffened, hand curling around the meat of your bicep as he turned only his upper body. The sense of accomplishment he had felt while being by your side faded into the chasm while a more dominating presence took hold. A helpless little boy and a retired SAS soldier fought against each other as his ice blue eyes narrowed and there was the smallest bob of his Adam's apple.

“Da…” He said tersely. He had not wished for this interaction today. Naively, he had hoped seeing his parents walking down that center aisle would be the only time.

“Ye got some nerve showing yer face after seven years,” his dad, William, seethed with barely subdued distaste.

“Aye. Ken ah'm like the devil rising in yer eyes,” Johnny quipped back. “Just accompanying my doe. Dinnae fash.”

William's eyes flickered over to you, judgment seeping from every clogged pore on his body. You shifted on your feet uncomfortably as you were affected by the growing tension. Everyone with ears knew of the fallout in the MacTavish family.

“Yer datin’?” William asked you.

You averted your gaze for a moment, and Johnny sensed the protest building on your sweet lips. He immediately frowned, pressing himself into you more. Just like a doting boyfriend would do.

“Tha’s none o’ yer business,” Johnny snapped. “Doe's business with me is ‘er secret.”

William grimaced. Johnny stood up straighter. He had taken down dozens of terrorists and the biggest pieces of shit one could imagine. He had long grown past the days of being the bug beneath his dad's shoes. He knew better now.

He was stronger. Not that scared little boy that begged God for a way out.

“Kick ‘im tae the curb,” William pleaded you. “Ye willnae be happy with ‘im, lass.”

“Thank you for the advice, William,” you said politely. Not one for starting conflict. Are you, Doe?

William seemed appeased by that remark, or he just simply didn't have the energy to ramble more about why John MacTavish was hell on earth to be around. His own father thought he was the scum of the earth. A rotten, no good fruit on a tree.

He would be right. Johnny had a habit of spreading that sickness.

“Guid talk. See ya never. Hopefully.” Johnny said, pinching your arm and guiding you down the steps of the church.

By now, people would know he was back in town. It was obnoxious. Though, he also relished in the fact he caused enough upheaval with his mere presence. People spouted a lot of shit about not caring about him, but they sure did talk about him a lot.

“Bloody bampot.” He muttered once the both of you were far enough.

“Johnny…” you started, but he was already dragging you towards his car.

“C'mon, doe. Ah'm famished.”

You were a subdued creature as he herded you into the passenger's seat. He batted your hands away when they tried to secure your seatbelt on their own. He wasn't in the mood for you acting all independent right now. He was hungry and deflated, even if he would rather die than admit the latter feeling.

His dad always had a way of sucking the life out of him. It's why he left as soon as the military gave him the green light. He didn't particularly enjoy the idea that he'd have to confront some aspect of his upbringing.

He wasn't that dopey eyed twenty year old that finally left for good when he got sent on his first tour, after two years of grinding in training. He wasn't some small little ant in a giant's world anymore. He survived a fucking bullet to the head, for christ's sake.

Johnny climbed into the driver's seat, letting out a soft sigh. The one thing that never changed was his need to eat. It was even better having you join him.

“Bet yer famished, too,” he spoke as he peeled out of the church parking lot. Bloody hell, he hated that place.

“Oh. I suppose. I don't need to go out, I'll just eat something at home,” you deflected. You were tense. It made an annoyance bubble in his core.

“Dinnae fash,” Johnny brushed it off. “Ah love treatin’ ye. Gotta get yer belly full ‘fore ye drink.”

You just slumped on your seat, likely knowing you couldn’t argue. You knew that about everything. You wouldn't be here if you had some form of self-preservation or even respect.

Perfect for him, yet bad for you.

He dropped his hand onto your upper thigh, squeezing it gently.

°•○●○•°

TAGLIST

@callsignpxnguin @sushi-enthusiast @niresenrab @tired-writer04 @shhitskinkytime @babybatreads @armycaratlover

If you would like to be added for future chapters, let me know!

[undercoveravenger]

Room in The Den

Pairing: Hybrid!141 x Male!Reader

A/N: Intended as an early-stages poly relationship, but could also be interpreted as platonic.

Part 2 -> Click here

-----

It’s a bullshit new law that does it. Some asshole lawmakers deciding that just because there’s some small fraction of animal DNA in them that they can’t do their jobs right without “an actual person” watching over them that gets you assigned to the 141.

Sure, joining a team that elite is an honor, but it’s something you’d have wanted by your own merits, not just because someone who’d never seen real combat in their lives thought your new colleagues needed someone fully human to reel them in. 

You’ve seen their numbers - they don’t need you and you’re sure as hell they don’t want you encroaching on the bond that their experiences have fostered between them. That’s why you come in expecting the animosity. 

You were right. Captain Price is cordial enough, he shakes your hand without crushing it and says he’s eager to work with you but his smile doesn’t meet his eyes and the terseness in his voice tells you he’s just saying it to be polite. He’s run this task force long enough to know how to do his job without you there. His Lieutenant doesn’t even grant you that. The sergeants seem wary and you don't blame them but you know that it’s better to be someone like you that knows their worth than one of the holier-than-thou bureaucrats they’d been considering assigning to this post, so you’ll just have to try to find your place in the team.

-----

Soap is the easiest to win over. He finds you in the gym one night long after everyone else had retired back to their bunks, ripping through reps at the bench press without a spotter. He’s thrown for a minute, used to being the only one up this late since the rest of the squad is mostly diurnal, but he’s content enough to admire the way your compression shirt is darkened with sweat and to watch your muscles shift with each movement. Can feel himself drooling a little at the spice of your scent, heady and masculine and tempting enough to make him want to bite.

 He wonders a little, whether you’d be able to keep up with him and he can’t help the steady pace his tail picks up behind him as he decides he’s going to find out.

You’ve got your eyes closed and earbuds in like you’re the only one for miles and yet you still seem to sense him as he drops his bag and moves to stand near you. 

“S’dangerous,” he says as you re-rack your weights and pull an earbud out, “To lift without someone to spot you.” 

You nod, it’s one of the biggest rules of gym safety for a reason, but you’d never been great with rules. “Never much liked askin’ for help,” you admit after a minute. “Didn’t wanna bother anyone.”

He hums, and you don’t feel judged, just understood, “Well, you’re stuck with the lot o’ us now, whether you like it or not,” he grins, wolfish and happy, and moves to stand at the head of the bench to spot you, “Bother away.” And just like that, you’ve got yourself a new workout buddy.

It’s like he’s your self appointed shadow after that, waiting outside your door every morning with a freshly made protein shake in each hand, one for each of you. He’ll get all whiny about it too if you say no, pointy wolf ears drooping and tail falling still behind him. He looks like he’s about to cry until you finally relent and take yours from him (he perks up right away every time, the little faker). Eventually you learn that it’s easier to just take it from him without the fight and let him ramble on about whatever he’d seen on tiktok the night before as he walks you to your office.

He joins you for meals too, complains about the amount of food on your plate and scoops bites off his own plate to supplement yours despite your protests. His Ma had always told him growin’ up that he had to eat plenty of protein if he wanted to be big and strong and protect his pack, so he’s just tryin’ to do the same for you and doesn’t understand why you feel the need to argue about sharing food.

You’re part of his pack now, and Soap’ll be damned before he neglects one of his packmates, just don’t be surprised if he starts bullying his way into your room at night too - he’s a cuddler.

-----

Gaz warms up to you next, though he always blames the blood loss if someone asks what won him over. He’d joined you and Soap for your evening workouts a few times, and grinned at each other when you passed in the halls, but it’s not until the morning after a brutal op that he really starts to see you as part of the team.

It’s early. Barely three-thirty in the morning when the heli touches down and maybe only four when the squad tumbles through the doors but you’re right there with the rest of them. Price is already headed down to the administrative wing for a debrief and Ghost has a snoring Soap over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes on his way to the barracks, and then there’s just the two of you.

You’ve got one of Gaz’s arms over your shoulder and an arm heavy around his waist, tucked snug under his bleeding wing, taking most of his weight as you help him limp through the halls. You hang a left instead of the right that would lead to the infirmary, instead guiding him into your office. You sweep whatever paperwork had been on your desk aside, and help him up to sit, legs hanging off one side of your desk and wings cascading over the other.

You’re quick to shrug off the outer layer of your tactical gear and cast it aside, pulling out a sizable med kit from under your desk and settling on your knees in front of him. You ask him if it’s okay, before you help ease his cargo pants down enough to get to the wound on his thigh and he finds himself taken aback since their usual medic would just muscle them off or cut them away to get at it. You wait until he nods to start tugging at the fabric, fingers careful and intent as you work the material free from the torn flesh. 

He watches as your gaze flickers over the wound and you reach for what you need without even looking. He’s been told his eyes are intense before, it’s normal for bird of prey hybrids, perhaps especially so for golden eagle hybrids like him, but he’s never quite understood the way people describe being pinned in place by his gaze until now. 

You work fast, sterilizing, stitching, and then bandaging his wound with a speed that would rival the military doctors in the infirmary, and the stitches seem more sturdy than he can remember his last ones being. 

Once you’re satisfied with his leg, you stand and move behind him to get a better look at his wing. He'd taken a bullet to it, right through the meat of the muscle, and he knew he’d be grounded a long while until it healed. You hesitated then, unsure if he’d be okay with you touching such a personal area as his wings. 

Gaz swallows hard, trying to think of the last time someone other than himself had handled his wings, and nudges it back into your hands. You’re remarkably gentle, he thinks, as your fingers card delicately through rich caramel feathers until you’re able to uncover the bullet hole. You use a pair of tweezers, to make sure that there are no lingering bits of shrapnel, and a tiny set of scissors to trim back any of the soft downy feathers that could catch in the wound as it heals. 

He’s started churring by the time you’re done, a sort of contented trill from the feeling of someone else preening his wings, despite the lingering pain from the injuries. His golden eyes snap back to focus as you nudge a water bottle and granola bar into his hands with a muttered apology that it was all you had on hand, and he’s still plenty happy because you’re trying to be part of his flock by preening him and providing for him. He churs the whole while as you guide him back to his room and help him into bed.

Gaz quickly becomes a regular participant of you and Soap’s late night gym sessions and joins you for mealtimes once in a while after that night.

-----

Truthfully, you still don’t know what convinced Ghost you were worth knowing, but he supposes that’s because you hadn’t known he was there. He’d been on his way to deliver a mission report from Price to one of the other admin when one of his rounded ears caught the sound of your raised voice. His curiosity drew him to the door, cracked just enough that he was able to see you stood across a table from a trio of generals, arms crossed and back straight. 

“I appreciate your congratulations,” you growled, and Ghost was taken aback by the ferocity in your voice. He’d never heard you speak like that before, not even in the field. “But I am not the one who should be hearing it.”

His ears prick forward, tugging against the thick fabric of his mask as he listened closer, intrigued. 

“With all due respect, Major, task force 141-” one of the pencil pushers started.

“No,” you interrupted, hands coming down hard on the desk between you and the other officers, “They are due the commendations. They are the ones who built this team from the ground up. Sure, there have been successful missions since my joining, but those are not only my achievements. If you want to offer a public congratulations on a successful operation, it will be to my entire team, not just the picture you think would be easiest to publish.”

With that, you turn from the board of your superior officers and head for the door, ignoring their protests, and Ghost has to scramble back in order to avoid being hit with the door. 

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” you say as you see him, moving out of his way. “Didn’t see you there,” and for once that doesn’t sound like some slight against his panther genetics, just a plain statement - he’d been behind the door and you hadn’t meant to nearly clip him with it. You clap him on the shoulder and head off down the hall back toward your office and Ghost is tempted to drop the file where he stands to follow you, one simple interaction you hadn’t meant for him to see enough to convince him there was far more to you than he’d thought. 

You weren’t just some babysitter added to their little family to observe them like they were no more than wild animals - you actually saw their worth and were willing to fight for it?

An amused little huff escapes him and Ghost forces his attention back to the task at hand, spotted tail lashing smoothly behind him as he turns and continues on his way, sharp claws digging puncture wounds into the folder he’d been sent to deliver and your words ringing in his mind.  

----

Price was the last to come around to you being a part of their little family, though he’d never been outright hostile the way Ghost had at first. He’d done his best to be professional with you, complying with the needed paperwork and taking your insights on each operation under consideration, though he never deliberately sought you out. 

That didn’t mean he could avoid you when the team had a mission though, especially not now with the five of you piled into a much-too-small cabin in the mountains near where intel suggested one of Makarov’s bases were. Laswell had just radioed in to let Price know there was a snowstorm incoming so evac might be delayed and to expect to hunker down at least another two nights.

With only two bedrooms and a total of three small beds between them, you’d volunteered to take up roost on the lumpy couch in the living room so he’s not surprised to see you there, so much as he is by your company. You’re sprawled out in about the middle of the couch with Gaz tucked comfortably against your side, your arm around his shoulder and one of his wings curling around the both of you. As Gaz’s wing shifts, Price notices Soap curled against your legs, snoring away, but he freezes as he sees Ghost.

Everyone on the team has gone through hell, but Price knows Ghost has dealt with more than his share. Nightmares aren’t uncommon for any of them, but for Ghost a decent night’s sleep was an incredible rarity. That’s why he’s so startled to see Ghost stretched comfortably along the rest of the couch with his head on your lap and his face nuzzled into your stomach, skull mask gone in favor of his more casual balaclava, and his breathing deep and even.

A pleased little huff escapes Price, warmth spreading in his chest at the sight of his three favorite people curled up together happy and comfortable. And if you were part of that? Well, there was plenty of room for one more in that old bear’s heart.

[gothghostiie]

soap who watches pornstar!reader religiously, he cannot help but want to get his hands on you and show you what a real man fucks you like, instead of these stupid actors. he knows youd never just say yes if a random fan asked you to collab so what does he do?

he makes an onlfyfans too and speedruns his way to the fucking top, to the point it would be stupid of you to decline him.

[ilostthewar]

Omega!Reader trying to bond with pack!141 through grooming.

It’s obvious, but Johnny and Gaz fall into this much easier. Soap is a fellow Omega, so he gets the urge you’re having. Gaz is a beta, and while his instincts are a bit different, he’s completely fine with being cared for this way. Soap likes it best when you play with his hair. He might not let you shave him, he insists that it’s an art that is incredibly difficult to master Gaz is rolling his eyes the entire time. But Johnny wants you to oil his hair, play with the strands, deep condition them. Soap is the first to complain about the size of the showers cause how is he supposed to be lovingly scrubbed by your hands if the bathrooms are the size of a tiny closet? Even if he complains, it doesn’t stop him from wanting to bathe with you. Especially early in the morning when you’re both a little drowsy and the water is still hot, he can lock his arms around you and lay his face in your neck, pressing lazy kisses to your gland. It makes your scent fill the steamy room, like a sauna specifically made for him.

Gaz is in a similar boat. Grease his scalp, help detangle his hair. He likes that you keep products specifically for his hair type. He ultimately prefers lying with his head in your lap, or with you straddling his thighs, gently working lotion into his face with the tips of your fingers. He likes doing face masks with you, as long as they aren’t the pulling kind. Enjoys you gently spreading the paste over his cheeks, and you always peck his lips afterwards. However long the masks take, he simply sits with you. He likes that afterwards you’ll use a warm cloth to gently wipe it all away until his skin is clean. Kyle doesn’t really feel the need to steal your time or attention, but he willingly admits that he would bite someone if they tried to interrupt this time with you. Kyle is constantly moving, so it’s more than nice to have his pretty omega fretting over him and ensuring his comfort. When you both are finished, you’ll rub your face against his and purr so sweetly and he would do anything to get to have this all the time.

John takes a bit more convincing. He’s a busy man, and while he gets what you’re trying to do, he has trouble wiggling the time in for extensive spa treatments. At first it’s simply being around while he gets ready. Sitting on the toilet lid while he goes through his routine, or sprawled in his bed while he gets dressed. Eventually, you can start to help once you notice the rhythm, buttoning up his shirts, helping tuck them in. Pulling him around by his belt to steal kisses while you fix his collar. Though John’s absolute favorite is when he sits you on the sink and you help him trim his beard. Your hands are firm and gentle, moving in steady motions, pulling the skin taught before swiping the razor. It’s quiet and almost reverent. And when you’re done, aftershave applied and items cleaned and put away, you’ll just press against his jaw and neck. Maybe he can spare a few minutes.

Simon is probably the hardest one to bond with in this way. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, but some days are harder than others to have so much direct attention layered on him from his pack. It starts small. Simply ensuring his gear is in place, gently pulling his mask to cover his skin, maybe scenting an item of his clothing so he can have you with him all day. Peeling his gloves off to rub lotion into his hands when you both are sitting together, massaging the muscle until it twitches and relaxes. Sliding your hand under his mask to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. They seem like smaller gestures, but it’s in the way Ghost will lean into you and allow you to continue. How he searches you out when he’s had a long day. Eventually he’ll end up splayed across your body, and he swears he’s not asleep, but you’d beg to differ with his air horn snoring.

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

The way Soap would use military talk to get a reaction from you. He knows you're into it. So you're standing in the kitchen, maybe cooking something and you can hear his raspy voice from behind the corner "Got visuals on the target" and you're already grinning, wisely putting down anything that could make a mess. You hear slight shuffling and a whispered "Nice and stealthy boys", the next thing you know is him tackling you and immediately catching you in his arms, carefully lowering you to the floor. He crawls over you rasping: "Hostage secured", and presses his lips to yours but you both have to laugh. And it ends up being a messy kiss because you both can't stop giggling and grinning into the kiss. And when he breaks away because you're both smiling so wide it's just impossible to properly kiss, you put your hand on his chest and tell him: "You're a goof MacTavish". His smile softens and he replies: "Aye, your goof, that is."

[joonieskinks]

johnny soap mactavish who’s the g o d of after care

- likes to hold you close immediately after

- as in, you’re not going anywhere for 5 minutes, just gotta sit here under his weight and let him kiss your neck soothingly

- just wants to make sure you feel loved and cared for after he’s been especially rough with you

- cause although it feels good for both of you to be hard and fast, he definitely wants to take some time making sure you’re okay when winding down

- johnny’s also super sensitive but doesn’t wanna pull out just yet

- would argue this is better than the sex itself sometimes because of how close he feels to you

- will try to make you laugh while still buried inside you. try not to laugh too hard though or everything will slip out

- super handsy, rubbing them all over your body as if he hasn’t just finished. likes to touch you all over, 1. you just feel good but also 2. it’s soothing to him

- if he stays like this too long though, he’ll just start fucking you again. so it’s one or the other every single time. its usually that

- when he does pull out, it takes some convincing to get him off of you entirely, johnny likes to watch it all leak out of you, admiring your pretty body still. fills him with some sort of pride to see his work and effect on you

- gets up to get a cloth or a towel, something to wipe yourself with. sometimes he does it for you, likes to wipe you down softly, coming to rest himself between your legs once again

- throughly enjoys overstimulating you

- he’ll kiss up and down your soft thighs, over your slit, telling you what a good girl you’ve been for him

- his tongue collecting whatever the cloth missed, you’ll be squirming below him, trying to get away from him (fat chance) johnny just holds you down, making you take all the overstimulation until you’re all cleaned up

- forces his way through your legs and back up to your face where he brings his lips down to yours, kissing you and letting you taste yourself on your tongue

- 9/10 you two go again anyway

- he’s insatiable

[daughterofthequeen]

When you’ve read all the stories in all the fandoms you’re apart of and are now starving for more fic content. (I’M SO BORED HEELLLP!!!!!!!!!)

[hahaifolded]

Cellophane - Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x POC!GN Reader

Tags/Warnings: MDNI, ANGST (racism), one-sided relationship Author's Note: I genuinely have no clear where this came from. I had to take a lap while writing this because wtf. Read with precaution!

Johnny: Sorry about that. My phone died but on my way.

So many emotions swirl your head as you pick at the loose threads on your couch. You weren’t sure what you were feeling right now. Anger. Disappointment. Confusion. Betrayal. 

All you knew that if Johnny doesn’t have a good reason for this, it’s ov— 

Wait, don’t get ahead of yourself. This is your Johnny for fucks safe. Your boyfriend of two years. Your safety. Your home. Your heart. There has to be a logical reason for this. There just has to be. 

Your front door suddenly opens and interrupts your thoughts. 

“Mo ghradh! I’m home!” announces your lover. Normally, his arrival brightens your day but right now, it just reminded you of the growing tightness in your throat. He rushes past the couch, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead before heading to the bathroom. “Was really worried that I wasn’t going to make it,” he jokes. 

You give him a half-hearted laugh as your heart nearly jumps out your throat. It was now or never. 

“So how was dinner with the boys?” Your mind races with what your question implicates. If he comes clean, crisis adverted. 

Wiping his hands on his pants, Johnny breaks your heart. “Pretty good.” He walks over to you and pulls out a bill from his pants, boasting at how he was able to swindle 50 pounds from Gaz. 

Funny how the world works. Here’s Johnny dragging the same man who gave him away in his lie. If your heart wasn’t actively breaking right now, maybe you could have laughed at the irony. Instead, you’re recalling the fact that after three failed attempts in reaching your boyfriend tonight, you called Kyle in the hopes that he could tell your Johnny to check his phone. 

“You know I would, love, but he already left.” “What do you mean “he already left”? I thought the team was grabbing dinner around 7. It’s barely 7:15.” “Tonight? I thought Soap was grabbing dinner with his pa—“

A hand waves across your face, bringing you back to the present. “Sweetheart, you okay?” Johnny’s voice is laced with worry. “You don’t look so good.” Your Scottish lover takes a seat next to you and presses the back of his hand across your forehead. 

You grasp his hand and hold it down in your lap. You take a deep breath and rip the bandage off. 

“I called Kyle today after I couldn’t get a hold of you.” Silence filled the room. Johnny’s face went blank. “He told me where you were.”

“And?”

And? You let go of Johnny’s hand, shocked by the coldness in his voice. 

“And?” You repeated back incredulously. “Is that really all you have to say?”

Johnny stands up and paces in front of the couch. His neck turns red but you’re not sure if it’s out of nerves or anger. “What do you want me to say?” he shoots back. Anger. 

“Why?” He pauses to look at you. You both stare at one another, shocked by the reality of the situation. 

“I don’t know.”

Your body goes hot. “Johnny, that’s not good enough.” You stand up. “We’ve been dating for two years. For fucks safe, Johnny, you’ve met my parents,” You fight against the tears. “So why, why didn’t you invite me tonight to meet yours?” You must look crazy right now as your chest heaves with anger - probably even more since Johnny stood so composed. 

But in actuality, a storm brewed inside Johnny. The moment that he hoped would never come has arrived. Delusional. He knew it was inevitable. After he met your parents a few months ago, he knew this was going to happen. After he said “I love you,” he knew this was going to happen. After the the first date, he knew this was going to happen. But, he wasn’t - they’re weren’t - ready yet. Just a little longer and then it can happen. He just needs more time. They need more time. 

So like an interrogation, he’ll stay quiet.

“I don’t know.” It’s clear you don’t like his answer as you take a step back away from him. 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Now you begin to pace. “Johnny, I know how fucking important your family is to you. It's important for me too.” Your face contorts as you find the right words. “You even said how you couldn’t marry someone who doesn’t get along with your parents.” 

Johnny can’t help but wince which only startles you. The entire room goes cold. You freeze completely and your body slumps at the insinuation. 

“Oh.” You take a deep breath in and in your plain voice, you conclude, “you don’t plan on marrying me.” 

The Scot’s heart pauses.  No! He rushes towards you and grabs your head, immediately cradling it. You’re clearly in shock. If I don’t say anything, I’ll lose them, he realizes. So in an act of desperation, he tells you the truth.

“You not meeting my parents has nothing to do with you.” He stares deeply in your eyes, hoping you’ll stay after this. “They just want me to marry someone… like us.” He internally cringed at his words. He knows his parents are in the wrong here, but he knows they'll come around to it. They're good people, right?

Emotion, specifically confusion, reappears on your face. Standing face to face to him, you push his hands away and ask, “didn’t your little sister marry a Frenchman?” 

Johnny normally loved how you saw the cracks in people’s facades but right now, he wished that beautiful brain of yours would just stop. “Yes bu—“

“So what’s wrong with me?” As soon as those words left your mouth, your eyes widened as you realized the stark difference between you and Johnny’s brother-in-law, Johnny, and his entire family. You recall the picture Johnny had showed you early on in your relationship of his family - a big family with one similar characteristic. 

You fall back to the couch. Johnny falls to his knees before you and begins to ramble about how his parents aren’t necessarily bad people, just stuck in their old ways, but you really don’t catch his words. You couldn’t believe it. Your boyfriend of two years won’t introduce you to this parents because of something you can’t and didn’t want to change. You couldn’t believe this was happening…

again. You promised yourself that if you ever found yourself in the shadows because of someone’s inability of loving you in the light, you would…

“It’s over,” you gently announce. John immediately goes silent. He probably wasn’t expecting that and you can’t blame him, you really didn’t think this conversation would be the end. 

With red ears, the Scott begs you to reconsider. “It’s not like you can’t meet my parents. I’m just asking you to wait. Give it some time. I know they’ll come around it. There’s no need to rush—“

“Do they know that I exist?”

“…”

“Do they even know that you’re dating someone?”

“…”

You couldn’t believe it. While you were proudly parading and even defending your love for him, he hid you out of shame. 

You shoot up from the couch, desperate to leave this man and, really, this relationship behind. Unfortunately for you, John is right behind you. 

“Mo ghradh, please,” he begs. Mo ghradh - my love… just not in front of your parents, you bitterly think. Your face felt tight as you fought against the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. After giving everything to him, you couldn’t believe that Johnny John played you as a fool. You stopped and turned around, startling your “fearless" SAS sergeant. You just had to ask one question.

“John.” Johnny’s eye widened. You never call him John, not even when you’re mad. “If your parents never change, would you pick me over them?” John gasps and stutters for an answer. That was enough for you. 

You march off again, but before you leave your own apartment, you gave him your heart once more, “Just so you know, I would have chosen you.” And with that, you shut your door behind you, leaving the stuttering soldier behind. 

Word Count: 1350

Thanks for reading! - Fold's Page Guide + Masterlist

Author's Plea: Please, please, please - if you ever find yourself in a situation like this, choose yourself and leave. Everyone deserves to be loved under the Sun.

[cscorvid]

Under the Desk

Prompt: Sucking Soap under the Desk while he talks with someone

You and Johnny had been dancing around each other from the moment you were pulled onto Task Force 141. It started as casual flirting, playful jabs, lingering glances, but it didn’t take long before Johnny was downright pining. Clingy, persistent, like some loyal mongrel that decided you were his and no one else's.

You made him work for it, teased him, made him squirm a little, and if you were being honest, you loved how fucking easy he was to rile up. And maybe, deep down, you liked the idea of taming the Task Force’s wildest dog.

Now, months later, Johnny was yours, and it showed. Bite marks littered your thighs, your hips, the crook of your neck. He could be feral, needy, like he was trying to crawl inside your skin just to be closer to you. But when you wanted him soft and pliant, moaning for you? He melted like putty in your hands. Case in point: right now, with you on your knees under his desk, his cock stuffed halfway down your throat.

It had started innocently enough. A few hours of boring paperwork together, holed up in an unused office, laughing and complaining under your breath. Johnny had been twitchy all day, tapping his foot, shifting in his chair, glancing at you with that heated, reckless look he got when he was trying so hard to behave. You teased him under the desk, sliding your foot up his calf, running your fingers across his thigh. It didn’t take much for Johnny to crack, he never could tell you no, not when you got that look in your eye. Soon enough, you were kneeling between his legs, pants shoved down just enough for you to pull him free, thick and flushed in your hand.

His hand tangled in your hair, gently at first, a soft, grounding touch as you licked the head, tasted the salty precum beading there. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking slow and deep, taking him halfway before pulling off to kiss down his shaft, mouthing at the sensitive skin. Johnny was already panting, hips jerking up into your mouth, so desperate, so fucking needy.

And then: the door swung open.

"Johnny," came Price’s voice, casual, as if he hadn’t just walked into an impending trainwreck.

You froze, blinking up at Johnny, and the look on his face nearly made you giggle. Panic, arousal, guilt, all flashing across his flushed features in the span of a second.

Price, thankfully, hadn't looked down yet. He was too busy flipping through a file in his hands, muttering about mission reports. Johnny gave you a look, wide-eyed, pleading, and you just smirked and slowly, slowly took him back into your mouth.

Johnny bit down hard on his lip, stifling the low, broken sound that tried to escape.

"You get those forms submitted yet?" Price asked, stepping closer to the desk. He still hadn’t noticed you, your body tucked carefully under the wide oak desk, hidden by a hanging panel.

Johnny swallowed audibly, clearing his throat.

"Uh— workin' on it, Cap," he said, voice a little too high.

You hummed around his cock, sending a vibration through him that made his thighs twitch under your palms. You pressed harder against him, your nails digging lightly into his skin, urging him not to fucking move.

Price dropped the file on the desk with a loud thud.

"You’re fallin' behind, MacTavish," he said, a teasing lilt to his voice. "You've been distracted lately. Everything alright?"

You pulled back just enough to swirl your tongue around the head, hollowed your cheeks, then swallowed him down to the base again. Johnny’s hips bucked, and you squeezed his thigh hard in warning.

"Aye," Johnny rasped, gripping the edge of the desk so tight his knuckles went white. "Just, uh, a lot on my plate."

Price gave a noncommittal grunt.

"You need help, you ask for it," he said. "Don’t need you drowning in paperwork before a big op."

Johnny nodded stiffly. He wasn’t hearing a word of it, not when your mouth was heaven around him, your tongue teasing along the vein on the underside of his cock, your hand working what your mouth couldn’t reach.

You peeked up at him through your lashes, loving the way his chest heaved, the way his pupils were blown wide with lust and panic.

Price checked his watch, muttering something about checking in with Laswell, and turned to leave.

You took that moment to suck him down hard, and Johnny’s breath hitched audibly, a broken little whimper he barely managed to muffle into a cough.

"You good, MacTavish?" Price said, pausing at the door.

Johnny nodded furiously, voice strained.

"Peachy, sir."

Price eyed him suspiciously but finally left, the door clicking shut behind him.

The second you were alone, Johnny slumped in his chair, releasing a ragged, wrecked moan.

"Fuckin' hell, love," he gasped, threading both hands into your hair now, no longer gentle, desperately guiding your head as he thrust up shallowly into your mouth.

You let him. Let him fuck your mouth with short, stuttering little movements, every muscle in his thighs quivering under your touch.

"You're— fuck, you're evil," he choked out, voice cracking. "Nearly made me— fuckin'— come while Price was right there."

You pulled off just enough to pant against the head of his cock, stroking him with your hand.

"Maybe that's what you needed," you whispered, voice thick with arousal. "Somebody to catch you being the desperate little thing you are."

Johnny whimpered, full-on now, shameless. No front, no bravado, just Johnny, wrecked and needy, yours.

You took him back in, messy and hungry now, drool pooling at the corners of your mouth as you worked him with your lips and tongue, relentless.

It didn’t take long. He was already so close, so wound tight from holding back.

"Fuck— fuck— comin', love, I'm—"

You moaned around him, encouraging, and Johnny spilled down your throat with a desperate, broken cry. Hot and thick, salty on your tongue, and you swallowed every drop, not stopping until he was twitching and gasping above you. When you finally pulled off, Johnny slumped back in his chair, flushed to his ears, eyes glassy and dazed.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, smirking.

Johnny reached for you blindly, dragging you up into his lap, burying his face against your neck with a wrecked little groan.

"You're fuckin' evil," he murmured again, voice muffled.

You just laughed, threading your fingers through his hair.

"Maybe," you said. "But you love it."

[shroompette]

It's not like his mates didn't know about you; Soap always bragged about the sweet little bird he had at home. They just had no idea that he was being...literal.

After the latest successful mission, Johnny invited them for a dinner at his place. They arrive around seven, with bottles and flowers as gifts for the missus, but she's nowhere to be found when Johnny beckons them inside. "She'll be here any minute. Bird gets antsy if she doesn't have a flight before dinner." He opens the window wide and peeks out, as if looking for you. Ghost huffs. "She a bloody Batman or something?"

Johnny simply chuckles and crosses his arms on his chest, leaning against the radiator.

Not even five minutes later, a tiny European robin lands on the inside windowsill. They recognize the bird; it was Johnny's favourite to draw. At least that's what they assumed when they watched him flip through his art book during missions. Pages and pages of birds, but this specific one appeared the most often; raven, cardinal, canary, robin, crow, swan, robin, robin, blue tit, swallow, robin, woodpecker, robin, hummingbird, pigeon, robin, robin, robin...

"Aye, there's my little feathery luvie," Johnny coos, finger gently stroking down the orange patch on the bird's chest.

Gaz and Price exchange a slightly concerned look while Ghost gives him a deadpan stare.

"I told you, one of these days, you'll stand too close to an explosion and it's gonna fuck with your head."

Johnny glances at him briefly, opening his palm and letting the robin hop into it. "Dinnae know what yer talking about."

"Son," Price began, a tired look on his face. "You...you don't think of the bird as your partner, do you?"

"What else would she be?" he questions, looking genuinely surprised, as if there's nothing unusual about claiming the little chirping thing in his hand is his girlfriend.

Gaz lets out a snort of disbelief, unsure if he should laugh or be seriously concerned for his friend.

Before anyone can say anything else, the robin flaps its wings and its form contorts into a human shape. Suddenly, there you stand. Dolled up and dressed in a cute little flowery dress, a bright smile on your face. The men sit there completely flabbergasted while Johnny, wearing the most shit-eating grin ever, leans in and kisses the top of your head before introducing you: "Guys, this is my darling bird."

After fumbling out awkward apologies and introducing themselves, the men dine with you two, asking how you met and where you're from. They're surprised to learn Johnny came across you while he took a trip to his motherland during leave.

When he wasn't with his family, he'd spend the days in the forest, sketching whatever caught his eye. At one point, it was you. A cute little thing, perched up on a branch, singing sweet melodies to which he started responding with whistling. That supposedly caught your attention and you started posing while he sketched you. This would happen daily for nearly a week before you flew down and sat on his shoulder, looking at all the drawings of you, seemingly pleased.

One day, he brought you a pebble. It was just a goof, a funny little thing he remembered his superstitious granny saying whenever he'd walk with her in the nature as a little lad and point out all the different birds in the trees. "If ye give a pebble to a female robin, she'll bring ye a pretty lass to cherish."

He was eager to see what you'd do with it and nearly fell on his ass when you shifted to a human in front of him in all your naked glory, holding the pebble in your palm, eyes sparkling and soft chirps flowing from your mouth. He had a very difficult time explaining to his Ma and siblings who this bare lady clinging to his arm was when he brought you home.

You still chirp when you talk, but your speech is pretty clear. Soap looks like a lovestruck puppy, heart-eyed, hanging onto your words and you're no better; pressed against his side at all times, batting your lashes and holding his hand under the table, your ring finger adorned by a golden band with the fateful (proposal) pebble in the middle.

masterlist

[undercoveravenger]

Part of the Pack

Pairing: poly hybrid!141 x Male!reader

Part 1: Click here

-----

After that moment on deployment when you woke up cuddled up with your teammates, your relationship with the 141 has changed and you’re not quite sure what to make of it.

Before, Soap had always joined you at mealtimes and Gaz’d drop in every now and again, but now the entire team clusters around you each day for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Price has even joined Soap in loading up your tray with a frankly unreasonable amount of food at every meal and they both watch you expectantly as you try to make even a dent in the portion.

There’s also the gifts. Shiny things, mostly, left in your office or outside your door for you to find. You’ve come into possession of a number of rings and necklaces, and even a nice gold watch with an intricately inscribed face.

There’s other gifts too though, things that appear on your nightstand or set gently onto the pillow beside yours, travel mugs with coffee or tea or cocoa made exactly to your liking, granola bars, a high quality switchblade, even a tiny wood carving of a panther. Even with the light sleeping habits from years of service, you’d never been able to catch whoever was leaving things in your room for you.

To say the changes have thrown you off is an understatement, but it’s nothing compared to this moment. To this dingy bar with its too-dim lights and overplayed music with the 141 crowded into the booth around you, high on a successful mission and tipsy from the celebratory drinks, when Ghost tugs his mask up enough to expose his mouth and leans over to kiss you like it’s as second-nature as breathing.

You’re frozen, trapped in place by your surprise in the wake of his attention, and you can feel the low, satisfied pur that rumbles through him like thunder at the feeling of your lips on his. 

“No fair,” Soap whines as Ghost pulls away from you, clutching at you from your other side, “I had dibs on kissin’ ‘im first!”

And if that doesn’t have your reeling mind screeching to a halt. First?

You ignore Soap’s pouting for the moment as you examine your teammates with a new curiosity. Gaz’s eyes are dark where they flick between you and Ghost, hungry in a way you’d never seen him before. His wings tremble slightly behind him, like there’s electricity spiking through each individual feather. 

Price looks, well, not quite proud, but satisfied, like something he’s been waiting for has just clicked perfectly into place.

Soap takes hold of your jaw then, uses it to guide you back to face him and kisses you like he’s been dying to do it. His fingers slip back to twist into your hair and pull you closer, tongue pressing brief and teasing against your lip, and you have the distinct feeling he’d be on your lap right now if the booth wasn’t so tight.

“Wha-” you manage to gasp out when he pulls back to nose along your throat, tail thumping violently against the worn vinyl seat. “What’s happening?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?” There’s a fond chuckle from Price, and you catch the way his hand slips from Gaz’s shoulder down between his wings and the full body shudder it wrenches out of Gaz. “We’ve been courtin’ ya for goin’ on two months now.”

Wait, no - that couldn’t be - except it kind of had been, hadn’t it?

Price’s signals would’ve been the hardest to pick up on - his hand lingering just a few seconds too long after a pat on the shoulder, the way he’d corner you before an op to double check your gear, the weight of his eyes on you in the shooting range - what you’d thought had been judgement apparently admiration. The way he’d slip you the dessert from his MRE when the rest of the boys weren’t looking. 

And the more that you think about it, the more signs you can remember. The shiny gifts from Gaz, the way he’d damn near beam whenever he saw you wearing that watch - the way he’d been asking you to help him preen his wings, the way his pupils would blow wide when you’d say yes and the cute little huffs that’d come when you actually handled his feathers.

The little things Ghost had left you in your room (you’re not sure how you hadn’t realized it was Ghost before between the little panther carving and the stealth with which the gifts were delivered) and the way he’d let himself fall asleep against your shoulder on the flight home. Ghost doesn’t trust easy, and with good reason, but the way he’s been behaving around you…

And Soap - God, even if you hadn’t been able to see the signs from anyone else, you’re not how you hadn’t noticed his. That you hadn’t noticed the way those pointed wolf ears prick forward and his tail wags double time whenever he sees you, or how he’s so prone to draping himself against you with an arm over your shoulder or around your waist, especially after one of those long nights at the gym - the way he’d tuck his head into your neck after a workout, like he was trying to memorize the smell of you. The way he was always making sure you’d eaten or inviting himself into your room for a cuddle. You’d always assumed it was a wolf-hybrid thing if not just a Soap thing, but now that you’re thinking about it you’ve never seen him like that with anyone else except the rest of the 141.

“Oh,” you say, suddenly feeling rather foolish for not reading deeper into your teammates’ actions. Your eyes dart between the four of them again. “Really? All of you?”

“Think we’ll be too much to handle?” Gaz Kyle prompts, challenge burning bright in his clever golden eyes.

You huff a laugh and know he knows you too well, that he knows you can’t turn down a challenge, especially one with such a tempting reward. You down the rest of your drink and clamber out of the booth over Johnny. 

“I’ll get the tab and we’ll get outta here?” you call back over your shoulder as you head for the bar. 

You can’t fight back the grin that forms at the excited chorus of agreement behind you. Sure, you hadn’t seen it coming when they made room for you in their little family, but you’d be a fool to let something as incredible as them slip away from you.

[gothghostiie]

thinking about johnny cominh home after a hard day, you're sitting on the couch and want to ask him how his day was and how hes doing, but before you can even say hello hes pulling your pants and undies down, getting on his, hooking your legs over his shoulders and nuzzling into your bush :((

[ilostthewar]

Back at it with Omega!Soap trying to bring Omega!Reader in.

But omega!Soap who is finally, finally ready to introduce you to his pack. He’s done all the right things. He’s taken this slow, knows that introducing a new omega to a pack like his can be stressful. He’s done a lot of reading about it.

He brings scented items of his pack mates to you. Nothing overly personal, simply three handkerchiefs that they had rubbed into their scent glands. He presents them to you somewhere neutral, like a park. But he’s more than relieved when you shyly ask to keep them for now. And when you finally offer something up to him, a woven scarf with your scent embedded in the fibers, he presents it to his pack with excitement. And he adores that they like it, that they smell your scent and they all seem to salivate at it. But then he realizes that they’re fucking drooling about it, pulling the item back and forth to try and get another whiff. They haven’t even met you and they’re already acting like a pack of pups.

So before Johnny even sets up a meeting, he’s quick to set ground rules. Everyone, and that means everyone, he shoots a very aggressive look at Simon who is trying to feign nonchalance, needs to be on their best behavior. He wants this to works, but he needs to know that you will be comfortable, and he needs you to know that he has your 6.

Ultimately, you decide where you’ll meet for the first time. Somewhere off base, with good food and drinks. And Johnny is practically buzzing out of his skin the whole time. A terror to his pack in the days leading up to it.

It’s almost hilarious that when Johnny finally lands eyes on you the night of, he’s purring and rubbing his cheek against yours. Almost entirely forgetting that his pack is standing behind him waiting to be introduced.

[the-californicationist]

Happy Holidays Cali, hope the holidays are treating you well.

I'm curious though, how do you think the 141 would treat you for the holidays? :)

Four Calling Birds

Gaz would be the classic Christmas romantic. The house has lights, the hedge has lights, the bins have lights. There’s a big Santa in the garden, and you’ve got three trees - all real and hand cut. The whole house smells like oranges and clove and balsam and cinnamon. You come home one evening, exhausted from work, and there he is, standing in your way, pointing straight up at the mistletoe, smiling like a fiend.

“Is that real?” You ask, reaching up to the hanging leaves in wonder, your fingers coming back coated in glitter.

“Yep,” he said smugly, wrapping you up in his arms, “Cut it myself.”

“Kyle,” you tried to protest, eager to set your bag down and get out of your clothes.

But, he took your head in his hands, lifting your mouth to kiss him, letting his full, soft lips take your breath away. Then, you felt your bag fall off of your shoulder, and you were dragged into the hallway, stumbling but weightless, lifted and carried in his huge arms. You were dizzy from his kisses, drunk on him, weak from the weight of the day. You opened your eyes and watched him shove his way into the bedroom, and you pulled your mouth away from his to gasp.

“Kyle!”

“What?” He stared down at you, playing innocent with his sweet smile.

“The ceiling! Have you lost your mind?”

All over the ceiling of your bedroom, boughs and boughs of mistletoe hung glittering from a series of carefully strung lattice, covering the whole room in its emerald green canopy.

“Mmm,” he sighed, dragging his hot mouth down your neck, “Looks like you owe me a few more kisses, babes. Some here,” he kissed your cheek, “Some here,” he kissed your mouth, “Some here,” he tugged down the neck of your top, suckling on an exposed nipple, “…and definitely some here.” His free hand writhed its way into your trousers and cupped the warm flesh of your crotch, that naughty mouth grinning as you sighed into him.

It took six months to get the glitter out of the rug.

🎄🩷🎄🩷🎄

Johnny wasn’t much of a decorator, but the tree you did have was full of handmade ornaments from all of his many nieces and nephews. For him, it was all about spending time with family.

Christmas was the only reason you had bought this farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere. Six bedrooms lay empty for 358 days out of the year, but when the week of Christmas came around, you had MacTavishes up to your eyeballs. His oldest sister, her husband, her three kids, and their ancient sheltie all piled into your home in a laughing, screaming, tumbling bunch. His second sister, her wife, their two sets of twins, and their entire collection of foster children, a growing lot each year, all spilled in after them, well-mannered and armed with gifts and toys galore. His ma and da, each with their own fat corgi and hunched over their canes, made their way straight to the kitchen to start cooking meals like they were fighting some sort of battle with your pots and pans. Your whole home smelled like spice and savory meats within minutes, and when they left, it always seemed cleaner than when it had started.

And there was Johnny, right in the middle of them, shining like a star, tugging you around the house with him, singing and playing and dancing and celebrating every delightful bite. He always had a baby in his arms, and sometimes he was balancing two in his lap, covered in torn paper crowns and smeared with shortbread flour from messy little hands.

But, in the night, when all was quiet, he would move himself over you, pulling at your clothes like you were wrapped in paper, his very own gift. He shushed your protests, not willing to worry with you about whether someone might hear.

“Dinnae fash yersel’, bonnie. They all ken how bairns are made. Wouldnae it be grand to give the wee’uns another cousin to play with? C’mon, lass, lemme give you a wee MacTavish for Christmas.”

You were going to need a bigger house.

🎄🩷🎄🩷🎄

Simon never really grew up with much of a Christmas, so your home lacked the glittering splendor of that of his sergeants. But, there were some things that were absolutely non-negotiable.

You had to drag out his scrawny, leaf bare tree from the attic. It was barely three feet tall, but he wouldn’t hear of buying another one. The star looked rusted, and half the lights didn’t work, but he made sure the bottom of it was always covered in thoughtful presents for you to open.

There had to be a Yule log. He wouldn’t hear of buying another gas fireplace, and he insisted on burning it right in the hearth, always good to sweep the ashes away when he was done.

And, above all else, there had to be The Pudding. It wasn’t homemade like the MacTavishes’. It wasn’t fancy like the Garricks’. It had to be the cheap one from the local Lidl for 80p. The Favorina six-month matured Christmas pudding was the star of the show, and your cupboards were full of them. You’d never seen a man take down so many individually packaged cakes before. He was like a machine. He’d come home, pull you into his lap, flip on the telly, and give you a needy look.

For once, it wasn’t your warm cunt he was begging for. No. Simon Riley was begging for another cheap pudding that you “shared” between you. You’d take the first polite bite, and he’d house down the rest like a starving dog, his mouth sticky from the sweet fruits and his breath hot from the bottom-shelf brandy.

Then, he would kiss you, groaning into your mouth, pulling you the rest of the way onto his lap, tasting like sultanas and cigarettes, choking you with his invading tongue.

“Si…” You panted, trying to escape, “Let me brush my teeth. I taste like figgy pudding, you nutter.”

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”

You set a trap this year, and when you pulled a spare pudding out of the freezer one random day in July, you thought he’d never take his hands off of you.

🎄🩷🎄🩷🎄

John Price never once asked for presents for Christmas. He didn’t want gifts, and he would get so cross when you bought things for him even though he showered you with trinkets throughout the season. But, his apartment was never decorated. You wondered if he was a bit of a Scrooge. But then, you overheard him talking with his sergeant, telling him the only thing he wanted for the holiday was a beach with the missus, and you decided it was your turn to be Santa Claus.

One night, when John dragged himself through the doorway past quitting time, he noticed a big red arrow, cut out from craft paper, pasted on the floor. Then, a few feet in front of him, there was another. He frowned, setting down his bag and following the arrows cautiously through the house. It led him straight to the bedroom, and there you were, wrapped in nothing but a ribbon, tied up with bows, sitting on the middle of the bed with a box in your hands.

“Wha’s all this, then?” He smiled at your lack of attire, toying with the end of the ribbon and threatening to pull it away.

“Open your present, John,” you smiled, handing him the box.

“I told you, love, I don’t wa—“

“Open it,” you cut him off, pushing the box forward.

He twisted his mouth into a disgruntled grimace, but you knew he couldn’t stay mad at you for long. When he pulled the box apart, his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed in confusion.

“What…”

He pulled out the plane tickets and inspected them further, trying to make sense of what you had done. You shrugged, rubbing his shoulders,

“I told Kate you needed some leave. So, we’re off to Fiji.”

“Fiji…” He breathed in disbelief, his blue eyes pinning you in place.

“Fiji,” you smiled, pulling the bow that covered your heavy tits off the rest of the way, “Private beach, palm trees, no cell service…”

He let the box fall to the floor and climbed over you, forcing you onto your back as his huge body bullied you beneath him. John’s voice was gravelly and low when he said,

“I don’t know what’s got me harder, love. Seein’ you all wrapped up like this, or the fact that I thought I just heard you say: no cell service.”

You gave him a wicked grin and leaned your mouth up to graze across the shell of his ear, whispering,

“No cell service.”

His hips thrust against you, spreading your legs apart from the force, making your soft skin scrape against the harsh canvas of his pants, burying his mouth against your neck, threatening you,

“Say it again, baby.”

“No… cell… service.”

By the end of your holiday, you were sunburnt, and you could barely walk straight, but you couldn’t remember having a better Christmas.

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

The first time you called Soap sweet boy he melted on the spot. He had needed you, coming home desperate for distraction and love, which lead to you straddling him on the sofa and making out with him.

Soap had his hands under your shirt, his fingers grabbing onto your waist, kneading the flesh for comfort. That simple touch from him already lead to goosebumps all over your body.

"You're so pretty, Johnny.", you whispered against his lips and you could feel the way his body froze. He pulled back loking at you with wide surprised eyes. His voice betrayed how unsure he was when he asked: "You mean that? You really think that of little ol' me?"

His attempt at humour to deflect didn't work on you. You knew him too well for that. So you cupped his face with your hands and started peppering soft loving kisses all over his face. Interrupting them to utter praise against his skin. Hoping it would find it's way underneath and settle to protect him from every unkind word that had ever been said to him.

"Pretty. Handsome. Kind. Brave. Selfless. Strong. Warm. Safe..." He had his eyes closed and surrendered himself to the soft hold your hands had on him. His hands still holding onto you to anchor himself.

You pecked the tip if his nose, pressed a lingering kiss to his lips and when your breath fanned over them with your next words he shuddered.

"You're my sweet, sweet boy."

His eyes opened, looking dazed, as if you'd done something way more raunchy than just shower him with kisses and praise. A small whimper left him and he nuzzled more into your hands. You could feel his entire body melt into the sofa under you.

His hands wandered up your back, and pushed you closer while he leant in so he could press his face into your chest. Your arms wrapped around him, holding him to you, gently carding your fingers through his hair.

"Need you, baby. Missed you so bad. You make everything okay again.", came his muffled voice.

Your hold on him tightened. "I'm right here, sweet boy. I've got you."

He leant back his eyes full of adoration as he looked up at you.

Your smile went from soft to mischievous as you said: "And now, sweet boy, take me to bed so I can have even more of you and ravage you the way you deserve."

He grinned back, leant in faster than you could see, and cheekily bit the skin over your collarbone. At the same time his fingers dug into your sides and you squeaked with laughter.

Abruptly he stood up, you still in his arms and strode towards your bedroom. "Aye, your highness. Show me just how sweet you think I am."

[gazstations]

Fatum signatum, Canis esuriens

CHAPTER ONE - venari incipit

ᯓᡣ𐭩 CHAPTER SUMMARY

John MacTavish finds the bird he wants to sink his teeth into. It just so happens to be the one that flew away years ago.

♡ Chapter Warnings: Johnny doesn't know how to take rejection, forced proximity, blackmailing, sexual mentions, religious themes, negative talks of religion

◇ Notes: I have no business making this story, but here you guys are. If you want something cute and fluffy, go somewhere else.

This was lowkey inspired by @ceilidho

Her forced mating omegaverse series is amazing. If you haven't, y'all should go check that out. Fucking fire content and I'm still yelling.

○●○ SERIES MASTERLIST ♡ NEXT

NAVIGATION MASTERLIST

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

JOHNNY WAS ALWAYS A LOOSE CANNON. Attended church every Sunday with his family, never indulged in sex, and always felt guilty after he rubbed his cock raw during his puberty stages. Even if subconsciously he knew there was nothing inherently wrong with indulgence, he was bred to live life conscious of how he presented himself. Even after he long disbanded from the Catholic church, it had a nasty way of creeping up on him.

Admittedly, he still prayed. He may had cast shame towards a lot of the viewpoints of the Catholic church, but some habits never died hard. He liked to consider praying a stepping point off into his own version of what faith meant to him. The core principal he always found himself going back to was living a fulfilling life.

The military was a bust. Yeah, he could brag and proclaim that he was a three-headed hydra. Take one head and two remain. But taking a bullet to the head didn't make him feel more powerful or immortal. It had him going back to the one place he swore he would never go back to.

The wooden pews of the grandiose church were hauntingly familiar. He walked with a weighted limp to the right side, fourth row back, and in the center. He felt a prickling itch in his neck, a warning that he was far too dirtied by the world now to be allowed as an innocent creature under God's light.

He was rotten down to his core. Blood caked underneath his fingernails, and the thick scent of antiseptic followed him. After getting shot, he developed a nasty disgust for germs as it so happened. He washed his hands so often that he had deep pruning on the pads of his fingertips. Maybe he was trying to physically absolve for his vile sins. Though, it had always been his mind that he was sick in.

The starfish bullet wound scar was a natural deterrent. Eyes analyzed the pale flesh and thought better of poking the bear. He must have been malformed because of it. A grotesuqe, cursed being that was punished into a life of solitude.

He was prickly around the edges now. There was always a curl on his lip just shy of a full snarl. He was a mutt condemned to a life on the streets. He no longer was of any use to the military, and he was far too socially inappropriate for normal civilian life. He was just idling, waiting for something to spark the dopamine receptors.

Praying felt like a lost cause as well. God had never answered any of his prayers before, so why would he humor him now? He was everything God stood against in the supposed truth of the scripture.

He went to the military and played around with far too many men and women. He indulged in other temporary vices like drinking and smoking. He shot down fellow lost souls on the beaten path. He walked in the fly-infested graveyard far more than he ever walked in a meadows full of lively blossoms.

It was no wonder his own mother scorned him.

His mother was a proper Scottish mother. She was proud of her heritage and wanted to present her family as an upstanding group of well-rounded personalities. And there was nothing less upstanding or respectful than pushing Johnny into the center spotlight and saying nothing more than "this is the son that kills." As if he wasn't saving unfortunate souls as he did it.

It was always just that to other people: an excuse to harm. Maybe they were right because no shiny medal or pat on the back ever made him puff up in pride like a bloody peacock.

A sweet, honeyed voice dragged him from his wonky rendition of "Our Father." His sharp eyes scanned the room as if he was perched once more on the rooftop of a building and looking for a target through his scope. His shoulders were coiled tight, a lasting effect of kneeling at the pew and pretending he was a simple man asking for guidance.

He found you coming out from one of the side rooms, smile lifting the corners of your lips. You held yourself with a weightlessness that he never had been privy to. The first thought when he saw you was that you're a doe trapped in a forest filled with wolves. Only he was the only wolf, and he couldn't take his eyes off of you.

Familiar. That was the second thought that passed through his muddled, tar-ridden brain. He had to wrack his brain harder to grasp memories after Makarov tried to turn the lights off. It was frustrating. His mind used to be zooming around the track. He could multitask just fine and didn't feel a faint throbbing in his skull as he calculated.

"I will be by with more canned goods tomorrow."

Your voice was saccarine honey, and he perked up like an untethered canine in search of chewy meat fresh off the bone. It had been far too long since he warmed his bed with something sweet. Long before he joined Task Force 141 and was always on the prowl. He was never in one place for long enough. Now, he was busting at the seams, foaming at the mouth for a way to quench that desire.

There was a mute gravitation towards you, and he didn't know why. It wasn't just sexual frustration. He knew that much. He blinked on half-lidded eyelids, trying to pinpoint how exactly and why your presence sparked a tug.

Then the priest said your name gratefully as he bid you farewell and thanked you for your contribution.

His mind cleared into a litany of hazy memories. He hadn't thought about his childhood in a long time. Far too much sour aftertaste twisting his lips for him to linger. He didn’t like his childhood house. Didn’t like the school he nearly dropped out of.

But he remembered liking you. Maybe a little too much.

He met you in his Sunday school class. The walls were filled with bland, religious metaphors. The chairs were uncomfortable plastic. He drowned out the teacher's mini sermon and instead watched you. Maybe that’s where he learned how to corrupt. From that point on, you were shackled down by his prodding hands as they marked up your youthful, pristine skin.

His words were charming, his blue eyes sucking you in after that class where he first noticed you. You were none the wiser, falling for a boy's sweetened words with a pitch in your voice and trusting, bright eyes. He could tell you weren't used to attention, and he relished being the first one to take a bite.

It wasn't all corruption. Johnny genuinely felt the deep flutter of his heart whenever you were near. He was a boy then, unable to know his actions battered existing foundations and left debris in a heaping crater. It was an unconscious corruption because he was too stupid to realize he had to reel it in.

But he never put his feet forward half-assed. His gait always had an underlying purpose and certainty.

He cornered you, the sweet little rabbit that was too giddy to taste the acid as it coagulated in the air. Two kids with their first crushes. It was supposed to be sweet and innocent, especially for people of your upbringing. It wasn't right to indulge.

But that's all the two of you ever did.

He was messy and sloppy the first time you pinned you down with his lips in the backseat of his car. He was an eager mutt who didn't recognize that he was supposed to woo you and make a special moment out of your firsts. He had a one track mind that was hellbent on devouring you.

You were always so sweet, too kind to tell him if you hated that your first kiss was tarmished by a boy who never eased you into it. You just smiled and blushed, telling him it was everything you ever dreamed up. He always believed that was a bitter lie, but still, he lapped it up.

Watching you now, beyond the filter of child-like haze, he knew instantly you were pretending to be something you weren’t. Your smile was pure and bright, but only he could look deep enough into the deep black of your pupils and see the minefield. People who gave too much were always overcompensating, hiding some massive secret in the dust-ridden pockets of their rib cage.

Maybe he was your secret.

Because once upon a time, he had your throat around his foaming maw.

Of course, you wouldn't ramble on about that. You probably claimed your first kiss was some conjured manifestation of bliss. The candles were lit, and the air wasn't stale with the stench of booze. It was a serene vanilla scent that wafted into the room. Your lover was someone who knew they could borrow but not steal from your essence. They would dip you slightly, curl a hand against your spine and-

No.

That was his pride. It was his right. So was the slick between your legs and the warbling moans. Everything was his claim. Because you never told him to stop, never pried wandering hands from the softness of your flesh. He was not going to let that be some unnamed man's legacy.

He rose from the pew slowly, bad knee cracking. He waited as you exchanged a few more words with Father Cassidy before bidding him farewell. You were none the wiser of what monstrosity caught a whiff of your scent. He wished he had some animalistic sense of smell so he could suck up every hidden layer like the lemonade the two of you always got for fifty cents after church.

"Bonnie..."

You pivoted on your heels, giving him a full picture of who you had grown into. Blood was pounding on his ears as he swallowed spittle down his throat. Steaming Jesus. Maybe God had answered his prayers for putting such a delectable meal in front of him.

"John?" He internally cooed at the surprised, higher lilt of your voice. He loved that you weren’t expecting him. Probably rejoicing all those years that you didn't have him barking up your tree.

John smiled sickenly at the evident nervousness in your stance.

"Ah told ye tae call me, Johnny, love," he saw the flinch in your body.

"What... what are you doing here?" He commended your attempt to seem bigger. You stood straighter, raised your chin, crossed your arms over your chest, and didn't put weight too much on one side. It was textbook. A classic way one is told to appear more than what they are. He found it endearing that his little bunny got claws.

"Disnae matter."

Evasive. Dismissive. He was always like that while you offered scraps of your essence in every form. He indulged you, letting you ramble on about the intricacies of your existence. All the while, he offered nothing of him. Or at least a carefully thought-out, meticiously crafted misrepresentation of himself.

You always believed him.

"Ye ken what is important?" He stepped closer into your personal space, and you shifted. Hesitant. You had gone skittish since he had last seen you. That wasn't good. "That ye and ah happen tae be in the same place.”

You swallowed, Johnny watched your throat bob. “Yeah, how funny. Considering you don’t practice anymore.”

No, he never lasted long in the Catholic Church once he found it held him back. His desires were his desires, and he wasn’t going to apologize for it.

“Ach, bon. Ah had a change o’ heart.”

He snarled at the scoff that left your lips. You had a bit more bite now. He wanted to snuff it out. “You? You had a change of heart?”

Your bitter words offended him for a moment before he tampered down his pride and gave you an uneasy smirk. You weren’t necessarily wrong in your pointed comment. He had never been one to shy away from how distasteful he found faith. He remembered mocking Father Cassidy’s opening sermon under his breath and his mother smacking him on the head with the donation envelopes stored in the back of the seats.

Instead, he pointed to the pale scar dimpling his left temple and right at the hairline. He watched your face grow contemplative as you examined the evidence of his attempted murder. Your pretty lips pursed, and your eyes softened. That’s right, you can’t bite at a man who’s already down for the count. That isn’t very nice.

“Reckon the big man is lookin’ out fer me after all,” Johnny spoke with slight mockery. If someone was looking out for him, it wasn���t God.

“You got shot…” You finally processed that reality.

“Aye. Dinnae fash, bon. Ah survived,” Johnny cooed softly.

“Unfortunately.”

It was a muttered tone that had Johnny biting his tongue. You were very disrespectful, and he didn’t appreciate it. He was being nice, wasn’t he? He could’ve been backing you into a corner like he always used to do. He knew you enjoyed it. You always used to be so wet by the time his sinful fingers dipped below your waistband.

“Ah’m only tryna make small talk,” he narrowed his eyes.

“Look, John,” you adjusted your bag on your shoulder. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Johnny frowned, but he didn’t let that deter him. “Why not?”

You gave him an exasperated look, and his saliva pooled to the edges of his lips. He loved the way you reacted. You acted like you didn’t always meet him halfway. Some days, you were the one jumping at him and prying apart his body. You were a sinner as much as he was. Only you were a pretender and confessed to your crimes. He never once felt he had to absolve.

How was it wrong when he could still taste the honey on his lips and hear your wanton moans?

“You know why,” you replied.

“Tha’ was a long time ago,” Johnny protested.

He knew you knew that if you denied him now, he would just sink his claws in. It’s not like you could go to a different church or just not come at all. You were still dedicated. A saint, or as close you could get to it. Such a sweet little thing for him to muddy all over again.

“Not really when you think about it,” you remarked.

Johnny hummed as if he heavily considered your comment. He really didn’t care about the specifics. The past was the past. Because this time he wasn’t going to let you go now that he was around once again. Lucky you, you got the Scot all the time now that he was forcibly retired. Didn’t have to go through the fuss of missing him when he was deployed.

“At least let me take ye to lunch,” he proposed. “Ah will be a good boy.”

You looked to right, down the aisle to the altar. Then your eyes flickered to each door, each getaway option. Oh, bonnie, he wasn’t going to hurt you. Not if you played along. He stepped until the rubber end of his shoe was pressing against yours.

“Are ye a proper lass now?” He was condescending in his delivery, venom seeping out through each syllable. He wanted you to know that he still held the cards, that he could squash you beneath two fingers and not break a sweat. He would rather he had you singing melodically as he panted in your ear.

Safe and sound where you always belonged, tucked in the crook of his arm.

“Excuse me?” You questioned.

“Ye tied down now? Is tha’ it?” Johnny despised thinking about the possibility. He glanced down at your left hand, finding no ring wearing down the root of your finger. Yet, that didn’t mean much.

You contemplated for a long moment. He could practically taste the futile lie that was building on your dry tongue. He saw you clench your jaw. “Yes. In fact, he’s picking me up soon.”

“Oh…” Johnny feigned disappointment. “Sure the lad wouldn’t mind me waitin’ with ye. Reckon he’ll thank me fer keepin’ ya safe.”

You shifted back and forth on the soles of your feet. He tracked the movement as your teeth pinched your bottom lip. He found himself aching and so pent up that the smallest of movements from you had him stiffening in his jeans.

“One lunch…” you finally realized you couldn’t lie, and he got his answer. He relaxed his posture, fake friendliness.

“Ah will make it worth yer while, lass,” he promised. He leaned in closer, breath hot against your ear. He grabbed your arm for extra measure, face pulling into a stern look. “If ye lie to me again, ah could tell yer dear auld ma exactly wha’ we did. She never liked me, doe. Bet she will be shocked tae ken her daughter isnae pure.”

“What is wrong with you?” You questioned.

“Just want to catch up, lass. Tha’s all.”

♡◇♡

Johnny could smell the heady scent of your anxiousness. Sweat congealed on your hairline and glistened on your top lip. You were a frightened doe in flight-or-fight mode, coiled tightly. He watched every muscle twitch with precision, waiting for you to take flight so he could catch you.

He had managed to herd you into his car. He was damn grateful the bullet wound didn’t completely rob him of his right to freedom. He would’ve put his head through the wall if that was the case. He wanted to do right by you, be the proper gentleman that got you from point A to B. You deserved your carriage.

“Lot nicer than the cab we used to get cozy in, aye?”

His blue eyes were laser-focused as he watched your eyes crinkle with a soft frown on your lips as you processed what he was implying. Shortly after, disgust washed out the natural glow on your cheeks. You turned your face out the window for a moment; appalled.

“You’re disgusting,” you spat.

“Aye. Never liked mincin’ my words, doe,” Johnny agreed easily.

He had taken you to a simple bistro that served nice enough food. He really could eat anything, so as long as his doe was happy, then he was fine. His bottomless stomach could be blamed on the shitty MREs and whatnot he had been bred on during his time serving. Now, he was trying to stuff his belly full of any fulfillment.

He had even puffed up in the belly area. Not by much, as he still worked out and did his morning run, but that wasn’t as strict as it used to be. With all the eating, his gut now had a layer of fat. Though, he was still a powerhouse.

The food was nice enough. You ate politely, and he gorged. You hardly spoke as you became softened by the food. Good. That’s what he desired, just the slightest shift in your guard so he could wiggle his way in through the cracks.

"I think you can take me home now," you said after a long period of Johnny just mindlessly driving the streets.

Johnny made an incredulous noise as he looked at you. "Why, bon? Ah like drivin' with ya?"

"I already went to lunch with you," you defended yourself. "I never promised more."

"Our date disnae have to end," he said.

You sucked in a breath, gripping your seatbelt like it would fly away from you. You were stiff, shoulders bunched up towards your chin. He kept moving because he knew you had too much self-preservation to jump from a moving vehicle.

"It's not a date," you muttered.

"C'mon, bon. Let me court ya proper," Johnny pleaded.

"Don't you have other women to bother?" You asked with heat.

"No' lately. 'Sides, dinnae want no one else," Johnny admitted.

You regarded him for a long moment. Despite your protests, he spotted the fluster he provoked in you. Your gaze always shifted downward, and you took a deep breath. He internally preened. His doe was still affected by him deep down.

"You're insane actually."

Johnny made a small "tsk" sound. "Ya break my heart."

He saw the faintest curl of your lip when he stopped at a red light. You were amused. He took that and ran with. He always knew you couldn’t hate him completely. He had more to work with, but progress was still progress.

"So what, you want to date me now?" You questioned.

"Aye. Let me take ya on the dates ah never did before," Johnny proposed.

You sighed. You slouched in your seat, defeated. "Fine. One chance."

"Tha's all ah need, doe."

Oh, he was going to devour you.

°•○●○•°

TAGLIST

@callsignpxnguin @sushi-enthusiast @niresenrab

If you would like to be added for future chapters, let me know!