#i love this one man and that man is johnny

[tojisun]

(quietly) oh god thinking about kyle falling in love with his new neighbour.

How he was just going to crack open a window to let the breeze in only to stop at the sight of his neighbour and her daughter dancing in the rain, twin smiles tugging at their lips as they hop around in their front lawn, feet digging into the muddy parts of their grass garden, letting the water splash out.

Laughter trickles from the two, and it tickles Kyle’s ears, filling him up with such longing he can’t even put a proper name to it.

She is the single mother who moved from another country.

Why she settled in this little suburb, Kyle doesn’t know but he’s thankful of her because there are times when he forgets about many things—himself, for one; the touch of soft blankets and the feel of warm water, for another—but somehow he always finds himself snapping back to his body at seeing her.

At hearing her.

She is beautiful. She is beyond beautiful. She is—

God, how can anyone have that much fortitude and strength and love? How can anyone see the world so optimistically; so full of wonder?

“Oh, you,” she’d murmured, shy, when Kyle had told her of his thoughts, and he watched as her eyelashes brushed against her cheeks at her quiet chuckle.

Kyle’s throat had gone parched—he has never felt this type of yearning before; one that makes him full even when he’s yet to eat anything. One that lulls him to a quiet sleep like his mind and his body have finally found their centre of gravity; like they’re no longer unyielding nor unforgiving. But kind.

Filling. Wondrous.

“It’s because of my little duckling,” she continued, eyes crinkling in her delight. She turned to her snoozing daughter. “I would have been lost without my darling Pen.”

She looked at Kyle then, smiling like he wasn’t just a kind stranger. Like he wasn’t just a nobody.

Kyle stares at the them now, his lips quivering as he watches them dance and splash and giggle to each other. Their laughter sounds like chimes. Like twinkling bells. Like what home sounds.

Kyle stares at them now, wondering if he could ever be part of their family.

(He already is. Have been, for a while now.

Penelope adores Kyle. So much so that she would not stop asking you when could she play agIn with the kind man next door.

She tells you that Kyle is so patient—not in those words, but she tells you that Kyle always asks more about her stories, and asks her who are her friends and which of her collection of toys is her favourite.

And Pen is still too young to understand the word ‘patience’ but she tells you how Kyle is nothing but.

How he never once rejects her tea time invitation, even if the tea is just bottled sweet tea and grocery store cupcakes that you were able buy that week.

How he never once asks why she doesn’t know how to tie her shoelaces, and instead teaches her time and time again. That he never gets snappy even if she keeps forgetting.

She even recounts to you how excited she had been when Kyle showed up for the dad-daughter dance hosted at her school. He’d asked for your permission then, going shy as he stuttered out his, “But I don’t want to impose and you can say no, I swear, and we can just ignore this and—”

“Kyle,” you murmured, your eyes prickling with tears. “I’d be honoured if you were there for Pen.”

He said something to you then. It was a slip of his tongue, clearly something he didn’t want you to hear, and you honoured his wishes but when a man like Kyle—

No.

When Kyle says, “I wish I can be there f’r you too.” What is the natural reaction if not to let him know that he can?

That you want him too?)

(Penny likes Mr. Kyle.

He talks funny, like the many others in this new country.

Mama said it’s not nice to say that Mr. Kyle talks funny but Mr. Kyle is not angry. He just laughs with Penny, and says she should hear his best friend, Mr. Johnny, talk.

Penny is told Mr. Johnny sings more than he talks. Penny giggles at the idea of it.

Penny likes Mr. Kyle.

He is warm and he always has toffee in his pocket for Penny.

He also laughs loud, like the one from the belly, and she thinks that his laugh fills their house with how loud it is. Mama said that Mr. Kyle laughs loud so that the monsters under Penny’s bed would leave. Penny cried and said many thanks to Mr. Kyle after that.

Penny likes Mr. Kyle.

He…

He makes mama happy.

Not the way Penny makes mama happy. No one can make mama more happy than Penny could! But he buys her flowers and donuts and- and books! Adults are so weird.

Books are no fun.

Sometimes she wished Mr. Kyle can be her real dad.)

[euryvices]

songs for my moots, pt.3

god, this is for one of my favourite moots and the one person I feel I can reach out to any time. @irateturtles ilysm. ur heart is gold. based off of the prompt :

also, I'm 100% sure I was possessed by a gay cowboy while singing this so. southern sirius black, anyone?

lyrics :

[i am not from south america. i don't even come from america! why do i sound like a cowboy]

i'm feelin' moony, right down to my rotten core like somethin' that you know is there but don't believe moony, like a dog at your front door, waitin' in the rain for you to feel

oh the way that you look tonight, the moon in your starry eyes i can't help, but feel some typa way the way your laugh is flatterin', i drink it in like the wine we sip and i can't look away

im feelin' moony, like a drunk boy on the roof prayin' his loony smile don't reveal

how he feel inside, for a boy who thinks he's kind who believes, who believes

oh my poor, dyin' beast of burden, i love you like the fleas on your back like the roll-in, swept up heat of summer, aching at your weary bones it's time to come home

my rabid, unloved child, who done told you the land won't hold you strong who you love, and who you kiss, don't matter much in all of this, you just gotta stick around

and stay moony, like a little teenage crush like something that you know time will heal moony, like a bedpost in the wind stick around the cyclone when it hits

laugh out loud and sing and bring everything to its knees little man, hand of god

hand in hand, oh, johnny cash, can't hold a dime to what we have i love you, i do

my poor, dyin' beast of burden, i love you like the fleas on your back like the roll-in, swept up heat of summer, aching at your weary bones please come home

my rabid, unloved child, who told me that the land won't hold me strong who i love, and who you kiss, don't matter much in all of this, i just gotta stick around and find out

all my guilt, all my love everything i have won't save me

my kind-ness will not purify me my love will not save my kindness won't bring you back

im feelin' moony, right here with a half-pint glass sitting at your grave like a dog thinkin' bout your smile, the way you'd crack a half-moon joke every once in a blue moon - tonight

i need you, i want you, i cant live without you but i know you're gone.

i swear, if i had proper equipment, i'd be a singer

[zablife]

Maybe Johnny having a long day at work, he's tired and his girl gives him a blowjob

Hi lovely, I like the way your mind works! I took this idea and ran with it bc all I could picture was Johnny coming home after a trip to his cute little housewife and both of them finding comfort in one another. I hope you enjoy this short blurb about that!

Johnny Davis x wife reader

Johnny Davis Masterlist

Friday Night

Summary: You welcome Johnny home after a long week of missing each other.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, language, needy reader, blowjob, fem masturbation

The time Johnny was on the road was torturous for you, lonely nights spent on the sofa because you couldn't bear to sleep in an empty queen size bed alone. You'd drift off in front of the television set, only to be woken by the hissing static long after the station stopped broadcasting.

As your bleary eyes stared out toward the golden streetlights streaming in through the picture window, you often thought how different the night would be if Johnny were there to make you feel safe. For a start, you wouldn't have to check the lock on the front door twenty times.

You wouldn’t find yourself wracked by chills either. Once the cool autumn breeze turned to winter gales, you were often tucked beneath several knitted blankets, longing for the warmth and comfort of Johnny’s strong embrace.

When he was home, everything was right with the world. He'd stroll into the kitchen to find you standing at the range, delicious smells wafting from the pan before you'd even served dinner. His raspy voice greeting you as his muscular arms circled your waist, his hips would press into your backside to prove just how much he’d missed you.

After your man was fed, he always helped you with the dishes, though he sometimes got distracted by your sweet, little aprons. You sewed ruffled confections in pinks and yellows, dotted with rosebuds and cherries that barely covered your bosom. The bow at the back always beckoned to Johnny to untie it, freeing you to the touch of his calloused hands. However, he surpassed his desires to help with the dishes, his deep sigh at the last dish a sign of his excitement of things to come.

As you wiped your hands on a cloth, you turned to smirk at him. "Mr. Davis, I think you missed me."

"Damn right I did," he growled, reaching for your hips.

You bit your lower lip as you noticed the flames behind his blue eyes, burning white hot for you. "Is there something in particular you were missin'?" you asked innocently, batting your lashes at him as though you didn't know the effect you were having.

One glance at the tent in his trousers could have told you he was more than ready to have his beautiful wife on her knees before him, but you wanted to hear him say it. There was nothing you loved more than having your husband command you.

Johnny slipped a hand behind your back, unlacing your apron with one deft maneuver. The slip of fabric fell from your neck first, then your waist as Johnny chuckled. "Dinner was real good, baby," he complimented you, patting his stomach with satisfaction. Then leaning forward to place a kiss to your forehead, his voice lowered to a whisper as he added, "My sweet angel keeps my belly full and my balls empty, don't ya?"

You giggled, nodding in agreement. One hand venturing low against the front of his trousers, you squeezed his impressive length as you hummed, "Need me now, don’t ya?”

Johnny nodded slowly, chin grazing the top of your head lightly. “Take care of your old man like a good girl,” he urged, pulling you into the lounge where you could sink your knees into the plush carpet.

Fingers flying to his belt, you pulled the leather from his waist with one quick swoosh, a devilish smile playing on your lips. You undressed him in record time, holding his throbbing length in your hand like a prize.

You always marveled at Johnny's self control in the moment, waiting for you to place his throbbing red tip at your lips. He would never push your head down harshly like other men had done in the past. Your Johnny was a tender lover, always waiting for you to take the lead. It was something you loved most about him. And, if you were honest, it was the reason why you gave so much of yourself to him so freely.

It couldn't be helped, the way your tongue kitten licked the drops of precum. Johnny's hips jerked forward involuntarily and your opposite hand soothed him with a reassuring stroke to his thigh as you murmured, "M gonna take care of you, baby."

And you did, slowly at first, but gaining vigor as you dared to take him deeper into your throat. Even when you gagged, tears pricking along your lash line, you continued lapping along the prominent vein on the underside of his shaft, to prove your devotion.

"Feels so damn good," he hummed in appreciation, which only urged you to continue, fondling his balls for good measure. And when his grunts turned to staccato breaths, you knew he was close to his end. Head tipping back in ecstasy he managed to warn you with a guttural moan, "Swallow f'me, angel."

The salty ropes coated your tongue and you struggled momentarily to contain everything Johnny had to give, hands flying to his hips to anchor yourself. However, you remained in place until he stopped pulsing, your hands rubbing soothing circles against his legs as he came down from his high. It was in that moment that you felt most exultant, basking in the feeling of him towering over you like a god.

You were happy to worship him, cleaning his cock with gentle licks. It was then Johnny held your shoulder, fingers squeezing gently as he slurred, “S’enough, babydoll.” His stormy gray blue eyes opened to look down at you, hand raking through your hair to get a better view of your angelic face, flushed from effort.

As he began to pull his hips back, withdrawing from the hot clasp of your lips, you whined in protest. Fingernails stroking along his thigh in silent plea, you placed featherlight kisses to his shaft so he understood your need.

"Not yet," you whimpered, mouth hovering over him suggestively.

His movements stilled beneath your touch, a soft chuckle tumbling from his lips as he stroked your cheek with his thumb. He could never deny you when you gazed at him with that shining admiration, eyes bright as stars.

He suppressed a shiver as your breath ghosted over him, trying to relax despite his heightened sensitivity. A lazy smile spread across his face as he granted you permission. "Alright, keep me warm til I get hard again," he uttered in that low, gravel filled voice that made your insides turn to jelly. He motioned you toward the sofa and you followed without hesitation, collapsing on top of him with a wide grin plastered to your face.

Delicate fingers guiding him back to your eager mouth, you watched Johnny sink into the sofa cushions with a shaky sigh and the sound made your cunt throb. He was on the verge of overstimulation, hand clenching around a cushion as you laved his velvety skin with your tongue. However, he endured the exquisite torture for you, to listen to your purr of contentment.

This time your movements were painstakingly tender so as not to cause him any discomfort, mostly allowing the weight of him to press against your tongue pleasantly. Being caged between his thighs, the taste and scent of him enveloping your senses, gave you a feeling of security you never wanted to leave.

As your eyes fluttered closed, Johnny's hand threaded into your hair pressing your cheek to rest against his thigh. He gazed down at you lovingly when he felt the slow undulation of your jaw against his leg, heart nearly bursting at the sight of your swollen lips suckling him. When your breathing slowed, he rubbed your back asking, "Tired, angel?"

The question roused you instantly, no intention of sleeping anytime soon. You fumbled with the hem of your dress, raising it to your waist and pushing your underwear aside so Johnny had a good view. Then you began rubbing tight circles over your pulsing bundle, gathering your slick before slipping two fingers inside yourself.

Johnny's eyes went wide with feral desire, cock stirring with each small pulse of your hips into your hand. He urged you toward your peak with rumbled whispers of filthy praise. "Look at ya all filled up. My pretty baby."

You keened at his words, back arching and a little moan caught in your chest as you realized he was getting hard. As his girth swelled in your mouth, you savored the salty remnants of his first orgasm and the beginnings of another. If only he knew how good it felt to have your belly warmed this way, you thought before your mind went cloudy.

As Johnny felt you quiver beneath him, his hand snaked downward groping your breasts and a spark of fire ran down your spine. He delighted at the way your brow began to twitch and how your toes curled at his ankle before you gave into the wave of pleasure cresting within. Suddenly your mouth parted in a muffled cry of pleasure, warm saliva spilling over your chin and dripping onto his balls.

"Oh, fuck, darlin'," he exclaimed as more blood rushed to his cock, the spongy tip pressing against the inside of your cheek insistently. There was hardly any time to recover before he was lifting you up from between his legs to pepper you with kisses, more than ready for round two.

[devil-in-hiding]

John loves his boys, and he loves you. He loves being a provider, he loves taking care of his girl and boyfriends. He’d do absolutely anything for them, he’d go to hell and back if he had too. But sometimes it does get a bit exhausting. Always being the one to keep the others in line, always giving them punishments or pleasure. Don’t get him wrong, he does love his role in the polycule, but sometimes he just wants to be the bottom for a change. He wants to be the one who all the attentions on, who everyone’s working to pleasure, sometimes he wants to give up his control. 

But he feels bad asking his partners for that. He can’t exactly explain why, but he does. So he shoves that urge deep down, denying himself of it so he can instead focus on the needs of his lovers. 

They can all tell of course. They can see the change in his demeanour, the slight shift in his tone. They can feel how his touch on them is less commanding and more needy, the way he speaks to them is less final more pleading. And one night, after a long day, they notice he’s especially like this. So the four of you decide it’s time you all take care of him for a change.

He’s sitting on the porch, cigar in one hand a glass of whiskey in the other. He looks out towards the vast forest surrounding the farm, listening to the quite sounds of the crickets and birds. You approach him first, sitting down next to him on the steps of the porch and placing a soft hand on his forearm.

“Hey sweet boy, how you doing hmm?” You ask him quietly, smiling up at him.

Even just the slightest touch from you is sending the blood straight to his cock, but he tries to act normal as he clears his throat, “‘m good love, what’s on your mind?”

Simon’s the next to come out, sitting on the other side of John and placing a firm hand on his thigh, “Ya sure yer doin’ alright sir?” He asks gruffly, causing the older man’s attention to fall all on him.

“Course I’m fine, what’s this all ‘bout-?”

Before he can finish speaking Kyle joins you three. He plops down right behind John, putting his arms around the man’s shoulders and leaning in to kiss the bank of his neck.

“Y’seem stressed love. We just wanna make you feel better.” Kyle whispers softly against him. And as he speaks you and Simon both tighten the grips you have on him, stroking his skin gently.

“Ya do so much for us, s’only fair we return the favour.” Johnny says cheerfully as he comes outside, forcing his way into Johns lap. 

“Come on sweetheart, let’s go inside, let’s us take care of you tonight.” You say softly to him, a sweet smile on your face.

And all John can bring himself to do is nod his head, completely at a loss for words. Simon takes the cigar from his hand, putting it out in the ashtray as Johnny takes the whiskey and shoots it back before standing up. You all gently coerce John to his feet, and lead him back inside to your shared bedroom. 

When you get through the door, Simon gently pushes John down, forcing him to sit on the bed. The remaining three of you all round the bed, crawling up to the mattress to surround him.

“So, here’s how this is going to work okay honey?” You coo softly in his ear, your hands wandering around his body, “Simon’s going to fuck you. He’s going to come deep inside your ass, as you watch me play with Johnny. Then Kyle’s going to have his turn with you, he’s going to use Simon’s cum as lube, as he fucks your sore hole, and I force Johnnys head down onto your cock. And as he’s choking on you, and Kyle’s pounding himself into you, Simon’s going get me all stretched out for you. And after you’ve come down Johnny’s throat, and Kyle’s filled you up, you’re going to sit on my face. I’m going eat their cum out of you, and when you’re finally all empty, then you’re going to be allowed to fuck me. And maybe, if you’re extra good, Johnny will fuck you too. Does that sound good?”

The older man is at a complete loss for words. He’s staring at you, open mouthed and dumbfounded expression on his face. He tries to speak, but he can’t, so instead he just nods, a desperate moan making its way up his throat. “Please…”

-🫧

BABE YOU ARE DENYING THE PEOPLE YOUR AMAZING MIND

YOU WOULD BE SO LOVED

[daydreamerwoah]

Love Through It All (Alternate Ending - Different Character Death)

tw: mentions of cheating, mentions of divorce; hurt; angst; anger; sadness; arguing; crying; mentions of therapy/counseling; violence; guns; injury; main character death; a violent Ghost

Please read Part 1 for my author notes for the beginning of this story if this is your first time here.

Had someone ask for a different alternate ending where another character dies so here it is :)

*This picks up from part 13 in italics*

The moment the video stopped, you locked eyes with Simon. Your puffy eyes made him internally broken, but his facial expression hadn't changed, and you didn't know if he was upset that you had gotten revenge for cheating on you... or if it was something else. You wanted to say that it meant nothing. That you were drunk and fucking mad at him... but you couldn't say shit with the tape still over your mouth.

"I have to say, she sounds.. so damn good. Doesn't she?" Jax teased as he asked everyone in the room. Even with Andrei not responding, since he was the one who had his tongue on you, Jax smiled at Simon like he had won or something, "How does it feel?" He walked and stood behind Simon as he leaned down so his face was almost next to his, looking at you, "Tell her." He demanded.

Simon's eyes never strayed away from yours as you continued to cry. The look on his face hadn't really changed, but his eyes told you exactly how he felt. The regret that ran through his soul.... he wished he could been a better man; a better husband. You didn't deserve any of this.. yet you stayed. You had wanted to work on your marriage even after the ugly truth came out. It was his fault, and he would forever kill himself over it. He would be grateful if you ever forgave him, promising to give you the entire world and more after he so much tore yours apart by cheating.

"I love you," he lowly said, making you cry even more. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart... for everythin'."

"Satisfying, isn't it?.. Finally realizing your mistakes?"

Simon finally tore his eyes away from you and looked at Jax, "Let her go."

He paused, acting as if he was thinking about something, "I thought about it," he teased, "but see... I can't do that. She's knows far too much... much more than our girl Williams," he joked - a terrible one that made both you and Simon shoot him the deadliest glare.

Jax stood up straight and walked over to you, cutting the ropes that freed you from the chair and snatching off the duct tape on your mouth. For a slight second, you almost thought he was going to let you go before he yanked you up by your hair to stand. A whimper left your mouth as the pain ran through you.

"Let her go," Simon told him again.

He chuckled deeply, "We're just getting started."

Suddenly, loud popping noises sounded from the other side of the door, making you jump. Jax - in a panic - swiftly snaked his arm around your neck in a headlock position, pulling you close to him as Andrei and the other guards rushed out of the door to go see what had happened. More gunshots rang out, almost deafening your ears. Simon continued to look at you, the chaos not even phasing him. At least on the outside... on the inside, he was worried. Half secretly thanking whatever god there was that Johnny saw the damn text, but half nervous about whose shots were going off.

Then there was an eerie silence that loomed over the room before heavy footsteps walked closer to the open door. There was more than one set, and you almost began to panic at who was going to walk in there until you saw Simon's friends.

"Let her go," Price commanded, his weapon pointed to Jax.

A menacing chuckle left Jax's mouth, "I will shoot her," he said, pushing the barrel of the gun against your temple, making you whimper.

"Let my wife go Jax," Simon said, making the man narrow his eyes at him.

"No," he growled, "You're going to suffer just like we did! All of you! I will kill every single one of you!"

"Then let's talk 'bout it," Johnny chimed in.

Jax threw his head back a little as he laughed, "Talk about it?.. we're done talking. Your nation should have talked about it four years ago! But now..... now you will pay," he quickly glanced at you, holding that evil smirk as always. He then pointed the gun at his own temple, throwing off the team.

It was hard for any of them to take a shot at him as he swayed you and his body in sporadic moments. Now, 141 were excellent soldiers; the best of the best, but they weren't going to risk taking a shot only for it to hit you instead of the target.

"Don't have a shot Cap," Kyle whispered.

"If you shoot me, she will die," Jax said as he leaned his head to be side by side with yours, "Your choice.... Cap'n."

Another beat went by as he continued to sway you so a shot couldn't be made. Simon and you looked at each other the entire time as he tried to free himself over and over again. But it was no use. He wanted to hold you; to take you away from there. Instead he felt his eyes water slightly and nervousness.

They all continued to try and get the man to lower his weapon, but the more they talked, the more aggravated he got. And the more he spoke, the more they realized who was behind all of it.

Makarov.

That alone made them even more worried.

You even begged him to let you go, but he shouted for you to shut the fuck up, making the men tighten their grips on their guns. He was getting tired of talking.

"Say goodbye to your wife..... Lieutenant" he teased as his arm wrapped harder around your neck.

Time slowed down. It was like you could feel Jax’s energy as his finger started to pull the trigger, and you suddenly felt……… free.

"I love you," you said to your husband before closing your eyes.

"No no no-" Simon barked before a single shot rang out in the room.

It was the last thing you heard. The last thing Simon said before all you saw was darkness. Jax had pulled the trigger, making the gun go off, piercing his temple. Because his head was aligned beside yours, the bullet wasted no time going straight through your head as well, instantly killing you both.

"NO!" Simon shouted as Price and Johnny rushed over to the fallen bodies of you and Jax while Kyle cut away at the ropes that freed Simon from the restraints.

The second he was able to stand up, he leaped out of the chair and all but pushed the other two men out of the way to kneel on the ground, hovering over your limp body.

"Wake up, sweetheart. Wake up. Wake up," he said as he checked for a pulse. Even though Johnny had already done that, he did it again. When he didn't find one, he should have stopped there; should have let you go. But no, he began pressing on your chest with his hands in an attempt to do CPR as if it was going to revive you somehow.

"Ghost," Johnny tried stopping him, but he wouldn't listen.

John tried pulling him away, "Simon-"

"No! She's not dead," he continued to do CPR on you. The lone tears that began to fall as he looked down at your lifeless body caused the men to look at each other in true sadness. They wanted to stop him, but even they felt the pain flow through their hearts at seeing you lay there on the cold floor.

“Please, god no. No,” Simon whispered when he finally gave up, pulling your body into his chest as he hugged you tightly, “I’m sorry. I’m so fuckin sorry, love.” He continued to hug you, thinking for some reason that hugging you would keep your body warm and safe, even in death.

Eventually, when the medics and police came, it was a whirlwind of chaos that engulfed everything from the prostitution ring upstairs to the crime scene in the basement. As your body was placed in the black bag and wheeled outside, Simon followed the coroners all the way until they loaded it into the back of the van. It was then that Simon felt like he could take a long and painful deep breath that still struggled to come out. It was like he had been punched in the lung with an iron fist.

"L.T.," Johnny said as he walked up to him, making him finally tear his eyes away from the van, "M'sorry."

He didn't say anything back as he looked at his comrade. He didn't even know if he could talk at that point. The only thing he could do was stare at the sergeant for a moment before giving a quick nod and walking off, leaving his friend behind looking at him with sorrowful eyes.

******************************************************

"How's your week going, Lieutenant?" the chaplain asked Simon.

He softly nodded as he rubbed his hands on his jeans, "Fine."

Fine.

It was the same word he used in almost every session he attended since your death. He knew it was going to be a requirement that he had to attend before he could go on any mission... especially one that involved finding Andrei - who escaped during the incident -, Makarov, or whoever else was involved. But it still didn't make it any easier. He was nothing of fine.

The night after the incident, he went home... home to the apartment, and he drank half a bottle of bourbon before he couldn't take it anymore; he trashed the entire fucking place. He was lucky the neighbors hadn't called the police on him. He was so amped up yet so exhausted that he passed out on the couch, only to wake up and see the damn mess he had made the next morning.

When Kyle came over to check on him that evening, he was beyond embarrassed at the state the place was in, but Kyle - just like the rest of 141 - knew he needed time to heal. So he helped him clean up everything before deciding he'd stay the night just to keep his friend company. The same cycle continued as Price, Johnny, and even Ava and her husband checked on him during the next month or so.

But when he eventually got cleared to head back to work after a few more months, Simon was out for pure blood. Blood that was meant for Andrei.

"Ready?" Price yelled, asking the team as they geared up to land in the drop zone of their next mission.

While Kyle and Johnny responded, Simon only nodded, focused on everything around him. They had been tracking intel for a couple of weeks before Laswell informed them they had a location on Andrei. And it was finally time to capture him.

The skilled soldiers descended onto the ground, their guns drawn as they made their way carefully into the building. One by one, guards were taken down silently, a few getting stabbed in their throats as Simon used his knives for more intimate kills.

But when they busted through the door, finding Andrei shocked and off guard, Simon couldn't help but feel a rush flow through him. His fingers tingled slightly, his heartbeat somewhat calmed down but sped up at the same time, and his feet moved faster than his mind could comprehend before he yanked Andrei up to his feet.

An evil smirk settled on his lips behind his hard-shell skull mask as his eyes narrowed at the shaken man, "Remember me?"

The look on Andrei's face was the complete opposite of what he had just half a year prior. That nonchalant look, the confidence like he won a prize cause he had been with you sexually, was all replaced with fear. Simon couldn't help but remember the video - that was now destroyed because he didn't want anyone to see his wife that way - and he felt a deep chuckle escape his throat.

"Tell me again.. how good did my wife sound?" he said in the most menacing tone that even 141 had never heard him sound like.

Andrei gulped, his eyes widening before Simon sent a forceful punch to his face, instantly knocking him out. The loud crunch of his jaw snapping was heard in the quiet room as his body went limp and fell to the ground.

************************************************************************

"Where's Makarov?" Price asked Andrei for the second time.

141 had taken Andrei to an unknown location - a building that was used to keep prisoners before they were taken by the CIA or other agencies. Andrei had been tied up the same way Simon was the night you died, and fuck was he enjoying it more than he should. The amount of punches that landed on Andrei's face from his fists would have had anyone else squirming at the sight. But none of the guys flinched when another cracking sound echoed in the room.

Simon sometimes wished he didn't have to be this way; violent. No doubt he had killed many men in his career, but it was always work. A quick shot from his sniper, a knife to the chest of an enemy. But this?.... this was different. Every time he punched him, he would see your dead body, the night he asked you to marry him, the tearful eyes from when you told him you wanted a divorce, the moment you told him you loved him before Jax pulled the trigger... all of it.

"He asked you a question," his deep voice grumbled as he leaned over to be face-to-face with Andrei.

His face was bloodied and bruised to the point that his eyes barely could open, and his lips were beyond swollen. But even then, he tried to smirk up at the men, "You might as well kill me. Nothing I say will get you closer to Makarov," he coughed, a little blood spilling from his mouth. Simon growled before hitting him once again in the nose. It had broken after the first punch, but he didn't give a shit.

After they all knew Andrei probably wouldn't say anything else, Simon left out of the room, pulling his bloodied skeleton gloves off his hands as he walked outside. He pulled out a box of cigarettes, taking one of them out, along with the lighter. He swore he would stop smoking a long time ago, and for a while, he did. For five years of your marriage, he hadn't smoked once. But he couldn't help but pick the habit back up after your death.

As he smoked, he glanced at the wedding ring on his finger. He refused to ever take it off. It was one of the many things that he kept to remind himself of you; of your love. He knew he would never love anyone again the way he did with you, and in that moment the only thing he cared about was avenging your death.

I thought I teared up on Simon's death in that other alternate ending but I think this one hurt a little bit more. Let me know what you all think about this ending :)

Taglist: @kalypsoox @fruitymoonbeams-blogz @kylies-love-letter @xrosegoldwolfx @linaaaaa654 @jessicab1991 @darkravenqueen98 @yazyazali @thychuvaluswife @chloeforde @cownini @ssc7514

[seraphimsentinel]

BRAINROT ABOUT WEARING YOUR MAN'S SURNAME ON YOUR BACK... specifically from this wonderful piece. this blurb will be with Johnny, a little fluffy morning moment. this was meant to be a little steamy but i guess i just wanted love while i was writing this ANYWAYYY

Johnny wakes before you. though some may think he sleeps like a log when he's finally able to relax at home, the ingrained military alertness never leaves him. it runs through his veins at this point. he couldn't and would not ever imagine leaving you to wake in fear to any potential threat before he did.

he likes the peace too. sure, the chaos and destruction of explosives call to him, but what most don't realise too is that he's drawn to the quiet brought by it. the moment after the last ticking second or the singular push of a button. life hangs in the air, suspended for just a fleeting moment. he likes seeing the dust settle too, on the rare occasion when the aftermath isn't all flames.

here, within the concrete that keeps both of you safe, it feels like one of those moments frozen in time, lit by whispers of the breaking daylight. he pulls you closer to him, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head and inhaling the lingering scent of your shampoo. his hand is spread wide over your middle, the feeling of the fabric against his palm grounding him. he recognises it. he peels himself away from you for just a few inches, syrupy sweet. he glances down to confirm his suspicions.

it was nothing new for you to sleep in his old shirts. this one, particularly. an old task force shirt. the one that once had "MACTAVISH" boldly plastered on the back. the letters were cracked now, proof of years of gruelling physical training. on your soft form? those weathered vinyl letters reminded Johnny why he'd done all of it.

he'd done it so you'd never go a morning, day, or night feeling like you didn't have a protector. he wasn't fully an honourable man, not by a long shot. but he'd bear all the lasting guilt and ghosts haunting him if it meant they'd never lay a finger on you and that someday he'd be able to place a ring on your finger.

[screamingviridianforest]

How would task force 141 react to the reader giving them puppy eyes (🥺)when they want something?

AND how would task force 141 go about getting the reader to do something for them? Would they get payback and use the puppy eyes as well? or do they have some other method?

Ahhh this is such a cute idea!! I love these sort of asks. This is gonna be quite long

Gaz - he doesn't immediately fold to the puppy eyes, but they do weaken his resolve by quite a bit. With enough pleading and over the top dramatics, he folds quite quickly.

~

"Pleeeease?" You ask, holding up your phone to show some online shop selling something you've been after for ages. A soft plush that has a giant blanket inside. "It would be perfect for movie nights!"

Kyle sighs, "c'mon, love, we have enough blankets and plushes around the house for movie night now."

And when you pull out the puppy eyes with some more soft pleading, he just sighs.

~

Though, when he wants something, he's more sly about it. He 100% uses that charisma to get what he wants without puppy eyes, and he's so smooth about it. It almost makes you mad.

Soap - Folds. Immediately. No hesitation. Your puppy eyes are his greatest weakness and you know it.

~

"Look at her! I could use a companion while you're on missions!" You show him the newspaper listing that someone was selling kitties.

"No, bonnie! I don't want to have to share you with some wild cat!" Johnny pouts at the idea, crossing his arms.

And when you pull out the puppy eyes, he's immediately calling the listed phone number. One would be fine, he supposes.

~

This man would definitely use puppy eyes to his advantage in return. You don't fold quite as quickly as he does, but you still do eventually. It's a win-win, really.

Ghost - I mean, he was more than likely going to buy you whatever you wanted anyway, so the puppy eyes just speed it up. He likes showering you in gifts because he knows he isn't always the best with words. Though, the gifts are meaningful(mostly)

~

"Si!" You shout from across the apartment, running to show Simon what you had just found. "Si! Si! Si!"

"Woah, dove-" Simon grabs your waist, stopping you in your tracks. "What's got you in a hurry?"

"Look!" You shove your phone to his face, your screen showing off a matching pajama set. "I want matching pajamas with you!"

And you already do, but you want another pair so you don't waste any time using your best puppy eyes.

Simon sighs, "Alright, giv' it here, I'll get 'em."

~

When he wants something, he just asks for it straight up. He doesn't ask for much so you know if he's voicing it, however nonchalantly, he must really want it. He spoils you so why can't you return the favor?

Price - Does NOT work on him. He finds it more amusing than anything. Even if you know it doesn't work, you still always try because what if it does work some day?

~

"John, can we stop at that new restuarant?" You ask, pointing it out as the two of you walk around the city.

It was date night, and he was already planning on taking you somewhere even nicer, though you didn't know that.

"Not tonight, luvie," John replies, squeezing your hand. "I have somewhere else for us."

"Oh, please?" You plead softly, pulling out your puppy eyes. "I really want to try it with you tonight."

"Not tonight, maybe some other time," he chuckles softly, "now c'mon, we've got to keep walking if we plan on making it in time."

~

This. Man. Does. Not. Ask. For. ANYTHING. You basically have to pry it out of him, and even then, it's a fight. He just wants to spoil you, and he does not want you spending your hard earned money on him. That's your money, not his. Still, getting him to talk after a few heavy-handed glasses of whiskey is pretty easy.

[peachetteprice]

Unfortunately, I may be slightly obsessed with the idea of a sleepy Scottish town nigh in the middle of nowhere, frequented almost exclusively by locals, hikers, sight-seers, and one nostalgia-driven, obscenely-chatty Johnny MacTavish, who never ceases to hit on you as you work behind the bar, giving him a rare laugh or a bloated compliment if he seems down on his luck.

He asks for the same drink whenever he's in town – which is sporadic and unpredictable at best – the largest pint of beer, filled by your hands only, and always overpays for it if it means putting an extra couple of quid in your pocket. When he leaves, he gives the pub-owner, Steve-o, a pat on the back, a healthy jab in the ribs and a cheeky grin – Steve-o says they go 'way back', though you don't think Johnny is quite old enough for that to be entirely true – before walking home in just a short-sleeved blue shirt and jeans, as he does every night, no matter the weather (rain, snow, ice, hail, thunderstorm, even the occasional bout of evening sunshine) even if you offer him a ride home when you're finished with your shift, even if he declines it the first two times.

You have to practically beg to drive him home when the river running through the village reaches breaking point, bursting its banks at sun-down and threatening to take the whole town with it, because you're sure it won't stop at a 6'2, 210 lb hunk of human flesh, even if he asserts he's 'sturdy enough' to outlast the flooding.

You have no idea how badly I want to make this a series... and I may or may not have begun a chapter... obsessed with small-town love with a man who never tells you whether he's staying or leaving.

| Masterlist |

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

do you think Eridan would listen to kpop ? (either the human or Troll variant)

if not...then which troll would be the most likely to :3c

LOL no way, he's a hipster. KPop is mainstream as hell; if anything, he'd have disdain for it (and for pop as a whole). One of the less emotionally perturbed trolls would probably enjoy that stuff, though I don't know that I'd call any of the Alternian crew the kind who'd consider it to be their favorite, since nearly all of them are at least a little alt in some way, and kpop (and idol culture as a whole) is heavily tied up in politics, propaganda, capitalism, and consumption - so the troll version of it would be that times a thousand.

I'd say Feferi, Gamzee, and Kanaya probably quite like it because they're most at ease with their society, but it's not their favorite. Equius probably sees it as being aimed at the lower castes, and therefore crass and beneath him. Everyone else would probably get the propaganda vibes and dislike it on principle, even if some of them might secretly find some songs catchy (cough Karkat cough).

If you want to get into Beforan trolls, haha, oh man. I think more of them would like it than not.

Normally, I'd say that Eridan would at least make a show of liking it, given how much he makes a show of being a Sea Dweller(TM), but his hipster tastes, like his interest in magic, don't appear to be things he can shake. Karkat even calls him a hipster, so you KNOW he's out here dissing Trollor Swift and making disdainful faces when people bring up Troll Marvel.

I have as a selection of bands for Eridan Have a Nice Life (post-rock/post-punk/shoegaze), Sprain (noise rock/experimental rock), and Tool (alternative metal/art rock/progressive rock). Generally, I find he vibes with stuff on the darker side of post/prog rock, or the more lyrical side of heavy metal - both in terms of themes (lots of darker topics, like death, murder, suicide, child abuse, etc.) and in terms of sound. It also fulfills the requirement of being "hipster" by nature. Eridan is a very troubled, angry, violent guy, and I personally like to call the linked bands "angry man music". Just a smattering of lyrics for those who don't want to listen:

I've been doing a lot of damned things without you And all the damned things I do confound you Yeah, Satan and his devils try to take my hand And the angels on my shoulders try to tell me that they understand Oh well, oh well

Imagine this: I'm the guest on some obscene talk show In a cell of moral compromise The audience is made up of everyone that I have ever met in my entire life Every sin I've ever committed is put up on display by screens hung around the stage And we watch, watch, watch, watch, watch, watch, watch The host says "I now present to you an elaborate choreography of failure!" The audience erupts with seemingly coordinated jets of jargon laughter "Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Shame on you!"

I'm broken, looking up to see the enemy And I have swallowed the poison you feed me But I survive on the poison you feed me, leaving me Guilt-fed, hatred-fed, weakness-fed It makes me feel ugly

I think even when his tastes do venture lighter, they still never really cross the threshold into pure pop. There's always going to be a hipster, indie, punk-y, shoegaze/post-rock bent to his tastes. I also list for him Dirt Poor Robins, Family Crest, Johnny Hollow...

Wisdom unearned is Intrepid and proud Till we’re dragged by the tide and nearly have drowned Entropy thrives In conditions enclosed Innovations arise When humanity chokes

Cast your heart to the floor, love Feel the sting, feel the weight Of a love, of a love not strong enough Your head's on fire Your hands and feet come off the ground Oh, sweet desire, when your mind, when your mind When your mind's not strong enough It's not that your head is gone It's just that your heart is on fire, fire It's not that the beat is off It's just that your heart is on fire, fire

Once when I was all alone I called you, and you weren't at home My heart fell like a stone, to the ground To the ground, to the ground Why, when morn had dawned on me And anger grew like ecstasy And Leda threw the swan on me and I fell to the ground To the ground, to the ground

Hilariously, this alt/hipster taste means that he runs up against stuff that's ridiculously anti-government; I personally like to believe he does actually listen to outright anti-fascist songs, but if you point it out, he's just like. No it isn't. So SWMRS, Silver Mt. Zion, Vansire.

Well, you gotta keep it up But it will never be enough No sonrisa teenage shit pop Well, you gotta keep it up But it will never be enough No sonrisa teenage shit pop Death to the motherfucking fascist insect This shit makes me so sadistic Death to the motherfucking fascist insect This shit makes me so sadistic Death to the motherfucking fascist insect This shit makes me so sadistic Death to the motherfucking fascist insect This shit makes me so sadistic

There's fresh meat in the club tonight God bless our dead marines Someone had an accident Above the burning trees While somewhere distant peacefully Our vulgar princes sleep Dead kids don't get photographed God bless our dead marines

So I convalesced in the middle west And fell for Ohio's roads I'm standing still by the windowsill Where I once watched the world explode So when it's looking dark in your narrative arc I'm here and you can talk with me A hackneyed fool under fascist rule Wasting days singing about his dreams

It's a pretentious-ass taste, but one that fits in with the vocabulary he likes to use:

CA: all of her FRAUDULENT MAGICS cannot come close to posin threat to my mastery ovver the TRUEST SCIENCES CA: an wwith my empiricists wwand i servve as the righteous hope that wwill incinerate delusion and the deluded alike CA: my holy fire is the wwhite fury bled from the wwrath-wweary eyes of fifty thousand nonfictional angels CA: and wwhen theyre finished wweepin they wwill boww before their prince GG: wow what are you talking about

I miss the days when stars were saintly They sang to me in ways innately Before we enslaved the symphony To playing anthems for selling things I used to wonder, wander farther Into awe, but those days were squandered My ghost was lost to the grownup gallows So I find my spirit in the bottle

Those modal masterworks Atonal oeuvres it seems When I ask afterwards All message lost in between The shifting aperture Depicting sun-soaked scenes I guess they resonate That's Universal Consciousness

Fate’s a funny thing It makes a victim of the will and brings a suit of broken bands A snake so full of tail That it can barely breathe to say it “doesn’t understand.” So, what am I to think? What am I to think? I’m doing it now At least I know I am At least I caught myself before I sent this out Into a stupid world that doesn’t give a damn Oh, what kind of fool do you think I am?

Like, I really can't stress enough, but Eridan is abjectly fucking miserable, angry and violent, anxious and unhappy. And his taste in music should reflect that, his feelings of impotence, his angry and anxious energy, his desperation. Have a Nice Life is probably the band I pick for him, because their discography reflects so greatly these emotions of anger, impotence, self-loathing and self-destruction.

The thing about being a hipster is that there's, the way I see it, three main reasons people wind up falling into it - the first is that they want to feel special, feel better than other people (not really Eridan's deal); the second is that they're just generally a music liker and their taste is indiscriminate enough to include indie stuff, too (and this is also not really Eridan's deal); and the last is because there is something in their soul that cries out for validation that they can't receive in the mainstream - for example, emotions, impulses, thoughts, and urges too dark for radio play (such as an obsession with genocide and murder). It's actually really important to me that Eridan IS a hipster, and specifically the type of hipster who's super pretentious and looks down on stuff that's "popular."

He has a massive fixation on being understood - complaining constantly that people don't "get it," that "nobody understands." This would extend to his taste in music. He would seek out genuine-ness, something grungy, something real, and unfortunately, stuff that's made for mass-market consumption must have the edges sanded off by nature. Given he actually gets upset when people don't "get" him, I'd wager that he doesn't treat media that he feels doesn't "get" him pretty poorly, too.

To be clear, I'm not trying to diss KPop in any way. It's not really my thing, but I get why people like it, and I'm not saying you shouldn't. Just feel like I have to toss that in there. I just really don't think Eridan would like it. And also he would probably be mean about it if you told him you liked it.

[s0fter-sin]

codtwt is going off on brainwashed!soap bc of his new warzone skin and it’s making me think of ghost deliberately getting himself captured by makarov bc he knows he’ll be given to his dog to try and break him; knows he won’t be able to resist the irony, the cruelty of being tortured by the teammate he lost

he doesn’t fight; welcomes the chains around his wrists and ankles, welcomes the hands stripping him of his weapons and gear until he's defenceless

he wouldn't use them anyway

when he stalks into the room, the muzzle, the scars, not even the blank hatred or lack of recognition could make him mistake his eyes

that's his johnny

he doesn't flinch as he digs knives into his skin; would never shy away from his kiss even if it's tinged with rusted steel. doesn't swallow his screams; not when he always loved hearing him, when he spent so long coaxing his voice from the grave

frustration joins the anger in johnny's eyes the longer he goes without giving up information

just jokes; dark and puns alike

just advice when he can't get the jumper cables to spark right

ghost's not trying to escape; not trying to barter his return to the 141

he's right where he wants to be

[johnniescrossnecklace]

dating johnnie guilbert

[deathblossomm]

Neil, in his character of John "Soap" Mactavish as narrator, presents Soap's Sleppy Story Time

SOAP'S SLEPPY STORY TIME

[toastysol]

God I love that Johnny cononically has a fear of deep water and practically begs V not to go diving with Judy during pyramid song. Gives me hc ideas for the sewers in PL. I imagine that so far along in the relic's process, V would pick up a lot more of Johnny's feelings and might feel a foreign panic about it

[skyf0ckz]

A lil spider!Danny for the soul is good for you

[sillystringsimpsons]

Pic unrelated. I just think they're cute here. Lol.

SOMETHING IS WRONG.

A short fanfic set in The Good Ones [AU], featuring Johnny and Frankie.

STORY BELOW CUT!

"Something is wrong."

As he speaks, his leg taps incessantly beneath the dining table: little creaks and the rhythmic scuff of his socks against the linoleum punctuating the syllables and iambs in his anxious words.

"Somethin's always wrong with yous," I mutter. My words are muffled as I lazily press a chunk of bread, drowned to limpness with pumpkin soup, into the pocket my right cheek. "What's the matter, coniglio? Jeez, is it the bread? Sorry, baby, I know you ain't a fan of them baked-in olives, but it's all the bodega had out when I got there-"

"Gio, damnit! I ain't a frigging toddler, I can stomach some damn olives!"

...Jesus.

I like his skittishness. I know it sounds a little patronising, but it's endearing to me; the constant fidgeting and wriggling is as much a part of him as the borrowed trace-scent of my cologne in the crook of his neck and the way he gets little crow's feet by his eyes when he smiles. But this, right now, is more than his day-to-day restlessness: he's cagey today: more so than normal. I can see it in the way his eyes dart frantically around the room, the way those dilated pupils can never quite seem to sit in one place, caught in that same little loop of endless motion as his squirming lower half.

"...Sorry."

As soon as he breaks the silence, I realise I've been absentmindedly holding my breath in - as if, if I had let it go, some inappropriate response to his seemingly unprovoked outburst would have slipped out with it. But he's taken the weight of the reply off my shoulders, leaving me with nothing to do but give a barely audible, shaky out-breath after I choke down the food still in my mouth with an unwittingly stilted swallow.

"I... I, uh, don't apologise, Frankie," is all I manage to offer, at first. "I shouldn't 'a cut you off like that. My foul, alright?"

"No, Johnny, it ain't your fault, babe, I just... I just-"

Ironically, he's never been very good at expressing himself: it's no real surprise that the words he wants to get lost at the tip of his tongue, leaving him with nothing but stutters and frustrated little grunts - and once he's run out of those, all he has left to give is a big, defeated groan as he buries his face into his hands.

"It's just... Things have been good."

That confession, meek and padded by the hum of his lips against his calloused palms, is the absolute last thing I expected to hear.

"Good?"

"Too good," he whines, still refusing to look me in the eyes. "Everything is too damn good, and I feel like somethin' awful is about to happen. I can't freaking relax, Gio, I feel like- Damnit, I don't know, it feels like my brain is full 'a fluid, and- And my head is going to explode- Or somethin'-!"

"What, like, a fever? Frankie, if you got a fever-"

"No, no, it's metaphor-ismical, or freakin'- Whatever you call it! I just... It feels like there are a million bees inside my skull, Johnny. Does that make sense?"

No, not really. The bees, at least: I can't particularly envision something like that, I've never been all that good at creative thinking - or whatever the ability to picture insects in your head is called.

But, what does make sense is the look in his eyes as he raises his gaze: only slightly, just enough to meet my own.

There's a frenetic, anxious energy there, one that I've seen time, and time again: in the eyes of the lanky, up-town sixteen-year-old who'd ride past my shop on his bike a suspicious amount of times every day, in the eyes of the point of contention sat across from me at one too many impromptu meetings of DiMaggio's inner circle, in the eyes of the disgraced caporegime reluctantly settling into his new place among the ranks of my crew...

In the eyes of the man sat opposite me.

I give my best attempt at a sympathetic smile.

"Yeah. It does."

[allenwalkerbitch]

I cannot believe Hoshino has me so utterly charmed by a man whose biggest character trait is "undying loyalty to Malcolm C. Levellier," but 247 really was one of the Link chapters of all time huh