#and johnny would not Do That

[whitechocolateanti]

samtory as sydina from ianowt ft. miguel as stanley, probably kyler as bradley, and peyton's short hair in school spirits cs the vibes just match idk i never watched it but lord give tory a bisexual bob 2024 the girls that get it get it.

[temeyes]

hair pulling (extra under the cut!)

you brought this to yourself, soap...

[valessacat]

So here's the thing about Johnny Silverhand.

If he were a romance option, it wouldn't even be close; he'd be the most popular option. Ao3 backs this up. But the game doesn't let us choose him.

The four options the game gives us are fine as far as romance goes--they lack the depth of old-school Bioware and Larian. Panam, Judy, and Kerry are beautifully written, wonderfully messy characters. Oh yeah, then there's River (no seriously, CDPR did him dirty). But once you play through their stories, you're kinda done with them. Sure, you get some random texts, a handful of repeatable dialog, a repeatable date--but that's such a tiny sliver of your game time.

Johnny's with you for most of the game. Over the course of many hours, you get to see him warm up to V (a stand-in for you, the player), playfully trade barbs with them, and then solemly swear to off himself in order to save their/your pathetic ass.

If you think about it for more than two seconds, V has this near-psychotic level of intimacy with Johnny. The "guy in my head" trope makes a lot of narrative sense, especially in video games. It's a more interesting story when the main character has someone to talk to, rather than internal monolog or muttering to themselves. But if you overthink the trope to a concerning degree, as I have--you understand that Johnny is forced to quietly look away while V is taking a shit, showering, flicking the bean, getting random boners, violently puking blood, etc. This is way more intimacy than I have with my husband of 15 years. We close the door when we use the bathroom.

They're sharing dreams, seeing each other's memories. They pick up each other's habits. V can play the guitar. Johnny's less of an asshole and learns how to let go. They're changing each other for the better.

All the other romances in CP77 feel so damn shallow next to Johnny and V. That's not the fault of the romancable characters. It's that they've been through some very fucked-up shit together, and I don't know how you don't trauma-bond over all that. V and Johnny are the only two souls on earth who know what it's like to be an engram on a chip inside a corpse's head.

Their story is so beautiful, tragic, and fucked-up that I don't want it to end.

And I really wanna fuck that rockerboy.

[niccolites]

woah....changed my mind...simon does have a breeding kink but it's more bc he likes seeing u shaped around his wants

like. if u have a breeding kink sure he'll meet u halfway about it. like u want his kid so bad? yeah that can get him going, he likes it when ur greedy

but if you don't want his kid? he's like 10x more into it actually. like if u were pregnant and cussing him out bc ur hormonal and grumpy bc u didn't even WANT to be pregnant, this is all his fault. oh yeah he's so hard he's like blind

[theblack-dog]

One time Darry gave Ponyboy a black eye.

It was a complete accident. Darry was in the kitchen doing dishes and Ponyboy snuck up behind him as he finished putting a plate away, and (mostly due to their height difference) just absolutely elbowed him right in the face.

It got really dark and swollen, so the gang obviously noticed, and when they asked what happened, Ponyboy was like "Oh, Darry did it, 😔" and gave no further context, so Darry had to quickly explain to them that it was an accident and he did not in fact left hook his little brother in the face.

[satanslittlefucker]

Someone's probably already said this but—

Soap would be the type to make you lay on the floor and cage you in while he does pushups so he can steal a kiss each time he lowers himself. Bare chest glistening with a thin layer of sweat and his dog tags tapping against your chest. You giggling with every other kiss. Him shutting it up with the occasional (every three or so pushups max) tongue down your throat before pushing himself back up. Then he fucks you nasty and calls it his cardio.

[captainpriceslilwife]

what hybrids i think the boys (tf141 + nikolai) would have because im a freak and cant stop thinking about it and YES they're boinking the hybrids! :))) <3 simon's is angsty though, so...yeah

Also the pics included are just to get a visual of the animal that the hybrid is based off of...they aren't in a relationship with like...actual animals. if i could draw i would've drawn the hybrid myself but unfortunately you'd just get a stick figure with two triangles coming out of it with a note on the side like ":) -> these are wings! <3" so here we are. use your imagination!

(edit: removed the 'keep reading' line :) you WILL read it and look at the pretty pictures i picked out...whether you want to or not)

john: ok, ok, ok....hear me out LISTEN !!!! cockatiel!hybrid. i know we all love cute fluffy hybrids but LISTEN TO ME!!! I used to have one growing up, and i can see it so perfectly oooh my god. They typically bond really well to one person and are snippy with everyone else, and i think john would absolutely love that. It makes him feel special - like he's needed. And he's always loved feeling needed, which is why he goes so above and beyond for his team. And now he has something to scratch that itch for him while he's at home.

Plus, he loves the way she sings and chirps for him - sometimes he'll even hum something around her just to hear her mimic him for the next couple of days. He soaks it up as much as he can when he's at home because he knows that when he's deployed to some hellish warzone halfway across the world, there won't be any birds singing. So even when his little hybrid keeps chirping the same tune over and over again, her feathers fluffing up as she begins to get on her own nerves - he can't bring himself to tell her to stop. And, sometimes, if his hybrid is depressed because he's leaving and he can't get her to cheer up (poor thing has separation anxiety), he'll sing a little bit with her. He never liked the sound of his own voice, but when he sees the way his birdie's face lights up and the way her head sways along with his tune, he melts right there on the spot. It'll always be the first thing he misses when he has to go away. And, yes, sometimes he finds himself singing quietly to himself when he's thinking about his little bird on his mission. Only Simon has ever heard it, and he doesn't breathe a word about it to anyone else - mainly because it reminded him of his mum when he was younger.

John's favorite thing, though, is helping her groom every night. He loves to run his fingers through her feathers, especially the tuft of long feathers that are always propped up on top of her head. He loves to watch his baby lean into his touch as he tries to smooth out her 'pretty crown', as he calls it. And when his fingers catch on a loose, stubborn feather that she can't get on her own? He's gently pulling it out while his other hand coaxes her muscles to relax as he coos softly at her. I know, I know it hurts...always such a good birdie for me though, huh? Pretty little thing...there we go. That feels better, doesn't it, love? And she always thanks him by bopping her forehead gently against his, and he can never stop himself from catching the movement with his lips to press a gentle kiss just beneath her crown.

And if his hands slip under her wings to rub little circles there? And her wings get all ruffled as she slowly gets worked up and turned on? Well, he's not just going to let his poor birdie suffer, now will he?

And it doesn't matter if he's fucking her in missionary or if he's got her mouth wrapped around his cock - his thumbs will always find their way to those pretty orange spots on her cheeks :) stroking them lovingly like he's not defiling his precious little bird. Always rewards her with some fancy birdseed at the end of it, though - let's her eat it right out of his hand.

kyle: another hear me out but....hold on! just picture it! hedgehog. DO NOT SCROLL AWAY FROM ME!!

Think about it. He's been wanting to get a hybrid for a while now, but he just can't seem to figure out what he wants. Everything just seems too...standard. Cats, dogs, birds? It's not really doing it for him. Plus he gets too sad when he goes to the hybrid facilities just to look, so he eventually stops going so he doesn't feel guilty.

But one day he's in the rec room trying to relax - key word: trying. The two recruits next to him just won't seem to shut up about their own hybrids they've got waiting for them at home. Kyle tries to zone them out as much as he can, but his ears perk up when he actually starts to listen to what they're saying.

I don't know, mate. I got one of those hedgehog hybrids - thought it'd be cool - but she's so fucking weird, man. She's always curling up in a ball or giving me this weird smile...it'd be fine if she'd let me fuck her, but she always runs away when I just try to touch her. Kyle is locked in on their conversation, and he doesn't even notice how hard he's clenching his fists until he hears the other recruit respond. Fucking get rid of her, mate. Don't she know that's what hybrids are for? Could throw her out on the street on those grounds.

So, of course our sweet Kyle taught both of those recruits a lesson in what hybrids are for :) nevermind the fact that Price had to sign a bunch of paperwork in order to keep him on the team. Turns out that beating two recruits with the help of Simon is frowned upon in the military. That's not important.

What's important is the fact that now he's got a little hedgehog hybrid all to himself. Tiny thing, too. She's the tiniest out of all of the hybrids he's seen with his teammates. And, ever the prince charming, he makes sure to give her a life that scumbag could never even dream of.

She becomes his favorite thing in the world. Spoils her absolutely rotten. All those weird quirks the recruits were complaining about? He swears he's never seen something so precious or perfect in his life. He'd do anything to put that 'weird' smile on her face - even went so far as to build her an enclosure in her own room, just so she can play around at night since she's nocturnal and he needs to sleep. But he absolutely loves when he's lying in bed and he hears her giggling to herself in the other room, only for her to come crawling into bed with him just before the sun comes up so she can cuddle with him before he leaves for work.

Yeah, turns out she does like to be touched - likes to be fucked, too - as long as she doesn't have some prick breathing down her neck to tell her how weird she is. It takes all of Kyle's willpower to not take a video of him pounding her sweet cunt just to send it to that idiot, but in the end he decides his sweet girl doesn't need to be shown off like that. Not when she curls up next to him and cuddles into his chest when they're done - chittering softly and smiling at him so sweetly that he swears he'll get a toothache. And when she murmurs her thanks for him? Telling him how happy she is that she's finally found someone who actually likes her? Yeah, he's keeping his sweet little pet all to himself.

johnny: little bunny!hybrid...we ALL know why. he's a freak and he needs something to match his stamina. but i do think he picks one of the bunny!hybrids who is more quiet (because poor johnny has always been drawn to the cold, stand-offish type ghost) and he has to coax her out of their shell before she gets comfortable enough for him to even think about pulling her into bed with him.

maybe she was hiding off to the side when he came to the facility looking for a new companion. everyone has always picked the other, more-affectionate bunnies, so she had kind of lost hope - doesn't even lift her head to see who is cooing softly at the other bunnies. But suddenly she feels a gentle hand stroking over her soft ears, and a soft murmur is pulling her away from her quiet solitude - aye, and who's this sweet, little angel? look at tha'...softest thing ah've ever felt...

And he takes her home that same day, even though she refuses to meet his eye and curls away from him every time he runs his fingers over her sensitive ears. He knows it'll take time to win her over, and despite popular belief, Johnny can be patient. Especially when he knows what kind of reward is waiting for him at the end ;)

So for the next couple of months (yes, months - he puts in WORK) he tries to gain her trust. Buying her special treats, handfeeding her the 'fancy lettuce', always backing off when she thumps her foot against the ground when he gets too handsy - he does everything he can to make his sweet coney happy. He even builds her a little nook that she can hide out in if she wants to get away from him. And by some miracle, that seems to make her grow more affectionate with him. He nearly explodes with joy when she comes out of her cubby to sit next to him on the couch while he's watching TV, and he swears he almost cries when her head rests against his shoulder and she asks him in a shy, quiet voice if he can massage her ears.

And all of his hard work finally pays off when he wakes up one morning, eyes still crusted over and bleary from sleep - only to look down and see his little bunny, completely naked, humping his leg like her life depends on it. Looks like all those lonely years at the facility finally caught up to the poor bunny and she just couldn't take it anymore.

Luckily for bun, he's just as pent up as she is! So both of them are very pleased when he's using her soft, floppy ears as handlebars to rut into her like a man possessed - and his favorite part is seeing how her fluffy, cotton tail grows more and more soaked with the combination of her slick and Johnny's cum :))))) he's licking it clean after

simon: dog!hybrid, but specifically a very hyper, very affectionate mutt - one that he didn't want. I think simon is the only one who never actively sought out a hybrid for himself. He thinks it's wrong to own something that seems so human, but his teammates can see how he clenches his jaw whenever he hears them talking about their little pets back home - and john always catches that look of longing that flashes in his eyes before he's quickly covering it up with the aloof demeanor he always uses as a shield.

But one day they've got a mission to raid a supposed 'hybrid-training facility'. Turns out they were running an illegal hybrid breeding ring, and they were putting the 'unsellable' mutts through cruel experiments and tests so they could figure out how to make even more hybrid babies to sell.

And that's when he sees her - a pretty little pup that's been through the ringer. Looking at her, he thinks that she's way too young to be having a litter of her own, but according to the chart that hangs next to her cage - she's already had three litters. There are no hybrid pups to be found though - just her in the cage, using her last bit of energy to wag her tail as she stares up at simon with hope in her pretty brown eyes. Turns out the breeders had taken all the pups when they ran, likely to set up shop somewhere else with a fresh set of merchandise.

Hey, sweetheart - he murmurs softly as he unlocks the cage, being as gentle and careful as he can as he scoops her up from beneath her arms - but she still cries softly as her sore body presses up against his. I know, love, I know...I've got ya. C'mon, let's get you cleaned up, sweet girl.

And he's there with her through the whole process of recovering in the hospital - mainly because he doesn't have a choice. The poor pup whines whenever he tries to leave, and it makes his heart ache in a way he never thought was possible. Price is the one who encourages him to take some time off and 'get to know his new pet'.

And he does take that time off, but she's never just a pet to him. Not when he saw how she looked the day she finally worked up the courage to scoot closer to him on the couch, ears held back like she was waiting for him to yell at her for getting close, or how he's the only one she'll trust to rub her distended belly when she gets phantom aches (her body never did go back to normal after all those forced pregnancies - even her heats were few and far between now).

And honestly? He's the only one out of the guys who isn't trying to sleep with their hybrid. It isn't until over two years in that it finally happens, and only because she was going through a particularly rough heat. She's whining in pain like she did the very first day he met her, and he just can't take it. He's never been so gentle in his life, working her open as slowly as he can, watching her face for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. But he never finds any. The only thing he sees staring back at him is love and trust that he never thought he'd deserve - but he's finally found it in those pretty brown eyes.

nikolai: kitty!!!!! kitty!hybrid aalllllll the way. siberian cat to be specific. he almost got a bengal cat!hybrid because he likes having access to exotic things, but he felt too guilty about the thought of keeping it in the cold, russian tundra he lives in - so he found a kitty that was built for the cold!

And he's so grateful that he did. Because he is absolutely, 110% enamored with the fluffy, soft fur that adorns his hybrid's body along with her striking blue eyes. She very quickly becomes, quite possibly, the most spoiled thing on the planet. You better believe he's slapping a (very real, very expensive) diamond collar on his hybrid by the end of their first day together.

She's always prancing around his house with her fluffy tail bobbing behind her, chin held high like she's the goddamn queen of sheba - and to Nikolai? She might as well be.

He loves playing with his little kitty - watching her eyes grow big as he shines a laser pointer on the couch beside her, making her jump up from her previously cozy position to catch it before he moves the little red dot out of reach. She'll do it for about three minutes, but she's always too lazy to keep going, so he just laughs and settles for rubbing the soft tufts of fur on her belly. You are spoiled little girl, eh? I wonder whose fault that is... Though, she does love to jump out from behind corners to try and scare him, and he always pretends to jump for her sake, just so he can hear her giggle as her scoops her up and promises to punish her for being such a naughty kitty.

He's got a special spot in his hangar just for his little kotenok since he can't bear to part with her for too long. it's got a million toys and cushions and fur blankets - even a heating pad just to keep her warm - but she still always slinks her way over him while he tinkers away on whatever he's working on that day. but he never scolds her - he'll just let her curl up in his lap while he reaches his arms around her to keep working. and he'll press a soft kiss to her head every couple of minutes, just to hear her trill quietly as she lifts her head closer to him. It always pulls a deep chuckle from within him, and those vibrations lead to his hybrid pushing her paws against his chest to march as gently as she can. She doesn't want to distract her owner when he's doing something important, but sometimes her sharp claws still catch on his shirt and scratch his chest on accident. He'll never let her feel guilty about it, though - he's honored, actually. Always leaving his shirt a bit unbuttoned to display his scratches to everyone like they're a trophy.

And if him and his hybrid are together around literally anyone else? Everyone is uncomfortable. Because why is he hand-feeding his hybrid anchovies while she sits in his lap during a meeting? And why does her big, fluffy tail keep brushing against his face while they both giggle and whisper quietly to each other? Why is he scratching at the base of her tail? Is she licking the leftover juice from his fingers? Oh, they're about to - oh, there go their clothes! Ok, time to go- no, Johnny, you cant watch.. Meeting's over. You'll have to see yourself out.

Also, he always leaves that collar on when he's fucking his kitty just so he can see it glinting in the light as he makes her bounce and mewl softly - and if he wants her to be a bit louder? He's tugging at that fluffy tail until she forgets what a pretty, fancy cat she is and starts yowling like a stray in heat.

[mitrielle]

The boys enjoying the last day of spring on a mission.

They came back later for vacation to enjoy it thoroughly. (See the picture here)

My contribution for the ghoap collective spring 25 event. Thank you for hosting it @ramrage and giving me another opportunity to draw my favourite idiots in love.

[egophiliac]

lostinthebookwithstitch.jpg

this is all I can muster right now, too busy having my brain absolutely melted by the September schedule, what is happening

[your-unfriendlyghost]

My copy of the @stay-gold-zine arrived today! It’s really nice, and well done- had a great time flipping through it!

Anyhow, now that it’s out, I’m like 97% sure I can show y’all my work for it :))

it’s a little underrated scene from the movie that I always liked- it fleshed out their world/dynamics just a little more, yk? Nothing groundbreaking, but a small moment that stuck with me for no real reason. Felt like the sorta interaction I’d have with my buddies, that sorta deal, I guess.

+ the top pic on its own b/c i was pretty pleased w/ it at the time (I still am, just less thrilled since the novelty’s long worn off lol)

[temeyes]

sergeant doods

[goatpaste]

Congratudolences on SBR anime announcement

[Commission Prices][Etsy][Buy me a Kofi]

[niccolites]

green cliffs: lessons in mortality. chapter five

highlander!johnny x fem!reader. cw dubcon and period typical violence. read on ao3 here.

You assume that Johnny will get bored of you now that you are officially married.

In that slow ride back to the Keep, you imagine that it was all about the chase for him. Catching you as you fled, the snap of teeth at your heels. There is nothing for him to run after now, you were suitably caught, on your back with your soft belly up. The picture of defeat.

You were wrong. If anything, Johnny is hungrier than he was before. The first night that you are back, he barely lets you stumble into his bedroom before he is on you. Discards your dress like it’s a personal offence, saliva slicking your chin with how he kisses with his mouth open against yours.

He doesn’t even let you reach the bed, bucks into you on the floor until he spills into you with a whine that you echo. You protest at the ache in the muscles in your back from being on the stone floor.

He makes it up to you, lifts you onto the bed and seals his mouth over your cunt until you howl.

It’s relentless, you watch him constantly out of the corner of your eye, waiting for the moment that he loses interest, when he decides that you bore him.

It doesn’t come, you aren’t running but he’s still nipping at your heels. Pulling you back into him so he can grind his erection into your backside in the corridor. Tugging you into alcoves so that he can hitch your skirts up and wrap your legs around his waist.

You think he is trying to eat you alive. His hands are always just too tight, clenching around any give in your flesh. His tongue in your mouth, all the way to the back of your throat while he groans, vile and titillating.

It’s dizzying, leaves you on edge before he pushes you over it and you let him.

You seem to fascinate him, more so now than you did before. You wake up in the morning and find him studying the strangest parts of you. His chin on the curve of your belly, smoothing his thumb over where the skin of your breast disappears into the skin of your side. Other times it’s the slide of his hand up your throat, tilting your head back until his thumb frames the curve of your chin into your throat. A delicate hollow of flesh, the heel of his hand digging in as if to make it wider.

He frightens you, but you’ve also never experienced being under someone’s attention like this. You bask in his affection at times, flattered at his open adoration of you. Then you shy away later, when his attention is too much, a sun that burns you and leaves you red and raw. It doesn’t seem to matter either way, there isn’t far that you can get with Johnny following you there.

“I’m gettin’ a ring forged fer you, later,” Johnny announces, popping up in the doorway to the kitchen and spooking you. By the grin on his face, you suspect that was his intention.

“A ring?” you query, giving him an irritated look before you look away again, pulling more linen into your basket.

“We’ve been married fer a few weeks, but we have nothin’ to show fer it,” Johnny continues. He slides his arms around you, tugging you back into him. You are swallowed up in the breadth of him, thick forearms crossing over your stomach.

You hum in response, continuing to sort the dirty linens to wash. Most of them were the sheets from Johnny’s room, which is why you insisted on washing them yourself.

You hadn’t thought much of the physical show of your marriage. Johnny’s father had accepted Mrs Duncan’s nephew as a witness, and the two of you had shared a room since. You were referred to as Mrs Mactavish, something that you forgot to respond to half of the time. In your village there was the exchanging of rings, but that was usually if a family had a family ring that had been passed down, or could afford a strip of metal to mould into a ring. It wasn’t something that you had thought much about.

“Dae y’want a ring?” Johnny asks, suddenly quiet. His head next to yours as he watches your hands, temple to temple. You feel the inhale of his chest against your back and mimic it, subconsciously.

“I hadn’t thought about it, honestly,” you answer, hands hovering in the air, pulled to a stop. You were used to Johnny being brash, pulling you to where he wanted you to be. His sudden moments of contemplation always left you uncertain. He had never raised his hands to you, but looking down at the thick of the back of his hand reminded you of the violence that he enacted when he wanted to. “My mother had a ring, but my father buried her with it, so I barely remember it.”

Johnny smoothes his hand up your side, warm even though your stays and your shift. You turn your head and see a slight frown on his face, his eyes faraway, but he blinks, focuses on you. “Hello,” he murmurs, his arms squeezing you, making you wheeze slightly, which makes him smile. He turns you around, still not allowing for any room between the two of you. Picks your left hand up and frowns at your bare skin.

You stay silent, studying him in return. He shaved just after your wedding, after you complained too much about the burn on your thighs, but it was growing out again. The hair peeking out of the collar of his white shirt seems darker as well. You had pointed it out once, delirious after he had worn you out. “Makin’ a man oot of me, angel,” he had responded, grinning as he pulled you closer to him.

You tilt your hand into his, linking your fingers between his own. Your movement is clumsy, unpractised, but it knocks the frown off of his face anyway. “Hello,” he repeats, knocks his nose against yours, fingers squeezing yours.

“I need to wash these sheets,” you say, which he barely seems to notice. “I was going to go down to the stream.” You know that he will take it as an invitation, in the way that he does with all of the closed statements that you say.

“I’ll come wae y’,” he answers, kissing a wet trail down to your neck, sucks a little at your pulse point which has you jumping. He laughs, a buzz in the column of your neck. Everything you do amuses him, like you are a puppy that is trying to bark at him but can only yip.

“I need to go now,” you say, unlacing your hands but not getting far before he catches your wrists and wrestles them to the table behind you.

“I’ll be quick,” he answers again, licking at your collarbone before he drops to his knees and hikes your skirts up.

“Johnny,” you hiss, kicking him in the shoulder and only get that same laugh pressed into the curve of your knee. “You can’t do this in the kitchen.” You try to wriggle away, but he has you pinned to the table, hands shoved up to catch your hips and press you back.

“Sure ah can,” he responds, his words muffled beneath your skirts. You try to shove him off and you get a bite on your thigh that makes you squeak. “Keep still and let me get my fill.”

You shudder, staring anxiously at the door as Johnny pushes aside your shift and coos at the sight between your legs. “Johnny -”

“She’s achin’ fer me, angel, just look at this,” Johnny murmurs, voice muffled beneath your skirts. You see the lump shift, almost frown at how silly this must look before your knees buckle as he presses his mouth against you.

His hands are there, tight on the back of your thighs, hoists you up so he can pull himself in deeper. It’s vile, his mouth wide open against you. Saliva slicks until it drips, but he doesn't seem to care.

He kisses your cunt like it's a mouth, laves his tongue up until he sucks. It’s not the first time that he’s done this, but usually you can see him while he does. Make sense of what he’s doing through sight if not touch. You feel jumpy, legs kicking like a startled rabbit. His teeth make you gasp before they are gone, replaced by the loving slide of his tongue.

“Johnny, I can’t,” you whimper, arms shaking as you cling to the counter that you are leaning against. He pulls one of your legs over his shoulders and you feel split. A tear that Johnny wrenches his fingers into, always so greedy when it comes to you.

He doesn’t seem to hear you, or more likely chooses not to hear. He hums, sucks a kiss against the top of your sex that has you trembling. He leaves one hand on the back of your standing leg, but uses the other to slide a finger inside of you. You hear the groan he lets out as your flesh parts for him, feel ashamed as you also hear the wet noise that comes from you even through the fabric.

It’s messy, his tongue pressing around the split of your cunt around his fingers, like he’s trying to cram his mouth in there as well. You turn your head to the door, praying that no one comes in, or worse, that someone can hear the way that you're whining - worse than Johnny is.

Sickness blooms in your stomach until it takes, a split that becomes a cavern. One of your hand drops from the counter to the lump that you think is Johnny’s hand. You hold him there as you cry out, hips bucking out. You sob as he keeps going, fingers relentless even as your flesh wrings out everything that you have to give.

You collapse back, chest heaving. Johnny doesn’t move, and you think he would keep going if you didn’t thump the back of your foot on his back to get him to stop.

He pulls your skirts out of the way, and stands up, grinning at you. His stubble is wet and you would flush with embarrassment about how unabashed he is about it. He grins, hunches over you as he takes in your sweaty face.

“Go wash your mouth out,” you mutter, cringing as he pushes his nose into your cheek and you feel his skin stick to yours for a moment.

He snorts, his hand cupping your chin as he drags you up to meet his mouth. It’s a perverted rush that slinks up your spine as he kisses you the same way that he kissed you between your legs.

He seems content enough, with his tongue in your mouth. Forced relaxation upon you, muscles un-knotted enough to let him smooth his hands up and down your spine.

You jolt, caught again, as grinds his cock against your hip. Your mouths separate with a wet noise as you rear back. He grins down at you, unrelenting. “Cannae blame a man for this, not with those pretty noises that y’were just singing fer me, angel.”

“Johnny, I should really clean these sheets,” you start, trying to lean back.

You’ve misstepped, you know it in the way he suddenly frowns. Not in the usual way he might, before he purses your mouth with his hand and coos at how sweet you look. Irritation is a dark mask that cracks across his face, leaving him scowling.

“Oh, ah see,” he says, towering over you. “Yer allowed to use yer husband as y’wish, but God forbid he ask anythin’ in return fae his wife.”

“I never asked you to -”

“But you were happy enough tae take it, weren’t y’?” he snaps. The blunt edge of his teeth hides the pink of his tongue. Hard to imagine that the same mouth was pressed against the tender spot between your legs moments ago.

He’s working himself up, angry like a bull. You picture standing your ground, fantasize about spitting in his face.

You wouldn’t. You don’t. His hand is guiding on your shoulder and you kneel in front of an angry god.

-

You get your ring later, sat atop a wide stretch of fabric of the same red that his plaid is made with. An arasid, in your husband’s colours.

The ring is barely on your finger before Johnny pins you down and huffs like a beast, his eyes on your hand when he comes inside you.

-

Johnny doesn’t let you hide within yourself for long. There is a retreat in a recess of your mind, where you can let him pull you around as he wants, a haggard doll that he is a little too rough with most of the time. And you rest, separated from it all, aware enough to hum and gasp as he wants you to, but apart, dreaming of open fields and a bed you wake up alone in.

You thought that you had been getting away with it, but Johnny is intent, a bloodhound for every bit of you.

“I love you,” he tells you, his hands cupping your face, thumbs pressed into your temples. He’d been sitting at his desk when you had approached him, asking him if he wanted to come down for dinner. Now, his fingers cradle your skull, wide enough that you think he could separate your head from the rest of your body if he wanted to.

You blink back at him, still. Prey animals know when they are caught, and you’ve been hanging from this wolf’s mouth for a while now to know when his teeth are especially sharp.

“You love me?” he asks, half a question, half a demand. Fingers press into the skin of your scalp, thin like he wants to press into your mind and form the words for you.

“I-” you start, helpless. He inhales as you speak, as if to taste the words as they sit in the air between you. You can’t continue, mouth working silently. You’ve only known this man a month, you think. You will spend the rest of your life with him, if he doesn’t get tired of you. These are already impossible to reconcile before you start to wonder how you feel about it.

He steps closer, presses his forehead against yours. He’s usually unintentionally rough, fingers bruising in his haste to pull you where he wants you to be. Instead he’s slower, his hands soften as they frame your head. Nose rubs against yours, gentle.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, eyes hot on the curve of your mouth. One hand slides down to cup your jaw, as if to aid the forming of the words he wants to hear. “Tell me, please.”

Something trembles inside of you, an ancient ache that you think started up the moment that you saw him. You can’t do it. It is one thing to let him touch you, burn his hands on you until you give in. It is entirely another to lie and let him infect everything about you, even the parts of you that he can’t parse his hands over.

His hand tightens on your jaw, the hinge giving at his grip. You remember those Englishman, his own man that he beat into the ground. All for you, back when he didn’t know you, then when he knew you and you didn’t want him anyway. You don’t love him, you know this. Not the way that you’ve come to know love, steadfast and consistent. Some viscous expression is creeping across his face, the longer that you stare up at him, quiet.

You don’t love him, but he frightens you sometimes, even when he doesn’t mean it. And sometimes when he does, a satisfied glean in his eye after he gets what he wants. A lie, just for you, to cradle like a newborn. “I love you,” you murmur, give it life.

The snarl on his breath gives way to a sigh, and he presses even closer. “I love you,” he says, louder than you did. He says it, over and over again. Your lie is suffocated in the air, strangled in his confession.

You suspect that he knows it’s not true. The same way that his brow smoothes over when he reaches for you and you hesitate for a moment. Flesh stiff and unyielding in his palm as he passes over it. You tell him what he wants to hear and he goes soft, but his eyes look like ice, a tension around them that doesn’t fade even as he smiles at you.

He exhales like relief against your mouth, eyes boring into yours.

You thought that being unchewable would make you discardable. Unwanted, half-digested and ruined. Instead it seems to make Johnny more intent on you, teeth sharp as he digs into you further.

“Say it again,” he demands, sitting back in his chair, his hands wide on your hips. He presses his face into your dress. You don’t understand it, he seems to know that you’re lying, but he wants to hear it anyway.

Either way, it’s easier to admit it to the open air in front of you. Unbidden, your hands cup the back of his neck, feel the way he shudders, fingers flexing. “I love you,” you murmur, voice brittle.

“Ah know,” he responds, tugging you closer until you’re half in his lap. Unbalanced, caught with his desk digging into your back, the rest of your weight on the edge of his knees. Your hands cling to his shoulders, nails biting which makes him grin. “C’mere, angel, ah love you, ah do.”

More intimate to let him vow this to you than it was to stand in that church and have him bind the two of you together.

You let him kiss you and grunt at the graze of his teeth.

He bounces you on his lap, his fingers in your mouth. Right to the back of the throat, as if to touch the words before they even form yet. Takes that from you as well.

-

The journey back home isn’t long. Memory has elongated it into an endless beast, as if it were multiple nights and days. Endless and snapping like something wild.

You’d let the dust settle for just over a month before you approached Johnny with your desire to go home. It sat like an ulcer on your tongue, polluting the air around you. The stinking pull to leave. Johnny always seemed to know, always quick to skip past it, drag your mouth up to his, or hike your skirts up. Anything to push it back until it sat like a lump in your throat.

Finally you’d found the courage to suggest taking the trip back to your village to meet your brother, half-expecting Johnny to decline it outright. After all, your last attempt to go home had involved leaving Johnny behind.

Johnny surprised you, agreeing to go but had snapped his hips in yours sharply afterwards, as if to leave you a reminder of where you belong now.

It ends up only taking a single night that you spend in a village rather than the woods this time. “Nothin’ but the best for my bride,” Johnny grins, teeth pressed to the column of your neck. It is on your mind to point out that when you were unmarried and vulnerable, he’d slept with you on the forest floor and spent himself on the back of your skirts. The idea that he will march you back to the Keep if you anger him is what stills you.

The next morning and you are on the edge of your village, finally recognising some of the hills and the bends of the path.

You murmur to Johnny, telling him stories of the daffodils that you would pick in spring, the cow that you only had for a few years, the dogs that Ian had to keep in check because you were always a little too soft.

It’s likely the most that you have ever said to Johnny, but you feel the need to justify yourself, to justify why you want to be here. Johnny seems largely indifferent, as if you could be going to any village, and you want to start leaving the groundwork for future visits here. You aren’t silly enough to think you could come back permanently, but if it went well enough, you imagined a future where you could come back whenever you could.

You leave Cerberus tied to a tree and walk with Johnny when you reach the edge of your village. The way that you’ve come, by path rather than wildly through the woods, your home is on the opposite side, so you have to pass through the rest of your village before you can reach it.

Everything is as it was the same few houses are still standing in the way that they did before you left. Everything has stayed, even after you have left and came back changed.

There is a post that is used for whipping, standing in what made the rough centre of life here. You remember the man who was tied there for stealing money from some passing Englishmen, how they had painted his back red until he collapsed and they finally untied his hands from the stand.

This treatment was not granted to the man that was tied to the post. He’s been left to rot in the sun for days, weeks likely. The birds have been at him, picked away, most of his flesh gone. Rotted, down to the bone.

You’d know your brother in death, though. The same shock of hair as your own, dangling above what’s left of him.

You stare at him, unable to comprehend what you are seeing. You wait for him to stir, to look up at you and witness your return.

The wind blows and his hair stirs before it stills again.

Johnny murmurs your name, tries to reach out and catch you when you step forward. You dodge his hands, try to dart forward but he catches you around the waist.

You howl, mindlessly trying to force yourself forward again. A woman stops at the sight of you, and you barely recognise her. Animal brain at the forefront, any cognition capable of calm conversation has been buried.

She gives you a sad look, exchanges some words with Johnny that he barely responds to. His hands are full, as you try to scramble forward again. You need the truth beneath your hands. Your sight has failed you, you will only accept that your brother is dead if you can feel his dead flesh beneath your palms.

Johnny tugs you forward, but past the post and up towards your childhood home. You reach a futile hand out, only brush the post. Soaked in blood but dried so it doesn’t even stain, but you imagine it can.

Johnny lets you go when you step foot on your property, as you stop struggling to get back to Ian and instead throw yourself into your cottage.

The door is swung open and you force yourself inside, stopping in the kitchen. You look at everything in here, the cups washed and left off to the side, ready to be used again.

Everything is tainted, all of it is ruined. You had expected to come back and find your brother in here, to let him scold you for running off, feel the moments before those Englishmen dragged you outside and changed you.

You’ve turned back time, but no one is waiting for you here. The house that you grew up in is empty, and you are an intruder in it.

You sit on the chair by the kitchen table and stare down at the floor. There’s blood here, spilled from Johnny’s wound on his calf. You stare at it until your vision blurs and you cry until you feel wrung out.

You sob into the table, barely able to get a breath in. Johnny must come in at some point, because suddenly there are hands smoothing down your arms, trying to tug your hands away from your face. You howl, nails digging into your face. Johnny suddenly yanks your hands down, restrains them by your legs with one hand before he pulls you out of your chair and into his lap.

You let him comfort you, let him tuck your face into his neck and cry there until his shirt is wet with tears. He lets you sit like that for what feels like hours, until you manage to speak, wrung-out and ruined.

“I killed him, it’s my fault,” you croak, not lifting your head from where Johnny cradles you. You don’t deserve any comfort, but you soak it up anyway. Johnny has warped you, made you something greedy.

He shushes you, rocking you back and forth. “That would’ve been you up there, if ye’d stayed,” he tells you. Voice hardening at the end, fingers digging in just a little too much. Angry, at even the idea of it. “Ah couldnae let that happen. No’ tae you.”

A life traded, in a bargain that you didn’t want to make. Here is the knife, here is Johnny’s hand on yours, guiding it down until it sinks into flesh. Who is the one holding the knife?

“My fault,” you murmur, suddenly cognisant. Forehead pressed to Johnny’s pulse point. You are finally telling the truth, but it is stripped of meaning now. Weeks too late, your words no longer have any weight to them. Coming back here is stripped of meaning, a fruitless endeavour that has only left you sick.

Johnny pets his hand over the back of your head, down to the nape of your neck. Hand wide there, swallows up the vulnerable parts of you.

You expect Johnny to start shifting impatiently, maybe stand you up and announce that you have to leave. He doesn’t. He is still beneath you, kneels and holds you to his front. His knees must be sore in this position, you can feel the tension of his thighs beneath yours, but he stays silent. Just pets the back of your skull in his palm, until you feel trance-like, lulled into complacency.

You stir finally and stand up. Johnny follows behind you, a warm wall at your back.

You feel scraped out and empty. Look around the kitchen, unable to reconcile that this was once yours, that you once sat here and ate breakfast. Step outside into the yard, all of the animals gone, likely taken by the English.

Everything is empty and unlivable, but you shouldn’t be surprised. You were the one to leave dead men in the yard, and let their blood pollute everything.

You turn to your right and look at the pitchfork left in the hay. You know it was you that left it there now. Careless, and unthinking.

You walk over, and pull it out. It’s rusted, left out here. This is why Ian was always scolding you to put it back in the shed. The handle is uncomfortable and flaking in your palm but you endure. Walk the few steps it takes to put it back where it belongs, hanging in the bare shed. The rest of the tools that once hung here are gone. Gutted, as well.

You fix it where it used to hang. Futile and yet all you have left to give.

Johnny watches you, face still, except for the slight dip of a frown across the cleft of his brow.

There’s nothing left for you here, now. You leave the rusted pitchfork and walk back over to Johnny. Let him take your hand and smooth his thumb over your ring.

Time folds and presses into each other. This is the same moment as when he first saved you from those Englishmen, everything in between is squished and flattened until it is now. A month is nothing, it was all already decided. Futile to fight the tide that pulls you into his side and presses his face into the crown of your head.

You’ll let Johnny guide you back to Cerberus and you’ll go back to the Keep. You’ll most likely fall pregnant soon, and then you’ll have that child and then the next one after that. Time is nothing, this might have already happened, you can feel it unfolding in front of you now.

Johnny steps back and you echo his movements exactly. You step into the future and force it into the present, shudder with the ache of it.

Both of your feet kick up red dirt. Maybe in the coming seasons it will grow green again, but you won’t be there to witness it.

[traincat]

spideytorch where they once joke-promised that if neither of them have settled down by the time they turn 35, theyd just marry each other lol

Peter crawls into bed at 6 AM on his 35th birthday and Johnny is already there and once again naked.

[kalied0skull]

in honor of 420 and 100 followers, i thought it'd be utmost appropriate to draw the curtis gang smoking straight ZAZA !

now playing: Let's Go Get Stoned – Sublime ♪

easter? whazzat. i dunno what EASTER is... i only know that it's fo' twen-tee baby!

★ ramble under the cut!

I don't condone weed usage under the age of 21, but i DO condone fictional characters gettin' a little high on the day of Mary Jane's birthday

fun fact it's actually my stoner grandmother's birthday today, so if it's your birthday on 420 today, you're cool and awesome and i wish you a happy birthday

anyways, for some background to this picture because for some reason my brain was making a fanfiction about these guys getting high while i was drawing:

two-bit brought the goods, dallas brought the bong, johnny rolled that shit.

ponyboy and soda BOTH had to beg darry to let them get high, to which darry begrudgingly obliged — so long as everyone stayed inside so they didn't get stuck in any trouble anywhere. and also he got high too. (it took a LOT of convicing though)

I've mentioned it before in my soda & steve smoking doodles, but I'm convinced they just get reaaaaaallly clingy with each other when high. and quiet. like, they're only whispering, and it's only to each other kind of quiet.

dallas is just there for the vibes, he's probably joking around with johnny because those two are the biggest stoners imaginable on the downlow, so everyone's fucked up n they're just straight chilling.

i can only imagine ponyboy as getting the WORST hypersensitivity when he gets high, feeling literally everything and hearing too much and seeing the colors and lights much too bright for his liking. it's like the whole world gets louder, and he HATES it. but thankfully for his silly friend johnny—the only guy that he can have a comfortable high around—he's doing moderately okay.

two-bit is simply a show off, no other way to put it. and he ABSOLUTELY REGRETS IT TOMORROW. getting cross-faded is always a terrible idea, and he KNOWS it. but is that stopping him? hell nah. and dallas does it too. but dallas isn't as effected because he can handle his weight n' knows his limits. TWOBIT DOESN'T 💀

in my eyes, everytime darry gets high he either ends up across town or he ends up having an existential crisis. in this scene, he's having an existential crisis. probably about paul. he's most definitely thinking about all of his deepest regrets and deepp rooted trauma in that chair. is he saying shit about it? nnnnnope.

these guys are so ridiculous — i could've done something serious for the 100 followers special, but i saw this as a PERFECT opportunity when i realized what day it was. thankyou to all the people who like the stuff i post, this one goes out to you !!! 🫵😼

genuinely could not be happier to have a little community to myself to run over to every day n just Spit Shit and everyone goes "Hell Yeah." it's so fun and so cool and awawawaaahhh I couldn't be happier to have moots and lovely oomfs :D

also, unrelated, but i actually do not associate the song with the scene happening here just because the lyrics aren't matching well BUT the title was fitting, so... (idek if people actually listen to the songs i list??? i just do it for fun anyways, it's a really nice divider imo)

ant-ee-who. i really loved this drawing, even though i major rushed it in the span of [checks timelapse] around 2 hours. :3c

[little-pondhead]

DP x DC Prompt

…

There are no more heroes.

Well, okay. Rewind a bit.

Danny has been doing the hero thing for a while now. He’s had a big reveal; everyone has accepted him (including his parents), the GIW disbanded, the Anti-Ecto acts repealed, and generally, everything is going great. Some of the A-Listers are even training as junior ghost hunters to help give him a break from his rogues! (Being Ghost King makes things hectic sometimes, and he just needs the extra help. Sue him!)

The point is, literally nothing is wrong with Danny Phantom’s afterlife.

And then Valerie Gray, the Red Huntress, disappears in front of his eyes.

Danny is baffled! She’s just…gone! Valerie just popped out of existence, like she was never there. But no matter how hard he searches in the Ghost Zone, he can’t find her soul anywhere. His core isn't broken in grief. So she’s not dead. Which is good. So then, where is she?

Some of the others come forward with ideas on how to find her. A few ghosts volunteer to go out into the mortal realm, an area Danny had declared off-limits, to see if she was out there. Danny approves it. He rounds up some of the friendlier (i.e., discreet) ghosts and Amity Parkers and demolishes the outside travel ban.

So everyone spreads out, looking for their dear frenemy and teammate. But it becomes apparent very quickly that something is wrong with the rest of the world.

There are no more heroes.

Every single living superhero on the face of the Earth has just…vanished. Villains are running amok; the countries are in chaos! Some aliens are invading Earth, mythical deities are trying to take over, and society is crumbling to the ground. Everything is on the brink of collapse.

Well, Danny was still there. And so were his people. They were pretty spread out, so could they just…take up the mantles? He also knew where to find the souls of dead heroes in the Zone; surely they wouldn't mind coming out of retirement for a little bit, especially if they couldn't die again. Oh! And that skeleton army leftover from Pariah Dark's reign might be useful in repelling those invading forces.

Honestly, there were more than enough hands to go around! And with the heroes gone, Danny didn't mind letting everyone out for a little break, as long as they followed his rules. They wouldn't stop the search for the other heroes, but hopefully, when they found them, the heroes wouldn't mind Danny's intervention too much. :)

In other words:

Someone fucks up, and all of Earth's living heroes are either wished out of existence or are whisked away to some far-off realm where Danny hasn't checked yet. In the attempt to figure out what's going on, Danny lets the dead run amok over the Earth as they search for clues. The skeleton army repels the invading armies, the souls of dead heroes deal with the world leaders, and his rogues and other Amity Parkers set up shop in place of famous heroes, trying to get the cities under control again.

Basically, they just do their best to keep everything from imploding until the Justice League and others are back.

(And why is it that Danny hasn't disappeared? Well, whatever caused everyone to go poof! only affected living heroes. Anyone heroes that were dead in the first place, or even just half-dead, stayed behind.)