#Dark Johnny mactavish

[pupyr0arz]

To Color

to influence, especially in a negative way; distort or exaggerate.

Soap x m!reader: references to reader being AMAB, being a gay man, being in a gay relationship, etc. minimal pronouns. Part 1.

Summary: Every human on earth sees the world in blacks and whites and grey until they touch a specific individual, romanticized as their fates love. You don’t buy into that, you’re happy as you are and don’t need or want a stranger barging into your life just because your eyes decided they were important. Johnny disagrees with this conclusion.

warnings: Johnny is a bad, bad man, and reader is going to be miserable for a while, sorry. General cws for creepy, pushy behavior, sexual harassment, stalking, and Johnny not respecting Reader’s autonomy or ability to choose. More warnings may be added. Mentions of sex. Minors DNI

@gatlily @focalor-hydro-archon hey pst. Pssst.

Soulmates are overrated, overhyped, over-mentioned, over talked about. It’s awfully inescapable, in movies, in ads, on the news, in books, and the looks you get for complaining about it, like you’ve declared a blood feud on the concept. You just want some peace from the expectation and all the assumptions of glitz and glamor for five goddamn seconds, but lately that blood feud is looking mighty tempting.

Your cynicism in regards to fated lovers wasn’t part of anything dramatic, like in the movies where the skeptic always got revealed to be the child of a divorce caused by soulmates or something equally inane. Your parents weren’t soulmates, which was honestly average. Most people never met their soulmates and lived perfectly fulfilling lives. Soulmates weren’t the end all be all of love, and when they did show up they certainly didn’t all fall into the simple shapes a romcom would tell you.

Your father could see color, his soulmate was platonic in his cousin, the two of them were close friends and they lived just down the street. You’d come up on the porch while your cousins played in the yard and sipped sour lemonade and bother them about how colors looked, and they’d argue about shades and how to describe it. Your father always wanted you to meet your soulmate, wistfully regaling the first time he ever saw the blueness of the sky. Uncle Jeremy would just pinch your cheek and wave you off with a laugh. You had a really normal childhood, honestly.

You got tired of the game in high school, when blossoming hormones and teen drama rocked the school for weeks on end over and over about the same damn things. You were old enough to really have coherent opinions about the world, and fated lovers had turned from funny stories from your father and ads on tv to in your face irritants. One of your friends friends faked seeing color for two weeks to date a guy she really liked. You weren’t extremely close to either, you sat with them at lunch and watched them in periods and they seemed happy. He dumped her in a flash, and moped around school afterwards and all you could think about was why color seemed to matter so much to people.

It sounded fantastical, sure, you wouldn’t mind having an extra sense. You daydreamed about color coming to you in a whirl, setting the world alight in a billion lights, seeing things in new clarity and depth. It was hard to imagine, some other attribute lurking just outside of vision that stained the world in strange, vivid ways.

Bonded people opened museums, attractions built for viewing color in odd ways that blended and blurred together to your black and white vision. Hidden objects and paintings and other things that they cooed over, long essays about vibrancy and the million metaphors for color. You don’t really buy into any of it, if you could taste the crispness of a shade of ‘red’ then what’s the deal with feeling it with your eyes? You’ve eaten apples before, you don’t need to see the flavor to enjoy it. Why should you be so desperate to sacrifice so much, when you already have senses that give you joy?The thing is, with fantastical things is that they’re fantasy, they aren’t grounded in anything solid or real, and you weren’t enthusiastic to take that leap of faith and step onto open air and pray it was a trust fall, not a jump to your death.

You could live without color, and honestly thousands and thousands of people got on perfectly fine. It’s not like any part of society was really based on seeing color these days, other than the fine arts. You weren’t artsy anyways, you never managed to get into it. So what if you didn’t really know whatever ‘green’ really was, did it really mean the end of the world? the end of a relationship? Why would you throw away something that made you happy, something stable, for a complete stranger? Your mother was perfectly happy with your father, and she had never met her soulmate. What if your soulmate was a family member, or a friend? Why did everyone always hold out hope they’d find a perfect marriage partner, when it seemed like soulmate bonds could be something like a perfect smoking buddy to a perfect brother? Honestly, romance didn’t seem so dependent on the whole farce at all. You could build something that didn’t need anything but whites and blacks and all of the shades between. You might not be able to see the red of a rose, but you could enjoy the shades of gray that painted the world with someone you could trust to always hold your hand and have your back.

You dated a handful of people, most of whom were still holding out hope of brushing fingers with their ‘truest love’ to see the beauty in the world. As you got older, more likeminded people cropped up, less likely to vanish and ghost you to wander off on their ‘journey’ to find their soulmate. You had your first kiss, lost your virginity, moved in and out with other people. Relationships blossomed and fizzled and died and you picked yourself up afterward with the occasional thought of ‘Jesus, I couldn’t imagine trying to make THAT one work as my one and only’ before you carried on. But all of that was before, in the section of your life cut so neatly and sharply in two that it was hard to believe they were ever, or could ever be joined.

All before you met him.

You met him on a dating app, which was remarkable enough. It was built for quick hookups, but most dating apps that advertised themselves for long term relationships were soulmate based and you found that crowd to be endlessly irritating. He’s bi-curious, you’re the first man he’s ever dated and honestly that almost turns you off entirely. But you decide you have no better prospects at the moment, so what the hell.

Charlie’s cute, and he greets you with a nervous smile and can barely meet your eyes, he tells you with red eats that he’s ninety nine percent sure that he’s gay and that his friend has been begging him to just take them plunge and you nod and give him some dutiful advice. You’re definitely not looking to be a guys experiment, that rarely ends well, but he invites you out to dinner where he loosens up after a glass and goes on an impassioned rant about theater etiquette and suddenly things are actually interesting and you’re talking too loudly for the table over but you couldn’t care less.

He’s funny, nervous but out there and you talk about musicals you’ve never heard of and tv shows he’s never seen for forty five minutes before you reach across the table and grab his wrist. The sex is light, he makes you laugh through blunders like banging his head against the wall and you kiss afterwards and it feels light and sweet. It’s blissful, honestly, something you’ve forgotten you were missing at all until you’ve been handed it. You keep things non penetrative, he’s far from trying bottoming and you’re not a fan of being on the other side of it, and you have plenty of fun keeping him awake with all the other options. You talk to him again the next day, and then the next, and then his number is in your phone and you’ve been going steady for months.

Charlie isnt a perfect Prince Charming, he’s got his issues. He’s over the top and he pushes himself to meet standards and crumbles at the last second and you’ve had your fair share of screaming arguments. Work is stressful and some nights you go to bed in different rooms because you can’t stand dealing with him. You have your own issues and Charlie complains more than once, rightfully you’re forced to admit, about you being cold and reclusive when you get angry at him, and you’ve had to buy apology ice cream more than a couple times. But you have movie nights and kisses and cake together and a warm, building feeling in your chest. You go out to the zoo, try and fail to learn how to knit together and eat buttered toast with too much black pepper over the kitchen sink on Saturday mornings. You don’t get into anal but he gets really good at giving blowjobs, and those slept mornings spend kissing and exploring each others bodies fill you with a precious glow.

Charlie isn’t your one size fits all, but you’ve managed to find him a slot in your puzzle, and built him a home in your heart together. You love Charlie, and he loves you too, tells you so with cheesy flowers and you buy him one of those dumb necklaces that click together that you totally don’t love. He brings you lunch at work and you drive him home from visiting his parents, and your friends are fine enough with his to go drinking together every couple of times. His best friend does your tarot readings and gets an awful tattoo you laugh about together. You cry and he doesn’t

Life is good. It’s not effortless, it’s not magic, but it’s good because you made it so. You’ve pushed and pulled and made something with your bare hands, and you have the luxury to sit back and watch the alabaster glow of the sun brighten Charlie’s face into a million beautiful shades of gray.

Life settles into a comfortable rhythm, and soon Charlie’s inviting you as plus one to a wedding and you start thinking about rings and commitment.

That’s all before you met him, though.

It happens like in a storybook, so trite that hours after it happens you’re wondering if you suffered some serious brain damage. Maybe you got hit by a car, or had a delayed reaction to the weed your friend passed you last week, or something happened to scramble your thoughts into this strange new unreality.

You’re visiting the library when it happens, dropping by after your shift to pick up some new reading material, not looking where you’re going. Charlie’s texting you a million and a half recommendations while you’re planning on picking up some awful garbage to groan and complain about later while he makes fun of you, and you’re typing a dick joke involving one of the sillier titles you spotted on the shelves. You bump into him, not a shoulder check but you run into him like a wall and he barely stumbles back. You’re not a small guy in the slightest but he’s built like a brick shithouse, Jesus.

“Ah, hell, sorry man.” You apologize, giving him a sheepish smile. “My foul. I should watch where I’m going.”

He doesn’t puff up with anger or anything but flashes you a toothy smile, so you relax. “Dinnae worry ‘bout it, mate.”

Oh, he’s Irish or something, the accent is thick as all hell. It sparks your interest, a definite standout from the midwestern folks living here, and you don’t rush away to continue your browsing. You don’t walk away, like you should’ve, you don’t realize that in two years this will have become your biggest, most shameful regret.

He peers down at you, light eyes, ivory maybe? He’s got a weird haircut, some kind of half committed Mohawk thing. It’s an awful haircut, really shitty, so you politely avert your eyes from the active train wreck and send a prayer for any casualties, and realize you’ve dropped your phone on the ground.

“Ye dropped—“

“Ah, let me—“

You both reach for it at the same time, and your fingers brush, and the world changes, and you have all of a half a second to freeze in shock and confusion before you accidentally headbutt him and fall over.

Maybe he had a thick enough skull to really hurt you. You would know.

[ohbo-ohno]

3.5k of cbf-turned-bully!soap x reader, inspired by this (very old) ask to my fave ever <3 (read on ao3)

tags: dubcon, dirty talk, masturbation, references to bullying, breaking and entering, rough sex, overstimulation

You’re still nearly shaking with frustration as you settle beneath your sheets, fingers twitching against your stomach and your jaw clenched tight.

You are not going to touch yourself. You’re not. There is no way in hell that you’re coming home from seeing Johnny fucking MacTavish for the first time in years and masturbating. It’s not happening.

…Well, you are awfully keyed up.

“Fucking bastard,” you hiss to yourself, frustration only growing as you shimmy down your loose shorts. You tell yourself firmly that this has absolutely nothing to do with the reappearence of your greatest nemesis, and try not to grind your teeth. You hadn’t even spoken to the man - just a glance of him had you hissing and ducking behind a different aisle at the supermarket - and you’re already riled by him. It’d be embarrassing if you weren’t nearly too horny to think.

You take a deep breath and rest your fingers over your slit, closing your eyes and letting your mind wander. You touch yourself slowly, fingers carefully spreading your lips as you let your mind wander. With your free hand you tug open your bedside drawer, tugging out your favorite toy and dragging it down your stomach.

Your movements are measured and familiar as your usual fantasies play across the backs of your eyes. You give yourself several long moments to slicken, coaxing more and more from your body with nimble fingers and quick circles.

In your mind, there’s a large body over yours and something just thick enough to let you feel the sting of a stretch inside of you, your breasts pushing against his chest, soft grunts in your ears.

Your breathing hitches, hips working against your palm as the fantasy starts to become more clear. He’s big, both above you and inside of you - only halfway in and already tugging you near the edge. His hands are on either side of your head, caging you in so all you can see is his tan skin, his rippling muscles.

You bite your lip to hold back a moan, eyelids fluttering. His bright eyes roll back when he pulls away enough for you to see his face. You lift one hand to your breast, the other gripping his head and both of you moan when you tug. The drag of his cock inside of you is perfect, his weight over you, the heat absolutely pouring over him…

His head drops back down when you let go of his hair, and his lips curve up into a smile as he looks down at you.

You nearly screech when you recognize him, throwing both hands away from your body and your eyes flying open to stare at your dark cieling. Your cunt and nipple throb, feeling quite suddenly neglected, but your heart isracing for an entirely different reason.

No. No. It’s one thing to satisfy your own needs after seeing the man, it’s another to… God, you can hardly even think it - to fantasize about the man and fuck yourself to him. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, desire rapidly cooling. Without Johnny himself in front of you - all six feet of him, muscular and masculine as he’s grown up to be - it’s easier to remember just how terrible he was to you all those years in school. There’s no sharp jawline and cute scruff to distract you from the memory of how he’d steal your clothes before you could change in gym class, leaving you with only those embarrassingly tiny athletic shorts for the rest of the day.

You huff as you let your legs fall closed again, the mood well and truly dissipating now. All you’ve got left is regular frustration, instead of the fun kind.

A sharp tap at the window jerks you out of your pouting, and you yank your blankets up to cover what little skin is showing in a panic, the slick dildo resting on your thighs. The room is silent for a moment, absolutely still except for the fan in the corner that’s been blowing for years, until there’s another tap.

You don’t realize what it is until the tap turns into a thunk. Then, you can hardly bite back your yelp. You’re nearly paralyzed with fear as the sound turns into a sort of… jangling almost, clearly coming from the one window in your bedroom.

Back pressed against your headboard, you can do nothing but think of all the things you should be doing as the curtains start blowing more noticeably, wind pouring into the room.

You’re just sucking in a breath to scream when Johnny MacTavish pops out from behind the curtain, combat boots loud against the wood flooring.

“Same old broken lock, huh, bonnie?” He smirks, strolling into your room like he belongs, like he used to. “Be honest now, you were just waiting here for me, weren’t you?”

You’re gaping like a fish, you know it, but you can’t help but stare at him wide-eyed.

The last time John MacTavish was in your bedroom, he was at least a foot shorter and a hell of a lot more welcome. The two of you had been eleven when he’d still been willing to be near you, but as soon as you’d moved on to elementary school - as soon as boys became boys and girls became girls, and kids had crushes instead of cooties - he’d stopped coming around. It was only a few years after that, in high school, that he’d gone from a friend you used to have to the boy who made school miserable.

And there is not one single reason you can think of to justify him sneaking in, the way he used to. Not now, all these years later with so much - said and unsaid - lingering between you.

None of that seems to weigh on him, though. He’s cocky as ever, doesn’t even bother to take off his boots as he saunters towards your bed, giving you a long look that can only be described as salacious as he leans himself against the foot of your bed.

It’s pure instinct to grope blindy at your bedside table, grabbing the first thing your fingertips touch and launching it at his head.

His instincts are sharp enough the he catches the bottle of water before it can do any real damage, but the small distraction gives you enough time to stumble to your feet, blanket held protectively in front of your body - you’re not completely nude, but a tanktop and panties aren’t exactly what you want Johnny seeing you in.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” You hiss, some old instinct making you want to stay quiet even though there’s no one in the house with you.

The look he gives you is almost begrudgingly scolding, his lips tilted up in the corners as he tuts like he’s just barely holding back a smile. “Now, what was that for? I know your happy to see me, no need to start throwin’ things.”

“Johnny,” you scold, heartbeat slowing as the initial fear fades. “What the hell are you doing in my room? We haven’t spoken in years, you can’t just show back up-”

“Aw, I knew you missed me,” he grins, easily interrupting you and stepping almost within arms reach, water bottle discarded on your dresser. “Figured you didnae want to hear from me, I’d have written if I knew you’d be so crabbit.”

You splutter a bit, spine straightening in offense. “You’re breaking into my house! I have more than a right to be- what’d you say? Crabbit?”

His smile only grows and he steps closer, making you instinctually take a step back. “I don’t mind, lass. ‘S always fun to coax a pretty thing out of an ugly mood.”

Your face feels like it’s on fire as you splutter, your heart only beating faster as Johnny prowls forward, eyes dragging down your body like he wants to eat you alive. 

“I like your PJs, bonnie,” he rumbles, reaching out a hand to drag his finger down one of the straps of your tank top. “Did you match your panties just for me?”

Yous hiss and smack his hand away, one hand crossing tight over your chest to try and regain some amount of modesty. “How could I have dressed for you when you’re breaking in? This is ridiculous, you need to go, Johnny-”

You hardly even notice as he slowly pushes you backward, his chest pressed against yours until there’s no more room to pull away from him, the wall at your back a cold shock.

“Go?” He tilts his head, eyes big and round and you know the bastard isn’t as innocent or well-meaning as he’s trying to look. “But I just got here, bonnie. We haven’t even fucked yet.”

You rear back at the crass language, face flushing with heat. “What- we’re not going to-” You stumble over your words, pressing further back against the wall when his hands - rough, calloused, so much bigger than they used to be - grab both of your elbows to keep you still. “We’re not having sex,” you finally manage to choke out.

His grin is shark-like, sharp and verging on mean as he ducks his face closer to yours, lowering his voice to match your volume. “Why not? You look hungry, lass, don’t you want a little help? My fingers are bigger than yours, bet I can reach further up in your pretty cunt than you can.”

You gape for a moment, mouth moving as you think about saying any number of things, each of them dying before they cross your lips. This Johnny is so far from the lanky teenager who shoved you as you passed him in the hallway, and even further from the little boy who refused to be your first kiss because of your cooties. You have no idea how to deal with this invasive adult Johnny.

Your hands are small against his broad chest, and you press against him with just a hint of pressure, hoping he’ll take your hint and lean away. He doesn’t, only pushes himself closer and gives you some of his weight to hold up. 

“Johnny, come on,” you try, pushing a little harder and only getting yourself more firmly pinned against the wall. “We can- let’s get lunch tomorrow, okay? We can talk then.”

Johnny doesn’t respond at first, only ducks down and presses his face into your throat. You stiffen at the feeling of his damp breath against your skin, the slight brush of his teeth chasing goosebumps down your spine. Your breath hitches when you feel a distinct shape against your stomach, his hardness pressing into you.

“I can’t leave now, bonnie,” he says against your throat, groaning and grinding himself against you just once. “Ye’ve got me all worked up, I’ll die if you make me go.”

“Johnny…” you whine, wrapping your hands around his biceps and squeezing.

“I’ll make it good for you, don’ worry,” he reassures, hands shifting from the wall to wrap around your waist. “Might be a tad selfish once we get goin’, but you’ll have your fun.”

You can’t do much but squirm as one of his hands slips down beneath your bottoms, large hand cupping you. Your squeak is entirely unintentional when his fingers begin to explore without any reservations, your face hot with embarrassment at how quickly your body reacts.

Johnny doesn’t lift his head far, only enough to mouth at your jaw and leave little sucking bites. His free hand, the one not stroking your clit and drawing out wetness from your core, drifts up enough to palm one of your breasts.

“Johnny,” you breathe, incapable of saying anything but his name.

You can feel his smile against your skin, and you arch further into him when he slides one thick finger inside of you. His fingers are bigger than yours, enough for you to worry about the size of other parts of him.

“You’re so tight for me, lovie. Gonna squeeze me just right, huh?” His fingers crooks inside of you at just the right angle, and your hips jerk forward on instinct as you cry out. “Pretty thing, can’t believe I never had this back in school.”

“What-” You start, cutting yourself off with a gasp that melts into a moan as he pushes another finger inside of you. You’re more than wet enough to take it, but everything seems to be moving at hyperspeed, and you can’t keep up. “Oh, that’s- what’re you talking about?”

He huffs against your jaw, nosing up a little further to press against your cheek as his hot breath washes over you. “You’re so pretty lass, had me hard as iron every day when we were kids. Wasn’t very nice, huh bonnie? Walkin’ around in those cute skirts and - fuck, your pretty blush… drove me fucking insane.”

You yelp at the sudden stretch of three fingers, pushing up onto your toes to try and jerk away, but Johnny just follows you, thumb stroking cruelly over your clit.

“Just wanted to bend you over,” he groans, pressing his hips into your stomach and gripping your breast tight enough that you worry you’ll bruise. “Wanted to put you on your knees, on your back, fuck, woulda done anything for just a peek at this pretty cunt.”

“Jo-hnny,” you hiccup, melting against him as the pleasure begins to overwhelm you, everything else fading as you creep closer to an orgasm you’re not even sure you want. “I don’t-”

“Hush,” he hisses, smacking your tit lightly and ignoring your cry of shock. “Lemme get you off here, then I’ll fuck you, yeah? Gonna split you open on my cock, show you what you coulda had years ago, gonna fuck you dumb.”

He finally presses his lips to yours, swallowing your moans and cries as they slowly grow in volume. Your hips buck against his hands as you chase an orgasm, unable to do anything more than pant into Johnny’s mouth as he licks into yours, tongue exploring every bit he can reach.

Your orgasm absolutely melts you, leaves you weak and limp pinned between the wall and the man you’d once known so well. Johnny’s breathing almost as hard as you, every part of him pressed fully against you. He’s all heat and solid man, forcing you to ride out every euphoric wave of your orgasm.

You’re a little glassy eyed by the end of it, knees weak and mind even weaker. You’re vaguely aware of your hands lightly pushing at him as he lifts you by the thighs, dropping you carelessly onto the bed.

“Fuck,” Johnny hisses, tearing your clothes from your body like they’re nothing. You whine when he presses kisses to your stomach, those kisses quickly turning to sucking bites that have you arching and running a hand through his mohawk. 

He doesn’t bother to take off his shirt - too busy licking his way up to your tits for that - but the sound of his belt dropping to the floor and his jeans following is loud in the quiet of your bedroom.

When he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking like he’s trying to physically pull more moans from you, you arch off the bed with a near squeal. He’s hunched over you as he settles firmly above your prone form on the bed, knees between your thighs and keeping them spread.

“Slow- slow down,” you gasp, tapping at his shoulder a bit frantically as you feel the thick - so thick - length of him press against your drooling center. “Johnny-!” 

Your cry melts into a long, drawn-out moan as Johnny forces himself inside of you with one mean thrust. Three fingers somehow wasn’t enough prep for you to take him comfortably, his cock leaving you teary eyed and writhing on the bed as he bottoms out in just seconds. You feel like you’ve been impaled, the breath forced from your chest as you dig your nails into his shoulder and try despertley to breathe through the stretch.

“There,” Johnny pants above you, lips pink and swollen from his kisses. “There ye go, bonnie, good fuckin’ girl for me. Coulda - shit, shit - coulda had this years ago, huh?” His head drops low, eyes boring into yours as he pulls back and thrusts back into you sharply, forcing another cry from your lips. “See how good it feels? I can make you feel so good, pretty girl, promise.”

“Johnny, c’mon,” you gasp, scratching down his shoulder blades and pulling him close. Any reservations you had have been fucked out of you in just a few thrusts, and even despite your recent orgasm your clit throbs with need. “C’mon, you can- you can move.”

His smile is sharp above you, his own pupils blown wide and his shirt sticking to his sweat-slick skin. “Yeah? Want me to fuck you harder?”

You whine high in your throat, throwing your head back and hitching your hips higher as he finds a pace that works, his hips slamming against the backs of your thighs when you wrap them around his waist. You’re half off the bed with the position he’s got you in, his arms scooping you up around your back so he can lavish more attention across your tits.

Every breath you take leaves you in a moan or a cry, the pleasure he’s punshing into you almost overwhelming. You feel fevered, desperate in a way you never have before as you claw desperately at Johnny’s scalp, tugging his hair until he moans.

“So tight for me,” he slurs against your chest, drooling as he switches from one nipple to the other. “Drivin’ me fuckin’ mad, bonnie, could stay in this cunt forever, shit.”

“Johnny,” you gasp, eyes screwed up tight as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to a second peak. “You’re so… fuck, so big, I can’t… can’t breathe.”

“Yeah?” He asks, looking up at you and pushing himself up enough to press kisses to your lips. “‘M fuckin’ the air right out of you, huh? Fuckin’ you so good you can’t breathe?”

“Yeah,” you keen, your body beginning to tense as you begin to taste your orgasm. “Feel so good, Johnny, please, I’m so- I’m so close, c’mon…”

“Yes, yes,” he chants against you, his lips brushing over every bit of your face he can reach, tongue darting out to lick up the few stray tears slipping from your eyes. “Squeeze me tight, c’mon, come for me, lass, you can do it.”

He doesn’t give up his tight hold on you to rub your clit, but you find that you don’t need him to, the combination of his thrusts and everything about the situation bringing you to a powerful enough orgasm that your vision whites out for a moment. Your throat is sore as you shout, and the fabric of Johnny’s shirt is loose around where your fingers have dug in mercilessly.

“Fuck, tight as a vice, fuck, fuck,” Johnny moans, his own face screwed up in pleasure as he loses any rhythm he had before, fucking you like a fleshlight. He leans back and pulls you up with him, holding you chest to chest with him and burying his face into your neck as you hold onto him for dear life. 

He buries his teeth right above your pulse as he comes, working his hips in small, jerky thrusts to milk himself as you tighten up around him. Your breath is synced with his, both of you panting desperately and soaked in sweat.

You’re still reeling as he begins to recover. Before you can even muster enough strength to let your thighs fall away from his hips, he’s falling forward onto the bed and laying both of you out on your sides, his hold on you not loosening at all. He takes half a second to throw his shirt across the room, then presses you so close that your tits are all but flat against his chest.

He’s uncharacteristically silent as the two of you share breaths, each of you slowly floating back into your bodies. The only emotion you can really muster is shock - how is it that Johnny, your best friend turned biggest bully, just fucked you better than any man you’ve been with before? It feels, in some absurd way, unfair.

“We’ll have to talk about this,” you say quietly, once your heartbeat has almost evened out and your breaths are coming evenly. 

Johnny only hums, one big hand moving down to hitch your thigh back around his waist, tilting your body so somehow even more of your skin is pressed against his. “Sure, bonnie,” he murmurs, voice half muffled from where his face is pressed into your hair. “Tomorrow.”

“I’m serious, Johnny,” you try, one hand resting on his ribs. “You broke into my house.”

“Hmm,” he hums, taking a deep breath of your scent and letting it out contentedly. “I’ll say sorry in the mornin’. Sleep now, though.” His voice is almost pleading, his grip on you tightening for just a moment, one hand behind your back and the other resting on your ass. You feel like a stuffed animal, but you’re too pleasure-sated to really mind.

“Alright,” you agree, settling into his hold fully and letting your mouth rest against his collarbone as your eyes flutter shut. “Tomorrow.”

[temeyes]

no sense of direction

[diejager]

Dark!childhood best friend Johnny is going to eat away at my mind for the next couple days, thanks =)

Imagine him guilt tripping you into sex, "At least a blowjob Bonnie, please? Ah been yer best friend for forever." Giving you those big blue puppy dog eyes as he ruts against you.

Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, blowjob, choking, throatpie, manipulation/coercion, guilt tripping, dacryphilia, tell me if I missed any.

”I don’t know, Johnny,” you bit your lower lip, staring at him with a nervous gleam and answered his hesitantly. You truly wanted to help Johnny, but you didn’t think it appropriate to blow your best friend, especially after your recent break up.

“One, Bonnie, just one.”

Johnny was always insistent, used to getting what he wanted from you as children and teens, your younger and naive mind listening to everything he said. Perhaps he was used to it, but you’ve changed as much as he did, growing up happy but tired with work and life. You’d been hit on, men coming up to you for a quick fuck or to take advantage of you, and how fortunate was it that Johnny was your best friend. That meant you knew a few tricks you’ve heard from prior experience and your friends, but this was Johnny, your childhood best friend who stuck by your side through thick and thin.

“Johnny…” you stammer when he pressed on, cornering you against the couch in your shared flat, his cock - a big and hard and hot mass - rutting your thigh, his hips rucking up your loose shorts, “I’m not sure if-“

He pouted. Johnny pouted, lips pulled down and his pretty, blue eyes gleaming while he begged you to serve him once, he even threw you his puppy eyes. He pressed himself closer to you, hands finding your hips and pulling you into him, his still growing bulge grinding against your burning core, tingling with the fresh flames of pleasure. He groaned, nuzzling your shoulder and panting loudly, his hot breath hitting your neck in loud puffs and grunts.

“Just one, please? Ah been yer best friend fer so long, dinnea ah deserve one, Bonnie?” You couldn’t tell him no when he looked at you with such a pleading expression, sounding so exhausted and restless.

The moment you gave him a tentative nod, Johnny had you kneeling between his legs, excitedly reaching under his pants to pull out his cock. It hung between his legs, heavy with girth and slightly longer than your ex, balls thick with unspent cum and his trimmed hair musky. You’ve seen his naked body before - from the many shared showers and many moments of comfort - but you never really stared at the length and girth of him. Your flustered cheeks made him coo, running his thumb under your eye and letting you take your time, hands wrapping around the base and wetting your dry lips.

You kissed his engorged tip, tongue swirling around it before wrapping your lips around the head, sucking until your cheeks hollowed and bobbing your head lightly. He tasted salty, the dripping pre rolling down your throat each time you took him deeper, slow and careful because of his size. He was thicker than what you were used to, the girth of his cock hard and covered in crossing veins, bulging and throbbing with a pulse; and he was longer than what you’ve had, the head hitting so deeply, making your throat choke around his cock with every drag over your tongue to the back of your mout.

You jerked the rest of his cock, the part that you couldn’t take, with your hands, fingers dragging the skin across his length and traveling down to cup his balls, fondling with his heavy balls. He swore loudly, unabashed and shamelessly moaning out your name, his fingers running through your hair and tightening and pulling when he hit the back of your throat, his cock jumping when you audibly gagged. His whole body shuddered when he caught the first tears under your fluttering lashes, some stray tears rolled down your cheek, gleaming under the living-room light. 

“‘M close, Bonnie,” he rasped, softly running his fingers through your hair, encouraging you to take him deeper and deeper —to let him fill your stomach with him. 

Invigorated by his words, you bobbed your head faster, choking down your retching and tears, feeling him twitch on your tongue and his pre thickening. He mumbled out a few incoherent words, praises and compliments, telling you how well you were doing and how his best friend had such a good mouth. He let slip out that he would’ve asked for this favour a while back if he knew your mouth was so hot and tight. 

“Moan fer me, let me feel ya.”

You moaned and mewl, letting the sound shake through your throat and mouth vibrating his whole cock, head sinking down on him and slick hands still pumping what you couldn’t fit, coaxing him to come down your throat. When he came, he thrust his hips up, forcing him much deeper as tangy cum spurted from his tip, painting your mouth and throat in thick, white seed. His body shuddered, head thrown back, back arched and limbs tense, holding you still while you swallowed down his cum. 

You gasped and panted when he pulled you off, eyes lidded and lips swollen from the stretch of his shaft. He whispered out praises, pulling you to his lap and peppered your face with doting kisses. He kissed your tears away, and he kissed your lips, his tongue pushing past your teeth and tasting himself in your mouth. Smiling softly at your fiery blush, he pressed his forehead against yours, gazing into your eyes with a cheeky expression that made you frown.

“Let me return the favour?”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @rainbowsabre

[charliemwrites]

Woof woof… whimper

(Part 10… but technically a continuation of part 9)

Content: Dub-Con/Non-Con, Knotting

It takes your cock-addled brain a second too long to process what Soap’s just said. What he’s implied. And by then he’s all ready for you to buck against him, confused and angry.

“That’s so — that’s not funny!” You shout.

But he’s got you pinned thoroughly, your chest flat against the mattress and your ass flush against his hips. His cock buried so deep you can feel the hot head of it bullying the deepest parts of you. All your struggling does is make you clench up tight around him, makes him feel that much bigger and meaner inside you. Makes him grunt low and ragged in your ear, all animal appreciation.

“I’m not laughin’,” he replies, nipping at your shoulder.

“G-get off of me, get out, get—”

His hand slides into your hair again, gets a firm hold at the roots and presses your face into the blankets, muffling your protests. Shushes you like soothing a panicked animal.

“Now, now,” he chides, “I still gotta prove I’m not compensating, don’t I?”

You suck in a breath, squeezing your eyes shut. There have to be a million explanations other than the absolutely ludicrous one he’s just presented to you. Cameras, microphones….

How did he know where you live?

How did he know where the spare key was?

How did he know where your bedroom was?

How did he find you at the bar?

Stalker, you tell yourself. He’s a creep, you’ve always known that.

Then where’s your dog?

“N-no,” you warble, bucking again. Nearly scream as his cock twitches inside you; only reason you don’t is because you can barely breathe as it is. He’s so deep inside that he’s practically in your lungs. “No way you’re my — there’s no way. You’re crazy. I’m gonna— ah!”

He draws out as you speak, gradual, and then plunges in again all at once, cutting you off. Grinds his hips in a dirty circle too, burying himself as deep as he can.

“Aww, poor thing,” he coos. “S’alright, baby, I knew this would happen. We jus’ gotta get all those big, scary feelings out first. Then I can explain it all nice and slow.”

You try to scream at him. Try to curse him out, tell him there’s no way in hell you’re listening to a word he says now; never mind letting him spend another second with his dick in you.

All that comes out is a high-pitched keen as he starts fucking you without further preamble. It aches, but you can’t tell in what way. If it hurts, if it’s the best you’ve ever had. Both? Your nerves feel haywire, brain dragged to lust-stupid depths.

“See, there we go,” he rasps, punctuating with a sharp snap of his hips on that last word. “My perfect little mate. Your cunt was made for my cock, made to be bred by me. Isn’t that right?”

You try to shake your head, but his grip keeps you from doing more than sending electricity down your spine, hair pulled taut.

“Yeah it fucking is,” he growls to his own question, canting your hips back further. His fingers grip cruelly into the flesh, sure to leave bruises. You wish you didn’t enjoy the sensation, wish it didn’t make you spasm around him helplessly.

“‘Bout time I owned you right back, don’t you think?” He continues, never stopping or even slowing. You yelp as he tugs your necklace again, arching your back at a steep angle. “Even collared yourself up for me. All it needs is my name.”

Something about that drives some awful, slutty part of your brain fucking wild. The idea of you with a tight leather choker — a collar — with his name (you don’t think about what name) hanging from your throat…

“Like that, don’t you?” He chuckles meanly. “Who’s my good little slut? Who’s my perfect, soaked little breeding whore?”

Tears spring to your eyes as you realize the “I am” is right there on the tip of your over-saturated tongue. If you had air, brain cells, any ability at all, you’d be crying it to the ceiling like the toy he’s treating you as.

He’s going to ruin you, you think. He’s going to fuck you broken. You’re crying and wailing on his cock, think you’d actually throw a tantrum if he pulled out and left you on the edge right now. Would, you realize in horror, beg for him to keep going.

And then he snakes his hand around your hip and starts rubbing your clit — fast, hard little circles. Just the way you like; the way you’d do it yourself. Relentlessly and cruel, even when you try to writhe away from how fast you can feel yourself getting to the edge. Almost frightened by it, how quickly he’s mastered your body’s pleasure.

Frightened by the extra stimulation at your entrance, too. A little extra friction at first — shocking because you’re leaving a puddle on the sheets. But then the friction becomes pressure, becomes… more.

“W-wha….?” You slur, hips wriggling.

Soap (Johnny?) snarls in your ear and that feeling at your entrance grows. Feels, you realize with alarm, like stretching.

“Gonnae take my knot so well,” he rambles, accent thick like syrup, trickling into your empty brain, filling you up with meaningless sounds. “Plug you up full of my cum, breed you right just like you need.”

Any questions or confusion are whisked away by the extra stimulation at your entrance. The sensitive nerves getting just as much brutal attention as your inner walls, your cervix, that sweet spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back.

It all becomes too much all at once and crashes through you, devastating. You clamp down around him tight and needy, lean all your weight back into his thighs. And he practically howls as he sinks into you and stays, grinding and humping without ever actually pulling out again. You feel a flood of heat that seems to go on for an absurdly long time, cock pulsing against your overstimulated walls, milked for every last drop.

You shudder as your brain tries and fails to process it all. Like trying to decipher a foreign language from white noise. It’s nothing but static to you.

You can feel a tongue against your shoulder, scraped of blunt teeth. Soap/Johnny licking the sweat from your skin and nipping bruises into the flesh. You make an annoyed noise that comes out whinier than intended, shoving at his face.

“Get off, you bastard.” Your voice is pathetic, thick with tears and fractured in a hundred places.

“Can’t, bonnie, even if I wanted to.”

You scowl, try to look at him over your shoulder. He takes that opportunity to nuzzle against your temple.

“What?” You ask. “What are you talking about?”

“Did ye hear me?” He chuckles. “Well, maybe not with the way you were screamin’. You’re all knotted up, baby. Can’t pull out — ‘less you want this pretty pussy to tear.”

You jolt, nearly yank yourself off out of pure fear, but Johnny keeps you still again, humming.

“Easy now,” he croons. “Still fussy? Need another to settle down?”

Useless as your brain may be, it recognizes what he means by “another one.” You think you might pass out.

“No,” you snap, petulant even to your own ears. “I want you to explain… explain everything.”

“Alright, hen. C’mere.”

He gently lays you out prone on the bed, then rolls you both on your sides. Hitches your leg up over his hip. You want to protest, but it helps the ache in your poor cunt.

“H-how are you still hard?” You pant, traitorous pussy twitching around him.

He growls in your ear, can feel him grinning against the lobe. “Will stay that way for a bit, lass. Don’ worry, you jus’ have to lay here all nice and still. Keep me warm while I explain things to you.”

And he does. How there are shapeshifters out there in the world, rare as they are. That he comes from a line of them. Recruited to military, as most of them are.

How he was on standard patrol when he smelled you for the first time.

“Like a wet dream, bonnie. Fertile. Spring. Smelled like mine.”

How he instantly knew you were his mate. That he just needed to make you see it. Never a good time to explain it all to you — and then there were interlopers and your silly little books and your pesky toys. How he tried to drop hints around the house, let you come to the correct conclusion on your own. But you never did.

“Honestly it’s a good thing I’m here, hen. You’re so oblivious. Lived with a man and never even knew it.”

That he tried to go about it the other way ‘round, as a man, but you’re just so stubborn. And then how it all led up to tonight. To you finally, finally realizing what you really needed: your mate.

You should be angry, furious. There’s a lot to say about… well, all of it. It’s horrifying and violating and… and…

And he hasn’t stopped bullying your clit since he started talking. Cruel, tight circles. Drawing the hood back with two fingers and stroke with a third, slow and languid and just soft enough to make your head spin. Rhythmless taps. Even pinches when you try to chew him out at one point, half turning to scowl. Instead have his tongue lapping sloppily at yours as your mouth gapes open soundlessly.

Makes you cum twice just like that without ever interrupting his own story, cock still hilted — knotted deep inside you. Honestly, you probably miss a good portion of it, some of the finger details for sure. But you get the broad strokes (among other strokes).

He licks at your overstimulated tears when he’s finished, nuzzling and kissing your cheek.

“I-I miss my dog,” you mumble finally, hands balled against your chest.

“Aww, darlin’,” he sighs, sounding genuinely apologetic. “We’re one and the same. I’m always your boy no matter what form I take.”

It would be more comforting if his dick didn’t throb calling himself your boy.

“‘Sides, I’m better than a normal mutt,” he continues, tugging you against his chest. You want to hate that is instantly makes you feel a little better. “Wolves mate for life, after all.”

[brewed-pangolin]

Soap MacTavish loves to make you laugh during sex. Yes, he adores your smile and the way your eyes light up. Almost as much as when you clench around him while he's buried deep into your silken heat.

[cloudypariah]

How to perpetrate and sabotage your own kidnapping: A guide for dummies.

- The creation of the board (and its subsequent discovery)

Summary: Step One: host a brainstorming session with your teammates on how best to kidnap your future abductee. Step Two: have said abductee show up half an hour into the session and begin correcting your entire plan. Step Three: realise at the beginning of their impromptu presentation the target has absolutely no idea that they’re the target. Step Four: fail anyway.

Pairing: Dark!Poly!Task Force 141 x fem!Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Content tags: Dark content - Discussions around kidnapping, tense situations. If this is not your cup of tea, please go and find something different might better suited your palate. This is an 18+ fic meaning minors do not interact with this work. No one has permission from me to repost, copy or translate my work. No one has my permission to put my work into any AI source.

Notes: This is my first foray into the COD fandom and will be the first part in a dark comedy series. Please let me know what you think. Not proofread very well, sorry for any mistakes! Thanks for the motivation @live-love-be-unique !

Link to Task Force 141 masterlist / Link to COD masterlist

Captain John Price likes to think he knows his men well enough to trust them when his back is turned. Now that itself doesn’t necessarily mean knowing each and every one of their dirty secrets - he definitely wouldn’t come out smelling like fresh daisies if any number of his were revealed - but it does mean that he has the awareness to recognise that they all share one particular secret.

He sees it in the way Lieutenant Riley’s body language shifts when you give him his medical forms to look over, your consideration at offering him the option to disclose only certain personal information making the reserved soldier relax just enough to offer you a low thanks, accompanied with a stare that stretches on for a few moments longer than considered socially polite.

It’s also so amazingly obvious with Sergeant MacTavish. John’s surprised everyone else misses the way Soap’s smile takes a little longer to fade after departing for yet another mission, your swift congratulations on completing yet another physiotherapy appointment - “ Keep it up the good work big guy” - leaving the Scotsman floating on cloud nine damn near until the plane lands.

And how could he forget Sergeant Garrick? The man’s quick to change his tune and focus up, but the captain has observed Kyle absentmindedly rubbing his shoulder, thumb gingerly stroking the spot where your palm was only moments before, your figure long gone as you retreat down the corridor to where you came from.

No, Jonathan Price doesn’t miss a thing about his men. And it only takes two weeks and a long chat in the corner booth of the bar one quiet night - sans you or Laswell - before somehow his place becomes the meeting point for an unusual, though not unwelcome, topic - you.

More specifically, how to keep you.

The wooden shit box of a sports bar was where the first two facts were confirmed amongst them: 1. Every single one of the 141 men wanted you for themselves, but they weren’t above sharing. 2. You weren’t worth killing each other over, not when there was a much easier solution staring them in the face.

John’s house became the go-to place to discuss fact number three - They needed a plan.

It was Gaz who initially suggested the whiteboard after numerous interjections from Ghost and John; from everything to how to keep this from Laswell, to deciding which of your usual hangouts would provide them with the best opportunity to commence your “relocation”, to how to delicately but firmly explain said "relocation" to you once it was complete. Kyle loves his brothers in arms and never regrets a moment where his life is on the line if it means saving any one of them, but his patience began to wear thin when Soap got bored and started using goddamn paper planes instead of words to get his point across. At that Price finally relented and bought the damn thing.

Now, John was expecting you to pop by his place on Wednesday night to drop some papers off. A perfect opportunity, were it not for the fact that the gentlemen were still disagreeing on where to relocate you. However, it’ll allow you to grow more comfortable with him while he has some alone time with you, your presence like a balm on a wound - soothing and necessary (at least to him).

He had been looking forward to seeing you… tomorrow. So when you turn up not just on the doorstep but in the middle of the bloody hallway in his own bloody home halfway through the 141 “guys night”, his secondary action of shitting bricks quickly overrides his primary instinct to eliminate the threat.

He’s on his way back from the bathroom when he sees you standing, familiar folders firm in your grasp - fucking hell, is that his spare key too? - and a sour expression on your pretty face.

Your eyes narrow further when you spot him, striding over with fury rolling off you in small waves. “Captain Price, I know you did not leave these dossiers on my desk just before the end of my work day with a note stating they all need to be completed by the end of the work day.”

John’s senses are briefly overwhelmed by you being so close to him, the sight of you angry having a different effect on him than what you had originally intended. He’s never seen it before, and his hand twitches when you’re less than a foot away - fluctuating adrenaline or the desire to reach out and hold you, he’s not sure which is more prevalent. 

He always forgets to not be so obvious around you, but it isn’t as though you usually notice. (He’s not sure if the thought should make him feel sad or grateful.)

The sounds of his men arguing in the background, merely the next room over, are enough to bring reality crashing down hard.

His voice is deliberately loud and stalwart when replies. “You can’t be here.”

“Tough shit. Your lads night can wait.” You lean past him to the origin of what your gut was telling you was the sounds of the remaining 141 members quarreling. It’s easy to slip past Captain Price once your mind is set, the push of files against his chest preventing him from reacting for a few seconds - all the time you need to move down the hallway to where everyone else is bound to be.

John is quick to rush behind you, the arguing noises having swiftly changed to near cartoon-like crashes just moments before you enter the room. 

Ghost has migrated to the corner of the sitting area, standing as stiff as a fucking nutcracker, a mountain of crumpled notes and paper planes spilling out from between his arms. (His mask is still on thank god because it’ll hide exactly how caught out he feels, and if there’s one thing Simon Riley cannot stand it’s feeling like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar). His eyes instinctually watch your every move, waiting for your reaction.

Both of your gazes drift to the other side of the room, with neither of you failing to notice how the couch cushions are strewn widely across the space, (with one being stuck on top of a bookshelf for some odd reason) to find not one, but two soldiers gecko’d to the standing whiteboard.

Their demolitions expert is currently splayed out on the left side of the board and desperately grabbing the top of its metal frame, his stomach pressed into the cold porcelain and a left leg hitched up in a poor attempt to conceal the incriminating writing.

Price’s protégé is in a similar state. Dear Gaz has his back against the right side, with his arms outstretched to - much like Johnny - cover as much of their group planning as possible, a coloured marker clasped in each fist.

Two deers in headlights.

The sight of his task force is enough to bring back flashbacks of his original conversation with Kate about bringing these men together because Jesus H. Christ, what the fuck was he thinking?

There are a few moments when nobody moves or dares to breathe…

… except for you, of course.

You waste no time walking over to the two youngest members of the 141 as you attempt to shove them off the board. “Move,” you demand, palms pushing firmly against their sides. “I want to know what’s so important to everyone.” When they refuse, you do your best to stare at them, pleading with a pleasantly soft, “Please.”

Yeah, they both do what you say with ease when they hear that, giving you enough space to take in the somewhat smudged scribbles.

You miss the signal John gives Simon, the Ghost moving closer to your position as John quietly locks the door, and when your attention is drawn back to the board after the other two move you also miss all of the knowing looks shared behind your back. This was very far from ideal, but how can they recover from this?

They hope you understand that whatever comes next, they didn’t plan for it to start this way.

Kyle and John call your name but you ignore them, still processing the information written in front of you.

Johnny flexes his hands, preparing for the worst as you step back and say, “This is… bullshit.”

Every single member stops. That was not the reaction they were expecting.

Turning to face the group, you scoff. “I’m not even kidding. Firstly, you’re using guys' night to work, which is horrible for your mental and emotional health. And you should all know better.”

Four sets of brows furrow in united confusion. You don’t let that deter you from continuing, your arms gesturing haphazardly at the whiteboard. “Secondly, this is hands-down one of the worst brainstorms I have ever seen. This is not cohesive in the fucking slightest. Garrick, mark me.”

Kyle chokes on his spit, his brain short-circuiting before he sees your fingers wiggling at one of the markers he’s holding. The sergeant promptly gives it to you.

Your free hand takes turns pointing at everyone else in the room, a verbal command of, “sit down” directed at each man also. Dumbly and cautiously they all do. Ghost places himself at the end of the couch nearest the entrance, John strategically chooses a spot between yourself and the kitchen, and Soap and Gaz sit closest to you, where the two of them can hear you muttering under your breath as you draw what appears to be a massive cloud shape in the middle of the board.

Once completed, you fill your shape in with the word ‘TARGET’ and slam your free hand against the board. No one flinches, but if one were to look closely there would be some eyes widening in response. Johnny swears he sees one of your eyelids twitch.

“So,” you call out, “what do we know about the target?”

There are not only wide eyes looking at you, there are full glances exchanged between your audience.

“Seeing as you had the nerve to not invite me in your little meeting while keeping me on overtime” - Kyle and John squirm at that, and your finger makes a little circle - “we are going to be working on this project together. With all due respect, I’m not asking.”

Surely not…

And it’s when Captain John Price reviews the writing left over from the others that he realises Kyle and Johnny did one thing right during their clusterfuck of a coverup.

They managed to erase your name.

… you have absolutely no idea you are the target.

 A piece of writing far in the coroner catches your attention, and your shoulders slump. “The target likes knitting and ‘The Karate Kid’. In another life we would have been the best of friends.” A dramatic sigh leaves you, “Oh well, at least I’ll be able to give you some insight into the mindset of this individual. Any questions?”

Four hands shoot up.

Rubbing your hands together with glee, a maniac smile grows on your face. “Excellent.”

[konigsblog]

tw: stepcest, dubcon, coercion&manipulation, slight age gap (20s-30s)

older brother!soap and younger stepsister!reader is rotting my brain away -- slowly. :3

johnny has a thing for manipulating his little stepsister into wanting him. he coerces you — guilt tripping you for not immediately having sex with him when he came home from deployment. it's gross. you know it's gross. it's depraved for johnny to be like his towards you; his younger, naive stepsister.

he knows there's a power dynamic, especially with how easily influenced you are!! you take his criticism and work towards whatever expectations he has of you. so when johnny complains about you being a prude, you desperately try to fulfil his needs by becoming a whore for him.

coming over to his apartment on the occasion and doing whatever he asks. you always feel used afterwards, like your nativity and sensitivity was taken advantage of. he knows how you take whatever he says as criticism, and he uses it against you!!

“ye’ dinae show enough’ skin, bonnie.” he mutters, watching how you swallow his cock greedily, on your knees before him. your lips are tightly wrapped around his thick, meaty shaft, gagging on him with mascara ruining your cheeks, rolling down along with your tears. you gulp, uncomfortable, but pressured and desperately wanting to prove yourself as a good girl — an obedient stepsister. slowly, you take your shirt off, tensing up at he sound of his hoarse chuckles.

“good lassie.”

he leans back, head cocked to the side. he tuts quietly, catching your attention as you pump him. “up--c’mere. wanna get a better look at those tits’.” on shakey legs, you straddle his lap, pussy already wet and slick as you ease down onto his hard, throbbing dick. your tits bouncing in his face was already driving him utterly insane. he couldn't help but touch you, grope your ass and breasts while you needily worked your hips down onto him in an attempt at getting compliments and love from your stepbrother.

johnny does feel sympathy, he feels pity for you. you take everything to heart and you're so, so sensitive. you sulk when he tells you you're covering up too much, and you especially can't help but cry when he tells you that you're being a horrible stepsister for not letting him fuck you when he's home from his hardworking job.

don't you care about his needs? he's a man, your stepbrother... surely you trust him, right?

—you allow him regardless, crying into his pillow as he fucks and degrades you for not listening.

“jus’ relax onto me, doll.” he whispers, pushing you down. he feels as you fuck and ride him, holding back tears when he drags his cold fingers down your hardened nipples. he sucks them, pushing your tits against his face as you buck and rock your hips. you pant breathlessly, bouncing so that he can reach his orgasm, following along with his little game just so you can be a good stepsister — a people pleaser.

he bucks into you, covering your nipples into saliva, looking up at you with cruel, lovesick eyes. your nipples puffy and his lips glossy, his load covering your gummy walls in a thick layer of his semen, oozing into you.

“such a good, dumb lass, ain’t’cha? so precious, always followin’ along so well, jus’ like ye’ should for yer’ older stepbrother, aye?”

[miwsolovely]

— ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ICHOR — dark!outlaw!task force 141 x reader

⟡ taglist (closed.)

⟡ part one, part two, part three, part four, part five //

!!description.

You were trapped. Trapped in an arranged, loveless, marriage your parents forced you into, and trapped in this small, nosy town where everybody knows everybody.

And to them, you’re known as a whore. Even though it’s not you who sleeps with multiple people a day, it’s your husband. “Husband.”

You wanted out. So you ran. You ran with whatever you could carry and the clothes on your back. Ran and found a small cottage to call home. However in order to survive, whether you like it or not, you need money. And to get money, you need a job.

Coincidentally, a few days later, you got found by four farmers in the woods.

The four farmers have a house. A big house. And that house, needs a housekeeper.

!!characters.

johnathan ‘bravo six’ price + simon ‘ghost’ riley + kyle ‘gaz’ garrick + john ‘soap’ mactavish

!!warnings.

fem!reader, polyamorous, poly!141, fmmmm, soapghost, pricegaz, slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers, dark fic ( maybe yandere… ) heavy angst, requited unrequited love, ( graphic ) violence, domestic ( not explicit ) abuse, ( mentions of ) rape not from the main 4, sexism ( towards reader + other women in this series ), abuse of power, manipulation ( of love + in general ) more might be added…

I am not responsible for your media consumption. read the warnings, read the tags.

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms !

- likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated <3 !!

©miwsolovely

[the-faceless-bride]

A grand escape...Attempt.

Summary: after being captured, you become a glorified Fleshlight. while the constant orgasms were... Nice...this still wasn't... What you wanted. You didn't want to be an object... So you decide you'd escape... But... It didn't work... And ended with more cocks for you to take care of...

<- Part 1

Pairing(s) DARK! Task force 141 x reader + a new friend 👀

Warnings: Smut, flashbacks, mind break, Readers name changed to Bandit, oral (Reader receiving) reader has fem anatomy but never given a said gender, age caps, MLM, more non-con/Dub-con, squirting, flashbacks, let me know if I missed anything my lovelies.

A/n: I use Google Translate for some parts. Let me know if anything is wrong!!

You cry out as your back arches once more, you huff as you try and focus. Johnny pulled away from your naked body, buckling his pants before kissing you on the forehead. "gotta go hen, stay here. Nice and pretty for Ghost ye?"

That was one of the few things you learned during your time here. All the men here had some type of connection to each other.

Johnny and Ghost were an item outside of their job and lived together...Loved each other.

You let yourself get lost in the fantasy. Your body is being cared and loved for by men who love you. Even if you know it isn't true. Ghost pushed his girth into your wet pussy as you gagged when Johnnys' cock hit the back of your throat. The sounds of their moans and praise for each other filled the room. They seemed so in love and wrapped up in each other that they barely paid you any attention.

"fuck I love you, Johnny." Ghost moaned and Johnny moaned "I love you too." they both pushed harder as they came close to their release. When you felt it. The warmth that filled your insides as well as your mouth.

But there was no praise for you. No care. This. This was now your job. Something for you to do, for them to enjoy. There was no love for you.

Price and Gaz had a relationship, but it wasn't the same as Johnny and Ghost. Yet it was still so intimate.

You had misbehaved. The idea of being nothing but a piece of cake had... Started to get to you... Being the romantic you are... But being the crybaby you are no words came... Just sobs and incoherent mumbling of wanting to be left alone and let go.

So your punishment was that you would be let go... But you had to watch.

Hands, legs, and feet bound. Gagged and forced to watch.

Price was so gentle with him. And Gaz looked so... Angelic. Strong body with such a sweet face, and strong but soft and enchanting eyes.

Price sang praise to the younger man, he knew just how to make Gaz tick.

And Gaz kept his eyes on you. 'look what you're missing.' they said, 'You could be enjoying this too,' 'if only you hadn't been bad.'

Your face was wet, you don't remember when you started crying. Again. But it was silent. You stared into Gaz's eyes, those sweet sweet eyes. There was no love for you...

And Alejandro... Now he was an interesting case... He's so passionate that you could trick yourself into believing there was love for you... If it wasn't for the fact you knew he hated you.

You and Alejandro rolled around in his sheets. Your moans seemed to drive him crazy. His sweet words and rough kisses made you feel so wanted.

But you couldn't keep your thoughts from wondering. You knew everything he said was just words... His words were sweet but his eyes said it all.

He hated what you stood for. Someone who killed for money. A paycheck. He was disgusted by you. You just had quick and easy pussy for his to enjoy. And that was it.

And even then his heart belongs to another. Another Man and seemingly a woman who had gone down the same path you did.

There was no love for you.

No love. Not for you.

You couldn't do this. You couldn't be alone like this. Physical was one thing but emotionally... You were starved. You had to get out of here.

You can't keep living like this.

You waited for Johnny to leave, for ten minutes. You waited Ten minutes before you left, in nothing but your underwear and an oversized shirt that belonged to Johnny.

And though you knew Ghost would be in that room soon and quickly notice you were gone, you were on a steady path out.

The Guys were very on edge lately. Having to work on a rough mission with some people they didn't particularly like. So you knew none of them would be paying attention to you.

And you almost did it. You almost made it. But almost in an ironic moment, almost replaying how you got here in the first place. You bumped right into a strong chest. Only it wasn't Ghost.

"Kleine Maus verloren?"

He also wore a mask, but he had piercing blue eyes and he was so... So tall... Strong... And intimidating...

"Poor little thing... You look scared..."

He walked closer to you. His body pressed against yours. His eyes roam over your body.

"Kleine Maus sucht Aufmerksamkeit~ aww."

You breathe awkwardly you didn't know what he was saying, but from the tone of his voice, it didn't sound mean... His hand reaches out and brushes hair from your face before cupping your head in his hands.

He now had you against the wall, his hands roamed over your cheeks.

He knew who you were. He wasn't deaf. He heard Johnny tell Ghost their "little bunny" was ready for him. But he was surprised to find you trying to run away. You weren't being taken care of properly... Poor little mouse...

Now he knows you aren't... His to punish... But there was no harm in playing with the little mouse. He is going to be partners with them for a while... Why not find something to... Bond over?

The bigger man slowly pushed you to the ground and after your slight spell was broken you started to struggle.

No. No, you didn't want to. You wanted to get away. You wanted to go home! You wanted to go home and find love!! You needed it!!

You started struggling harder, sending pitiful and almost laughably weak punches into his strong chest.

He pushed you to the ground, pulling your underwear down and stuffing it into his pockets.

With Johnny's cum still leaking out of you it was easy to stuff his large cock into your abused cunt. However, he still had to give a nice hard push to fully fit himself in.

" Was für eine gute kleine Maus~" the Large man moans, slowly pulling out before shoving his way back in. You cried out. "no! Not again!"

Man didn't hear you, and if he did he didn't care. He just kept shoving his big cock in and out of your pussy, the loud shlick sound and wet skin slapping was what he paid the most attention to.

His girth was perfect to hit that spot inside you that made that little string inside you pull tighter and tighter before it snapped.

A gush of liquid ran down your legs and the large man above you moaned.

What a perfect pretty mouse you are.

His cock twitched once. Twice. Then with a final thrust, he let himself relish in the feeling of his warm cum spilling out of you. Pulling away before letting his hands run against your ass, licking up your slit collecting his cum and yours in his mouth enjoying the taste and sound of your whimpers.

You moaned, reaching behind and grabbing hold of his masked head pulling him into your heat. You were ready to cum again, his tongue was so-

"KÖNIG!"

The man pulled away. His mask fell to cover his lower face, and he turned to the group of five men who looked at him before looking at the sight behind him, your slick heat displayed for them.

"Price! Hello. Sorry for the appearance. I found this little mouse trying to run away."

Price looks at König, "oh really?" König slowly made his way to the five men. "yes."- König leaned in his voice only loud enough for the five men to hear... "you should pay more attention to your pets. A little affection once in a while." before smugly walking away.

You would be punished. König knew that. And that's what he counted on. That one. small. sweet. Moment. Was all he needed to do. To know. One's your punishment was over. You'd come to him.

Looking for a little love.

[ohbo-ohno]

don't leave me locked in your heart (chap 1) - ghost x soap x reader

summary: Soap sees you dancing at a bar and decides you'd make the perfect anniversary present for Ghost, so he tempts you into going home with him one night and simply… doesn't let you leave in the morning.

word count: 11.9k

cw: NONCON!!!! dark!!! noncon somnophilia, kidnapping, noncon gags and bondage, rough sex, oral sex, the sex goes from consensual to dubcon to noncon, first chapter is almost entirely soap/reader

chapter 2/2 here, read on ao3, see the pinterest board

You've been dancing with the same man for the last three drinks. You haven't seen his face yet - you're a bit scared to turn around at this point, having built him up in your head so much that you're expecting no less than a modern Adonis - but his hands are rough and confident, and he certainly knows how to move his hips against yours. He's got some sort of sixth sense for how to drive you the most insane to the beat of every song, and you can only hope you have the same effect on him (which if the hardness against the small of your back is anything to go by, you do).

Every time you dip off the dance floor for another drink, he's right there waiting when you get back. You never see him, can't figure out which of the writhing bodies he must be, but within less than a minute of being back with your refill his hands are running up your hips again.

You might not know it was the same man if he didn't have the most distinct scent you've ever smelt on someone. Cigarette smoke, and a clashing air of what has got to be two separate colognes - wood and pine but also lemon and... you want to say basil. Regardless, it's distinct and strong, even in the packed crowd. All he has to do is tuck you into him long enough for you to inhale once and you know your partner's back.

You figure you'll see if he wants to go home with you. In a few more songs.

For now, you keep dancing. Hips grinding into his along with the heavy bass of the music, free hand following both of his as they track up your stomach, rolling your face into his cheek where his chin is hooked over your shoulder, eyes shut as you lose yourself in the movement and the music.

At the end of the song you quickly down the rest of your drink, eager to have both hands free, and pass it off onto the tray of some poor waiter who's decided to cut through the crowd instead of going around.

The man behind you straightens again as the song changes, his movements slowing to match the new tempo, chin grazing the back of your head now (and oh the idea of how big he must be sends a shiver up your spine).

You place your hands on the outside of his thighs, feel the rough denim tight around his muscular legs and dig your nails in. His chest rumbles against your back and his next grind is harsher, so you drag your nails up, up, up, stroking his sides, his shoulders, and finally wrapping your hands around the back of his neck.

He bends down a bit, for your sake, and tucks his face into your neck. You feel lips moving over the column of your throat, tongue and teeth skimming the sensitive skin for just a second.

You hum, the buzz settled over your brain making everything feel so lush and good and explore with your hands for a bit. You don't have much range of motion, but through just a bit of searching you figure out he's got a mohawk, one just grown out enough for you to wrap your fingers in and pull. Which, of course, you do.

Your mystery man lets out a groan, one that you can't hear but can feel as he bites down and shakes his head, just a bit. The animalistic movement tugs a high whine out of your chest, and the whole process repeats again - each tug harsher, each bite stronger. You worry you'll soak right through your panties at the rate the two of you are going.

Two songs later, your partner growing increasingly touchy as you stroke his hair and neck, you're spun around suddenly. You stumble a bit, teetering on your sky high heels, but his arms grip just beneath your ribs to steady you. You glance up sharply, eyes narrowing.

The first thing you see is a smirk.

He's handsome, your partner. Certainly no Adonis - he's far too... rough around the edges for that - but an undeniably good looking man. His mohawk is a deep brown, matching scruff on his cheeks (not enough to be a beard but enough to scratch against your skin), dark blue eyes that crinkle at the edges, thick and dark eyebrows, a strong jaw and a strong nose. All handsome pieces that fit into a puzzle just slightly off on this man, like a grid moved one unit to the left. His nose has a bump on it that you can only assume is from being broken one too many times, a scar bisects the edge of his left eyebrow and stretches almost to his eye, and his eyes are dark with an unmistakable hunger where they bore into yours.

He's just your type.

You let yourself go a little loose, lean more of your weight into his hands and rest yours against his pecs. Your nails dig in just a bit, to see if there's any give. There isn't much - he must be muscular under the tight black shirt he's wearing. You glance down quickly, to see if maybe you can get a peek at his physique, and sure enough his shirt rides up just enough that you can see a sliver of taut muscle. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and you drag your eyes back to his.

"Hi, lovie," the man says, cocky grin on his lips as he strokes up to your ribs and down again. A little girlish giggle bubbles in your throat, and you tell yourself it's the alcohol that makes the cheesy nickname work.

"Hey yourself," you murmur back, equally cheesy. It must work for him as well as it did for you, considering how much his smile grows.

He has fucking dimples. Dear lord.

He dips his head down to you, tugging your body further into his and moving his hips to the faster beat of the new song. You're almost resting against him, his thick thigh squeezed between your legs and your weight pressed against his chest. Still, you do your best to gyrate along with him.

"'M Johnny," he says, forehead pressed against yours, eye contact still unbroken.

You breathe out your name in return, hips jutting against the thickness of his thigh where it rests against your aching core. He repeats your name, then pushes his leg up just a bit more with a smirk on his lips. You tip forward a bit, biting his chest through his shirt in response.

He only groans, one hand dropping to the small of your back to force you into a deeper arch.

"Want you to come home with me tonight, lass. You wan' that too?" His accent - Scottish, it's like some angel shaped him perfectly for you - has thickened as your dance continued. His head dips to your throat again, mouthing at the think skin just below your ear. He keeps speaking before you can answer his question, almost muttering to himself at this point. "Promise I'll take good care of you, give you the best night of your life, give you everythin' you've ever wanted. That sound good, baby?"

"Jo-Johnny," you gasp out, hand weakly patting at his chest as your grinding hips bring you closer and closer to a peak you're not sure you want to reach in the middle of the dance floor. "Please, please take me home with you?"

His breath hitches right beneath your ear, then you feel his lips stretch into a smile, feel teeth pressed against you. "Yeah? Want me to take you and fuck you good, huh, lovie?"

You let out a little whine, tugging at his hair as you continue to rut against him, becoming more and more uncoordinated as his hand presses harder against your spine to encourage you.

"Hm, how about you go ahead and come for me now, lass? A little warm up, to show you how good tonight'll be." You keen plaintively at the words, tucking your head into his neck to hide your face, and he rumbles against you. "Yeah, just like that. C'mon, come for me pretty girl."

He slips a hand up your dress, the one not keeping you in an arch, and his finger dips confidently past your panties to tweak your swollen clit. His breathing grows heavier against you, but his fingers don't falter, strumming at you over and over until you go stiff with a full body shudder. You bite down onto his neck to keep from crying out, but he doesn't bother to smother the deep groan from his chest.

Before you've fully recovered, Johnny's pulling you off the dance floor, hand locked around your elbow to keep you from falling. Your knees nearly knock together as you try to keep up with him, still more than a little dazed.

This isn't like you. You've always been hyper selective with the men you take home, never gone out without telling someone, certainly never let anyone get you off in public. But as you follow this Scot out of the bar, vision hazy from the alcohol and the orgasm, you can't find a single piece of you that worries this might not be the right choice. Every part of you clambers for more of him, and you're not in any mood to deny yourself. Surely you've earned a bit of reckless fun.

Johnny glances over his shoulder, his dopey smile breaking you out of your thoughts. You can't help but smile back, snuggling into him when he tucks you under his arm as you finally step into the cool night air.

-----

You thrash your head against the door, eyes rolled back in ecstasy and mouth dropped open as Johnny licks desperately at your cunt, lacy black panties left loose around one ankle.

He's almost nasty about it, hand gripping your thigh so tightly you know there'll be pretty finger-shaped bruises come morning, slobbering so much that you can't tell how much of the wetness between your legs is your slick and how much is his spit. His head is ducked beneath your dress so you can't see his expression, but you can feel his moans and groans against your core. He's got to be just as into it as you are, if the thrusting motion of his hips is anything to go by.

He's driving you insane. Two fingers buried deep inside you, thrusting as quickly as his tongue flicks over your clit, leaving you panting and quivering. Every few moments he wraps his teeth very lightly around your clit, gives the bud a quick but soft squeeze and rumbles deep in his throat, and every time you shout with pleasure. He moans along with you, pulling his fingers out fully to bury his tongue in your hole, groaning again as he sucks down as much of your taste as he can. When you give a sharp yank of his hair in response he's quick to stuff you again - three fingers this time - and go back to sucking on your clit like it's his favorite candy.

It doesn't take long for him to get you off. His clever tongue, the punishing pace of his fingers, and the evidence of his own desperation have you coming less than five minutes into the whole ordeal, loud moans spilling through slack lips, uncaring of thin walls or anyone unfortunate enough to be in the hallway.

Once he deems you finished he leans back on his heels, grinning up at you with a mixed expression of pride and smugness, jaw and lips absolutely soaked from his ministrations.

"You taste delicious, lass. Can't wait to do that again, but I need my cock in you soon or I might fuckin' die," he chuckles. You can't believe he's capable of being so nonchalant when you're not sure you could form a full sentence in your current state, especially considering the very obvious bulge in the front of his jeans, the one he finally grinds his hand on when he catches you looking.

You hum a bit, running a hand through his mohawk and scratching your nails lightly across his scalp. His eyes drift shut and he leans into the touch, hips rutting into his own hand, the big scary Scotsman made soft by a few pets. You don't feel so thrown off by your inability to speak anymore.

He stands after a few moments, and you're reminded of how big he is. Without your heels you just come up to his shoulders, and his shoulders themselves are wider than your body. You could hide behind this man, completely invisible, and it makes you wetter than you would've ever imagined.

"C'mon, darling," he grunts, locking his hands beneath your thighs and confidently lifting you. You wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, luxuriating in his warmth as he presumably moves the two of you to his room. You kiss up his throat, sucking little love bites into his tanned flesh and smirking at the responding squeeze of his hands against you.

Johnny drops you rather unceremoniously onto his bed, and you can't help but laugh a bit as you bounce. He steps away for just a moment to turn a lamp resting on the bedside table on, then goes to turn off the overhead light so you're both bathed in a warm glow. You watch the way his jeans hug his ass as he moves, then can't move your eyes back to his in time as he moves around.

He smiles at you, the arrogant man. "Likin' the view, hen?"

You just leans back on your elbows, humming a note in your throat as you try and lay as seductively as possible in your rucked up dress.

His smile is one of pure sin as he steps back to the edge of the bed and tugs his shirt off before reaching down to undo his belt. You stare for a moment before wiggling out of the tight dress you'd worn, blindly throwing it across the room.

His eyes light up when he sees you weren't wearing a bra, a groan bubbling out of his chest as he reaches to paw at your tit with one hand and continues to undo his belt with the other. He hardly gives you a chance to look at him (more accurately, the show he's giving with that fucking belt) as he crawls on top of you, fingers twisting harshly at the nipple he's already got a hold of.

He dips his head down to yours for a kiss, and you gladly give it to him. You feel your slight nervousness disappear as he reciprocates your desperation through he kiss, lips eager and tongue searching. He's drooling against you, spit dribbling into your mouth as he grinds against your stomach and plucks at your nipple.

You whine high in your throat, writhing beneath him. The tug at your breast begins to hurt as he pinches and pulls, but you grow all the more slick between your thighs.

After what feels like an eternity of the most erotic make-out session you've ever experienced, you clumsily drag a hand up to push at his forehead so you can get a deep breath in.

Before you can really even pull away, his free hand shoots up to pin your wrist beside your head, fingers tight around the delicate bones as he nips punishingly at your lips.

There's a part of you - buried beneath the lust-driven haze, probably - that gets a little freaked out over his tight hold. But the part of you in control, the horny part, loves being pinned and moans high in your throat.

A moment later Johnny pulls away from your lips, staring deep into your eyes. He seems to be looking for something, but you can't do much more than blink up at him in the state he's left you. After he's found whatever it is he wanted, he smiles down at you and dips quickly to land kisses all over your face.

You giggle again, body cooling just enough for you to feel more in control as his hands move to rest beside your head. "Johnny," you laugh as he nuzzles his nose into your cheek.

"Yeah, lovie?" he murmurs, smile audible in his voice.

You hiccup a bit when his hands come to rest on your breasts, cupping them and running his thumbs across the undersides. "Johnny, need you," you hum.

"Hm?" He murmurs, shifting so he's kneeling above your torso, focused on your tits now instead of your face. "Whatcha need from me? Huh? Need me to play with these pretty nipples some more?" He leans down, nipping playfully at your hard peaks as you beging to squirm. He moves from one to the other, driving you mad with the sharp clip of his teeth and the warm wetness of his tongue.

"No-ooo," you gasp out at a particularly hard bite. "Need- need your- " You're cut off when he pinches both of nipples at once, twisting them and pulling up until the spark of pain pushes just past pleasurable. "Ah!"

"What was that, lassie?" With tears blurring your vision, you swear his smirk is mean this time. "I can't give you what you want if I don't know what it is." He lets go of your left breast, reaching up to give you a few little taps on your cheek, enough to rattle your brain. "So, what'll it be, lovie? What do you need from me?"

"C-cock, Johnny, need your cock," you groan, knees hitching around his hips and torso writhing as you try to free your throbbing nipple from his captive hold.

He grins down at you, loosens his fingers and strokes over the painful bud at your long whine. "There we go, sweetheart. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Johnny shifts his grip to your armpits, and all you can do is blink a bit in shock as he hauls you up and puts you where he wants you. Which is, evidently, leaning against the few flat pillows he's got at the top of his bed. He mutters to himself as he lays you out, calloused hands spreading your knees and pushing your ankles up, up, up, only stopping when you whine at the stretch.

"Wanna watch your face the first time - can't wait to get in that tight pussy, love. Can see you clenching on air from here, you poor thing. Just need something to stuff you, yeah? Need a thick cock for that pretty little cunt to squirt on? Hm? You gonna be be good and let me give you what you need, baby?"

His slew of filthy words drag you deeper and deeper under. By the time you'd made the walk to his place the buzz you'd gotten at the bar had almost entirely worn off (enough for you to even seriously question your choice for a moment), but you feel drunker now than you have all night.

Johnny reaches over once you're settled where he wants you, tugging the bedside table's drawer open and pulling out a small silver packet. You're momentarily stunned as he pulls the condom on, unable to believe that you were about to let this man - this stranger - fuck you without protection.

The thought flies out of your head when he leans back over you, hands stroking tenderly up the outside of your thighs and to your ribs, then back down again, a slow tease you only manage to handle a few seconds of.

"Johnny," you whine, reaching up to tug his face closer to you. He indulges you with a smile, hands stroking your inner thighs as he teases you with chaste kisses across your lips.

"You ready for me, baby?" He breathes against you, forehead against yours and eyes as intense as they've been all night.

You keen high in your throat, arching your back to thrust your pussy just that much more forward as the head of his cock brushes your clit. "Johnny," you repeat. "Need you. Please."

His smile only grows. "Anything for you, lovie."

You hadn't gotten a good look at it, but you can tell now that Johnny's cock is thick. You gasp and moan in tandem with him as the head spears you open, the burn of the stretch spurring you into humping what little he's got stuffed into you.

Johnny grunts, one hand smacking against the headboard and he other squeezing your thigh as he pushes his way inside, not giving you any time to adjust to the monstrosity his cock seems to be.

When his balls finally meet the backs of your thighs just moments later, you both let out loud groans. His head falls back and through the haze of your lust you admire his naked chest, leaning forward as much as you can to rake your hands through the small amount of hair there. A pair of dog tags rest high up, just below the hollow of his throat, and you give the necklace a little tug, trying to get him to move.

He hisses through his teeth, suddenly yanking himself almost entirely out of you. He stays there for a moment, just the tip of the tip still buried in your heat, and looks into your eyes. Again, like he's looking for something, but you have no idea what. If you did you'd show him immediately, you'd do whatever you needed to get him to fuck you in this moment.

And again, a moment later he seems to have found whatever he wanted. His lips twitch up and he hunches over you a bit, the hand not on the headboard moving up to the crease of your thigh.

"Ready?" He whispers, eyes darkened with the same lust you feel overtaking you.

All you can do is nod.

Your head barely makes the movement back up before he's slamming into you, knocking the breath out of you and your whole body back into the pillows. He's immediately relentless, animalistic thrusts that pound at your most sensitive spots.

You let out a wail, admittedly a little loud for an apartment, and the hand that was resting on the headboard snaps down to cover your mouth. His wild eyes meet yours, and Johnny growls low in his throat, baring his teeth as he pace quickens even more.

"God, wish I could hear you scream, love. Wish it more than anythin'. But we can't be gettin' a noise complaint, huh?" he says between huffs of breath. It gratifies you to know he's just as affected by this as you are. Your mouth opens beneath his palm and you lave your tongue out, stroking across the lines and callouses.

The action draws a deep groan from his chest and he straightens up, hand still over your mouth and pace not slowing a bit. His eyes are transfixed on where he's plowing into you, and after a moment of staring he ducks his head a bit and spits where the two of you meet, making the whole ordeal even messier.

The visual makes you moan against his hands, your own fingers squeezes desperately around his wrist as your singular hold on reality.

Johnny smiles at you, a cocky man who knows exactly how good he's fucking you. "Yeah, love? That feel good?" All you can do is nod, hardly able to hear him past the blood rushing in your ears and the squelching sound of your fucking. "Gonna come for me, then? Show me how good I make ya feel?"

You whine a desperate sound in your throat and tap your fingers urgently against his wrist, well aware of the fact that you very rarely come without at least some stimulation on your clit. Johnny's hand shifts to cup your cheek, thumb stroking over your lips.

"P-please, Johnny," you gasp out, eyes wet and wide. "Need- need you to touch my clit, please?"

Johnny's head drops to your shoulder as he moans low and loud. His lips shift to that sensitive spot below your ear as his hand moves to slide the heel of his hand over your clit. "Fuckin' love to hear you beg, lovie. Can't get enough o' it."

The added stimulation of his rough grinds against your bud combined with the continued pace of his thrusts has you coming in what must be record time, every muscle tensing and a sharp "Ah!" tearing out of your throat as Johnny fucks you through it.

He doesn't cover your mouth this time, just leans his cheek heavily against yours and breaths in all the noises you can't trap. His free hand forces your knee down to the bed when you start to almost fight the strength of your climax. Your walls squeeze him so tightly he'd have been forced out of you had he not already been forcing himself in.

"God fucking damn it, lass, you're choking my cock," he groans, accent growing thicker the more he sinks into his own pleasure. "Such a good fuckin' girl, fuck."

"Yes, yes, feels so good, Johnny, so good," you babble thoughtlessly, feeling out of your mind with pleasure as the relentless pressure against your clit continues even after your orgasm.

"Yeah?" His voice is unsteady now, thrusts a little bit sloppy as he nears his own peak and you go limp beneath him. "You goin' cock drunk on me, lass? Huh? Yer losin' yer goddamn head on my dick, fuck, I'm not gonna last, love."

His hands move to your hips, thrusting you down at the same time he thrusts up, and you cry out in ecstasy, overstimulated and losing all ability to think past the massive cock bruising your pussy.

"Jo-Johnny!" you cry out, reaching another peak just on the tail of the last one, shocked by your own body. You jerk underneath him, nails leaving bright red lines down his pecs when you drag them violently down his torso.

His last few thrusts are the harshest yet, prolonging your sudden orgasm and bringing him to his own as he finally stills balls-deep inside you, letting out a deep groan into the juncture where your shoulder meets your neck.

The two of you lay there for a moment, slick with sweat and panting against each other as he slowly goes soft inside you. Johnny's nearly gone limp, and his weight is heavy in a comforting way against you, even if his hips spread yours just enough to strain your muscles.

He starts to move again after a moment, little aborted thrusts accompanied by whines and groans from him as he overstimulates the both of you. You reach a hand up to push at his forehead when it all verges on too much for you, but he's too out of it to realize and just keeps moving his hips, bumping your clit with each halting thrust and seemingly driving himself insane.

After a few moments of this you start to squirm, ready to pass out after a satisfying fuck. You whine his name, moving your hand from his face to the bottom of his mohawk. When he still doesn't stop, you wrap your fingers in his hair and tug, a sharp noise all you're capable of to communicate what you need.

He stills suddenly, then makes a sound you can only call a snarl, teeth latching onto the meat of your shoulder and digging in. The sudden and sharp pain draws a high pitched noise from your throat, and he jerks his head back and forth a bit as his hips punish you with a few sharp thrusts.

"Johnny!"

He pulls his head back, eyes locking with yours. Despite seeming more in control than you for most of the act, you can see now just how far gone he is. Johnny's mouth hangs open, drool dripping past his lips from his work against your skin, his eyes dark and hazy as he stares into yours. A few moments later he stills then then pulls out, drawing twin moans from the both of you.

Before you even know what's happening, you're flipped onto your stomach. You blink blearily at the wood in front of you, trying to push up on your hands and shifting your legs closed.

"No," Johnny growls from behind you. His right hand goes to your left shoulder, pulling you tight against his body where he grinds his dick and up down your soaked slit. His left hand clumsily forces your legs apart, just shoving your thighs open until you lose your balance and are forced to your elbows.

He thrusts there for a few moments, and to your surprise his cock gradually thickens, then grows hard in your slick. You've still hardly realized what's going on when he pulls his hips back, lines up his cock, and pushes back into you.

The two of you let out twin noises of pleasure - his tinged with desperation and yours with that spike of pain that comes from overstimulation.

Johnny fucks you just as hard this time as he did the first, but the position manes he's nearly fucking your cervix. Each thrust forces a sharp noise out of your throat, and this time he doesn't silence you. He uses his hold on your shoulder to really fuck you, so rough you're nearly sure his hips are leaving bruises against the back of your thighs.

Despite the undeniable pleasure coursing through you, the little sparks of pain from your clit bring you out of your daze a bit. Your hands fumble in front of you, jerking back and forth and back and forth along with the rest of your body as Johnny's pace stays strong. After a few moments of desperate searching you finally manage to grip what must be a slat in the headboard.

Feeling a little feral, you grab it tightly and tug yourself forward, away from the brutal cock trying rearrange your insides.

It's not the right choice. The slight resistance against Johnny's grip on you rips an angry noise from him. He slams a hand down on the back of your neck and wraps his fingers in your hair, forcing your face into the mattress and dragging you back by his relentless grip. You keen, high and pathetic, and his only response is a rumble deep in his throat.

He stills for a moment, buried deep inside you still, and you can feel him shifting around behind you. You blink the tears from your eyes and stare dazedly at the dark gray of his walls, feeling like one big throbbing ache. A moment later you see his foot land on the bed at the bottom of your vision, and the hand not holding you down forces you into an arch that borders on painful.

Face smushed into the mattress, chest and stomach nearly flat to the bed and hips canted high in the air, pussy swollen and leaking - you can't even image how much of a whore you must look like.

Johnny doesn't seem to care too much. He leans his weight against you, leveraging his body weight into his thrusts as he starts his violent movements again. His teeth lock onto your shoulder blade, pressure strong and sucking. Every thrust forces a little uh from your lips, and every noise from you just pushes him further.

He moves his bites every few thrusts, and you know your back will be decorated in bruises come morning. When he starts to really lose his mind, when the span of your shoulders is aching and wet from his spit, he leans his forehead into the center of your spine and adds more weight behind his thrusts, slowing down but forcing what feels like the entirety of his strength behind each one.

With his hips tilted slightly more downward he absolutely plows into the sensitive spot against your inner walls. The first time he hits it, you cry out a noise of pure pleasure and another "Johnny!". He pauses for a moment, then lets out a moan of his own at the tight grip of your cock and sets out to hit that spot on every thrust. You start to sob a bit, high pitched little wails coming from your lips as the pleasure becomes overwhelming while still not being enough for you to finish.

He seems to realize you're not coming anytime soon only a few thrusts later, and somewhere deep in your mind you wonder if the multiple shifts in angle are meant to be for your benefit. He growls again and you feel the hand on your back creep around to your stomach then down to your clit, where two of his fingers begin to stroke and pluck at your most sensitive area.

The sudden onslaught at where you're most sensitive combined with the merciless attack on your g-spot had you rearing up, wild shouts coming without your consent. A snarl tears from his throat as the hand at the base of your skull muscles you down again, his body fighting yours as you instinctively look for a reprieve from the stimulation.

"Fucking-" he growls. "Fucking take it, goddamnit."

It only takes a few moments with the stimulation on your clit for you to come. The feeling grows from deep inside you, and for a moment you fear you recognize the sensation - it's one that certainly does not belong in this bed.

Before your brain fully connects the dots of what's happening you're swept beneath a tidal wave of sensation, fight leaving your body and leaving you limp as you do your best to squeeze the life out of Johnny's cock. You hear his groan from behind you, loud and uninhibited as he buries himself completely inside you to ride the wave of his own orgasm as you milk him.

"Knew you'd be perfect for us, lass. Look at ya - squirtin' all over me and makin' a mess, fuck. Gonna sleep in it tonight, soak in your scent. Can't fuckin'- can't fuckin' believe my luck- goddamn-"

His body finally falls against yours, cock slipping out of you (to your immense relief) and the left half of his body laid over the right half of yours. For a moment, the two of you pant in sync.

Then he's twisting both of you, rolling onto his right side and pulling you into his chest, tucking your face into his neck as he reaches down to pull the condom off his cock. There's a voice, somewhere deep in your head, that worries about the fact that he used the same condom for two rounds, but the heat of Johnny against you and the soothing pet of his hand through your hair empties your head too quickly for you to focus it.

You glance up at him once he finally settles. The smile on his face now is nothing by dopey and joyous, and you can't help but mirror it even as the ache settles in your core.

He makes short order of getting the two of you ready to sleep with just a bit of wiggling. You've had one night stands before where your partner (or yourself, on occasion) wanted to leave immediately, have even grown to expect it from most men, but there's a spark of warmth in your chest when Johnny tightens his arms around you, your chest against his, his chin hooked over your shoulder and using your head as a pillow, one arm wrapped tight behind your back and the other underneath your head. It feels like there isn't an inch of space between the two of you, and you've never been more comfortable.

You hum happily, still a little drunk from the pleasure, and snuggle your face back into his warm throat. The last thing you feel before falling asleep is a kiss against your shoulder and a hand stroking up and down your spine.

-----

It feels like hours later when you wake up, the room still painted in a soft yellow light but not yet harsh beams of sunlight.

It takes a moment for you to understand what's happening, breath bouncing back onto your lips where you're panting into a man's - Johnny, you remember - neck. You register the fact that your hands are curled between the two of you, your feet tucked between his calves, and finally the feeling of something poking and prodding at your very sensitive cunt.

It still takes another moment for your brain to understand that Johnny must be trying to start another round.

You whine a little in protest, one hand creeping up to wrap around his neck and the other pushing flat against his chest.

"Shhh," he soothes, breath puffing onto your forehead. "I just need you one more time, lovie. You can go back to sleep, promise I won't be rough this time, just need to feel you wrapped around me again, hm? Please, lassie, promise I'll be quick."

He sounds so desperate, a little out of control compared to how he sounded earlier, you're almost tempted to spread your legs and let him have whatever he wants. But then the tip of his cock puts just the tiniest bit of pressure at your hole and your hips instinctively jerk back at the sting, so you whine, "Johnny," mouthing at his chest. "'M sore. You fucked me too good earlier."

The noise that rips from his throat is almost begging, you feel it beneath your lips. His breathing grows heavier "Fuck, 'm sorry baby, so sorry. I'll just- I'll just fuck your thighs, yeah? Yeah, yeah, paint your pretty pussy with me, fuck, leave you soaked like you soaked me-"

"Johnny..."

"I know, I know, lovie, I'll just..." he shifts a bit, leaning his chin onto your forehead and anchoring a hand around your hip to keep you from squirming as his hips begin to jerk without rhythm. His cock is thick where you're most sensitive and you can't keep the high noises and quiet sniffles in as the sensation shoots both pleasure and pain up your spine.

”Hush, lass, 'm almost there, just need you to keep that pussy right there for me, so fuckin' close, just... just keep soakin' me..." he murmurs nearly incoherently against your forehead before his hips jerk to a still. You feel his come paint your thighs and you keen, part of you heartbroken he didn't paint your insides despite the pain.

"Ah, I know, I know, lassie. Here - I'll, I'll get you off too... 'm not selfish, hen, won't leave you wanting. Not like-" he cuts himself off, leaning his head down a bit and honest to god taking your cheek in his mouth, teething lightly at the fat there and soaking your face with slobber. You don't even think about the odd end of his sentence, you just arch into him and moan as his hand slips down to play with your clit.

His legs squeeze yours between them as you start to wiggle, hips thrusting away from the sharp sparks of pain your poor overstimulated clit is feeling.

"Hush, hush, baby just gonna... just gotta get you off real quick, ok? You can go back to sleep after, promise, just gotta make sure... gotta..." his voice trails off into a groan as your cunt twitches and flutters. He takes your lips in a sloppy kiss, more an exchange of spit and rubbing of tongues than anything.

Just as you're about to come he slips a thick finger into your overused cunt, drawing a sharp yelp from your throat, which he immediately sets to settle by licking across and around your slack mouth. "It's okay, it's okay, lovie, just giving you somethin' to clench on, yeah? Givin' your poor cunt somethin' to squeeze on, c'mon, you're alright." His finger begins to move around inside you, crooking, feeling for something until he presses right against your g-spot and you arch deeply into his body, a long moan falling from your lips. "Just gotta... yeah, that it? Tha' what feels good? Hng, you sound so pretty, baby, love your fuckin' noises, christ-"

You come with quiet gasps, the air pouring directly into his mouth just like his words had poured into yours. He works you through it, fingers slowly gentling on your clit and lessening the pressure on your g-spot as your jerking slows before you still and he finally pulls fully away from your core.

"Johnny," you mewl, hand gripping tight on the nape of his neck as you press as much of you to him as you can, slick skin sliding against slick skin. "Not-not again tonight, please, won't-won't be able to walk tomorrow if we keep going.

He laughs deeply against the top of your head. "Not as much of a deterrent as you might think, lassie." His arm wraps around the base of your spine, hand reaching around to rest on your stomach and his other arm wrapping around your neck in what almost feels like a choke hold. He throws his leg over your hip, leaning his body weight onto you and almost crushing you into the bed. "Won't touch you again tonight, promise, okay sweetheart? We'll go again in the morning, but just rest until then."

You choose to believe him and cuddle more deeply into his hold, a deep sigh leaving you as you finally pass out, boneless, against him.

-----

Johnny regrets his promise. He regrets it immensely.

You're so fuckin' pretty beneath him, your hair like a halo around your head, eyes shut and unmoving in sleep, lips parted just a bit to let you breathe comfortably. There's a pinkness on the cheek he'd gotten a hold of earlier (a light outline of his teeth marks that makes his cock ache even after three orgasms), and your lips are still swollen from the work he'd done on them. Christ, you look more fuckable now than you had with your hips rucked in the air, pussy drooling and begging for his cock, squirming before he got a good hold on you and kept you still.

He's not sure he'll be keeping his promise.

He wants to. You're gonna be right pissed at him come morning, he knows it, and the temptation to have you pliant and begging for it one last time is almost more than he can handle.

But no. He made you a promise, and even if he'll betray you in another way come sunrise, he won't betray you in the one promise he's actually made. If Ghost were here, he'd lock a warm hand around the back of Soap's neck, rumble something about "bein' good, Johnny" and take complete control of the situation. It'd feel good, the way it always does when Simon takes over, and Soap wouldn't have to worry about fucking any of this up cause Ghost would set him right back on track if he did.

Of course if Ghost were here, he'd never have met you.

Simon had left their shared flat only three days ago, sent on a mission the PMC they'd both signed with had requested him for. Usually the two of them worked together, neither willing to be separated from the other for long, but apparently this mission just had to be completed by one agent. Soap had pouted about it all morning, until Ghost had forced him to his knees and fucked his throat so good he'd been hoarse the rest of the day.

The first day after Ghost left he'd been... okay on his own. Ghost's mission - simple fuckin' reconnaissance, no good reason Soap couldn't have gone with him - took him far out to the country, so no texts or calls could be received. Johnny settled for spamming him a bit anyway, smiling at the thought of Ghost's inevitable annoyance when he regained an internet connection and felt his phone start buzzing endlessly. Other than that, Johnny spent most of the day cleaning. He's slow at it, but all the better to take up time in the day. He did a little shopping too, filled the flat up so it didn't feel so empty. It was a bit nice to go out in public and not part the damn Red Sea with Ghost at his side. People aren't scared of Johnny in the same way - they see his cheerful smile and laid-back posture and assume he's mostly harmless. He rarely needs to correct them.

Still. Would've been nicer with Simon.

The second day he realized their home felt empty because of the lack of one giant, brooding lieutenant, not the lack of throw pillows (which he didn't even bother to make match, for fuck's sake). This set him off a bit, left him pacing angrily around the apartment and muttering to the walls. Simon didn't have to take the fucking mission, and now he's left Johnny here - all alone! - in the home they bought for themselves to finally find a bit of fuckin' peace. It's not fair.

He'd been unable to take the absolute silence of the flat any longer on the third day, determined to surround himself with distractions. Granted, it's not like the flat is much less quiet with Ghost around, but the man has a presence that fills a room up. Leaves the room desolate and empty when he goes, though, and Soap is quite pissed about it. He'll make sure to let Simon know when he comes back, starts planning his revenge at night when he jacks off to relieve the tension in his spine.

He heads to a bar he knows is always packed that third night, feeling more and more pathetic as he rots away in bed.

It's there that he sees you.

You're on the dance floor alone, hips moving in a way that's got his and every single man's eyes glued to you. You're fucking stunning, sunk into a world of your own as you hit every beat of the music. Johnny can't help himself from moving toward you, shouldering past the writhing mass of people to get to you.

The moment he gets his hands wrapped around your hips he knows. You're perfect in hid hold, his hands fit around you like you were carved by fuckin' God Himself for Johnny. His head drops back as he tugs your hips into his, too caught up in his own head to think about what a scare he must've given you.

You still for a moment, stiff, but when Soap moves his hips away from yours and keeps his movements largely nonsexual (for now), more just swaying with you in his arms, you begin to relax and move with him.

You must feel it too then, right? Surely a young woman, one all by herself, wouldn't be so comfortable with a man she can't even see if she didn't feel the same spark up her spine he did.

The more you let him lead, the more sexual the dancing becomes, the more convinced Soap is that you're simply a gift for him. Placed right where he would see you when he needed you most.

There's a moment you scurry off to get another drink. Soap's eyes remain trained on your ass as you strut and it occurs to him that his and Ghosts' moving-in-together anniversary will be tomorrow - the same day he's set to come back from his assignment.

What better gift could he get than a pretty girl in his bed to welcome him home?

The plan maps itself out in his head as he continues to dance with you, time slipping by as song after song plays, his cock aching in his jeans and begging for release. He figures he'll get in a few rounds of fun with you to knock you out properly. Not a hardship for him - if you fuck as well as you dance it'll be a challenge for him to stay awake.

Once you're well and truly fucked unconscious, he'll begin the process of tying you up all pretty for Simon.

He gets you to their flat, still shocked you let him get you off on the dance floor, and he hardly waits for the front door to close before he's on his knees, nose and tongue buried in your center, feeling near feral with the need to get you off again. He's already fuckin' addicted to you and he hasn't even gotten his cock in yet.

You taste as good as Simon does - just more proof he was meant to find you. Ambrosia and nectar, the two of you.

He feels a little bad, in the afterglow of the second round. He thinks through his second orgasm and sees the way you'd fought against it. He worries, for a moment, that your want to get away was real, not just your body's instinctual reaction. But then you curl further into him, breath warm against his pulse point, and he remembers how clingy you were post-orgasm. All's well that ends well, right?

It's now, post third round, that Johnny watches you. His original movements of rolling you to your back and propping himself above you are meant to make sure you're not waking up any time soon, and he's definitely assured of that.

Still, he can't resist another little test. He prods his pointer and middle finger at the small space between your lips, applying just the slightest pressure. You don't even twitch, breathing steady, but your lips open just a centimeter or so more and he grins at the invitation. He slips the fingers in, carefully pushing further and further into your mouth until you let out a cute little gagging noise, brows furrowing lightly.

He stops there, waiting to see if he's passed your gag reflex without noticing. When you remain still, he lets out a breath of relief.

He pushes his fingers down on your tongue, applying pressure slowly so your brain doesn't suspect anything. In just a moment he's got your mouth fully open, and he can't resist anymore.

He groans a bit, hips thrusting into the bed as he leans in and licks at your mouth. His fingers slip down to hook over your bottom teeth so he can get another taste of your tongue, exploring every nook and cranny of your mouth that he was too worked up to find earlier.

He continues to make out with you until his hips jerk to a still, cum sticky between his abs and the bedsheet.

Then he really gets to work.

Johnny pulls himself away from you, leaving one last kiss on the hickey he'd sucked onto your neck. He moves around the dim room with military stealth, absolutely silent as he collects what he needs.

He's very, very slow as he ties you up. He lifts your body from where you were relaxed, propping you up just slightly against the headboard. He takes your right wrist first, lifting it to to one of the slats and tying the rough rope around and around until you're secured. He does the same with your other wrist, leaving your hands spread wide above you. He knows from experience that the rope is rough, that it'll leave wicked burns on your skin if you're left with any room to wiggle around. So he ties the knots real tight, leaving only room for circulation and absolutely none for movement.

Next he ties your ankles. Again he starts with the right first, lifting and slowly shifting your knee with it at the same time so you don't jerk suddenly and wake yourself. He's glad to see you're decently limber, because he knows you won't feel too sore later as he ties your left ankle to your left wrist. He repeats the process with your right ankle.

Feeling quite proud of himself, Johnny kneels back on his heels to admire his work. The position he's got you in leaves you completely spread, cunt and ass both open and accessible for him. He knows that he'll be able to bend down and reach both your tits and your face while he's fucking you, but you won't be able to do much more than writhe in place. You might manage a few thrusts if you get particularly worked up.

It's the same position that drives him the most insane when Ghost ties him up in it. It's also his favorite.

He grabs the last item after a moment of stroking his mostly soft cock and admiring you. The ring gag is decently large, made for someone with a mouth his size, not yours. It'll leave your jaw sore once he takes it out and the thought makes him frown - it's far too rough for his baby. Unfortunately, Ghost only buys rough toys for Soap, so Soap only has rough toys to use with you.

He hooks the ring beneath your bottom row of teeth then sets out to very slowly ease it fully in to hold your mouth in an o shape, buckling it around your head once he's confident you're as comfortable as he can make you. All the while he fantasizes about all the soft things he'll by you once you've settled in.

Silk rope, of course, and a much more comfortable gag to wear. Maybe one you can chew on a bit - Soap gnaws endless at any gag Simon stuffs in his mouth, but he doesn't want your soft mouth chewing at the hard plastics he prefers. He'll get you all the blankets and pillows you could ever want, too. Lay you in the center of the bed and build a little nest around you, the best things for his best girl, fuck you deep in the silk and fur, sandwiching you between himself and Ghost, the two of them fucking you til you're crying and begging for a break, pretty little pillow held to your chest for comfort while they stretch you to your limit, hiccuping and sniffling into a blanket he bought you -

A noise of discomfort breaks him out of his fantasy. Johnny jerks forward, petting your face and making the most soothing noises he can to keep you from waking up. He gives you his weight, remembering how well you reacted to it earlier, and after a few moments of his attention you go limp again. He licks long and languid into your mouth again, taking a moment to suck on your tongue for own comfort before pulling away.

He strokes his hands up and down the soft skin of your inner thighs as he decides what to do with you now. He hadn't had the forethought to promise not to fuck you, no, he'd been a bleedin' idiot and you said he wouldn't fuckin' touch you until sunrise. He fights to keep his fingers from tightening around the meat of your thighs as he scolds himself, frustrated.

Well... it's not like you would know, is it?

Maybe... maybe he can just eat you out a bit. Yeah, yeah he can go real slow so you don't wake up, bury his face in your cunt til sunrise then wake you up with his tongue. Maybe an orgasm will calm a bit of your inevitable panic?

He smirks and lowers himself to his stomach between your thighs, hands pulling the sticky, swollen lips of your cunt apart so he can lick one thick, broad stripe from asshole to clit. He clenches his jaw tightly, locking a loud groan behind his teeth at the unique mix of your cum and his on his tongue.

A few deep breaths to calm himself down, and Johnny dives into your pussy.

-----

The first thing you feel when you wake up is pleasure.

You know what a tongue on your core feels like. It takes you a moment or two to remember, in the dark of sleep still, that you went home with a man last night. With Johnny, who'd promised not to touch you again until morning.

Well. The quick swipes against your clit tell you he's either a liar, or it's time for you to get up and out.

That's when you realize that something must be wrong. Because there's an ache in your hips, and your arms don't move when you try to reach down and push Johnny's face further into you so you can finish.

Your eyes blink open blearily, confusion creasing your expression.

Your feet are in the air above you. More accurately, your feet are tied in the air above you.

What the fuck?

A cautious noise of confusion tears from your throat as you begin to twist and yank at your apparent bindings in earnest, panic and pleasure making your heart pound against your ribcage.

As you discover the lack of leeway your movements become more and more frantic, uncontrollable noises of pure animal distress coming from you.

Which is when you realize that you're making those noises because you can't speak. There's something locked behind your teeth, tied around your head just tight enough that you can't force the thing out with your tongue. Your breathing isn't restricted at all, and you realize it's because your mouth is gaping open, able to suck in any oxygen you need. As you become more aware of the intrusion, an ace in the hinges of your jaw makes itself known.

Your panic spikes in earnest now, noises becoming just sharp sounds of fear from your throat as you start to squirm away from the invading sensation at you most private area.

Then Johnny lifts himself into your eyeline.

He looks- he looks fine, which just freaks you out more because for some godforsaken reason you'd trusted this man, and now the only conclusion you can come to is that he's got you bound and gagged to his headboard.

What the fuck?

Tears begin to stream from your eyes, first one then more than you can hope to keep track of.

"Oh, lass," Johnny coos, genuine fucking concern carved into the lines of his face. He leans forward and cups both hands around your cheeks, thumbs swiping beneath your eyes to clear away the wetness. His warmth is a shock against the chilled skin of your face, bringing everything into even sharper focus as your head clears more and more. "Hush, don't cry. It's okay, it's okay, 'm gonna take care of you, yeah? Just had to tie you up all pretty for Simon, you wanna look good for him when he comes home, don't you?"

You finally go still at that, desperate movements jerking to a sudden stop. Simon...?

Surely he wouldn't... surely he doesn't mean to share you?

Knew you'd be perfect for us.

I'll get you off too... 'm not selfish, hen, won't leave you wanting. Not like-

Oh god. Oh god, he means to share you. With another man.

"You're gonna love him, baby," Johnny continues above you, either unaware or uncaring of the wave of terror beginning to overtake you. "He seems real mean and scary at first, but I promise he'll be so nice after. I'll make sure he's nice, ok? Won't let him be too mean to my baby. Whatever he'll do, you'll like," he smirks down at you, like you're both in on some joke. "I always do."

He shifts his hands down your cheeks and your neck, landing firmly over your breasts and giving them a tight squeeze. "For now..." he dips his head to take one nipple into his mouth, sucking so softly for a man doing all of this without your permission. "I'll take care of you, yeah? I'll loosen you up so good for him, lovie."

He plays with your breasts for several minutes, drool sliding across your chest when he can't decide which tit to focus on. You begin to shift out of your frozen state of shock, his words slowly registering in your head while he plays with you.

You jerk again, wrists twisting desperately to try and find any sort of weak spot to tug against, air puffing harshly through the gag. Johnny frowns up at you from where he's sucking at your nipple, brows furrowing as he glances between your hands. He pulls himself reluctantly away from you, pushing up and gripping just below the ties with a stern look on his face. "No, lassie. These ropes are rough, I don't want you to hurt yourself just because you're tryin' to get away from a good thing. Stop tryin' to break yer damn wrists, yeah?"

You glare at him furiously, absolutely astounded by the man's audacity. His frown morphs into a smirk verging on mean as he leans closer to your face. "You gon' listen for me, huh? Gonna be a good girl for me so I can finish eating out your pretty cunt?" You let out a sharp noise of anger, lurching forward to try and slam your forehead into his.

He jerks back before you can make contact, shock flashing briefly across his features before a laugh bursts from his lips while you're forced back by the restraints, huffing and puffing angrily. "Easy, lovie. Try somethin' like that with Simon and he won't be so nice as I am."

With that he gives your forearms a little squeeze and a rub, then lowers himself between your thighs to apparently get right back to work. You jerk as his tongue pokes out to prod at your clit, hips thrusting as much as they can in your tight bindings and noises falling past your lips without your control.

Johnny lets out a loud groan at his first taste of you. He scoops his arms under your thighs, hands landing at the base of your spine and your thighs in the crease of his elbows, holding his own face as deep in your cunt as he can and gets to work.

If his work last night was nasty, this is animalistic. He's not doing this for your pleasure, he's doing it for his. His tongue doesn't stay on your clit, it doesn't even stay on your cunt itself - he licks all around your core, the creases of your thighs where sweat begins to drip, even down to your sensitive asshole (you jerk and yelp at the sensation, and you feel the rumble of his laughter as he pushes his tongue in there, thrusting a few times before moving to stuff as much as he could into your pussy).

You fight against it, cunt pulsing and trying to force out the invasion when it ventures there, hips writhing desperately - towards and away, but you don't think about it, you don't want more of this, you want to get away from him and from the pleasure he gives - and your head rolling back and forth on the pillow.

The worst part, probably, is the fact that you can't hide your noises. The gag in your mouth doesn't let you keep anything to yourself, even the tiniest whine or sigh is clear as day with the way your lips are forced open.

You're discovering that grunts and moans of anger, of fear, sound very similar to grunts and moans of pleasure. It makes your eyes well up with tears all over again, which just pisses you off even more.

Johnny's apparently unaware of your tumultuous mental state, eating at your cunt like a fucking Christmas feast.

He seems to decide you should come a few moments later, focusing his attention onto your clit and slipping two fingers inside of where you're neediest and adding a solid pressure against your g-spot. The sudden stretch, the slight sting from last night, draws a high noise from you and your hips jut sharply into the air. Johnny's response is to lightly wrap his teeth around your clit, slowly biting down and gradually applying pressure - tongue still flicking away - until you come.

This orgasm, forced from your body, drives you insane. You shout from behind the gag and slam your head forward rather than back, desperate for the freedom of any movement you can get. Your hips grind as much as they can between the ropes and Johnny's hand, trying to work through the overwhelming sensations for you.

When you're finished, body gone limp in acceptance your brain hasn't caught up with, he doesn't move. His face remains planted in your pussy, breath warm and wet against your sensitive flesh, but his fingers slip from your tender passage. A moment later, once you've calmed down a bit and can't do anything but stare wide-eyed at the ceiling, he heaves himself up to his knees and stares down at your body.

His face is soaked, your slick nearly dripping from his chin. There's a shine on his fucking throat.

Not entirely conscious of your movements, you try to get the gag out of your mouth again. You wiggle your tongue around it, trying to force under the ring so you can... you're not even really sure. Suck it into your mouth and spit it out? That might work if it wasn't tied around your fucking head. Regardless, you can't even get the tip of your tongue beneath the metal, top or bottom, so -

Johnny's loud groan interrupts your thoughts, freezing your movements. He's staring at your lips, pupils blown and chest rising and falling dramatically with his breaths. "Fuck, lovie, keep- keep movin' your tongue like that."

You don't listen but he crawls up your body anyway. You have a moment of panic, worried about this massive man dropping his body weight onto your thighs when he sits his ass down on them and rests his knees right by your ears, but he locks a hand around the headboard and holds up most of his own weight.

Small mercies, you think, then immediately curse yourself for even thinking anything positive towards this asshole.

If you thought you were immobile before, you're really learning the meaning of it now. With his weight resting on you - even just the little bit he allows - you can't move any part of yourself other than your fingers and toes.

"Yer fuckin' mouths so pretty, baby. Just gonna... just gonna fuck it a little, yeah?" Your eyes go wide at his murmured words and he's quick to stroke a hand down the side of your head, thumb tracing the forced shape of your lips. "I'll be gentle, promise, just need to be inside you. Won't even choke you on it, just need..." he trails off as his hips shift forward, tip just barely squeezing past the gag and into your mouth. You let out a high keen, and even the little vibrations make him throw his head back with closed eyes and groan.

He's true to his word, the bastard, only thrusting shallowly in and out as his free hand massages his own balls. You can only sit there, desperately trying to clamp your jaw down until that sends a sharp spike of pain up your skull and drags a high yelp from your throat. Johnny's eyelids briefly lift to check on you but quickly slip closed again.

This feels far more like a violation than his finger had. You're helpless to his movements even more now, simply forced to sit there and keep your tongue as still as possible in an attempt to steal even a modicum of his pleasure.

You don't know how long Johnny plays with your mouth. All you can do is lay there and wait.

Your noises are muffled by the cock in your mouth, and the slow pace seems to be the secret to keeping him relatively quiet. So when there's a loud slam outside of the bedroom, followed by what sound like heavy footsteps, you both take instant notice.

There's a moment where you think, delusionally, that someone must be here to help you. But then your see the rapidly growing elation on Johnny's face as he pulls himself free of your mouth, and you remember.

Just had to tie you up all pretty for Simon.

You're gonna love him, baby.

You can't help but let out a low cry at the realization, tears falling yet again.

Johnny doesn't even comfort you this time, just extracts himself from you and leaves a chaste kiss on your forehead before nearly trotting out of the bedroom, cock swinging proudly between his legs.

-----

Ghost's back. Finally, finally, Simon is fucking back. Soap's so excited by the knowledge that he's able to completely forget about his dick for the few steps it takes him to reach his partner.

Ghost's wearing a hoodie that's tight around his torso (one of Johnny's, he recognizes, knows that means he did miss Johnny, the pain at their separation wasn't just in his head) and low hanging sweatpants with his skull balaclava covering the bottom half of his face, black makeup smeared around his eye sockets from sweat. If Soap weren't hard as a rock already he'd certainly be by now.

He throws himself into his lieutenant's arms with a grin, leaning forward and leaving a loud, wet kiss on the covering over his face. Soap leans back to run a hand through the blonde hair, sees the heat in Simon's eyes and throbs.

Ghost cranes his head down and gives a perfunctory look over his unabashedly naked body and leaking cock. "That needy already, Johnny?"

"Yeah, L.t.," Soap replies, breath still coming out in pants from his grinning lips. "Been playin' with your anniversary present all morning."

Just on cue, there's a sound distinctly like a wail from behind the cracked open bedroom door. Johnny can't help but grin at the sound of your desperation, cock twitching between their bodies.

Ghost's eyes flick over to the door, then an eyebrow cocks above blue eyes. "Anniversary?"

Johnny can't help but roll his eyes, grasping Ghost's wrist and tugging him in the direction of their bedroom. He follows easily. "Don' play dumb, Si. Doesn't suit you."

Ghost doesn't get a chance to respond as Johnny swings their door open, pulling him into the room with the excitement of an overeager pup. "Ta-da," he beams, free hand gesturing to you. "Found her in a club. She's perfect. Feels like heaven around your cock, and fights when you fuck her through an orgasm." He can't help but chuckle, eyes drawn back to your form.

Your own eyes are wide with panic and locked on Ghost. Johnny feels a little bad for you, squirming little pathetic thing you've become, knowing how scary the man must seem to you. Johnny only comes up to Ghost's nose, and he has to suppress a groan at the thought of how wide Simon is compared to him, how the older man is going to absolutely crush you.

A rough and hot hand clamps on the nape of Johnny's neck, and he instinctively tears his eyes from you to Ghost. The man's thumb plucks at the chain his dog tags hang from, leaning just a bit toward his face. "This your gift?"

All Johnny can do is nod, a soft whine creeping out of his throat at the familiar representation of Ghost's control over him.

Simon's eyes crinkle and Soap knows there's a smile hidden under the mask. He leans forward and presses his covered lips to Johnny's forehead. "Good fuckin' boy, MacTavish."

[darlingdarkly]

New Year, New You Part 8

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x f!reader

Personal Trainer AU

9k words

CW: dubcon!, dark fic, dark content, obsessive behavior, dirty talk, explicit language, E rated, NSFW, smut, 18+, mature themes, gaslighting

Part 1, 7, 9

You grill him with questions, demanding him to explain to you what he’s talking about. It seems obvious to you that he knows something he’s not letting on. The words fly from your mouth in a panic. “What do you mean it’s not safe? What are you talking about, Johnny? Explain!”

You see him get a little heated, a reaction you hadn’t expected, in fact the whole exchange following your inquisitions is so out of left field that it renders you speechless.

“Obviously hen, ye were a victim of a crime last night. Do ye nae see that?” You hadn’t seen that, it was so hard to remember anything about last night that drawing any kind of conclusion had so far been beyond you.

He sees it starting to click and continues, striking while the irons hot. “How many times in the past have ye gotten black out drunk, bonnie?” You have certainly had your fair share of ragers but black out drunk? To the point of almost total memory loss? Never.

“Did ye really think wakin’ up an’ nae bein’ able tae remember a damn thing was normal? Open yer eyes, lass.” He did this so well it seemed, had a way of breaking you down and making you feel small just to build you back up how he saw fit, cutting through the walls and all the bullshit to speak directly to you in a way no one before him had. It was humiliating and liberating all at once.

He sees he’s made his point. “Ah’m nae kiddin’, lass. I think ye were drugged las’ night an’ ah’d say yer awful lucky ah showed up when ah did.” His voice had taken on a kind of verbal growl, Scottish accent deepening so that it was almost hard to understand. He seemed genuinely upset, more than you could seem to get even though you were the victim, but you could feel it settling into your bones now, the unease.

Your face must be a mask of your emotions because he starts to calm now that he feels he's gotten through to you and he takes your hand into both of his. “Ye need tae understand somethin’, hen.” He seems to be mulling over the words in his head, unsure of the next thing to say. “I care about ye, I want ye tae be safe an’ happy an’ I think ye should stay with me. It’s nae safe fer ye tae be livin’ on yer own.”

You feel a bit surprised at his candidness, a show of emotions you hadn’t expected and it sends a hot flare up from your stomach and heats your cheeks. “Johnny I can’t stay.” He forces his gaze to yours, holds you hostage with it. “Why nae?”

That’s a good question, one you didn’t have an answer for. Why couldn’t you stay with him? Would it really be so bad? You’d been living on your own for so long maybe you were afraid of that change.

You opened your mouth to answer but he stopped you before you could. “Jus’ think about it. I’ll ask ye again tonight an’ if ye dinnae want tae, ah willnae make ye.” He closed it with that, getting up off the bed to signal the talk was over. “Come on, time fer yer warm up.”

After changing, you followed him out the door and into unfamiliar territory, the rest of the house you’ve yet to see. He leads you into an open living area that blended into a nice big kitchen. The house looked like it could house a whole family let alone just the two of you. You followed as your head craned and took it all in. The rent must have been astronomical but it was still Johnny’s house and he didn’t bother with extravagancies. It was spacious but also sparsely decorated making it look huge in perspective.

You cut through the space and into another room. You hadn’t really expected him to have a personal home gym, since he worked at one you naturally assumed he’d just go to work to exercise. The middle of the room was empty and matted, heavy duty, black pads interlocked like puzzle pieces made a twelve by twelve square in the center. The walls of the room were lined with full weight racks, adjustable benches, a treadmill and a power tower.

He stops in the middle of the black square and motions for you to sit. You sit, criss cross applesauce, across from him and he motions for you to begin. You start to go through your warm ups, starting with your sit-ups. He holds your feet and keeps count for you, his grin widening as you progressed.

Today was different and in more ways than one, when you’d finished he had you sit up and hold his feet, meaning for this to be a joint session for the both of you instead of just one sided as it normally was. You had to sit with your knees on the toes of his feet to keep him weighted down and he went for three reps of twenty instead of ten. You could feel the strength he possessed, the power held in the corded muscles of his thighs and calves by just holding him down.

You moved through the first set and into the next, keeping count of his push ups and even clumsily crawling up on his back when he insisted on needing your added weight. While it’d only really been a week since you’d stopped, you found that you’d come to miss this. Partly the healthy routine you’d built with him and partly his presence itself. Slipping back into it was not only easy but welcoming and this new way of having him doing it right along with you was something you secretly found yourself falling in love with.

You practically floated through your warm ups, hardly feeling the burn of them. You sat on the mat with your legs stretched out in front of you in a V. Without any assistance from him you managed a full, complete split and you couldn’t quite hide the elation you felt when his eyes lit up and praise poured from his lips.

Limber and pliant you both rose up from the mat and he walked you over to the power tower, standing out from you as you positioned yourself underneath the pull up bar. You jumped and grabbed ahold of the cool metal. You began, pulling yourself up until your chin passed the bar and then dropping down again.

It was hard but you were determined to finish, huffing and puffing by the last rep but still able to pull yourself past the point without stopping. You caught your breath as he muscled through his. You had long recovered when he finally jumped down, making your measly three look like light work as he managed a solid fifteen before finally coming to a halt.

You knew the next portion was the treadmill but as you made to mount it he stopped you. “Let’s go fer a real run, what dae ye think?” You stopped to consider it. You’d always wanted to go for a real jog, much preferring the open air of outside to the confines of an automated conveyor belt but had been much too scared to attempt such a thing on your own.

You’d always heard stories of women going out on jogs and simply never returning, their bodies found weeks later floating in rivers or lying in ditches. As alluring as the idea was your fears had always kept you inside but with a man like Johnny by your side you could pretty much garuntee total safety.

The prospect of finally getting to do as you pleased excited you and you found yourself chomping at the bit to go. He grabbed his house keys and escorted you to the door, locking it tight behind him and stepping up beside you on the sidewalk. “Are ye ready?”

You smiled at him and nodded, it must have been contagious because one of his own sprung up on his face, lighting it up and making his blue eyes sparkle in the sun.

“There’s a park just doon the way. We’ll head there, do a lap an’ loop back.” You started at a light jog and was pleasantly surprised to see him keep the pace you’d set. You were a bit worried you’d be struggling to match him the whole way, although he did talk most of the way while you struggled to manage anything more than one word replies.

It was a beautiful day, the weather was mild and there was a cool breeze at your back like gentle fingers prodding you encouragingly along. You were suddenly glad for this strange turn of events, as troubling as it seemed at first. Feeling down all last week and then reluctant to go out with Nancy, the anxiety you’d felt in the drive to the club and then somehow ending up in Johnny’s bed the next morning.

Somehow even unable to remember any of the events from the night before, something that, in all reality should leave you mortified and sick left you only feeling a strange sense of calm, like in the end it had all worked out how it was meant to be. You found yourself thinking about this morning and how he’d been almost mad at you for not being more concerned about last night, but you just couldn’t feel it.

There was eventually an underlying sense of unease that he’d practically forced onto you but it was only fleeting, like someone who’s fallen asleep at the wheel only to wake up in the hospital and be informed that you were lucky to be alive. It was hard to understand the reality of your danger when you’d walked away unscathed and without really having experienced it.

Maybe it was shell shock and you just weren’t completely grasping the reality of the situation but you weren’t holding your breath, and as far as taking him up on his offer you just weren’t all that convinced. While it was, admittedly, a problem that you’d drank too much and been unable to make it home last night, you failed to see any real danger in living by yourself.

You’d been doing fine thus far and didn’t see why that should have reason to change. You decided then that you’d made up your mind, you’d spend the day with Johnny, as gratitude for taking such good care of you in a time of need and just to enjoy it as well, it was only early in the afternoon but it was turning out to be a pretty good day in your book. You’d tell him later on when he asked that there really was no reason for you to stay with him. He’d understand, you were sure.

“Lass?” You were pulled away from your thoughts and back to the present. “Hmm?”

“I said what do ye think about havin’ fer dinner. I make an ossobuco that’ll bring ye tae tears.” You had no idea what that was but just expressed your interest anyway as you turned off of the sidewalk and into the entrance to the park.

It was one you recognized, beautfiully landscaped and as old as the hills, this park had been around for as long as you could remember, although it’d been ages since you’d been. They’d updated the playground and had redone the bridge over the pond, there was a flock of geese preening themselves on the surface of the dark, calm water.

You came to a stop at the peak of the bridge, glancing down at your Fitbit and checking your pulse. Johnny leaned his forearms onto the railing and leaned down for a look into the pond as you both caught your breath. He broke the peaceful silence that had settled between the two of you.

“I brought me mum here once. She used tae love feedin’ the swans at the pond near our house when I was wee. Used tae take me over there on our morning walks and I used tae make her laugh tryin’ tae catch one. Ah’ve taken more than one swan nip tae the arse as a lad.” You couldn’t help but laugh imagining him chasing the birds that probably matched him in size as a kid and then laughed some more as you imagined them chasing him, angry and nipping at his heels.

He laughed with you and as you nestled in next to him to stare out on the pond, just as the fit settled he leaned in close, nudged up against your side. “Ye’ll meet her if ye stay long enough ye know. She’d love ye.”

You felt a pang of uncomfortable awkwardness as he brought up the idea of you staying again. You didn’t want to dissapoint him by ruining the moment but you didn’t want to lead him on either. “Johnny…”

He stopped you. “Nae. Dinnae say anything yet. Ah was jus’ sayin’.”

You fell back into silence, a much more uncomfortable one this time but he wouldn’t let it set in as he pushed you back into a jog and lead you over the end of the bridge. It looped back around to where you’d started and it was only a quick jog back to his place where you ended your session for the day.

You both go inside and head for the kitchen, he pulls a blender hidden in a cabinet and sets it up on the counter before pulling out a litany of fruits along with a knife and small cutting board. He chops as he talks, going over your progress and performance, comparing it to your starting time and pace and mooning over the results.

He stops talking as he dumps the fruit into the blender and turns it on, the concoction inside swirling into a deep green slurry. When it’s homogenous he stops and pulls two glasses from a different cupboard. The juice makes a wet plop as it fills the glass and he slides one your way after sticking a bright orange straw down into its depths.

You pull it in front of you and take a long sip, confident in his smoothie skills at this point and relish in the way the sweet cool drink slides over your tongue and down your throat, already working to rejuvenate you.

He downs his quickly, an amazing feat that would surely leave you numb with brain freeze. Setting the glass down in the sink he rounds the counter to you. “I’m goin’ tae take a quick shower and then it’s yer turn.” He slides up close, lean chest pressing into your back and placing a kiss on the back of your neck that sent chills down your spine. “Unless ye want tae join me, that is.”

You do want to, nothing sounds better but you’re still tired from your session and you’ve experienced Johnny in his fulty, intense and unrelenting. If you went at it now you may never recover so you decline, opting to finish your drink and wait your turn. He leaves you and you turn on the stool to take in the decor. The little there is of it seems to be concentrated on a shelf in the corner.

You hop off the stool and walk tentatively over to it, surveying the shelves. There’s a few trophies, the plaques on each read that they’re awarded from some gym for a weightlifting competition. His name and the years were engraved in the middle of the plaque, he’d won them three years consecutively.

The other shelves were adorned with photographs. You glanced at them one by one, picking out Johnny’s radiant smile in each. Here’s one with him on the bank of a river, huddled together with a bunch of people all wearing the same bright orange helmets and yellow vests in varying states of soaked, they’re all holding short stubby oars and smiling.

The next one is a much larger group of people, they’re all different ages but share similar qualities, their eyes and noses on different faces but seem to be shaped from the same clay by the same hands. They’re assembled in front of a sign that reads “MacTavish Family Reunion” and it takes you a moment to pick out Johnny from the crowd of baby blues and deep rich browns. You finally spot him clustered in the back with two other young men hanging off of his shoulders. They look like three of a rambunctious kind.

Beside that is Johnny in a long black robe and mortarboard, from the cap dangles a dark green tassel that hangs in the poofy frizz of long dark brown curls belonging to a shorter stout woman. Her eyes are so bright and shockingly blue they couldn’t belong to anyone other than Johnny’s mother. She looks soft and sweet but strong as she beams at the camera. Her face exudes nothing but pride and adoration for her son. Johnny looks young and happy, his eyes reflect the yet untapped potential of the start of his adult life.

“That’s mah mum an’ I at mah graduation.” His sudden presence startles you and you’re glad to have only been leaning in to observe the photographs instead of holding them, you’re certain you would have dropped them had it been the case.

“Jesus, Johnny. You scared me.” He smiles, a deep grin that you can tell he’s a bit satisfied to have been able to give you a start, despite his following apology. “Sorry lass, Dinnae mean tae make ye jump.”

There’s a small span of awkward silence and to cease it you ask him about the first picture, the one by the river.

He lets out a small hearty laugh and reaches past you to lift the frame off the shelf, bringing it closer like having it here in his hands will give him a better feel for the memories they contain.

“Ah used tae go white water raftin’ all the time. This was a group I joined when ah started. We had just cleared a class four river fer tha first time.” You smile as he reminisces, telling just by his eyes that he’s reliving it a little as he talks.

“Do you still do it? River raft?” He shakes his head and places the picture back on the shelf where it had been. “Nae anymore. Too dangerous.”

He sighs a little, the golden memory disappearing and perhaps leaving a plume of mild gloom in its place but if it had affected him too badly it didn’t show, as his ever radiant smile resurfaced like it’d never retreated.

“Yer turn, hen. The bathrooms in mah room it’s the far door on the left.” You make your way back towards his bedroom as he stations himself behind the sink and busies himself with the dishes.

You pick through the bag on the bed, hem hawing over what to wear when you just decide to bring the whole bag with you into the bathroom. You turn on the shower and let it warm as you retrieve your soap, shampoo and conditioner.

After quickly undressing you step into the warm jet and let it soak into your skin. There was a lot to think about and showers had always seemed like the best time to ponder things. You’re still, even now, in awe at just how things had turned in the past day. You certainly didn’t believe you’d be showering at his place at this time the day before. You poured some body wash into your palm, lathering it as you ruminated.

And then there was his offer, so out of the blue and generous of him. To stay at his place with him and for what? Why? Because you’d drank a little too much the night before and just couldn’t recall any of it? While it’d never been the case for you before now didn’t mean it was impossible for you to become black out drunk. It wasn’t an impossibility, you’d read somewhere that the body's chemical makeup changes roughly every seven years. People all the time grow out of and even develop new allergies as their life progressed. Meaning it was completely possible for your reactions to an influx of alcohol to change over time.

At least, that’s how you justified it to yourself as you rinsed the suds from your skin and began to wash your hair. It just didn’t make sense to jump to conclusions so hastily. And stay for how long? Certainly he didn’t mean to tell you that you were welcome to move in indefinitely. You don’t just extend that kind of an offer to someone like that, he barely knew you. Or did he?

It didn’t matter. For now you just couldn’t bring yourself to impose upon him like that, even if he did offer it up so willingly and insistent. After dinner, you’d gently and politely refuse. He did after all say he wouldn’t make you if you didn’t want to.

You rinse off and turn off the stream, letting most of the water drip off you before stepping out and wrapping yourself in a warm, fluffy towel from the rack. You finally pick out an outfit and stick with it, pulling it on and cleaning up after yourself as you finished, you’d rather not leave a mess for him to contend with later on top of everything he’d already done for you.

You close the door to his bedroom behind you as you step out into the open living room. You had expected him to be unwinding on the couch but instead he was up and pulling on jacket, he had his shoes on and keys in hand. As he spotted you he smiled and stepped towards you.

“Ah need a few things from the store fer dinner. Will ye join me fer a ride?” You smile and nod, turning back towards the room to put on some shoes and retrieve your phone and wallet before joining him to leave. It’s a short walk through the front entrance of his home to the garage. It’s barren save for a big red toolbox and a few boxes stacked in a far corner. His truck takes up the majority of the space, a fairly new dark blue Toyota Tundra. Totally on brand for him, clean and gleaming under the fluorescent lights overhead. He pulls open the passenger side door for you to climb in, which flusters you a bit.

You scurry to climb into it and sit back into the comfy seat as he shuts your door and rounds the vehicle to climb in on his side.

You ride in comfortable silence as he drives you a few blocks down the road to the little grocery mart you’d been to on occasion when you were in need of something on this side of town. He parks and you’re glad to scoot out of the door and join him before he has time to come around and open the door for you again. The chivalry was nice but always managed to make you feel awkward instead of special.

You’re taken by surprise as he takes your hand in his and both make your way towards the entrance. The warmth of his hand envelops yours, his thumb draws lazy, soothing circles on the back of your hand and the flustered feeling you’d been feeling, a combination of the new experience of being seen with him in public and him being so gentlemanly, eases.

You walk side by side out of the car park and into the brightly lit store. He picks up one of the little baskets from a metal cage and begins veering towards the back of the store. He seems to know exactly what he needs and where it all is so you just lose yourself a bit in the moment, looking at things on the shelves and watching him as he shops.

Normally when you shop by yourself it’s a race. A race to get everything you need and get out as fast as humanly possible, it’s something about being out in public for too long that makes your skin crawl. But this. This is different. Something about being with Johnny puts you at an inexplicable ease. He’s confident and knowledgeable, and for once you don’t feel like your mind is moving a million miles a minute under the scrutiny of every other set of eyes in the building. You can just simply relax and be, let him take over.

In produce you watch him pick up three different onions that, to you, look no different but he rolls them in the palm of his hand and gives them each a light toss in the air. Somehow— that decides it and he puts two of them back and places the chosen one down in the basket.

Every time he lets go of your hand for something you’re sure that’s the end of it, just knowing the moment will be lost but he surprises you each time anew when he comes back to you and takes it again, leading you through the sections hand in hand.

You stop in the spirits aisle and grimace as he picks up a bottle of dry red wine. The front is embossed with a duck in a yellow slicker, an umbrella cocked jauntily and tucked securely under one white wing, shielding him from a shower of rain falling from a single dark cloud that looms over its head. In a bright gold scroll underneath this curious image are the words “Rain Duck”. The image is very reminiscent of the Morton salt girl you’d always seen in the spice cabinet of your childhood home.

He looks over and catches your look of disgust and laughs, a hearty cheerful sound that momentarily wipes the scowl from your face and threatens to send you into your own fit of meek giggles. “Dinnae worry hen, s’just fer the sauce. Will nae even taste it, ah promise.”

He sets it down in the basket and heads towards the front of the store to checkout. You stand in line and wait your turn until the cashier clears the person in front of you and Johnny begins to empty his basket onto the conveyor belt one item at a time.

By the time he’d finished, the cashier, a tall skinny man with dark rimmed glasses had already begun to ring you up and Johnny suddenly smacks the palm of his hand to his forehead. “Ahhhh shite. Ah forgot somethin’. Stay here with the groceries bonnie, I’ll be right back.”

He takes off in a power walk towards the back of the store and disappears around a shelf. You rock back and forth on your feet and pray that by the time the cashier is done Johnny will be back. You know if he’s not you’ll cave to the pressure of the people behind you and end up paying for everything yourself, just so you don’t hold the line.

You crane over the partitions of shelves that mark the separate checkout lanes in search of Johnny but your attention is redirected when the cashier clears his throat and calls out to you to get your attention. “Excuse me, miss.”

You turn, dreading the worst but there’s still a good amount of items left unscanned and he’s got the bottle of Rain Duck held past the scanner, looking to you attentively.

You let out a sigh of relief as you realize he only needs your ID to finish ringing up the wine. You pull your wallet from your purse and the relief you had felt instantly dissipates. The pleasantly relaxed state you’d been lulled into suddenly felt like the calm prelude to a horrifying nightmare. The clear plastic pane that normally covered your horrible ID photo was empty. You tipped it open, hoping for some horrible trick of the light or optical illusion but the sleeve was empty.

You quickly shuffled through the individual card sleeves, hoping against hope that you’d somehow slipped it into one of them by mistake but it wasn’t there. Your ID was missing. The panic sets in the pit of your stomach like a lead ball as Johnny squeezes up behind you holding a carton of heavy cream. His smile disappears when he sees your face.

He quickly sets the heavy cream down on the belt and puts a hand on your shoulder. “Bonnie, what is it? What’s wrong?”

The cashier calls out to him impatiently. “Sir?” Johnny looks up at him, with death glaring from his eyes before turning back to you. “Come on, lass. What’s the matter?” You whisper because it’s all you can muster, your vocal cords withered to nothing in fright.

“My ID. It’s gone.” The cashier tried again to get Johnny’s attention and you barely hear Johnny as he speaks very low and angrily at the man behind the counter. Johnny must have done as he asked though because soon enough you feel Johnny’s arms gently pulling you towards the exit. It makes you snap out of your horror for a moment and offer to help carry the bags back to his truck but he’s having none of it, insisting on carrying the whole load in two huge armloads all the way back himself.

You slip into the passenger seat as he puts the groceries in the back and only look up from staring at the lines in your denim jeans when the driver side door shuts and the cab is silent for a moment. He’s looking at you, very concerned and you realize he’s waiting for you to explain in more detail.

“My ID is gone. Completely gone.” He seems to think for a moment before he responds and asks if you’d checked your purse. You quickly do as he’d suggested and go through it but it’s not there either and the momentary hope you’d felt at his suggestion died almost as soon as it’d been born.

“Maybe I dropped it at the club.” A smile begins to form on your face as you grasp at anything other than the truth. “That’s it Johnny! We’ve gotta go back to the club. They’ll have found it cleaning up! And we can go get it and everything’s fine!” He doesn’t look convinced as you look over to him for validation.

“Lass, be honest with yerself fer a moment. How often do ye take yer ID out of yer wallet when ye need it?” Your smile began to fade, he was right. Anytime you needed it you just opened it and flashed it without ever taking it out of the slot, you’d bought that wallet specifically for that feature because you were so worried about losing it.

“I ken ye didnae want tae believe what happened tae ye, but there’s no denyin’ it now. Someone targeted ye last night. Picked ye out of the crowd and drugged yer drink when ye werenae lookin’ an’ they took yer ID in case they couldnae seal the deal right away. He’s got yer address an’ yer name an’ even yer picture.”

You listen to him talk as the cold, cruel hand of reality closes around your throat and the disgust of being violated in such a thorough way begins to worm its way under your skin. You can feel Johnny struggling to find words to comfort you from the seat next to you but he must not find any that are adequate because he starts the truck instead and drives you home in a silence that had on the way been comfortable and passive but now was pregnant with tension and doom.

You get back to his place and he unloads the truck as you sit inside and try not to panic at the situation you’ve found yourself in. You thank your lucky stars that Johnny had found you and brought you home now. If you’d somehow miraculously made it home without incident this mysterious man could have crept into your home while you were incapacitated and done any number of things to you. You imagined all the horrifying possibilities, each more daunting than the last as he unpacked and put everything away.

He must sense your spiraling thoughts because he calls you into the kitchen with him as he starts to cook. Chopping onions, heating shallow pools of oil in two different skillets, measuring out beef broth and flour and water in varying amounts as he practices the fine art of mise en place.

You try, really truly try not to let the fear of your predicament gnaw away at you too hard but it’s almost an act in futility. He looks up at you after cracking his third shot and missed joke while dredging the ox tails in flour and notices you staring down at your hands in deeply troubled thought.

He stops what he’s doing and comes over to the counter, bending down to lean over its sturdy surface and get your attention. You look up at him and feel your heart skip a little as he has no business being so damn attractive covered in flour like he is.

“Listen hen. I ken yer goin through it right now. Probably spooked right out of yer tree, but I promise ye yer in no danger here. I dare him tae walk through that door right now. I swear tae ye ill dismantle him with my flour covered hands before he even so much as touches a hair on yer bonnie head.”

You can’t help but smile as you imagine him wrecking your faceless oppressor, flour flying about in clouds as the impact of his blows knock it loose from his hands.

“There’s tha’ smile. Now be a doll an’ open mah wine fer me. I forgot before ah got all messy.”

You stand from your stool and open the drawer he directs you towards to locate the corkscrew. The rest of the preparation you do in a much better mood. While you had a brand new serious problem on your hands there was no need in sulking over it when there was nothing you could do at the moment and anytime spent with Johnny was hard not to enjoy.

He plated your portion and set you down across from him so he could watch your first bite. You wanted him to eat with you, a bit self conscious at him just watching you eat but he insisted he had to start on dessert before he could sit down to dinner.

You cut the big chunk of meat with your knife and fork and then dipped it down in the pool of sauce just as he’d instructed you to. He watched you intently as you brought the fork to your mouth and took your first bite.

Your eyes widen before half closing, you can’t help the soft moan that resounds as the tender meat and rich, savory sauce feel like they pull your taste buds into their arms and hug them soft and sweetly. It’s absolutely divine and you look up from your plate to see Johnny, smug as a bug grinning wolfily at your reactions.

“Told ye it’d bring ye tae tears.” You can’t even respond, just swallow and take another eager bite, this time with a little of the risotto from the bed that the meat is resting on. “Jesus Christ, Johnny. Where in the fuck did you learn to cook like this?”

His grin is so wide you’re worried it’ll be stuck that way and to your amusement you can tell his cheeks have reddened even under his nice, even tan. “Yer makin’ me blush, hen. S’just what ah’ve picked up along tha way. Ye could do it too. I could teach ye.”

You nod enthusiastically, you’d like that very much and you have a feeling so would he. You really dig into your meal in earnest as he works. His back is to you as he prepares dessert on the stove and you wonder just what it might be. Steam rises up in thin streams as he pours something into two ramekins and sticks them in the oven.

By the time you’re done he’s cracking into his own dinner as you begin working on the dishes. He protests but you stay firm that if he cooked the absolute least you could do was help clean up. He finally relented and let you work as he ate as quickly as he could so he could help dry the dishes at least.

By the time everything was done so was the dessert and he pulled it from the oven to cool as he leaned over the counter and held your gaze raptly with his. “It’s time, lass. What have ye decided?”

But with the way he’s staring you down it feels like he’s on the edge of his seat. Those blue eyes piercing yours and you know every second you don’t answer is killing him, you can read it all over his face so even though you’d made your mind up you told him you weren’t sure.

He looked a bit dejected but it wasn’t the broken disappointment you knew you’d have been graced with if you’d downright shut his proposition down. His eyes light up suddenly in a way you hadn’t been expecting like he’d just had the idea of a century.

“Play a game with me, lass.” You regarded him distrustfully. “What kind of game, Johnny?”

“I’ll show ye, come on.” You follow after him into the bedroom, a bit wary. He stops in front of the pull up bar and turns back towards you.

“Johnny you and I both know there’s no way I’m besting you in a pull up contest, I’d be mental to even try. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Ohhh no, hen. Nothing like tha’, yer right t’wouldnae be fair. All I want ye tae do is hang from the bar. Can ye do that?”

You jump up and grab the bar to see if you’ve got the right idea and he smiles and nods. “Jus’ like that, all ye’ve gotta do is not let go. Think ye can handle it?”

You eyed him suspiciously. “What’s the catch?” You felt like there was something hidden in this that he wasn’t revealing and you weren’t wrong.

“Well it would nae be a game if there was nae some kind of a catch now would it, hen?” You swallow hard and watch him saddle closer, pinning you back into the cool metal bars.

“Ye’ve got tae hold yerself up until ye come.” His smirk widens as your mouth drops open a little, at first for some kind of rebuttal but you can’t come up with anything to say so it just hangs open as your mind blanks.

You finally get a grip enough to ask him to explain. “Well, yer goin’ tae hang onto tha bar an’ ah’m goin’ tae try mah hardest tae make ye come. If ye can hold onto it just until then, then you win but if ye cannae do it, an’ ye let go then I win.”

You mull over his terms and he just leans back a bit and lets you, waiting for your answer. Instead of giving him one you inquire further. “What do I get if I win?”

His answer is another simple question. “What do ye want?” A simple question that was complicated to find an answer for. What did you want from him? After a moment's thought you answered. “I want you to tell me everything you remember about last night and I want you to help me find this guy that did this to me. I don’t want to live in fear like this. You take me up to the club and we ask if they found my ID and if not then we ask to see the video footage of that night.”

“Hen, there’s no garuntee—“ You stop him. “I know. Just promise me if I win you’ll help me.” He looks a bit troubled, like he hadn’t meant for this to take this kind of turn and you wonder for a moment if he’ll back out.

“If I win ye have tae tell me the real reason ye never came back to the gym an’ never texted me an’ just disappeared.” You go to answer when he adds. “And ye stay.”

You sort of knew he was going to play that and even though you’d anticipated it, it still manages to fluster you hearing it.

You think about it real hard, just being around him had you more or less worked up all day, you were fairly confident that you could come quickly, even now just having discussed the game with him you knew your panties were damp. But could you hold yourself up for that length of time?

Reluctantly, you accepted. You even felt sure enough to jest him a bit about how easy of a win this would be for you, it was a decision you came to regret as he leaned in close to your ear and whispered. “Ah’m goin’ tae make ye eat those words, hen.”

A shudder of anticipation passed through you as he kissed you on your neck, just below your ear with a pass of his velvet soft tongue, giving you a little taste of what was to come.

The game had apparently begun as he stooped down to help shed you of your jeans, pulling them down and kissing the skin revealed as he exposed it. Next came your panties and they were damp, a fact that tore a rumble of approval from his chest but he wouldn’t touch you yet.

“Cannae give ye too much of a head start now can we?” He patted the side of your thigh curtly. “Up up.”

You do as he says and it’s a little late to be self conscious now but you can’t help it as you dangle from the metal rod and he spreads your thighs so you’re open to him. You worry he’s going to cheat you a bit as he stares at your bare pussy and you begin to complain when it dies in your throat as his tongue licks a broad stripe up the length of your slit. “Shit!”

He chuckles a little and dives in, resting his hands in the crooks of your knees but offering no support as he begins to eat you out in earnest. You can’t help but moan, your eyes glossy and unfocused as you stare down at him feasting on you from below. It feels like nothing you’ve ever experienced, the strain in your arms adding an element of pain that scratches a hidden itch in the back of your brain.

You shift in his hold uncomfortably as his tongue darts into your entrance, collecting your juices on his tongue and drinking them down. You want, so desperately, to be able to grip him by the Mohawk and hold onto him for dear life but you can’t so you squeeze the bar in your grip and sweetly moan his name instead.

His tongue finds your clit and it just about throws you over the edge but proves to be not quite enough as you chase it in hopes of victory. His hands squeeze and grope the flesh of your thighs and ass as he eats. You thought at the start of this that you would have had this in the bag but the stretch of your arms was outweighing the pull of your pleasure.

It wasn’t for a lack of Johnny’s enthusiasm, his head stayed buried in the heat of your pussy the whole time as he drove you towards the edge as quickly and efficiently as possible. Despite the burn in your biceps you could feel your orgasm building to a boiling point, you had no doubt you’d be coming soon but would it be soon enough for you to win?

He suddenly began to run quick sharp circles over the top of your clit with the pad of his thumb, while his tongue laps at your entrance like a bear to a beehive hole. It’s so good you can’t help but moan, low and dragging as you careen towards the center of the nova of pleasure threatening to consume you whole.

Your wrists tremble and a cramp unlike any you’ve ever experienced begins to glow like a white hot coal in your armpit and it’s beyond you to be able to hold on any longer. Your pinky finger slips first and then the rest quickly follow. You squeal as you realize you’re going to fall but his arms push your legs up onto his shoulders and he catches you just as you let go.

A flood of relief flows through your aching arms and you realize you’ve lost but the sting of defeat plays second fiddle to the massive orgasm that takes you by the throat just an instant later. He holds you up with the strength in his arms alone as you come undone above him. He spins around as your thighs still tremble and gently places you on the bed.

You are still very sensitive and your thighs go to clench shut when they’re blocked by one wide knee. He wastes no time in slotting himself between them, his mouth crashing to yours as you taste yourself on his lips and tongue. He cages you beneath him, pulling off your lips to bite and suck at your neck. His hands roam you freely, pulling at your top until it’s up over your head and lifting you up for access to the clasp of your bra.

With it successfully pulled away from your breasts he dives down and devours them, lips wrapping around one pert nipple as the other he gropes with the full palm of his hand, trying to hold as much of it as possible. You nearly shriek with the overstimulation of it and he pulls away to whisper both praise and apologies.

“Jus’ cannae help it, bonnie. Need tae be inside you, please? Let me fuck you, hen. Been cravin’ tha’ perfect little pussy. Come on, lass. Give it tae me.” He’s rubbing the very prominent bulge of his cock against your thigh all the while and you can’t help but clench around nothing in anticipation.

“Fuck Johnny! Do it! Fill me up.” He wastes no time, quickly abandoning your breasts to free himself from the confinements of his jeans. He doesn’t even get them down all the way before he’s fishing himself from his boxers and rubbing the tip hurriedly up and down your slit. You jump and squeal at the sensation and he coos more apologies at you before lining himself up and pushing inside.

You moan in unison as he stretches you open and his arms come up to brace himself on either side of your head. He muffles your moans with his mouth as he leans down and kisses you, swallowing them up as he begins to move and your hands fly to his arms, bracing yourself against the onslaught that is the drag of his fat cock.

You pull away for air and immediately expel it into a high pitched whine as he picks up a fast and steady rhythm, hips knocking into yours on each upward thrust. The fact that you've already came does nothing to alleviate the burn that accompanies the stretch of him. He’s a force and you can do nothing against it but hold on.

You try to make sense of what he’s saying as he fucks you stupid but only catch half of it. Something about keeping you safe forever. Poorly worded promises and vows pouring from his mouth as he uses you to reach his release.

You can feel it fast approaching and can do nothing but steel yourself against it as he pounds a second orgasm from you, the snap of his hips and the drive of his cock demands it of you. “Aww fuck, hen. Are ye gonna come fer me again? Hmm? Let me feel it. Come on lass, let me take care of ye forever. Ye can have this fer the rest of our lives if ye jus’ come fer me right now.”

He says it like you have a choice in the matter as you become locked in the throes of your ecstasy brought forth by his hand and in the midst of yours you vaguely feel him reach his. Coming hard and fast deep inside the tight clutch of your pussy.

It takes you both an eternity to recover and when he finally rolls off you, you realize you’d half fallen asleep, cradled safely under him, worn out and sated.

After a moment he gets up and leaves the room and he’s gone forever to the point where you almost get up to go after him but he comes back in with two small white dishes in hand along with two spoons.

You sit up on one elbow as he hands you one and the accompanying silverware. Looking down at it you can see a dark golden brown crust, a glassy glaze over the surface but are otherwise clueless as to what’s before you. You watch him experimentally as he takes the handle of the spoon in between his thumb and index finger and brings the bowl of the spoon down on top of the crust with an audible smack. The crust breaks and there’s a jiggly dense cream beneath.

Following suit, you bring your spoon down onto yours and scoop up a glob of the pale white gelatin. You take a bite and smile as the cool, sweet cream melts over your tongue. You sit there with him, basking in the afterglow of your orgasms and eating crème brûlée.

It gets you thinking, you could have this indefinitely. Do this every night if you’d like and as if reading your thoughts he speaks.

“I won, but the choice is still yers. Stay with me, hen. Ah’ll keep ye safe. No worries, no lookin’ over yer shoulder forever or double checkin’ yer locks all yer life. Let me take care of ye. I want to, an tha’s honest.”

You stare at him, his blue eyes are soft and filled with adoration and honesty. He really wants you here with him and is that really so bad? How many times are you gonna pass up this opportunity before it’s gone? And will you be looking back later with regret once the door has closed?

You have to drop his gaze to decide but recapture it once you do. You go to tell him “Ok, but only until I’ve found a new place.” but he seizes you in his arms after the first word and pulls you hard against him like a five year old child handed a cat and told they can keep it.

“Johnny! You’re squishing me!” You complain but the sensation isn’t entirely unpleasant.

He does everything with you side by side for the rest of the night. He changes with you, he brushes his teeth with you, he even lingers around when you try to go to the bathroom before bed, it takes a good amount of effort on your part to make him leave the room but you know he’s stood just outside the cracked door that he neglects to close on the way out.

Climbing under the sheets with him you wonder just how sleeping together for the first night is gonna go, actually wondering if you’ll get any sleep at all but then he pulls you into his chest and to your surprise he doesn’t try anything sexual. He doesn’t rub a hard bulge against you or grope your tits. He just wants you close, his warm chest filling out the dip of your back, his legs entangle themselves with yours, his feet even nudge yours affectionately in lazy passes.

It’s a while before either of you speak and Johnny thought you’d been long asleep when you say “I can’t afford a membership.” There’s a pause in your words and just when he understands what you’re saying you say more. “That’s why I didn’t come back to the gym, I thought it’d be easier.. for both of us.. if I just disappeared.”

And there’s something about your honesty, the way you’d remembered and honored your whole end of the bargain, the candidness of revealing you struggled with the decision, the mild sleepy drag of your voice that’s barely audible in the darkness that pulls directly on his heart and he couldn’t articulate a response if he’d tried so he doesn’t.

Maybe you believe he’s asleep and maybe it’s better that way. But he’s not. A few moments later he hears your breathing even out and he knows from the previous night that you’re asleep. He lays awake long after that holding you.

He thinks about you and how he’d finally got you to see reason. He thinks about times when the outcome of a situation is more valuable and important— the greater good one might say, than the means it took to reach it. Omelets, for instance, constitute broken eggs.

It takes a certain amount of necessary malice for these things. An agent who realizes what’s at stake and what’s to gain, willing to act on these conditions and set them right, no matter the cost. And lastly, he thinks about your ID, sitting snuggly behind his in his wallet. Tomorrow after he drops you off at work he’ll dispose of it. Maybe burn it, maybe shred it, maybe tie it to a heavy rock and throw it off the bridge at the park, watch it sink into the murky, goose poop filled pond until it gets too deep to see.

No one will know. But Johnny will. Johnny will know that in the end, his end, it justified his means. You are safe and you are his and there is no means too heinous, no act too profound to reach it.

[diejager]

Dark cbf!Johnny masterlist

Pairing: dark childhood best friend!Johnny x fem!reader

Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, smut, rough sex, creampie, cheating, size difference, fingering, cunnilingus, manipulation, coercion, gaslighting, tell me if I missed any. Note: there’s no specific order to this you some parts might be confusing.

Parts:

Thought

Blowjob

Childhood

[charliemwrites]

Finished!

You find a wolf (dog?) in the woods one day - or more accurately, he finds you. He's the perfect pup... even if he is a little weird.

Content: Shapeshifter AU, Mild Injury, Voyeurism, Dub-Con/Non-Con

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

1fur1 (not canon): (No content warning)

Ghost

Konig pt. 1; konig pt. 2

Birthday oneshot

Price pt. 1 ; Price pt. 2

Gaz

[st-el-la-luna]

Syrupy Sweet: Nasty Baker! Soap x Reader

tumblr deleted the orgininal for whatever reason. Luckily I tracked down a reblog. Edited and added some new stuff (love tumblr for deleting my most popular post, rip my 600+ notes 😔)

NSFW 18+

Soap is forced into an early retirement. He gets a job at a small bakery. And that's where he meets you

➔ gn!afab!reader (described as having boobs & wearing a bra), creepy soap, pervy soap, obsessive soap, lust at first sight, non/dub-con cum eating, dirty thoughts, fantasizing, humping inanimate objects, coming in panta

After so many years working in the military, serving his country. Protecting the people of the world from danger. The last thing Soap expected waas tyo be discharged so suddenly and with so little warning.

Too much time working with explosives has affected his hearing. A bad knife wound, or a torn Achilles tendon. A bad break that never healed right. A couple of head injuries too many. 

"An early retirement," they'd called it. Forced retirement more like it. They won't even tell him why, just that he's, "no longer fit for active duty," and that he should be grateful that they, "got him such a nice deal. That he gets to keep his pension."

He’s bitter about it, understandably, He likes his job. He’s good at it. They can’t be serious about this! His performance hasn’t been hindered. 

Regardless of the reason, in spite of his arguments, Soap is benched, permanently. Price is apologetic, Ghost is... Distant, though that's to be expected. Gaz promises to keep in touch. And he does keep in touch, they all do. 

But it’s ot the same. Soap still feels lonely. Bored. He doesn’t know what to do with himself or all the time he suddenly has on his hands. Doesn’t know how to operate without the adrenaline rush, without something to occupy his hands and minds. He figures that, maybe, he should get a job. A civilian job. Not one of those cushy desk jocky jobs Price had offered him out of pity, Soap wants a job far removed from the military. Really reintegrate himself into normal, civvie life. 

After a bit of searching along the drizzly cobbled Glasgowian streets, Soap finds a little coffee shop and bakery nearby. A tiny, quaint little thing, run by a sweet old woman who just doesn't have the energy to keep the doors open on her own. 

The place is situated on a street corner, tucked away from the busy traffic-filled streets. A soft bell jingles when the door opens. The sign is hsand painted. The place, though clearly aged, is well looked after, loved. The wood floors and counters shine; the tables and chairs, though antique, are comfortable, well made; plants hang from the ceiling; and a couple bookshelves line a wall, a leave a book take a book community library. 

Soap applies for the position and despite his lack of experience, he gets the job. Something about him reminding the old woman of her own son. 

At first, Soap worked there with her. Learning the ins and outs of the trade. How to make meringue and bread and macrons and creme brûlé. It's not easy, not at first, but with practice and time, he gets the hang of it. 

He figures it's because of his experience with explosives and chemistry. Baking is... Kind of the same thing. 

Eventually, he's left to tend to the day-to-day affairs of the bakery. The woman still writes all the recipes and makes some of the breads. But he's the one managing the front of the house. 

It's where he meets you. 

Sweet. Kind. Polite. Breathtaking. Irresistible. Sexy. You. 

You come tumbling into the warm bakery on a day when the weather is particularly bad, even for Scotland. Strong winds, cold rains threatening to turn to hail, thunder rumbling in the distance. 

You're soaked to the bone. Hair dripping. Shoes leaving puddles in your wake as each of your steps is announced by a wet squish. Your full cheeks bitten by the cold, fingertips numb, you offer him a blinding smile. 

He's more focused on your tits though. And your bra. Visible through your thin, now see-through, shirt. Black lace. He can see how your chest rises and falls with each breath you take. He can even see a small mole, or maybe a birthmark, on the swell just above the cup of your bra. He wants to sink his teeth into you. Wants to suck that mark into his mouth, chew and lick at it, make it bigger. Make it his. Make you his.  

He's drooling a little, he realizes absently. 

"Hey," you say softly, wiping at your nose with your sleeve. Hands curled into adorable little sweater paws as you try to wipe your wet hands off on your equally wet pants. 

Soap just stares at you, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Shell shocked. He... He’s never... You’re so... He... Holy fuck. 

Eventually, he clears his throat and manages a smile, stepping a bit closer to the counter so he can hide the growing tent in his pants. He forces himself to meet your eyes, rather than stare at your chest. 

But they’re staring at me, his innermost thoughts whine, wanton and airy in his mind. So desperate for attention... for love... ready to be suckled and bit and groped and pinched... 

Johnny leans forward, elbows resting on the counter and chuckles, flashing you an easy, charming smile. "Hey... Looking for something to warm you up?" 

Please say you've already found what you're looking for. Please say you want him to warm you up. With his hands. His mouth. His cock. Please say– 

"Yeah... Do you guys do hot chocolates?" 

"It's not on the menu, but I've got my own stash in the back," he says as he looks you up and down. But how could you blame him? What with your... everything! This is your fault, honestly. Dirty, dirty, little thing, wearing a white shirt in the rain. You know what you’re doing. Something sinister and heated bubbles in his gut. A thick, molten, syrupy desire, a primal need. A sort of instinctive pull, a fish lured in by the soft glow of an angler fish. A moth to a flame. Helpless but to stare, slack jawed, and fighting back drool, as you stare up at him expectantly, He smiles, his lips spreading further as he notices your flustered state, how you shift under his stare, biting your lip as he looks you up and down. Logically, it’s a nervous reaction. But, in Soap’s quickly spiraling mind, it’s a clean indicator that you want him too. "I'll make one, special for you, darling." 

Your eyes sparkle, your smile tears the breath from his lungs. "Really? Oh my god, thank you." 

Soap grabs a mug from the shelf and twirls it around his finger. He pulls up his sleeves, bunching them around his mid biceps. He flexes, purposefully, showing off the hard-earned muscles in his arms, the scars, the prominent veins, his big, strong hands. Hands that would look so perfect around your neck. Or holding your wrists. Or deep between your shaking legs reaching deep and good, far past anything you could reach on his own. He wonders if you’re a crier. He hopes that you are. 

Soap notices the way your eyes fall to the newly exposed skin. The way your jaw drops a little. The way you close your mouth. The way you glance away before quickly looking back. The way your throat bobs when you swallow... 

Holy shit. 

He can give you something else to swallow if you'll let him. Please let him. 

He rolls his hips against the counter and lets out a stuttering breath through his nose. His lips part. His tongue feels thick and leaden in his mouth. 

A moan bubbles in his throat, he disguises it as a cough. "Can..." He swallows another noise as he shifts his stance, achingly cock pressed against the teeth of his zipper. He makes a show of dusting the counter off, acting like he's tossed something into the bin so he can adjust his pants. "Can I get you anything else?" 

Your eyes, gorgeous eyes, scan the menu and the display. "A cinnamon bun?" You ask, pointing to the delicacy through the glass case. "Please and thank you." 

"You're in luck," he says, rutting against the counter again, as quick and harsh as he can without drawing attention. A part of him thoough, a sick, twisted, part of him that quickly spreads his mind like a weed, corrupting and poisoning, wants you to notice. Wants you to catch him. To punish him. "Just made a fresh batch... I've just got to head back and ice them." 

"Oh, I'm fine with one of them from the display, you don't need to trouble yourself." 

Oh, and how sweet you are... 

You keep chewing on your bottom lip. Part of him wants to stop you, tell you that that’s his job. Wants to bite your lips until they’re raw and swollen. 

He's fucked. Well and truly fucked. 

He smiles. You’re blissfully ignorant of the darkness lurking in his eyes. "No trouble at all... It's my pleasure." 

And it is his pleasure. Very much so. 

He comes out a bit later, a little out of breath. A little red in the face. A couple buttons undone on his shirt. 

"Hot in there," he says with a smile, setting the mug and a cinnamon bun on the counter in front of you. He sets another little plate down, a doughnut. Chocolate frosting with a cream filling, the sticky white substance still pouring from the hole. 

"I uh, I didn't order that," you say with a little, awkward laugh. "The doughnut." 

"I know you didn't, sweet thing... It's a new recipe I've been trying out. Trying to get right... Mind telling me what you think? It's free of charge, promise." 

"Oh," you blink, staring up at him with those wide eyes. God, how he wants to see those eyes watering. How he wants to see those eyes tearing up as you choke on his cock. How he wants to see you cry as he fucks you. You smile. "Thank you!" 

You pay for your drink and dessert and blink up at him from under your lashes. Your smile turns shy as you chew your lip. Stop it. Stop it. You’re going to make him lose his mind. You have to know what you’re doing to him. You have to. "Keep the change." 

He smiles. "Thanks." 

You find a seat in the corner and settle in the corner with a book. Soap keeps an eye on you the whole time. Watches you as much as he can without attracting unwanted attention. 

His cock throbs in his pants when he sees you take your first bite of the cinnamon roll. When you wipe at the icing with your thumb and lick it clean. He watches with delight as you eat and drink, rolling his hips against the counter in time with the bobbing of your throat as you swallow. 

Soap watches you with rapt attention as you enjoy the desserts. His lips parted, jaw slack, drooling. He wonders if he could convince you to lick it away. He is so glad that he stopped by the office to record the security footage. He’s going to be watching this over and over and... Fuck! 

With a final grind of his aching cock against the counter, his boxers are flooded with a wet, sticky warmth. He mourns it going to waste like that. His cum belongs in you. Your tight pussy, round ass, past your full lips. 

"How was it?" He asks, breathless, when you return your dishes to the counter. He shifts his stance, hiding the wet spot in his pants. He's not embarrassed that he came in his pants just from watching how your throat moves as you swallow. At watching the way that you lave your tongue over your fingers, licking the thick glaze away with a spit-slicked tongue. 

He just doesn't want to weird you out. 

"It was amazing," you say. "I really liked the balance of the sweet with the salty... Sometimes the sugar is just... Too much." 

"I agree," Soap says, breathless. He swallows a lump in his throat. "I agree." 

You become a regular from then on. He always gets you freshly baked items, from the back. No matter how busy. 

He's not supposed to alter the recipes. But he doubts the lady will mind that he made a change. All he did was put a little love into the recipes. A little bit of himself in the sour cream glaze. 

Keep your eyes peeled for a part 1.5 involving what soap did in the back room!

Comments and reblogs help motivate!

Masterlist!

[yandere-kokeshi]

How would Yandere Price and Soap and König react to their darling being a cannibal. Like, the boys find out, and the darling is like, “it’s okay! I only eat bad guys, tho! So don’t be worried 😋😋”

— Yandere Price, Soap, and König with a cannibal gn darling

Warnings: yandere behavior, talks about eating humans and slight violence. 

A/N: This is the most chaotic ask I’ve gotten, and I’m here for it. Enjoy!

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish:

The most dominant side-eye. He’s skeptical, a bit uncomfortable… However, if it satisfies your needs, then why not? Plus, you said you weren’t eating innocents, and you’re doing a favor for the world by getting rid of bad guys, no?

His first question is how do you get the meat. And if he hears you’re getting it from the black-market, or you go out killing on the register, it makes him feel odd. Regardless of the answer, he fits in that he’ll gladly kill for you. It’s all laughter, until he comes inside the house the next day, dragging a black-bag shaped like a body…

Of course, he worries about you. He understands the human body, and how much iron and fat is in the body, which in many cases, causes you to get sick. 

Johnny won’t join your diet, but will happily help you cook. He’s fine with helping out, adding seasoning and such with a big smile as the two of you take time with each other. 

Honestly interested in what made you decide on cannibalism. Did you grow up that way? Did someone or something initiate it? Or was it a day when you woke up, and randomly decided on? Johnny is all up to hearing about it, regardless of the time it takes, and finds it fascinating whilst listening to you. 

John “Captain” Price:

Just blinks at you, hand scratching at his beard with a small ‘huh’ grunting out. 

He’s definitely weirded out by it. It’s something he wasn’t expecting to find out, or hearing those words come out from you. He tries to talk to you, asking why or when you started doing it; gently suggesting to you that you should stop and the reasons as to it. But, sooner or later, he accepts it, shrugging his shoulders and going on along with it. 

Another one that will not be joining your diet. He gags at the glazed image, and it makes him uncomfortable. However, he’s open to helping you cook, but will be eating the ‘other’ meat you’re not so fond of. 

While John isn’t a fan of you eating humans, he’s also one to recommend if you want him to find someone for dinner. He enjoys pampering you, and if he hears a yes, a friend that openly flirts with you is gone — and so are many others that Price sees as a threat.  

Definitely learns to be more open about it, and sometimes forgets you openly eat it, until the time comes when he’s butchering.  

König:

As long as you don’t jokingly say you’ll eat him, he’s weirdly fine with it. He just nods, rambling in Denglish, before asking questions to ensure he understands you correctly. 

König is fascinated by the human body, which means he understands that certain organs can easily poison you with how many substances it holds. This said, he worries over what you eat — coming into the kitchen to ask if he can cook the meals for you. Within 30+ minutes, König shows that he can make dishes like a tier-5-restaurant rating. 

He loves seeing your reaction to his cooking, smiling at himself with your humming, and always makes a bigger gourmet for a second plate. 

In a way, this giant enjoys knowing this secret. It’s to you and him only, and he loves preparing lunch or dinner with the specific meat. He’s also open to trying the meat you so like, and if he does? Well, that makes two of you a team, doesn’t it? 

Will gladly kill anyone for you. Open to killing the bad, the in-between, and the good if you so ask. However, König tends to go for people who deeply annoy him. 

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