#soap x plus size reader

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡Take Care of Her for Me｡⋆.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x plus size reader x Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish

Simon is a bad man. He’s rough and dark and his little bird is far too good for him, that’s why he gives Johnny her first

Warnings: virgin!reader, threesome, bit of soap x ghost, SMUT, size kink, voyeurism, grinding, literally ‘just the tip’, use of y/n, tiny bit of Simon being insecure, reader and Simon live together, drinking, some guilt, loss of virginity, birth control mention, m masturbation, unprotected sex, possibility for whole 141 fun WC: 5.2k

Minors DNI

A/N: I know it's my birthday but I hope you guys enjoy this gift for you!

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

“Oh.” The word escaped her swollen lips involuntarily and Simon bit back the urge to wince. Her eyes were as wide as dinner plates, her hands trembling as she sat back on her heels. “I didn’t…” She trailed off.

Simon cupped her full cheek, guiding her gaze back up to him. “I told you I wasn’t exactly small. We don’t have to, not if you aren’t ready.” She nodded absentmindedly then seemed to catch herself and shook her head.

“No, no I’m ready. It’s just- you’re so big, I don’t think you’ll fit.” Her head tilted cutely as she nuzzled into his naked palm, soaking up all the skin he let her feel. Her delicate hands moved away from the band of his black sweatpants and instead clung to his meaty thighs. His cock throbbed where it lay on his stomach, the tip already leaking just from his sweet little bird pulling him out.

Her thick body fit perfectly between his legs, her shoulders holding his knees apart as she knelt on the floor in front of their plush couch. Her sleep shirt had already been shed, leaving her in just a bra and panties that had Simon’s mind going fuzzy with arousal. “You’ve barely fit two fingers in me,” she muttered wistfully, her thick lashes fluttering, “this is.. a lot. But I wanna try, for you.”

Simon’s hold suddenly turned firm as an image of her sprawled out on their bed, whimpering and whining, tears rolling down her cheeks as he back arched desperately all while he forced himself into her tight cunt. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to keep a level head. “No birdie, not for me. This is all about you.” He released her cheek in favour of leaning forwards and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her into his lap.

He shuddered as her soft backside rubbed against his cock so he quickly readjusted his hips to tug his sweats back on properly. She watched him with a pout which he kissed away. “Can we at least try tonight? You already ate me out before dinner and played with me during the movie. Maybe I can suck you off? I might be able to fit you in my mouth.”

“Are you tryin ta fucking kill me?” He groaned, his self-control beginning to wane. 

She snuggled into his chest, her nails gently trailed down his front as she shrugged. “Want to make you feel good too, even if you can’t quite fuck me yet.” Simon sighed.

He knew how eager she was for him, her fuck-me eyes were almost constant whenever he was home from deployment. If it were any other circumstance, he would bully his cock into her perfect cunt without another thought but his birdie was a virgin and he had made a promise to himself a long time ago that he would never cause her pain in any way. Simon was not a good man but for her, he wanted to be better.

“Alright, we can try something.” Her yelp made him smirk as he stood up abruptly, keeping her firmly in his arms. 

“Simon!” Her arms flew around his neck, bouncing with each step he took up the stairs. 

Her laughs quickly turned into moans as he dropped her on the king size bed, his weight keeping her whole body pinned to the duvet, his lips descending on her neck. “Fuck Si.” This time, it was her legs that parted, allowing his body to slip between them. She could feel the warmth of his cock even through their clothes, throbbing and hot with the promise of what the apex of her thighs contained. 

His hand wormed its way between their bodies, thick fingers thrummed against her mound. This was normal, expected, the roughness and desperation of his touch a welcome salve to her overheated skin. A brief distraction from just how fucking horny he made her. He plucked at the band of her panties as his lips collided with hers. Their teeth clacked together with the force of his kiss, the muscles along his spine rippling beneath her fingers like he were a wolf, ready to take down his prey.

The fist planted by her head curled into the pillow as she nipped at his bottom lip all while her hips rolled into his hand, begging him to keep going, to finally give in to what he had been dangling in front of her for months. “Please,” she whined, nails digging into his back, “please I need more.” 

Electricity shot through her as his hips jerked forwards, his hard cock bumping against her neglected clit. “Fuck.” He growled, pulling back just enough to shuck the rest of their clothes off before he was right back on top of her, now nothing between them.

His cock early nestled against her folds, sliding up and down with every small movement he made. “Just the tip birdie, ‘m gonna give you just the tip.” But his promise rang hollow, his voice already dropped low and coated with his darkest desires. 

One of her legs wrapped around his thigh as he slowly pulled back, positioning his uncut head at her entrance. “Just the tip.” He spoke almost to himself and gently pressed forwards.

Y/N threw her head back, her mouth dropping open. A breath escaped her and Simon groaned. She was far tighter than he could have ever imagined, even with his head barely halfway in. Her leg squeezed around him as her back lifted from the bed. All Simon wanted to do was to keep going, force himself into her like he craved but he grabbed onto the frayed edges of his mind with the last of his restraint.

Just as the tip finally, finally breached her warmth, she found her words. “Too much, too much.” Suddenly her nails in his back, her face pressing into the pillow, her tensed legs were not her mounting desire but all blaring sirens that sent a shot of panic down his spine. 

A single tear rolled down her cheek before he came back into himself with a jolt. “Fuck, fuck.” He grabbed her thigh with a deathly grip, keeping her still as he dragged his hips back and regretfully left the heaven he had almost found. Her body relaxed into the bed spread as soon as she was empty again, her hold on his back waning but her touch remained on his tattooed skin. 

“Stay there.” Her whine of protest made his stomach drop but Simon still stood from the bed and made a b-line to the bathroom. He kept his eyes down, avoiding his own reflection as best he could while wetting one of the washcloths from the shelf next to the sink. He already knew exactly what he would see if he looked up and right now, he could pretend that monstrous reflection wasn’t him because she needed Simon, not Ghost.

By the time he slipped back into the room, she was already beneath the covers, the bedside lamp had been turned on, warding off the encroaching darkness. Her smile was hazy and small but it was genuine and Simon breathed a sigh of relief. She lifted the blanket for him to slip in beside her, an invitation he didn’t think he could ever refuse.

The smell of sweat and laundry detergent and something that was uniquely her enveloped him as he curled his massive body around her soft one, cradling her to his chest all while he wiped away the soreness from her. Her head fell to the crook of his neck, brushing her nose against his pulse. 

The washcloth landed in the hamper with a dull plop, sparking a small giggle from the woman before it was muffled as Simon pulled them both down onto their backs.

“I’m sorry I scared you Si.” 

“Can never scare me love, yer just a little puppy.” She lavished him with a glare but still sagged down onto his chest, letting out a little sigh.

“‘M scary.” Simon just scoffed and kissed the top of her head as he clicked off the lamp.

“Very scary.”

——————

The pub was mostly empty by now, leaving only the five of them in a booth in the back and a couple stragglers by the bar.  Y/N was wedged between Simon and Gaz, drunkenly giggling at a story she’s heard ten times before though Simon figured she was laughing at Johnny rather than with him, his accent almost too thick to even understand at this point. Price had just sat back down, delivering the last round of drinks for the night onto the sticky table.

“And then the nun fell off the bike.” John finished the story for him with a roll of his eyes. “Are you ever going to come up with anything new?” 

“My stories are great! Birdie thinks so, she laughs at them every time!” Johnny’s arm swung across the table, almost knocking over Gaz’s pint. 

“Steady on Soap.” He warned, making Y/N giggle again, undermining the Scot’s point entirely.

Simon hooked a broad arm over her shoulder, tugging her closer to his as he glowered at the younger man. “You don’t get to call her Birdie. ’Specially not after you destroyed the front lawn trying to show off on MY motorbike.” But Johnny just scoffed and sipped at his beer, shooting a wink in the woman’s direction. 

“I think I did ya a favour, those peonies were atrocious. Weren’t they lassie?” She turned her face into Simon’s arm in some vain attempt to keep back the heat that rose to her cheeks at the sudden attention from Johnny. Her fingers curled into the lapels of his jacket in a much too similar manner to how she would cling to him when Simon decided to torture her with his lips and words. 

His right eye twitched imperceptibly. 

“‘Sides they came with the house didn’t they? Ya needed a remodel.” Price snorted into his whiskey but it was Y/N who spoke up.

“I liked those flowers, they were the most ugly shade of orange.” Johnny’s smirk turned into something softer, something sappy and wholly foreign on the young soldier. His blue eyes, though dark with his drunkenness, sparkled under the dim lighting of the bar. Simon knew that look because it was the same one he held everyday since she had stumbled into his life and his heart. But where he expected jealousy, rage, at his lieutenant for even daring to look at his birdie like that, all he felt was a bubbling warmth deep in his stomach.

Gaz slipped from the booth, muttering something under his breath about a smoke, Price following quickly behind him, shooting a look at Simon before they disappeared through the front door. Without missing a beat, Johnny slithered his way into the now vacant seat beside Y/N, propping himself up far closer than would be considered friendly.

“Then how ‘bout I come over and plant ya some new ones.” Simon was sitting so close to her, he could feel the way her plush thighs clenched together as her breath hitched. “How bout it hen?” He purred, the alcohol on his breath strong but it was nothing compared to the weight of his gaze as it slowly trailed down her form, then turned to Simon. 

“Think you’ve had enough MacTavish.” Simon growled, suddenly breaking Johnny from his trance. The man reared back like he had been burnt, ripping himself from the booth with a stumble. His eyes were wide with panic, his voice and hands shaky.

“Sorry hen, think L.T.’s right, I should probably get home. G’night.” He was out the door before either of them could think to protest, even living behind his beloved leather jacket on the seat. 

Simon tucked Y/N closer to his side, laying a kiss on her head. “I’ll call us a cab.”

By the time the taxi had dropped them home, Simon and Y/N had almost completely sobered up though they were each still buzzing from the night. He had been quiet the entire ride, his eyes pensive and thoughtful but as soon as the cab vanished down the dark driveway, something inside him snapped. A strong arm was wrapped firmly around her thick waist, keeping her upright as he kissed along her exposed neck, the black medical mask he had been wearing for the night hanging over just one of his ears. Her keys rattled against the lock, quickly getting lost to the feeling of his lips on that one particular spot that made her body go fuzzy. 

“Si, you’re making this really hard for me.” He grunted against her skin and pushed his hips into her soft ass.

“And you’re makin’ me hard, seems fair to me.” She finally got the key in the lock just as he grabbed at the front of her jeans, his thick fingers going for the button. The door slammed against the wall but neither of them cared about a potential hole in the drywall at that moment. 

Simon grabbed her by the back of the neck and kissed her with so much force that she had to hold onto his forearms to keep from tumbling over backwards. They stumbled blindly to the couch, their lips firmly locked together all while Simon lifted her into his lap. Her thighs bracketed him as she buried her fingers into his cropped blond hair. 

“What’s gotten into you?” She gasped, pulling back just enough to fill her lungs before diving back into his embrace.

His hips bucked up into her as a hiss of words forced themselves from him. “Had a thought at the bar.” 

“Hmm?” This time, it was her lips on his throat, distracting the normally stoic man. He gripped at her ass for some semblance of control which was quickly slipping away.

“Johnny should have your first time.” All of her movements ceased. “You like him.”

“Si-“ She tried to pull herself from his arms, her cheeks heating with her shame. She couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“No. You do, it’s ok. I like em too, you aren’t special.” He teased, running his thumb along the apple of her cheek. Her breath caught. “He likes you, more than a little bit.” She shook her head firmly but Simon knew that she was thinking about it.

“You’re my boyfriend, not Soap. I want you.” His lopsided smile almost distracted her enough to kiss him again.

“I’m not gentle, not in the way you need for your first time and we both know that I’m too much for you to take. So-“

“You want me to fuck your best friend.”She finished for him. There was a beat of silence and then she pulled herself from his lap. “I don’t know about this.”

Simon stayed seated where he was but sat up fully, watching her every step as she paced around their living room. “I’ll be there too, not letting that mutt be alone with you so he can try to steal you away.” 

“Yet you’ll let him sleep with me.” His smile grew. Y/N shut her eyes and took a deep breath before a smile of her own began to bloom. “Ok, but I want you to fuck me right after.”

“That, Birdie, I can do.” With one swift movement, he yanked her back down to his lap and kissed her before he could run off and get Johnny to come over right that second. 

——————

Simon had been out of the house all day and for that, Y/N was grateful. She knew he was going to talk to Johnny today and knowing her boyfriend, that meant that tonight, she would be popping her cherry. He left with a tender albeit lust-filled kiss when he got up in the morning and a whispered promise that she should ‘get some rest’.

So she’d taken the day for herself; a long, luxurious bath in their massive tub, complete with shaving practically every inch of her body, then a nice coffee and breakfast and by lunchtime, she was deep in a book of poetry Gaz had recommended. The text arrived right when she had gotten up to make herself a cup of tea.

We’ll be home by 7.

A shiver of fear and excitement rolled up her back. This was it, after a year of taking it slow, all the angst of being with a man who was considered to be dead to everyone save for only those closest to him, and the anxiety of a multitude of ‘firsts’, finally they could take the next step. Even if they needed a bit of help.

And she certainly wasn’t opposed to the man helping her. Johnny was sweet and goofy in the best ways possible. Where Simon had been a solid wall of scars and fear, Johnny was a book that fell open the moment Simon had finally introduced them. He was easy to be around and Y/N couldn’t deny that she had gotten a small crush on the man when he tripped over himself to order her the most atrocious sounding cocktail just to get a smile out of her while she was having a terrible day. She also saw the way he made her Simon relax even through the thick shield of his mask.

She eyed the side table by the bed where she kept all her private toys but quickly dismissed that idea. Instead she wandered down the hall, intent on pouring herself a drink just to take the edge off. She could only imagine what would walk through that door.

“This punishment for flirting with your bird, Ghost?” Soap was doubled over, struggling to catch his breath with the full kit he donned plus the training dummy he had been forced to carry on his back. Ghost crossed his arms over his chest, remaining silent where he stood at the side of the field. “Look, had one too many. Can ya blame me for getting friendly with a pretty lass?” The sun was high in the sky, the temperature rising steadily but still, he had made his sergeant run laps while the newer recruits were posted with Price for the day.

The pack and dummy slid off his back, landing on the running track with a thud. “Alright, what’s really gone on? This is bigger than what happened the other night.” Ghost’s shoulders dropped as his chest heaved with a deep breath. He nodded towards the benches which Soap gladly collapsed onto. 

Silence descended on the two men as each sat with their thoughts. Johnny knew that Ghost would talk when he was ready, and he could only hope that he wouldn’t be murdered for finding his best friend’s girlfriend absolutely gorgeous.

“I want ya to fuck her.” Johnny’s neck popped with the force at which he snapped his head over to Ghost who was already looking at him. 

The rumble of a car’s engine sounded above the din of soft jazz from the speakers. Yet the house remained still, tensed for what was to come. The car door opened then slammed shut. Simon. 

The second door was much more cautious, barely making any noise when it closed, even the crickets hiding in the long grass along the drive were louder than his footsteps on the gravel. Johnny. 

Y/N smiled to herself and tugged at the silky nightgown she saved for special occasions. Already, she was trembling with excitement, arousal dripping onto her bare thighs (she thought it better to forgo panties entirely rather than have another obstacle in the way). 

“Birdie?” Simon’s voice was thick with his lust. Her fingers curled into the dress’s hem as she called back.

“‘M in the bedroom.” She hoped they heard her tone was sexy rather than the desperate whine it came out as. She readjusted herself so she sat up on her knees in the centre of the bed, a position she knew made Simon short circuit every time. There was a muffled conversation from downstairs then, the stairs creaked with the weight of both men. Y/N swallowed thickly as the footsteps paused right outside the door.

“Ghost-“

“No, hear me out. She’s-“ He scrubs a hand over his cheek, pushing his mask out of place. Johnny stays quiet. “She’s a virgin and I’m- we’ve tried but no matter what we try, it’ll just hurt her. I know how ya look at her. I know how she-“ There was a hidden ‘I’ in there as well, “looks at you. We both want this, we both want your help.” Soap folded over himself, his head falling into his hands.

“Christ Ghost.”

Simon groaned as soon as he saw her, his brown eyes almost rolling back into his skull. “You damn minx.” She half-expected him to jolt forward and sweep her into a kiss but instead, he stepped to the side, revealing a nervous Johnny who was still standing at the top of the stairs. 

“Johnny.” She smiled at him.

“Hi hen.” He took a tentative step forwards, blue eyes flicking from her to his superior, then back to her. Simon pulled the black balaclava off his head and tossed it onto the plush chair in the corner of the room. Johnny took a steadying breath before his knees brushed the side of the bed. He glanced at the larger man one more time and then he finally reached out, cupping her jaw more gently than either of them thought him capable of.

“God yer gorgeous.” Heat crawled up her neck as another drip of wetness rolled down her thigh.

“And she’s ok with this?” 

“More than you know.”

“And you?” Johnny flicked at the lighter in his hand, a nervous habit he could never quite break. Ghost eased himself back against the wall behind them, letting his eyes flutter shut.

“You know the answer to that already.”

Their first kiss was gentle, tender in a way that made her insides ache. Johnny’s lips were soft, a stark contrast to Simon’s but a welcome change nonetheless less. Y/N took his free hand into hers as she slid her fingers of her right into one of his belt loops. He made a desperate noise against her lips.

“I’ll be gentle.” He whispered, his thumb brushing the soft skin of her face. 

“I know.” The next kiss was more heated but just as caring. His touch travelled down from her face to the small of her back, the rough tips of his fingers tracing the length of her body before gently laying her down. Her nightgown slipped up her thighs as Johnny climbed between them.

The mattress by her head dipped making Y/N open her eyes. Simon sat half on the bed, his shirt already off. “Ya want Johnny ta take care of ya?” The smell of his cologne and Johnny’s sweat made her head spin. Simon tsked. “Words birdie.”

“Want him bad Si.” Johnny moaned into her neck as she ground her hips upwards, catching the bulge of his cock against her mound. He grabbed at her waist, encouraging her movement. Simon chuckled and reached between them, tugging the silky dress up and off.

Johnny’s eyes went wide. “Ya didn’t tell me just how pretty she was naked.” He cupped one of her tits, as if testing its weight in his palm. 

“I thought it should be a surprise. But you’ve imagined her like this before, haven't you MacTavish?” Instead of answering, Johnny buried his face between her tits, occupying his lips with memorising the taste of her skin. Y/N clutched at his back, her giggles interchanging with her moans. 

“Be nice Si.” She gasped as he took one of her nipples into his mouth

Simon just scoffed and leaned over, placing a kiss to her forehead before he stood up but not without a squeeze to Johnny’s shoulder. “You stop the moment she says.” He warned, earning an eye-roll from the sergeant.

“She’s in charge.” He confirmed before returning his attention back to the set of perfect tits laid out before him, this time he leaned his weight onto his right hand as his left brushed against where the ache he caused her continued to grow. He brushed her cunt with the tips of his fingers, gathering as much wetness as he could. “Shit, this really all for me?”

She bashfully turned her head into the pillow. “Don’t tease me Johnny.” So he didn’t. He caught her thrumming clit with his thumb as he eased his middle finger into her tightness. In and out, in and out, curl, in and out. 

Her whine was muffled by Simon’s groan from the other side of the room. She forced her gaze to him, only to be met with the sight of her huge boyfriend spread eagle in the chair facing the bed, his pants undone, huge cock in his hand. Already his face and chest were ruddy with a deep blush, his huge thighs tensing and intending with each upward stroke of his hand.

Johnny’s teeth sunk into the fat of her breast, distracting her from the stretch as he added a second and then a third finger. Y/N’s back arched from the bed. “Johnny-“ 

“Jus relax for me hen, let me make ya feel good.” His lips latched onto her throat, somehow finding that one spot that made her legs tremble. She grabbed at his shirt as her stomach grew tight and then, she fell.

“Fuuuuck, god please!” She moved her hips with his hand, chasing her orgasm until her cunt began to ache for something more. “Please Johnny, please I need you inside me now.” He followed her tugging hands up until he was firmly nestled against her, his shirt now off and his wet hand undoing his jeans. 

“Whatever you want hen, ‘m here for you.” Apparently Johnny had the same inclination against underwear as Simon did, his cock easily sprang free, bumping against his taut stomach. While not as big as Simon’s, Johnny was no less intimidating. Thick and cut, his head now almost a dark purple and throbbing with his eagerness to be inside her.

Something flashed in his eyes and he quickly glanced at Simon. “Condom?” Y/N pinched his chin and brought him back to face her.

“Birth control. I need you inside me. Now.” Goosebumps exploded along his arms.

“Yes ma’am.” He notched himself against her entrance and with one solid nod of consent, Johnny finally pushed into her. 

The pain was almost muted by the buzz of her orgasm but she could still feel the burn of the stretch and the small pinch at her tightest point. Her nails bit into the muscles of his shoulders but he never faltered for a second, only cooing soft words of encouragement into her ear as he rocked forwards until he was buried to the hilt. 

“Fuck.” She couldn’t even tell whose voice that was, too lost to the feeling of being so full for the first time in her life. As soon as she relaxed her grip, Johnny pulled out halfway and thrust back in as gently as he could. This feeling was so utterly foreign but so familiar, a burning heat that ignited her nerves. 

He slipped a hand beneath her raised back, letting him press in deeper, hitting a spot inside her that she never thought existed. “Thas it hen, just keep breathing. Doing so good fer me.” His accent grew thicker as he hissed, her cunt clamping down on him in a way that made his head spin.

“More.” She moaned, lifting her wide hips. Johnny obeyed immediately. 

The mattress springs groaned with each deep thrust, matching Y/N’s moaned cries. The burn had become a delicate pleasure that was quickly becoming all-consuming and it seems that the man inside her wasn’t faring much better, nor was Simon.

His head was thrown back against the top of the chair but his eyes remained on them, his eye-lids half-closed, revealing only the blackness of his pupil as he watched. His knuckles were white with how tight he held the base of his cock, trying to stave off his end until it was his turn. Johnny’s face was flushed, making his blue eyes shine even bluer. A vein on the right side of his neck pounded with his heartbeat and all Y/N wanted to do was to bite it. His abs flexed with each thrust, a rhythm that sent her up a spiral of ecstasy.

“Johnny, Johnny.” She chanted, her leg wrapping around his waist, heel against his perky ass. 

“Good girl. Takin it so good.” Suddenly, the fire burned brighter and she let it overwhelm her. “Fuck hen. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” She rippled around him, forcing his orgasm from him. 

As soon as Johnny’s body went lax above her, Simon grabbed him by the back of his neck and smashed their lips together in a borderline violent kiss. “Good lad.” He growled into his mouth as his fingers curled into his now dishevelled mohawk. He pulled Johnny backwards, his softening cock falling from her with a wet pop.

“Finally.” Y/N was suddenly flipped onto her front and before she could even get her bearings, Simon slammed into her. Even aided by her wetness and Johnny’s cum as lube, the stretch was still almost blinding. A shrill cry left her lips but it did nothing to hinder the man above her, she didn’t want it to.

He punched into her with a force that made the headboard slam into the wall, cracking the drywall. “So fuckin tight. Won’t last.” His hands clamped down on her hips, no doubt bruising them but he wouldn’t stop, not now, not when he could unleash every single drop of desire he had ever felt for her.

Warm lips kissed at her cheek and neck as Johnny’s hand pressed against her large stomach, slowly moving down to where she and Simon were connected. He strummed her overworked clit. “Fuck! Do that again.” And like the good soldier he was, Johnny obeyed his lieutenant’s orders, guiding her into yet another earth shattering orgasm.

Simon practically howled as he forced himself entirely into her before he finally filled her with everything he had. 

“Fuckin hell.” He groaned and crumbled onto the bed, a hazy smile on his face. Y/N rolled onto her side, fitting into Simon’s outstretched arms, her back to his front. 

Johnny stood at the side of the bed, still naked and awkwardly watching the couple hold each other as he was trapped feeling like an outsider even if they were only able to be like this because of him.

Without a word, she held her hand out to Johnny. He looked at it, then her, as if he were trying to defuse a bomb and not thinking about how his best friend’s girlfriend was inviting him into their bed to cuddle after he had just fucked away her virginity. Then, he took it. 

Her soft body easily moulded against him as he slipped under the covers beside her. Their legs tangled together and he rested his head on her pillow.

“Thank you for being here Johnny.” She whispered, placing a gentle kiss to his swollen lips.

“Y’know what they say, two’s a crowd, three’s company.” She rolled her eyes.

“We could always add more.” Simon teased, his arm wrapping around the sergeant’s back to draw him closer to them.

“Don’t ruin this Si.” 

“Yeah Si.” Johnny parroted.

“Watch it Soap.” He grumbled.

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[frudoo]

Goddess — Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Retired Johnny focuses on his art. His favorite muse? You, of course.

Warnings: Slightly smutty, very suggestive. Plus size reader (female). Body image issues mentioned. Shitty Scottish (PLEASE give me feedback, I wanna get better!!)

I’m not gonna lie y’all—I’m not too proud of this one. The idea was perfect in my head but my fingers did not want to write it </3

MDNI

A shudder escapes your pouty lips with every drag of his vaseline-coated fingers across your soft body. Johnny’s excuse was to tell you that your skin needs to be prepped before he could do anything, but that was ten minutes ago and he’s been massaging your breasts for five, now. Finally, he pulls his hands away after giving your nipples one more flick for good measure. He chuckles at the breathy whine you let out.

     “So eager, bon’. Cannae even handle a bit o’ prep?” The cocky bastard teases, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose before turning around and grabbing the plaster bandages off of his desk. 

     This all started when you made the mistake of telling your beloved husband that you were feeling down. The demons had gotten louder the longer you stared in the mirror, and Johnny had walked in right as the first tear fell down your round cheek. He let you cry in his arms, kissing your forehead and murmuring into your ear about all of his favorite parts of you. Turned your tears of self-loathing into glistening proof of ecstasy with his face buried between your thighs, leaving no room for doubt about just how much he adores you. He told you his idea while you were curled into his side, slick with sweat and pleasantly fucked-out. 

     That’s how you ended up here: sitting on a stool in his workspace, naked and compliant (just how he likes you, he joked). The body cast, of course, was his idea of making you feel better about yourself—at least, that’s what he told you. The truth was that he’s utterly obsessed with you. The ring on your finger and the home you shared wasn’t enough for him. He wanted—needed—to be surrounded by you in any way, shape or form. No matter how many paintings or sketches or statues of you that littered the house, he wasn’t satisfied, always convincing you to sit all pretty for him so he could recreate the most beautiful work of art he could think of. 

     Johnny starts on your breasts, coming as no surprise to you. The plaster strips are cold and tacky against your supple skin, and it makes you grimace. He takes his time molding the pliable medium to fit you perfectly, nimble fingers working restlessly to exact the curve of your perky nipples. He hums while he works, biting his tongue between his teeth in pure concentration, dismissing the whines and annoyed sighs you let out. 

     “Haud yer wheesht, bon’! Willnae take long. Lass loves the attention,” he scolds, but the shit-eating grin on his face makes you huff louder. 

     “I still don’t understand why you’re doing this,” you purse your lips, fighting the urge to cross your arms over your torso—his new favorite canvas.

     “Ah jus’ want tae show ye tha’ yer body shuid be in a museum. Ah ken ye’re bonnie, but ye dinnae, so ah’m gunna prove t’ye wha’ a goddess ye’re.” Johnny explains softly, those sparkling blue, oceanic eyes darting up to meet your impatient gaze. 

     Can’t really argue with that, can you? With a final sigh, you reluctantly relax your body, allowing the artist to more accurately place the plaster strips onto your lubricated skin. He rewards your cooperation with a tender kiss to your lips and a warm smile. His calloused hands smooth out the bandages over the soft rolls on your waist and tummy, making sure every single detail of your perfect form is immortalized. If you yourself can’t live forever, he’s determined to make sure people are able to admire you for centuries to come. 

     Once Johnny’s satisfied with the sticky mess he made on your plush body (for once, it’s actually a PG-rated mess), he steps back to admire his handiwork with a pleased hum. His eyes scan over your body in appreciation before he turns and washes his hands, drying them off with a rag. Over the course of the next thirty minutes, he tells you corny jokes to keep you distracted from the discomfort of drying plaster on your skin. Once it’s dry, he tells you to take a deep breath so he can pry off the cast—you’re secretly thankful that he spent so much time putting vaseline all over you because pulling it off was already a task. 

     With a gross pull of your skin and then a soft squelching noise, the artwork is off of your body. Johnny smiles giddily, happy with how perfect and detailed it turned out. He sets it carefully on his desk to let it dry more on the inside. Much to your relief, he allows you off of the stool and guides you into the washroom where he runs you a nice bath. He insists on cleaning your body, gushing about how beautiful and perfect you are for him—and then he fingers you silly as a reward, making sure the bathwater is deliciously murky before draining it. He dries you off with tender hands, pressing doting kisses all over your face just because he can. And once he’s got you in bed, all sleepy and warm, he climbs in beside you and whispers into your ear:

“Gunna make a cast o’ yer gorgeous cunt next, aye?”

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 3: Bubble Tea

“Hey.” Kyle murmurs, hand lightly grazing over your shoulders to rest on the back of your neck. His palm feels warm on your skin and you unconsciously lean back into it.

“Hm?” You look up from where you were hunched over your phone - definitely not shopping for a new purse on company time.

“Gonna go pick up lunch f’the shop. Want t’ come with? I don’t think I can carry it all myself.” He asks. His eyes are always so soft when he looks at you. Relaxed and bright with that constant slight quirk in the corners of his lips.

“Oh! Yeah, sounds good.” You grin, standing quickly and grabbing your wallet out of your purse to shove into your back pocket. Might as well get something for yourself if you’re going out. “Where are we heading?”

“That poke place a couple blocks up.” Kyle nods in the intended direction.

You follow him out of the shop. The weather has begun to warm more. Still cool enough for long sleeves but the sun feels nice on your face as you trot up the street, speed walking to keep up with Kyle and his accursed long legs.

“Switch with me.” Kyle murmurs, hand flattening on your lower back as he steps to the road side of the sidewalk.

You snort, cheeks warming when his hand remains a few beats longer than necessary. “How chivalrous.”

He chuckles. “My grandad always said t’never let a lady walk by the street. Guess it stuck with me.”

As much as you want to tease him about playing into gender roles, you can’t lie and say you don’t like it. That it doesn’t make your heart patter and your stomach flutter. Growing up fat, you never really got the chance to be treated delicately. Femininely. Always expected to be tougher, louder, more masculine. It feels good. Healing, in a way, as stupid as it is.

God, your inner monologue is embarrassing.

The shop is smaller than you expected. Tucked away like many buildings in this downtown with a short, blue awning shading the teal colored door. It’s surprisingly crowded too, people packed in like sardines and filing in and out quickly. The inside is nicely decorated - a few tables off to the side that no one seems to stay at. They more so seem to act as a waiting spot until people get their food and head out. The menu board is shaped like a bright blue, wall-length fish.

“Ladies first.” Kyle grins, opening the door for you. You roll your eyes at him, earning a pinch to your side in return. It’s almost strange how easy things are with him - with all of them. You don’t think you’ve ever been this comfortable around a group of men before. That would probably make you sad if you thought about it for long enough.

Kyle passes you a little clipboard with a stack of papers to customize your poke bowl and a small pen. He begins filling out three for the others, seemingly from memory. You wonder how often they come down here - if it’s their favorite local spot or just convenient. You look over his shoulder, snooping for the others preferences. Apparent Simon likes a lot of spice. Johnny, not so much.

Your eyes widen as you reach the bottom of your menu. “They have boba!”

“You want some?” Kyle grins.

You nod excitedly. Like a kid discovering a new candy. It’s been so long since you got your hands on some bubble tea - if you’d known they had it sooner you would’ve been in here nearly everyday. Then again, maybe it’s good that you didn’t know.

Kyle holds out his hand. You look between it and his face dumbly for a few moments, clutching your order in your hands before putting the pieces together.

“I can get my own!” You insist. “I don’t-“

“Price’s treat, love.” He snags the paper from your hands. “He always pays when we come here.”

“Oh. Okay.” You chew your lip. “I can at least pay for my drink, since it’s extra-“

He just waves you off and marches up to the register. You don’t miss the fact that he pulls out a very shiny credit card. So it’s not Price’s treat. It’s a company treat, eh?

Not that you’re going to complain. Free poke and boba is a dream come true.

Kyle takes your little plastic number, ducking to snag a now freed up table to wait at. They’re tall, causing you to scramble unceremoniously to get up in the heightened chair. You think you see him laughing out of the corner of your eye, but as soon as you face him he’s just sitting with that usual, casual smile of his.

One of the workers brings over your drinks in a little carrier, saying the food will take a minute longer. You’ve never been patient, greedily grabbing your tea and aggressively stabbing through the cover.

“When do you think John’s gonna let you do your first real tattoo?” You ask, kicking your feet under the tall chair.

Kyle shrugs. “He said soon. I think he’s waitin’ for me to’ be less nervous about it. Plus I need to find someone to do it on-“

“You can do it on me.” You blurt without thinking.

He eyes you. “Really?”

You nod excitedly. “I really like your work - at least what I’ve seen of it. It doesn’t have to be anything big. I’m perfectly happy with one your black-only flashes. That way you can start small.”

“I don’t know…”

“Plus, John says I sit real good. I’m not gonna wriggle and fuck you up.” You chew your straw absentmindedly.

“And what do you get out of this?” Kyle cocks and eyebrow, that slight, constant smirk only growing across his face.

You tap your chin. “Bragging rights when you get famous someday. I got the first official Garrick tattoo ever!”

A surprised laugh forces it’s way out of him, sending him into a coughing fit around the drink he was sipping. “Don’t think I’m gonna be that good, love.”

You reach out, resting your hand over his as a strange wave of seriousness overtakes you. “I don’t think John would take you on as an apprentice if he didn’t think so. Plus, you should hear how much he brags about you. It’s almost insufferable.”

There’s something in his eyes as he gives you another once over. It’s slower this time, dragging up your arm and across your features and back down your other arm, coming to an end where your hand lays over his. Kyle turns his hand upward, brushing his two middle fingers over your pulse point. It steals your breath, strangely enough. He hold your hand so gently, barely cupping it in his.

You wish you could tell what he’s thinking. For all Kyle’s honest and kind nature, he’s hard to read. That perma-smirk hides a lot more than you think you or anyone else realizes.

“Alright. I’ll talk t’John about it.” He murmurs, withdrawing his hand.

“Yah. You better.” You grin, leaning back in your seat just as the food comes out.

[littlebit-of-art]

the 141 & how they would kiss you (in my opinion 🥰)

[lxvvie]

Call of Duty, Modern Cuddlefare edition (Part 1):

Price is the one whose cuddles almost always lead to an incredibly long and necessary nap. Poor Cap'n needs it what with the shit he deals with on the daily.

Gaz is the one whose cuddles come complete with your favorite snacks and music softly playing in the background. Your face is almost always buried in the crook of his neck and his chin rests atop your head. You don't need to say anything, just being there and being present is what matters.

Soap is the one who's always the big spoon because he wants to get you hot and bothered when you feel his hard cock resting on your bum. How's that for some R&R, bonnie?

Ghost is one whose cat-like tendencies always emerge when you're cuddling. That or his head is buried in your chest, which leads to him sucking on your nipples, which then leads to him with his hand between your legs and... still sucking your nipples. Cheers, darling.

Alex Keller is the cuddler who absolutely was a cat in a past life because the way he leans into your touch every time your nails scratch his scalp is very catlike. May or may not whine out, "Boss," when you stop.

König is the one who cocoons you like some gremlin spider monkey and tells you all kinds of shit he's done in the military and you're now 99.99999% sure he's certifiable lmao.

Horangi is the cuddler who just needs to have his hands on your ass. That is all. That and those glorious legs will be intertwined with yours.

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Cowboy!141 x Noble's Daughter!Reader (My Version of the AU)

(How you meet them)

Synopsis: Being the daughter of a noble is a jarring task as you must be always able to keep up appearances, so what exactly happens when your family hires 4 men? Men who seem dangerous yet you know nothing about, all happening to be part of the same group of people. What happens if they take an interest in you? Someone unattainable, forbidden yet also undoubtedly tempting..

Hi lovelies! Lia here again, apologies for the delay and inactivity, I had exams, projects and the recent release of part one of Bridgerton season 3. Speaking of the series, this was inspired by that and RDR2 (none of the elements are historically accurate, I think?), I genuinely hope this does well because this account has not been doing well as of late. With my mutuals leaving Tumblr and some friends are currently ignoring me, I genuinely don't know what to do anymore. From what I know, @ghouljams was the first one who created content in the cowboy!CoD AU but mine is a lot different? So please don't kill me 😭

This will result in headcanons for the next few posts because my brain is attached to this AU so you will be seeing more Cowboy!Outlaw!141.

(Really FEM!Reader, maybe also Plus-size!(Chubby??)Reader?? I don't even know anymore)

More content: My CoD Masterlist

Bless your noble mother's heart, although your was seen as this very respectable and intellectual man of nobility, your mother had this heart of gold having no idea that these rugged men he has newly hired were outlaws, criminals.. murderers?

Yet your father did, something about him felt sinister, well all noble money comes from not so noble cause.

Although your mother wanted you to get to know and be familiar with the newest staff members who would do all the gnarly, energy consuming and physically challenging tasks, she did not want her daughter interacting with men who would be considered improper like seemingly mysterious men who happened to be from a far town looking for a living.

Well without your father's or mother's knowledge, that rule was thrown out the window the moment you saw one of them carrying over some of the crates that contain given by some men to your father for his services and connections, particularly drawn to the one who never seemed to take off the cloth on his face.

Something about the way he stared at you, not seeing the rest of his face, depriving you of clues as to how he felt upon seeing the only lady of the house. You gave him a warm smile, for a moment you thought you saw his lips through the mask perk up, before walking off to the lounging hall for your tutoring on language.

It was odd, you observed them from afar a lot, your personal garden was your sanctuary and you can't help but do so when they talked so loudly, no sign of inside voices.

They called each other names.. Price, Gaz, Soap and Ghost. The man you encountered was named Ghost? Surely it's some alias. Well that wasn't something you should fixate on anyway so you leave for your tasks.

You find yourself feeling a little out of it after your lessons, hoping that a little stroll through the stables behind your family's estate would either help the information sink in or keep it shun out of your mind. Either way you'd find yourself in tranquil, you heard a thud behind you and turn to find so called "Ghost" behind you.

He had dropped a crate, one filled with weapons and uncharacteristically hastily picked up all of them without paying much attention. Such an action caused him to unknowingly cut his finger on one of the blades that fell out of it's sheath.

Your eyes filled with concern as you rush over to take his hand in yours before he tried to brush off the cut and get back to his duties. You knew it was dumb to be worried over something so small that the grown man doesn't even flinch and yet there you were, practically cradling his hand in yours.

A white handkerchief that was embroidered with your favorite flowers by your own mother, something you held dear and kept pristine.. using it on his finger to keep the blood from further gushing and wipe off whatever of the red residue was left on his hand.

As the blood stopped to your relief, you brought his finger and spontaneously pressed a feather-like kiss on the wound. You were so used to doing that for your little cousins, nieces and nephews that it was just a force of habit, your face flushed the very moment you looked up to meet his gaze, what possessed you to do that?

You placed the handkerchief in his hand and composed yourself, you told him to keep it and to bring the wound to the physician to get some antiseptics before running off to god knows where.

A few days after that incident, you meet another one of them except..

You couldn't help but rush, you were late for this supposedly short promenade your family has spontaneously planned. Your favourite gloves are no where to be found and with the three sisters you have, you checked room to room, seeing who might've borrowed the lacey white fabric with the sewn in bows.

Without looking your body slams into a wall, is it a wall? You softly groan, your delicate fingers brushing on your forehead that felt like it would bruise later on. Your eyes remained closed for a few seconds as the impact caused you to feel shaken, light headed.

You open your eyes to one of the outlaws, you blink up as your vision adjusted a bit, his dark skin against the light from the window really did something..

"Are you hurt, my lady?" He asked, his deep voice was smooth and rich, almost velvety. He held you up from falling.

"N-no.. Thank you, uhh..."

"Kyle, her ladyship can call me Kyle. Although I hope it's not too informal to your status, my lady." You smiled at his words, certainly a respectful fellow despite him and his group's reputation.

You felt warmth on your sides, his palms against the fabric that separates his skin on yours, he was only being kind for steadying you after you almost fell from the earlier impact but his touch felt addicting, too much as it continued to linger.

"Kyle, it is then" You said softly, suddenly a bit more aware of your surroundings.

Fuck. He was sure he felt something just by hearing the way his name fell from your lips. Normally he'd give people, employers only and only his last name. He was so used to having been called by "Garrick", he had no idea his name would sound different, so sweet coming from a pretty maiden's lips.

He stutters for a moment, realizing that his hands are touching a lady inappropriately, something only someone she's married to would have the privilege of doing. He swiftly removed his hands from your waist and formally excused himself from your presence with the excuse of his duties.

The next time you met one of them was through your mother's ball, she was always the first to throw one to bless the upcoming season of hopes that you, your sisters and brothers shall wed soon.

You had no taste for it after having a lord step on your feet at least 20 times and not even bother to apologize with how high of a pedestal he puts himself in, you found yourself escaping through the back of your estate to the gazebo in the center of your beloved garden.

You took your tight, restricting shoes off and felt the grass on your feet as you walked toward the gazebo, now close enough to see that you weren't alone but you still continued, your feet against the cooling marble platform. You sigh as you prop yourself to sit on the stone railing next to the stranger who was currently taking a puff of his cigar.

You turned your head away, you were thrown into a fit of coughs from the strong scent of the smoke while you swatch some of it away. You tried not to heave for actual air to breathe while the man next to you chuckles, making you feel irritable.

"M'sorry love.." his gruff voice whispers which make you turn towards him, the man offering you a comforting smile.

"Shouldn't you be in there with your family, miss?" Price asked. To which you hum, "I wanted some "fresh air" and silence" you answered. Moments of silence have passed, nothing but the sound of wind that rattled the trees a bit and each other's breaths.

You look towards the light of windows of your home, the ballroom filled with laughter and talk of celebration. You sighed, knowing you must return as your parents would come looking for you, also not wanting for them to punish you for sticking around unchaperoned with their new hires.

He knew you were about to leave, it would be rude for a gentleman to leave a lady without help, hmm? He wasn't a gentleman though, an outlaw, one of the worst titles one can ever bestow a man. He was considered to be of low honor but who cares?

He kneels down on one knee in front of you, gently taking your leg in his huge hand using his thigh as leverage so he can gently slip on you shoes. For a moment you felt his forehead on your knee before he pulls away and offers you his hand..

You took it hesitantly as he helped you off the railing, you look up at him meeting his eyes. Something about them burned, making your stomach churn but not in a manner of discomfort.

You watched his back as he walked away, his footsteps on the cold marble the only thing to be heard as the noise died down..

The morning after, you've barely had enough sleep, was it the events of the previous night? Nevermind, at least you had a day or two for yourself after conducting a proposition to your parents. Free time was worth it for the sore feet you had to endure.

Not really in the mood to change into anything tight or itchy, you remain in your night clothes. Finally, some well deserved time alone, comfortable and flipping pages of a book was your type of thing.

Sure, socializing has it's benefits however nothing beats your time alone or so you thought you were alone..

A table and a few chairs were set up by the servants to your request at the gazebo, giving you the perfect view of the greenery that you have planted the seeds of.

You had your head comfortably leaned onto lounge as you continued reading. Buts something was just so distracting, a few minutes of the constant snipping and twigs breaking, you look up wanting to see who was there tending to the garden.

Your eyes widened a bit, it was improper for a lady to stare a man who has very less clothing. Nothing but his jeans, belt and hat keeping his face shielded from the heat is toned, muscular and tanned torso and arms exposed.

A little later, you hear a grunt coming from the man, Soap was it? You can't quite remember much from the night you eavesdropped on them. You heard his footsteps on the grass nearing the gazebo but you didn't bother to look up, not until..

"Ma'am? May I stay 'ere a moment? Afraid the heat is getting to me" You look up from your book and sit up to see the same man breathless. You nodded and watched as he sat on the stairs, hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

"Excuse me.." You said, loud enough to hear and catch his attention, he looks back from his position. You moved one of the chairs to face your lounge, "Please invite yourself here, I can only think of how uncomfortable the floor might be, especially when you are working at a weather like this one" Signaling him to take a seat on the chair you adjusted.

He gets up yet reluctantly makes himself comfortable on the seat, you pick a drinking glass on display from the silver tray and poured some of the cold lemonade into it, you place it down on the table and slide it to him, offering a warm smile. Your fingers on the base of the drinking glass slightly brushing against his as he takes it.

He thanks you for it and you both enjoyed the tranquil and peace.. yet you can't go back to your book, asking questions and being further interested by the man each minute passes.

The way he talked was something else, it was alluring, comforting and oddly lively, he's told you about his "past" and how he used to be a child.

"Was quite the troublemaker you see, though my family was poor and food was scarce, I found a way to feed the street animals I adore—"

You look at him, so invested on what he was about to say next, it was refreshing to have someone to converse with who isn't interrogating you and practically forcing their ideals of how many babies they want you to birth for them, practically wanting you to die for them.

"I used to steal bread from my neighbor, not a very nice man, selfish really. So I'd often sneak into his shack, leftovers, scraps and anything light enough for me to carry. I'd bring it to Lassie, my favorite stray dog. You remind me a lot of her Bonnie" He said.

"I remind you of a dog?" You weren't so sure if that's a compliment, then again he just called you "Bonnie", what exactly does that mean?

"Home, you remind me of home. Can't say I have felt this comfortable in years, friends and I are usually reserved yet you bring this side out of me, Bonnie. So what spell or witchcraft did you use?" He joked raising a brow at you, for a moment his attention falters as he looks down at the soft mounds of skin exposed on your chest.

"Eyes up here, Johnny."

You warned as you laugh at his question, you notice one of the servants coming out from the estate and into the garden, Johnny smiles and tips his hat to you to excuse himself so that he could get back to work.

Well this is interesting.. isn't it?

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @snowdjinnofpalestine @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @iexiam @drewsmusee @konigceo

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

TF141 taking you on a picnic date 💐

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

They're a little very all over the place because I wrote all of them on different days lol

I hope you'll enjoy it anyway <3

Some NSFW for all of them, but it's just a little bit at the very end, the rest is sweet fluff!!

Lmk who you would go on a picnic date with!

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

John is such a romantic.

Maybe not the flashy kind, but in subtle and sincere ways. He would absolutely love to take you on a picnic date, he might even be more excited about it than you are.

You know how girls have those dreams of specific dates or scenarios??? Well, boys have that too, and this is John's. He finds the perfect spot, a secluded park with a field of wildflowers that bloom beautifully in the summer.

As ready as he was to organize the whole thing himself in the matter of a day, he'd adore to organize it with you. Write a grocery list, make some homemade goods, pack up the car. The domesticity makes his heart do flips.

"Do you reckon champagne would be too over the top?"

"John, honey, we're going on a picnic."

"Touchè."

And it's 100% fool proof.

This man has something planned for every single scenario because nothing will ruin this for him. He'll hold your umbrella while he gets soaked if he has to.

He hasn't asked you to marry him yet, but this seals the deal for him. He's already imagining going on a picnic like this on every single anniversary until you're physically unable to.

Did he overdo it a bit with the outfit? Maybe, but he couldn't care less about potential grass stains when his white button-down shirt and his beige slacks basically make you drool.

John insisted on a classic picnic basket, but he'll accept input regarding the pattern of the blanket. He's so utterly in love with you it's ridiculous. And when you come down the stairs in a flowy and floral sundress the blood in his body doesn't know where to rush first, his heart or his cock.

"Fucking hell, dove. You look divine."

He makes heart eyes at you but also has a raging hard on. What can he say? You keep him balanced.

John has to try so hard not to drop to his knees in front of you and beg. For what? He doesn't even know. It just feels like the right thing to do with you looking like a goddess. He loves it when he can press his nose against your soft mound all while his forehead rests on your pudgy tummy and your fingers card through his hair.

The drive there is lovely. The sun is out, it's a comfortable temperature, and the mood is high. The windows are rolled down, and you both sing along to music while his hand is planted firmly in yours. The location is even more beautiful than you thought. There's willow trees and all kinds of sweet smelling flowers accompanied by the symphony of busy bees and chirping birds.

After everything is set up, it's the best day of your life, probably. It's so so so nice.

And yes, he did bring the champagne.

Your head is in his lap while he strokes your hair and feeds you bits of cake. It's so romantic that it's sickening. SICKENING, I say. He's just so perfect. You talk and laugh, and it's so fun. T

he day goes by in the blink of an eye, and suddenly, it's golden hour, and John swears you're heaven on earth. You're so pretty, and he wants nothing more than to kiss you silly, frankly.

So he does.

Just bristly and sloppy kisses wherever he can reach, your cheeks, jaw, neck. You shift your position, you're now lying down on the blanket, facing each other. The tips of your noses touch, and you're a tangled mess of limbs.

John wants to fuck you more than he ever wanted anything in his life, but he's a man of style, so rubbing you through your panties until your hips buck away from his hand will have to do until you get home and he can take care of you properly <3

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Johnny only wants to spend time with you. He doesn't care how.

He'll do anything to be by your side. Such a clingy bastard but we all love him for that. He loves being outside, and now he gets to let out his romantic side, too???? He's sold.

I'm also firmly convinced that he listened in on what his sisters gushed about in books or movies, and he uses that as his guideline for dates.

He makes sure there's a variety of different foods. Let's be honest he probably packed way too much, but he just wants to have options! Frankly, Johnny's is positively buzzing with excitement to get to spend such a lovely day with you.

As much as he loves to laze around with you on the couch, he needs air to breathe. So anything that's outside is an immediate yes from him. He's so so so excited that he doesn't shut up about it for days before the actual date.

Johnny is 100% one to overpack. He takes absolutely EVERYTHING, and you end up not even using half of it.

"I- Johnny??"

"Yeah, bonnie?"

"Why, for the love of God, did you bring a hazmat suit???"

"Ya never know!"

He will pack so many outdoor activities, like frisbee, badminton, a football, literally so much but you don't end up using any of it because he'll doze off as the sun shines down on the both of you.

He just can't help it! Your pudgy tummy is such a nice pillow, and the way your fingers rake through his mohawk and over his scalp nearly make his eyes roll into the back of his head.

He doesn't notice the smiles and nice looks the pair of you get from bypassers, but you can't help but giggle. It makes your belly jiggle, which in turn makes Johnny smile, still face down in your soft fat.

After he wakes up, though, there's a lot of talking that you'll happily listen to.

Corny jokes, overexaggerated stories from missions or his family, and from time to time, he'll get distracted by your pretty face with all its soft edges and kiss you.

Constant snacking. I mean, we all know the boys can EAT, but Johnny is such a foodie. Will eat everything and anything.

He also LOVES Irn Bru. It's definitely more of an... acquired taste, shall we say, but I think it's also very nostalgic for him.

He doesn't care what you wear. However, there are some things that get him feral. Sundresses are obviously on the list, but he adores long skirts. He likes how they flow when there's a nice breeze, and he thinks they make you look very elegant.

He will play into the whole Princess charade with long skirts or dresses.

"There's ma princess. Are ya ready to depart, m'lady?"

He will also bow very dramatically.

Undoubtedly, his favorite part of those skirts is when he gets to push them up your plush thighs and bury is face in your sweet cunt while the fabric is bunched up around your wide hips and fiddles with the hem because his goal is to bring you to bliss with his tongue only <3

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Kyle loves the water.

I don't know why, but I feel it in my bones. From streams and lakes all the way to the great big ocean. His casual style in the summer would definitely be coastal grandson, too.

So your picnic date would obviously take place in the vinicty of water. It's somewhere in a small park that has a nice big lake with lilypads and ducks swimming across it.

You'd be right by the shore, feet in the shallow water while you enjoy your lunch. Kyle is so sweet and considerate!

He'd bring you a bouquet of daisies and lovingly hold your hand in his. If it gets a little too breezy, he'll tuck you into his side and stretch his jacket over the both of you as much as he can.

He always brings you a new rock from that lake when he comes home from his morning run, and when you two are at the beach, he'll collect seashells with you.

It's all about balance and teamwork with Kyle. He makes the sandwiches while you whip up a quick sweet treat. You carry the basket while he has the blanket slung over his shoulder and your drinks in the other hand!

I feel like he'd really enjoy picnics, but they're not his favorite activity. He likes to explore a bit, just sitting around isn't quite his style. But it's nice to just sit and breathe sometimes.

For dates, he prefers the classic going out to dinner. Getting to see you all dressed up in the gentle atmosphere of a cozy restaurant makes his heart swell. But he won't ever deny you anything. Definitely not something as simple as a picnic.

A big smile stretches across his cheeks when he sees a little duck family waddling along the shore before they glide into the water.

"You think we'll have little ducklings of our own one day?"

You can only match his smile as you follow his line of sight.

"Who knows, maybe."

He pulls you close and presses a kiss to your temple. The picnic is starting to grow on him.

"... did you mean actual ducklings, or was it a metaphor for kids?"

"Both?"

As badly as you want to call him ridiculous, the mental image of Kyle with a duckling or a baby makes your heart beat with affection.

Also does not care what you wear, but he, too, has a weakness for sundresses as all men do. The way it hugs your ass, your tummy, and your supple tits makes him want to sink his teeth into your soft flesh.

An absolute sucker for a square neckline. No, I can not elaborate. You'll just have to take my word for it.

You watch the sunset together, the park becoming emptier as the light fades. He loves how you look during the golden hour and will gently hold your face to admire all your pretty features. Kyle likes that the park now only has the both of you and a pair of swans that swim over the lake like lovers.

What he loves even more is making you ride his slender fingers while the only sounds that fill the air is the chirping of cicadas and your heavenly moans while the remnants of the golden sun shine down on you making you look like a dream come true <3

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Simon isn't thrilled, let's say.

When he thinks of picnics he thinks of big open spaces, obnoxious people with annoying kids and uncomfortable wooden benches. Of which none are his cup of tea.

So you make compromises. Talk about it and ask what he would be okay with. He isn't the biggest fan of PDA, he's stuck between wanting to show off his love for you to the whole world and keeping it close to his heart like the sacred thing that it is.

But Simon perks up when you mention something about a lovely forest that's pretty secluded. Now that he can work with. Even though he's a born city boy, he'd much rather take a walk in a forest or on a little trail than on the busy streets of Manchester or London.

So he agrees, deciding that your excited reaction and thank you kisses were already worth it. He watches as you prepare the lunch you're taking with you, answering all your questions on what he'd prefer.

The truth, he'd eat rocks if your lovely hands prepared them.

He packs up the car and drives to the car park nearby, grumbling over the fee before it all melts away when he sees your smile.

The walk there on its own is nice. Holding your hand and listening to the birdsong that echoes along the tall trees. Of course, he's carrying everything.

You will never ever have to carry anything with him around, not on his watch. It's his way of repaying you for taking care of him and loving him. He would've carried you as well if you weren't so fussy about it.

When you set up the blanket and just lay down, it's the first time you think you've ever seen his shoulders untense on their own.

Simon's eyes even flutter shut, and his breath evens out.

It's just the two of you in a little glade with the vast green of the woods making your own little sanctuary.

Your head is on his shoulder, and his nose is buried in your hair.

"This.. this is nice."

He speaks so softly as if not to disturb the peace of nature. You can't help but smile and press a kiss to his cheek.

"I'm glad you think so. It is really nice."

It's mostly pleasant silence after that with the occasional short conversation, but that's how you like it best.

When you hand him his lovingly prepared sandwich, he catches your chin between his fingers and kisses you so softly that you melt right into his touch.

"You're so patient with me, love. I appreciate it."

"Of course. A few compromises aren't the end of the world if it means you're happy."

He's a fucking goner, okay.

He loves it when you wear one of his sweat jackets or flannels over a nice dress. It's so obviously not yours which signals to other people that you're taken.

And considering the size and color of the thing, it's safe to assume it belongs to that hunk of a man always by your side.

He lays back onto the soft blanket and pulls you onto his chest, wrapping his arms around you. There are a few sun spots shining through the thick canopy of leaves, warming your skin.

You're half asleep, dozing off, ignoring the way he fiddles with his trousers until he pushes your panties to the side and sinks his thick cock into your pussy, having you warm his length. It makes him feel so impossibly close to you and his brain melts and before you know it, he's snoring beneath you, his dick buried inside of you <3

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

I hope you liked it! <3

More CoD and other works -> 💫

[rottingflowrs]

I just known soap would say some shit like this 😭

[ccrites]

chokehold

listen, I've had this idea in my wips for a while (since the begnining of the year actually) and the fat reader worms have been wiggling in third gear with all the awesome stuff early ( @391780 ) has been putting out lately. So have 6.4k words of Soap being an absolute pussy eating freak but you know you love him

(also on ao3 if you prefer the formatting there, or if you want to drop a kudo)

.

The second the doors swing back closed behind you, you start feeling the scratchy feeling of doubt at the back of your throat.

It was predictable, really.

A small gym in a small town, heads turn when the hinges creak, not because they’re staring at you specifically, but because it’s a reflex.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself to keep the scratchy feeling from turning sour in your mouth. Or make you throw up from embarrassment.

Perhaps your New Year’s resolution should’ve been to start on a home gym type of situation. Buy yourself some girly weights, a mat, and some sort of stepping device, and do those easy exercises every slim, pretty, high-ponytailed YouTube instructor seemed to preconize people out of shape do. Like a hamster on a wheel inside their cage. A rat chasing its own tail, maybe.

No, you promised yourself no more fake promises. Perhaps the money spent on the gym membership (stupid fucking New Year’s promotion) would motivate you to use it, lest it’s just money down the drain. 

You wore the stretchiest, thickest pair of black leggings you owned, hoping no one would see the terrible shape of your underwear through it. On the opposite spectrum of things, you knew the largest hoodie you owned would smother you and make you boil with sweat, so you chose the next best thing: the widest black t-shirt you owned. It was definitely not black enough, the dye faded into a dark gray from use over the years, but it was the only thing that camouflaged your body enough from the others’ sight. God forbid they imagine what your body actually looks like underneath.

The heads pretty quickly turned back around as you started walking towards the empty treadmills. It couldn’t have been more than a second, but the combined weight of at least a dozen pairs of scrutinizing eyes would’ve been enough to make you turn on your heels and back to your car, fuck the membership price.

At the very least, you could convince yourself that walking in place (no better than a hamster on its wheel but oh well) would be enough to get you started. Baby steps, and all.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize the treadmill fucking sucks. Why would anyone suggest looking at a parking lot while suffering instead of the pretty scenery of a park or forest (while also suffering, but still).

The timer you’d set for the warm-up (ten minutes, just like the pretty blonde coach suggested!) crawls by way too slowly for your taste. You’d be all but whooping with joy when it beeps if you weren’t so out of breath and conscious of a gaze on you.

You’d seen him as soon as you walked in.

Between figures of balding men trying to get rid of their beer gut with abs, two thin women whispering to themselves in a corner while trying to look inconspicuous, and a few other, completely average-looking men and women, there he stands, eyes meeting yours in the mirror as he deadlifts an impressive amount of black plates.

He immediately looks straight ahead, correcting his stance, as if there were anything to be corrected, in your unathletic opinion. The muscles in his arms bulge even through the thin, grey hoodie, and the ones in his legs coil tight as the weight is lifted off the ground in a slow, controlled motion. Not even a grunt escapes his lips, at least no one you could hear from where you stood, completely mesmerized.

There was always something almost unappealing about overly muscled men. Their wife’s not feedin’ ‘em enough, your granny would grumble when passing by the rows of magazines at the checkout of the supermarket. 

Yet this man.

Yeah, he was muscled. But in a way, he looked… almost normal. Like he was built for strength, not necessarily vanity. Each bend of his legs, each twist of his arms…

You’d swoon if you hadn’t lowered your standards so low he’d trip on them. Accepted it a long time ago. Fats belong with fats, thins with thins, and if there’s a thin with a fat, either one’s getting fattened up, or the other’s getting dumped. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, and one you’d rather not be a part of.

You walk with shaky legs to the water dispenser, then get ready to grab the second to lightest weights to try some bicep curls.

You try to remember the positioning from the videos. Rotate in… or out? Should the wrists be like this? You go through ten repetitions on each side, before you think that you should’ve gone for the abs straight away. God knows there’s fat to burn there, and that the flab under your arms can wait.

You turn back from the rack and walk straight into a wall.

No, a chest.

Fuck.

“Sorry there, miss,” says a deep voice. You detect some sort of accent, unable to quite place it right away.

Your eyes run up, instinctively stopping for a second at chest level (holy heavens that’s a Chest with a capital C if you’ve ever seen one) before finally meeting that same pair of eyes you met a few minutes ago, through the mirror.

Double fuck.

“S-sorry, it’s me, wasn’t watching,” you stammer out, gesturing to the weights in a panicked way. “Just, y’know, switching exercises,” you sputter with a nervous laugh, like it was a completely normal thing to switch exercises after one rep.

He chuckles, and you really need to start planning your escape, because holy shit the way his pectorals rise and fall as his chest puffs up is getting a bit too much for your poor little humiliated self to handle, but he doesn’t let you as he speaks in a soft tone.

“I’m getting arms aren’t really your thing, eh?” he asks, not unkindly. Gosh, did it have to be a Scottish accent?

You can’t meet his eyes, they’re too blue, too piercing for your liking. “To be fair I don’t know what’s my thing yet, I’m just starting out, y’know?” you shift your weight on your legs, conscious of the size difference, and not in the way you wanted to be. Your neck is very warm all of a sudden.

He laughs again, like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and you almost want the floor to open up and swallow you whole, but the words that come out of his mouth are completely unexpected.

“Figured! A girl with thighs like yours, I’m sure you can deadlift more than me with just a lil’ training. I’m Johnny, by the way,” he adds in passing, as if offering his name is the least of his concerns. “You ever got someone to train you?”

You’re entirely unsure if you’re dreaming or not. Did this Scottish hunk of muscle really just offer to be your personal trainer?

“Never - uh… lifted anything, I guess. Just when moving, my couch and bed and all, but I had a friend help me.” You definitely feel like you’re oversharing and you’re struggling to ignore the weight of the gaze of the two thin women, burning through you as they whisper among themselves, when you realize you hadn't answered the second part. “Oh and, uh– no. I’ve never… trained. Been trained. It’s my first time in a gym since- a while. I don’t want to bother you.”

You finally look up at him, and you’re unable to read his expression. There’s a sort of curiosity, a fascination, that blends fast into a wide-eyed joy that’s so open, so sincere that it makes your head spin as he gently but firmly grabs your wrist and pulls you where his bar stands on the thick mat, ignoring your sputtering protests. “Not a bother at all, lass!” He lets go of you as he bends down and effortlessly racks the barbell, starting to remove plates as he continues. “We can start by measuring your max lift, then the one where you can easily do three reps, then we’ll hike it up till failure, so I can calculate your starting training weight!” he rambles on excitedly. You nervously shift on your feet, conscious of more curious gazes on you, but then he’s back in your bubble, pulling your attention towards him like a magnet.

His smile is like a blazing sun, and you don’t have the heart to tell him to prepare for disappointment.

He’s infinitely patient as he shows you how to place your feet, and the angle of your hips (oh, how you feel your knee weaken at the feel of his light tough through the leggings, nothing short of electrifying, despite being perfectly friendly), the hold on the bar. It’s all a blur till you find yourself bent over in front of him, looking in the mirror at your position and trying not to feel conscious of the way he’s placed behind you. Or let your mind wander in inappropriate places.

“Whenever yer ready, hen.”

You brace yourself, close your eyes for a brief second, wondering how the hell you’d landed on this planet, then breathe in, open your eyes-

The weight is in your hands. Not on the floor. You’re holding it.

You almost drop it when he cheers behind you, warm palms rubbing down from your shoulders to your elbows and back up. “Easy! I told you you’d be a natural! ‘S all in the legs and you’ve got awesome legs, bonnie! Let’s add twenty more.”

It’s a blur of racking and de-racking and lifting once and setting back, and redoing it again and again. You’re out of breath, sweating like a sinner in church, but you’re smiling along with him, finding yourself giving him double high fives, and doing small, excited jumps.

“Next one’s exactly my weight, if y’can lift that, I’ll be losing my bloody mind! D’you realize how well yer doin’ for a first-timer?” He says as he bends next to you, adjusting the bar for the next set of weights. With a wipe of his forearm over his forehead, he crouches slightly down, placing his head right above your shoulder and looking your reflection in the mirror straight in the eyes with a conspiratory grin. “Swear to God, if ye can lift it off the ground, I’m buying you the most expensive drink at the bar next door!” he says, grin blending into a blinding smile, too genuine for your own good.

He’s just friendly, just friendly, just friendly, you say to yourself like a mantra as you position yourself. He stands again to his full height behind you, hands ready under the bar, a safenet.

Deep breath in– hold it…

Slowly but surely, you lift the weight off the floor, your ears ringing from the effort. You see his lips move as he cheers you on, but the blood pumping in your eardrums makes it impossible to hear him. Suddenly, the weight is back on the ground and your feet are off the floor as you’re lifted in a tight embrace and spun around like you weigh nothing.

You yelp and flail but he’s holding you tight, face pressed smack-dab in the middle of your chest, between your tits, rumbling praises about your prowess while you’re trying to figure out whether this can be something that your brain is capable of summoning as a dream.

“Put me down, Johnny, oh my God, put me down!”

He thankfully complies but not before squeezing your ass tighter, and suddenly nothing feels real anymore.

“Jesus, I knew ye were perfect,” he says, pulling back reluctantly to rerack the bar and put back the weights. “I cannot wait to properly start training ye’ tomorrow, but for now, I have a promise ta’ keep, and, uh, let’s just say I wouldn’t mind using those strong thighs as earmuffs with this freezin’ weather. On the way back from the bar, what d’ya say?” he adds, wiggling his eyebrows with a crooked smile that lets you know he’s joking around. (Is he?)

You laugh with him and for a second, you forget what you were here for.

+++

The way to the bar is short. It was just a block away (Good for business, he jokes), but the conversation with Johnny made time really fly by. 

He seems genuinely glad when you tell him you’d decided to head to the gym not just as a New Year’s resolution, but trying to simply become a better you. There’s no condescendence, no talking down, no (God forbid) pity, just an overall nice interaction the whole time. He tells you about being on leave as a soldier (Medical leave, he specifies, a fucked up knee can work in a gym, but it’s a different story out in the field), you tell him about your studies and how that led into a “big girl” job that left you no time for yourself.

“But I’ve always been a big girl,” you feel the need to justify. “Just… gotten bigger as I stopped finding time to move. The desk and the laptop are pretty stationary,” you joke, still trying to make sense of why a man like him (broad, and tall, and strong, and… gosh, just perfect-looking) would even deign to accept being seen with you.

(It’s not a date, you dumbass)

“I happen to like big girls,” is what you don’t expect him to say.

Wait, what?

His blue eyes glue you to your seat, and you respond dumbly. “What?”

“I mean, why do you think I’d offer to train you?” he continues, placing his hand, big and warm over your thigh. It’s squished as you sit, wide and flattened in your seat, yet his hand covers a good amount, almost covering the whole width.

Your brain is short-circuiting but you have to answer something.

“Out of– uh… out of niceness?” you stammer out, feeling your insecurities climb back out of the hole they’d been sleeping in all this time, making you shrink even more, trying to cover yourself as if he didn’t see right through you with that piercing gaze. “To feel good seeing you be the reason I lose weight?”

He chuckles, squeezing your thigh as his head hangs down, almost as if to hide the smile that spreads on his lips.

“Strength training doesn’t work like that, bonnie.” He looks back up, and his eyes are blue, and wide, and so pretty, that you can’t find anything to argue back. “Ye’ think building glutes underneath that fat arse does anything but make it bigger?” He shifts, inching closer as he licks his lips and drops his voice lower. “Ye’ think growing your quads will make this,” he gives an even firmer squeeze, wiggling the fat back and forth, and you tense under his grip, but he’s got you pinned down, “any less wide and soft?”

He presses closer, and the booth has no escape room, you’re practically squeezed into the corner as he pushes his body against yours, bending to whisper lowly in the crook of your neck.

“I did not joke when I said I want yer pretty thighs wrapped tight around my head.”

You can’t be blamed when you don’t remember how you ended up in the back of a cab, Johnny barely taking the time to bark an address to the poor driver and throw fifty quid on the front seat before kissing you absolutely senseless, shamelessly groping your tits with a hand and wrapping the other around your thigh, squeezing you close.

You should probably think more about going home with basically a stranger, no matter how hot, but when he presses his entire palm against your cunt, cupping it over the quickly dampening pair of leggings that didn’t seem so thick anymore, you can’t think at all. He swallows your quiet moans, and hums contently against your lips, taking each gasp for air as an invitation to slither his tongue into your mouth. God, you’d forgotten what a good makeout session was like, and you can’t even find it in you to be embarrassed when you see the cabbie’s eyes in the rearview mirror, instantly looking away when you see him staring. 

Johnny doesn’t seem to mind either, and when he notices you looking in the front again and again, he crowds you against the door behind the driver with a huff, half-climbing over you until his knee is pressed against your core, and the only thing in your field of vision is him.

“Johnny,” you try to say, but it’s getting hard to think, with the way you’re being squeezed in a corner, this hunk of a man of pure muscle pressing against you like a weighted blanket, kissing you like you were a drop of water in the desert and he was a parched man drinking you for his salvation. You feel his excitement pressed against your thigh, and it gives you enough lucidity to try again. “Johnny,” you gasp out again, “aren’t we going a little fast?”

He laughs instead, choosing to focus on the side of your mouth, pressing fervent little kisses down your neck before starting to suckle the delicate skin over where your clavicle is. “I can go as slow as you’d like, bun.” He takes the spot an inch next to the previous one into his mouth and sucks again, this time more forcefully, marking you, and oh God you’re going to have to conceal it before work tomorrow, unless you can find a turtleneck to wear–

The cab driver clears his throat, and you notice that the car is stopped in front of a small apartment complex. Johnny says a cordial thanks as he pulls you out of the car and throws another twenty on the backseat, before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and taking all of the thinking out of the equation as he walks you to the entry.

His flat is pretty well furnished, all things considered, but he doesn’t give you enough time to observe the deco as he presses you against the door and slides his hand under your leggings.

“Got me starin’ at that ass the second you walked in, best fuckin’ thing I’ve seen in months, d’ye realize that, bonnie?” he breathes out against your ear as his entire palm cups your sex, and you can only whine as you press your forehead into the crook of his neck. “And by how wet this pussy is, I think you liked starin’ at me, too.”

“You are–” you say, but he curls his middle finger in, spreading your lips and spreading the wetness to your clit, making you choke on your words, “-very nice to stare at.”

“Yeah?” you hear the grin in his voice.

“Mmhm,” you nod, as he keeps the back and forth of his finger, never dipping in too far, just keeping you hungry for more.

“Then how’d ye like to stare down at me as I taste this wet cunt of yours?” he purrs in your ear as he stops moving completely, letting the words process.

Brain.exe has stopped functioning. 

Had you ever had a boyfriend willing to speak filth like that to you when you were down to do the deed, maybe you would’ve gotten enough practice to know what to answer something sensible and intelligible to that, but as it stands, all you can muster is a very dumb-sounding “Huh?” as you stare back at him.

And that, apparently, is the funniest thing in the world to him, because he dips his head down and laughs, almost like a boyish giggle. Not only does that not stop him from kneeling in front of you, but it also somehow gives him more confidence to keep talking like that.

“How about you look down into my eyes as I eat out your pretty little pussy and make you come around my tongue, how’s that sound?” His baby blues bear no trace of maliciousness, no trace of a joke, as his fingers hook around the waistband and trace it around your stomach. You have to make a very conscious effort not to suck it in immediately in preparation for the letdown, but he doesn’t pull them down yet, only moving his hand alongside the edge. Your silence as you try to process what is happening only seems to spur him on instead. “In fact, how about you close your eyes, I close mine, and you hold my head close as I devour you, would you let me do that, pretty girl?”

“I’m not-” you can’t think of any way to properly let him down, not when he looks up with such pleading eyes, so the words stumble out gracelessly. “I’m sweaty, you don’t wanna–”

But he interrupts as he pulls your leg closer by gripping your thigh and squishing it against his cheek “But I do.” He inhales deeply, and your own breath shakes at the sight of how blissed out he already looks. “God, I want it. Let me have this.”

A voice somewhere inside yells at you that this has to be some sort of weird fetish, and that he most certainly won’t be having the same aura of desperation around him tomorrow, when post-coital rationale shows up and he sees your body past the veil of lust, but for now, you think that getting some with Johnny cannot be that bad compared to any one of your past encounters. Might as well enjoy it when you still can.

You wrap your hand around the one he still has around your waistband, and see his face positively light up as you softly caress his cheek.

In the end, you’re the one that pleads.

“Johnny, please.”

Your pants are off you and your leg is over his shoulder before you realize what is happening.

The feel of his warm tongue against your slit makes any thought, any doubt, any fear positively vanish, and the content sigh that he lets out as he licks at you is the same sigh as finally removing a bra at the end of a long day, it’s the sigh of laying down carelessly onto a soft bed after standing up for hours, it’s the sigh of the first bite of the best meal a man has after starving for weeks.

It should be awkward the way his arm wraps around your thigh and sinks into the softness of your stomach, using it to pin you up as he uses his other hand to spread you out enough for him to work his jaw the same way he did when he was making out with you in the car… Yet it’s not. It’s natural, the way his hand squeezes you as he licks, and sucks, and kisses around your pussy, unhurried yet passionate, languidly but firmly, pressing his tongue in, licking around your lips, and maddeningly avoiding the place you wanted him to touch most.

“Johnny,” you moan as he grazes his teeth around your sensitive nub in response. You almost buck out of his hold, but he’s firmly keeping you in place. “Please, don’t tease.”

He hums in response and dives back in, eyes fluttering closed as he ignores your whines. Every time his tongue or lips graze your clit, he works his mouth the opposite way, holding your thigh harder and pressing his palm up as he counters your hip movements with a clever swipe of the tongue. It’s absolutely maddening. “Johnny, please!”

He chuckles as he pulls back, an obscene string of spit lengthening as he pulls back, only breaking when he runs his tongue against his reddened, swollen lips. “Thought ye’ wanted me ta’ go slow, bun.” His eyes sparkle with challenge, but you can also discern a veil of unhidden desperation, of waiting for you to give the go-ahead for him to let loose.

“I’m fine with faster–” you start, but the words dissolve into a barely restrained moan as he hikes your leg up more, getting you closer to him, and immediately singling onto your neglected clit.

His forehead rests onto your belly now, and if you had more than two functioning neurons you’d wonder how he is that he’s breathing, but his hums and moans let you know that he’s perfectly content burrowing his nose in your pussy, nudging at your clit with the tip of it as he licks you with all the dedication you’ve never been shown from a man of his caliber.

He builds it up, and soothes it down, knowing exactly when to put more pressure, or when to teasingly swirl his tongue around your entrance, or to lave broad strokes of his tongue, so much so that the knee that’s not hooked over his shoulder almost gives out on a particularly forceful suck of your clit.

“Easy there,” he groans almost petulantly, as if you’re interrupting him. “Can’t have you fallin’ over when I’m not done wit’ ye.”

“My legs are gonna give out,” you say honestly, trying to catch your breath and avoid having the perfect man at your feet steal it again. “You’re a bit too good at this.” He grins up at you, “Am I?” and you want to give you a playful swat, but instead decide on carding your fingers through his now disheveled mohawk. “Guess the mess on my face speaks for itself… Shall we take this to the bedroom?”

You throw a glance around the apartment, assessing your options. “Couch is closer.” His smile is blinding. “I like how ye’ think.”

It’s now the second time he surprises you by scooping your legs from under you and picking you up like he couldn’t wait any longer and that carrying you bridal-style was the only way he could think of moving you. You yelp out a protest but he swallows it with another hungry kiss, shamelessly smearing your own wetness over your cheek as he walks you both to the couch.

You sink into the cushions where he places you gently without so much as a grunt of effort, and oh God, there they are, the standards are rising.

You reach over to pull him closer as he straightens up, but he only gives you a peck on the lips in return, like he hadn’t been kissing you sloppily the entire time.

“Come back,” you whine, hoping you can get it done before he comes back to his senses, like they all do, but he just smiles and kneels between your feet, hands pressing your thighs apart. The squelch of your lips parting should be embarrassing were he not looking up at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, eyes full of adoration, like a child staring up at the full moon on full display on a clear night’s skies. Maybe you are his moon, his goddess, judging by the lust-clouded look directed at you.

“I did say I was gonna make you come on my face,” he says lowly, the gravel in his voice making you squirm as he places a trail of kisses up your thigh. “And I intend to keep that promise.”

With that, he dives in again, using his forearms to pin your legs open on the couch and his fingers to tease around where his tongue can’t reach. You mewl when you feel his tongue at your entrance, circling it around it briefly before delving in as deep as he could, his right hand stroking your clit rhythmically. The fact that he’s so good at somehow playing all your buttons like a maestro directing an orchestra has you thinking that he must be some sort of womanizer, some freak who does this kind of thing every night, but then his lips wrap around your nub and he gives a firm, long suck, and any restriction that you could’ve conjured up simply vanishes. Your thighs want to close around his head, but you can’t move under the iron grip he has on you.

You fist his hair more forcefully than necessary, and he looks up, wet eyelashes framing his beautiful eyes as he hums in response.

“Please,” you moan, and he hums affirmatively again, closing his eyes to focus on licking and suckling harder. He heard you, he simply doesn’t seem to care. “Johnny.”

“What,” he asks, voice muffled and why is this so hot? 

“I need… I need,” you whine, unable to string the words together, and desperately trying to buck your hips under him, for lack of strength to actually close your thighs how you want to.

That seems to get his attention, and he chuckles, before pulling back with a gentle kiss on your mound. “Guess you’ll have to keep tryin’, pet,” he sussurs, a condescending pat on your thighs before he dives in slower than before.

Oh, the absolute asshole. Now he wants you to work for it?

You think that doing the opposite, relaxing your thighs open and letting him go to town however he wanted would help, but he seems hell-bent on riling you up every once in a while, getting you closer and closer with each lave of his tongue over your poor, overstimulated clit, but never enough to actually push you over the edge.

After what seems like an eternity, and almost, almost starting to think that this was a mistake, halfway ready to let him do this thing before your hip starts to cramp up, you feel a finger nudge at your entrance.

“Fucking finally–” you start, ready to curse him out, but he’s faster than you can think in your blissed-out state, and he slides a second finger alongside the first one, immediately zeroing in on that spot that makes you go cross-eyed and buck under his hold.

“Thassit– there you go, pretty girl,” he murmurs against your clit, and oh, okay, maybe you were closer than you thought, because the rhythmic curl of his fingers doesn’t need to last long before you’re off like an arrow, back arching and thighs squeezing, coming harder than you ever thought was possible. If he were any less skilled at making you completely lose the ability to think, you’d maybe notice that you’d managed to close your thighs almost completely around his head, but he wasn’t, so you don’t, twitching helplessly in the aftershocks of the most wonderful orgasm a man had ever given you.

Limbs that somehow still belong to your body hang uselessly off the side of the couch, and you struggle to catch your breath. You blink lazily, noticing him smugly wipe his face with the back of his hand, his half lidded eyes not any less blissed-out than yours. 

You didn’t believe a man like this ever existed, until now. It aches that this might not be something that would last, so you make grabby hands at him, unable to find the will to speak just yet. 

He laughs softly and gently grabs your arms, kissing from your knuckles slowly up your arm, to the crook of your neck. The patience he has is almost inhuman, as he takes the time to let you regather your senses, matching the marks he made earlier on the other side of your neck. You cup your hand around his head in response, and he smiles at you.

“Ye’ with me, bun?”

“Mmhm.”

“That slow enough fer’ ye’?” He holds himself up, an inch fron your face, and you reach up to kiss him.

“I’m gonna kill you dead,” you mutter against his lips, and he chuckles.

“Let me at least fuck you properly, first,” he whispers, and you notice that he’s long since unbuttoned his pants. You barely get a view of the massive size of him over your belly as he holds himself in his hand, large palm not enough to cover the whole length of him as he strokes himself, angled in such way that his tip rubs against your clit on each downstroke. The word “Please,” is not even halfway out of your mouth when he sinks into you in one swift motion, the rest dissolving into a long, drawn-out moan.

“Fuck-” he grunts, “so tight, cannot believe it.”

He guides one of your legs to wrap around him, keeping it flush against his body with his elbow as his palm grips your ass tightly, the other holding him against the backrest, forearm near your head as he pulls you closer for a sloppy kiss as he starts rolling his hips. You moan into his mouth and he swallows them greedily, leveraging each trust of his hips with a pull with his hand, helping you move in tandem with him, readjusting when your thigh threatens to slip out of his hold. The slaps of his pelvis to yours should sound obscene, his hard muscles hitting against your soft, jiggly skin, but his groans into your mouth are like music to your ears, the fact that he’s vocal about it has you almost reaching your peak again in no time, but he seems to sense it, and slows down immediately.

You try to kiss him harder, but he makes a small noise of protest, muttering something that sounds vaguely like “no, let me, let me just–” and you want to ask what he wants to do, to help him, but he instead reaches down both hands to grab your hips and pull you off the backrest. You yelp as your ass suddenly hangs in the air, his cock speared inside you the only secure point as he pulls you halfway off the couch, but he directs you firmly, “Here, around me,” helping you wrap your legs tightly as he starts thrusting again, harder than before.

“Oh, God, oh God,” you flail around, but each thrust in pushes your back into the cushions, and he reaches behind his back to hold your feet in his hand as he presses his palm near your head for support, spewing more filth as he does.

“That’s it, hold me tight, squeeze my cock like ye’ almost squeezed mah heid off earlier, huh, bonnie? Show me what those thighs can do, fuck-”

Your whole body is jiggling with each thrust, and you don’t have it in you to even feel self-conscious with the way each time he fills you, the tip of his cock nudges against the spongey spot inside, making you mewl in tempo with his relentless rhythm.

“Johnny, Johnny,” you moan, and he bends over to kiss you again, swallowing his name like communion while you chant it like a prayer.

“Don’t give up now, bonnie, keep squeezin’, fuck, I can feel ye’, yer so close.”

You try to get some leverage with your upper body, trying to push yourself up the cushions, but his cock suddenly slips out of you as your thighs almost give out, and an apology is already halfway out your mouth when he kneels back down and burrows between your legs, tongue first with a rushed “Need ta’ taste us, fuck, both of us, together-”

One hand wraps around your hip and over your pelvis, reaching up to knead desperately at your stomach, to pull you closer or push you away, you can’t tell, the other pulling your lips apart to settle his entire lower face against your pussy firmly– before letting go as he starts humming.

Your thighs are free to squeeze around his ears, and he nods encouragingly as he keeps licking, and then you hear it: the sounds of wet stroking. You don’t see him fisting his cock, but you hear it, fast and desperate. As your hand tangles in his hair to pull him closer, and another hum– no, another moan vibrates through your core, it’s the last thing you hear before you’re absolutely gone, gasping out a curse as you tense up in his hold, trembling as you come.

It’s even more intense than the first one, and as you buck out of his hold, he stands up shakily, his hand moving faster and faster around his cock, the angry red of his tip at the same level as your face. You gesture for him to sit down, trying to signal to him that you want to reciprocate despite the post-orgasmic haze and exhaustion, but he shakes his head, and, seconds later, you feel warm wetness land on your belly and slowly trickle down as he moans your name when he comes.

You feel like you still have to give something back, and, when he slumps down next to you with a content sigh, you climb over to place a delicate kiss on the tip of his cock, letting out a huff of laughter when it twitches under your touch.

“Ye’ absolute menace,” he whispers fondly as he pulls you up and tips his body to the side to lie down, using his legs to push you up halfway over him, trapping you between his body and the cushions, yet protectively shielding you from falling over. You place another kiss on his stomach, and you see his abs tense under your touch as your warm breath moves his hairs as you hover for a second, before deciding to shift up and use his pectorals as a cushion. He hums softly as his arm wraps around under yours, reaching to pull the plaid off the back of the couch and settle it around you both. Ticklish, eh? That’s a piece of information best stored for later.

You’re still breathless, absolutely done for. God, best decision of your life, going to the gym. “Now what?” you can’t help but ask. It’s the same fear that always creeps up, the fear that he got to try out a fantasy, and now that he was done with it, he had no need to want to continue anything possibly serious. Not that eating a girl out on a first date, if you could even call it a date, was a sign of a one-night stand, you can’t help but feel awkward and insecure now that it’s all done, despite the comforting cuddle.

He chuckles in response, that same chuckle from earlier in the day, a What a silly question chuckle. Like he’d read into your thoughts and insecurities and found them absolutely laughable.

“Same time at the gym, tomorrow? I want you to squeeze my head off next time.”

“Next time, huh?”

He pulls your leg over his pelvis, trapping his still half-mast cock between his belly and the crook of your knee, hand firmly wrapped to shift you up, almost completely on top of him. When both of you are comfortable and you start feeling the tendrils of sleep pull you deeper, he gives a last, playful squeeze to your ass.

“Next time.”

[jwhitewolfbarnes]

You just wanted to rile him up. Make him ache a little, stop giving in so easily. Show him that his pouty face with those baby blues isn’t all powerful like he thinks it is. You’re starting to regret that a tiny bit.

“Right there, John,” you breathe out as he pumps his hips into yours at a steady pace. His reaction is immediate; his hand comes up to grasp at your throat- applying firm, delicious pressure. He forces you to look in his eyes, “Stop fucking calling me that.” Each word punctuated with a sharp, brutal thrust as he moves your legs higher up on his hips. Your mouth drops open in reaction to his bed-shaking movements. “C’mon pretty girl, ya know what I want to hear. Say it, c’mon baby,” he pants out, staring right into your wide eyed face.

Regret may have started to set in, but it hasn’t fully won you over. Another approach, maybe?

“ah fuck Johnny, feels so good,” you manage to stutter out as he continues his punishing pace. His eyes flash with something and you think you might have won this round… until he stops. He moves to pull out, but you snap your legs around his waist before he can make it out all the way. “no, no, no! please Johnny, I’m so close. Please don’t stop baby.”

He chuckles as he drops his hand from your throat and leans down to press his body almost completely against yours. He kisses you, such a filthy and desperate display. “oh, I’m sorry baby… ya close?” His voice is sickeningly sweet as he mocks you, “if ya knew how to act right, I’d give ya exactly what this pussy needs. but yer being a fuckin brat. I just want one thing from ya, thas it. Ya need ma cock so bad, yeah? Say it an I’ll give ‘im back.” He pulls back, pushing your legs off of his waist with an ounce of his obvious strength. His dick slips all the way out as he grits his teeth and you whine. He maneuvers your legs up, hooking one into the crook of his elbow and stretching it outwards. Those fucking blue eyes, clouded over with lust, roam over your entire body. He smacks the tip of his dick on your clit a few times, before smiling cruelly up at you.

“One word an I’ll fill ya up just like ya need. Only good girls get ta cum, wan’ be a good girl? What’s ma name?” Tears are slipping from your eyes from where you’ve been forced away from the cliff of your orgasm. This is decision time, give in to that pretty face and get fucked within an inch of your life? Or say nothing and be forced to watch him jerk off on your stomach before leaving you without orgasm? Pride be damned.

You take in a shuddering breath, reaching up to card your fingers through his shaggy mohawk. You drag him close enough to kiss, and he comes willingly because he knows the battle is over, victory is his. He grins devilishly, knowing his prize is right on the horizon. You brush your lips against his before locking eyes with him and practically purr out the magic words.

“Please make me cum, daddy.” Before you can even blink, he’s fully sheathed inside you. He’s gripping the fat of your thigh and stomach by the handful. Nonsensical praise and filthy dirty talk pour out of him as he watches every last jiggle of your body’s reaction to him fucking you. He may think he’s won this battle, and sure the round may be a point for John, but you also got exactly what you wanted.

Later after he’s thoroughly fucked you, and himself, into exhaustion, you lie there tucked into his side contemplating the best method of revenge. John is blissfully ignorant to your scheming mind as he runs his fingers delicately along the ridges and rolls of your back. He presses loving kisses into your hairline, content to spend the rest of his night tucked impossibly close to your plush body. Glancing up at his unfairly attractive face, an idea forms as your eyes roam the column of his love-bitten neck… seems it might be time to see how potent John’s power is when he’s finally put on a short leash…

a/n: sorry for the poor attempt at a scottish accent :/

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡Just Like Daddy｡⋆.

Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish x plus size reader

A bored husband and kids in need of a haircut while you’re at work, good thing they’re all so freaking adorable 

Warnings: fluff, domestic humour

WC: 744

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

“Honey! I’m home!” The front door quietly shut behind you as you kicked off your heels and dropped your work bag on the bench next to you. You expected a cacophony of noise upon your return given that there were 4 children in your home (including your husband) but the whole place was dead silent.

You glanced out the front window, confirming that Johnny’s car was in fact in the driveway so he wasn’t out running errands with the kids. Plus all of their little sneakers were lined up against the wall so they couldn’t have gone out to the park.

“Johnny?” After a quick look down the hallway to the empty kitchen, you began to climb the stairs to the second floor. Anxiety curled in your gut, logically you knew that everyone was fine and safe but Johnny’s job was dangerous and came with some very… interesting people.

But then, a baby’s giggle echoed from the master bathroom and your body relaxed. The sound was quickly cut off as another voice harshly whispered. “Shush.” That was definitely your husband.

“But it’s mama.” Your heart melted at your toddler’s words, he was such a mummy’s boy. 

“I know it’s yer mum, tha’s why we’re stayin’ quiet.” You forced down your smirk, preparing a disapproving look for your family and whatever shenanigans they had gotten up to in your absence. Last time, Johnny, at the whims of your eldest, dyed Riley pink while you had been dog-sitting her for Simon. You were scrubbing pink dye out of the carpet for weeks afterwards.

Silently, you crept down the hall and slipped into your bedroom which was suspiciously clean considering the almost violent romp of last night and this morning. The bathroom door was firmly shut but light leaked out from underneath, letting you know exactly where your little clan was.

You slipped out of your work jacket and shimmied down your tights, deciding to let your husband fester in anticipation and his bad decisions for a few more minutes. By the time you had donned your comfy house clothes, you could feel the panic your husband was experiencing.

As soon as your wrist twisted the doorknob, the excited babbles began. “Mama!” Your youngest screamed. The door creaked open and for a moment, everything was dead silent.

Johnny stood beside the bathtub, your 6 year old daughter beside him as the two younger kids, your three year old and one year old, sat in the bath, huge smiles on their faces. Hair covered the tiled floor and it didn’t take you very long to work out where it had come from.

Each and every one of them had matching mohawks, each of them looking like an exact carbon copy of their father.

“Now bonnie, I can explain. See, me hair was gettin’ long so I wanted ta take some clippers ta it but then Maisie said her hair was too long and wanted it like mine and ya know I canne resist those big eyes o hers. And then the babies were upset and-and, it got outta hand.” He nervously rubbed the nape of his neck, a dark blush blooming across his scruffy cheeks.

Callum stood up, sending another wave of loose hair onto the ground, a pout on his face. “Wan look li da.” He said simply as if he were trying to defend his father. His baby sister Ava slapped the side of the tub with a happy screech.

“Ma-“ Maisie started but immediately stopped as soon as your laughter filled the room. You doubled over, clutching your stomach tightly. Johnny chuckled along with you uncomfortably, still anticipating some sort of retribution.

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you straightened up once more. Maisie ran into your waiting arms, her perfectly done mohawk brushing against your chest. Your fingers brushed through her hair that was so much like Johnny’s, pulling out the cut strands still caught in her thick mane. 

“You gave me children some fudged up mullets.” You chuckled and his shoulders dropped, realising that he was finally off the hook.

“I’ll fix em up.” Leaning over your daughter’s head, you met his lips in a delicate kiss which was met by some very frustrated shouts from your children.

“Alright then! I guess we need to get everyone in a bath and maybe some pizzas in your bellies, daddy’s treat.” Four almost identical smiling faces looked back at you, all of them incredibly adorable. 

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Modern Warfare

@joyfulfxckery

[frudoo]

Literally obsessed with your Slasher 141 series, its been giving me so much brainrot

I have a few ideas;

reader feels a bit self conscious about her body and the boys make it their mission to show her how beautiful she is in their eyes (could be fluff or smut)

OR

Reader decides to be a brat over text to the boys as they were out for the day, and hides from the boys once they arrive home, resulting in them hunting and chasing her down 👀👀 ( smut and a lil fluff )

This is very self-indulgent because I've been feeling bad about my own body lately. This is for my fellow fat girls <3

Warnings: Mentions of skipping meals, food in general. Self-deprecating thoughts, somewhat poor communication. Fem!Reader is fat (in all of the slasher!141 AU). Fluff!

You’ve been off lately. During mealtime with the boys, you barely eat, just poke at the food on your plate. It isn’t like you—you’re usually the one to cook and try out all kinds of new recipes to share with your lovers, or baking sweet treats to give them after a hard day—so for you to suddenly have no interest in food is concerning. Tonight is no exception. John made your favorite, beef stew and cornbread (a southern delicacy you taught him how to make), but you just mindlessly stir the stew with your spoon, eyes focused on nothing at all.

     “How was your day, dove?” Kyle tries to break you from your trance, but you only nod.

     “Helped a chicken give birth today,” Simon stares straight at you, ignoring the incredulous looks the other three men give him.

     Still, no sort of reaction from you, other than an uninterested hum. 

     “Ah went tae the doctor earlier,” Johnny says next. “Turns oot ah’m pregnant.”

     “Nice,” you deadpan, completely oblivious to the outrageous lies these dumbasses have been telling you. 

     “Enough,” Price furrows his eyebrows, dropping his spoon with a clang. “Darlin’, you haven’t eaten in two days.”

     This time, you listen. Immediately, you rush to defend yourself, eyes narrowed at the bearded man.

     “I’ve just been fe-”

    “Don’t you give me that bullshit about bein’ sick, either. I’ve seen you sick, and it was completely different than this,” he interrupts, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Speak, baby. Tell us what’s goin’ on in that pretty head o’yours.”

     “It’s nothing,” you grumble.

     Simon sighs dramatically, slapping his palms down on the dining room table to push himself up out of his chair. Before you can protest, he picks you up and sits in your seat, then settles you in his lap. You try to wriggle free, but his hold on you is unwavering. 

     “Stop strugglin’ and tell us wha’ the fuck is wrong w’you,” the blond man grunts, strong arms wrapped around your waist so you can’t move as much. 

     “I hate my body!” You blurt, and the room falls silent. “I-I don’t know what you all see in me. I just… I look gross.”

     Tears build in your eyes and spill past your waterline, streaming down your round cheeks. All four men look at each other wordlessly, unsure of what to say. Their silence breaks your heart, and you manage to wriggle out of Simon’s lap. 

     “I’m going to bed,” you mumble, wiping your eyes with your sweatshirt and moping your way upstairs.

     Your bedroom is the furthest down the hall, the longest walk. Usually this fact doesn’t bother you, but with your state of mind the way it is right now, you can’t help but feel like it’s purposeful. You slam the door shut and lock it, purposefully avoiding looking at yourself in the mirror as you flop into bed. It creaks with your weight, and you let out another sob. 

     You end up crying yourself to sleep, clammy face stuck to your pillow. When you wake up, you find that your door is still locked and try your hardest not to burst into tears all over again. Not one of the boys came to check on you last night? It makes you feel even worse—are you that much of an eyesore that they don’t dare come see if you’re okay? The thought makes your stomach churn. A knock makes itself known on your door, pulling you from your thoughts.

     “Dove? Can you let us in?” Kyle’s soft voice sounds from the hallway. “Please?”

     “We wanna talk to you, sweet girl,” Price’s voice comes next, followed by more pleas from Johnny and Simon.

     With a shaky sigh, you oblige, unlocking the door and swinging it open. When your eyes fall on them, you bite back a gasp—they all look exhausted, puffy bags beneath their bloodshot eyes, frowns tugging their lips downward. You can’t imagine you look any better, but still, your heart aches seeing them look so down.

     “Hey, bonnie,” Johnny instantly brightens up when he sees you, and you have to fight the urge to push him off when he wraps his arms around you. 

     “Hi,” you mutter, impartial to the kiss the Scotsman plants on your temple.

     They all trail into your room nervously, and it’s just then that you notice a large jar in Simon’s arms. Your eyebrows furrow as you sit on the edge of your bed, waiting for one of them to speak up first.

     “I want to start by apologizin’, sweetheart,” John begins, sitting beside you on your bed. “We were all… well, none of us were expectin’ to hear you talk about yourself like that, and we panicked. That wasn’t fair to you.”

     You shrug, eyes focused on your lap. Price reaches out to grab your hand, gently running his thumb across your knuckles. 

     “You are absolutely stunnin’. You are the farthest thing from gross, dove,” Kyle sits on your opposite side, grabbing your unoccupied hand. 

     “Ah think ah speak fer all of us when ah say tha’ we love yer body,” Johnny hums.

     “I’m fat,” you frown, and Simon scoffs.

     “Yeah? And?” He narrows his eyes at you. “We like y’like tha’. More t’grab, more t’love.”

     “I don’t understand why,” you whisper, chewing on your bottom lip anxiously. 

     “What’s not to understand?” John squeezes your hand. “You’re soft, and warm.”

     “The fuckin’ best at cuddlin’, too,” Kyle grins.

     “Great tits,” Johnny butts in, earning himself a jab to the ribcage from Simon. “Och- wha’?! It’s true!”

     “Wha’ the wanker is tryin’ t’say is tha’ you’re perfect. For us, in general—y’complete us, love. Your body is jus’ a plus,” Simon concludes, finally stepping forward to offer you the jar.

     “What’s this?” You ask, carefully pulling your hands out of Kyle and John’s. 

     “We spent all nigh’ gatherin’ up pictures of you tha’ we love,” Kyle explains, watching excitedly as you screw the lid off. 

     Inside, the jar is filled to the brim with photos and polaroid pictures—candids of you baking in the kitchen, napping on the couch, tending to the garden or the animals, even selfies you sent to Johnny when the two of you first started talking online. Mixed in with those is printouts of text messages they’ve all sent each other, fawning over you, some of which dating back to even before you met the others. Tears stream down your face yet again, but instead of being sad, you’re overwhelmed with love and joy from these men you get to call yours.

     “I-I don’t know what to say,” you sniffle, setting down the jar to wipe your eyes.

     “Don’t say anythin’, darlin’, just let us hold you,” John murmurs, pulling you onto the bed and wrapping an arm around your waist.

     Maybe being dogpiled by your four huge husbands on an already creaky bed isn’t the best idea, but hey, all that matters is that you’re happy.

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor au anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 2: Piercings and Puns

“Pleeaaasse?” Johnny whines, pressing his hands together and giving you the biggest, sparkliest puppy dog look you could imagine.

You roll your eyes. “No.”

“Please! My two o’clock cancelled an’ I’m so bored!” He flops over the counter, arms dangling right above the appointment books. You pointedly ignore the size of his biceps.

“I’m not letting you pierce me just because you’re bored.” You scoff. “Now shoo, Simon’s got an appointment coming in soon.”

“But ye barely have any!” He argues. “All I’m askin’ fer is a wee ear. No’ even a nipple!”

A shocked amalgamation of a bark, laugh, and scoff forces it’s way out of you at that. “It’s still a no!”

Johnny groans, but at least moves away from the counter. Unfortunately, he takes the opportunity to circle around behind you, pinching the cartilage of your ear. “C’mon, ol’ righty’s beggin’ fer a conch.”

The intercom buzzes before you can respond. You swat Johnny away with one hand while pressing the speaker button with the other. “Hello?”

“I’ve go’ an appointment with Ghost.” A man’s voice drifts through. You blink dumbly for half a moment. You still haven’t gotten used to Simon’s social media and booking moniker - he doesn’t like giving his real name out much, apparently.

You buzz him in. Johnny is still hanging around the desk even when you leave to get Simon - making your way down the shirt hall to his studio. The large man stands in front of his stencil maker, back turned to you.

You knock on his door frame quietly. “Your guy’s here.”

“Be out in a moment.” He mumbles, focused on whatever he’s doing. You don’t really know the steps by heart, but you do know that there’s something so special about watching artists perform this repetitive song and dance. This rhythm they know by heart. Skilled hands enacting each step with careful precision.

He’s so hard to read. Big and bulky but calm as the night sea. You want him to like you, but you know badgering him certainly won’t get you there. So, you turn on your heal and head back out. When you return to the front, Johnny’s disappeared back into his room.

You suck your teeth and lean back in the desk chair, rolling your earlobe between your thumb and index finger. It’s not a bad offer, really. You only have two earlobe piercings on each side. Wouldn’t hurt to add a helix… you’ve also wanted to get your thirds done for a while. Work your way up. You glance at the clock. Simon won’t be done with his client for at least an hour or so, and you’ve balanced the registers for the moment. Both Kyle and John are out today, so they won’t need anything.

It wouldn’t hurt… well, not metaphorically.

With a sigh you stand, wandering your way to Johnny’s space. The door’s wide open, and his head snaps up the moment you step close like a sixth sense. “Takin’ me up on my offer, bonnie?”

You roll your eyes. “Guess I am.”

“Whit d’ye want?” Johnny practically skips around his station, pulling out wrapped, sanitized tools and placing them on a rolling tray. He pats the center of the padded table in the middle of the room.

“Uh, been wanting to do my thirds for a while.” You shrug. “If you have time for two.”

“Och, I’ve got all the time in the world fer ye, hen.” Johnny grins, pulling up in front of you and grabbing a marker.

He’s so close as he places the marks on your ears, warm fingers feeling for the best spots. A thumb traces the back of your left ear down just to the beginning of your jaw briefly. Fuck, he smells good. Warm musk with hints of citrus around the edges. The way he tucks your hair back, hands framing your face as he lines up the dots, is so oddly intimate compared to the other times you’ve gotten pierced. He chews at his lip in concentration, pulling at the scar on his chin while turning your head back forth a couple times.

“Think I’ve got it.” He grins and steps back. “Have a look.”

You take the mirror, casually checking but not paying too much attention. You trust him to do right by you. “Looks good.”

“A’right. Now the fun part.” He grins, tearing open the pack of tools and a two new needles.

“Is this fun?” You frown, squirming a little at the size of the needle.

“It’s always fun t’poke a pretty girl.”

You roll your eyes, a growing theme between you two it seems. “Oh, you thought that was real clever, didn’t you? Had that in your pocket a while?”

“Why donnae ye reach in an‘ check?” He murmurs, leaning close to clamp your left ear. You’re half tempted to tell him it’s mean to tease a fat girl like this - but you don’t think he means anything like that by it. He’s just a flirt by nature.

Before you can answer, he shoves the needle through your ear. You stiffen, a strained noise bubbling up out of your throat.

Johnny coos as he slips the earring into your ear. “One doon.”

“Uh-huh.” You sniffle. Not that it hurts badly, just a basic physical reaction. Johnny still gives you an empathetic smile.

The second goes quicker, Johnny locked in on his work. It’s interesting, seeing how intense they get. You Is it odd to wish someone would look at you like that? With that much focus and passion?

“There ye go…good girl.” He murmurs in that deep rumble that would have you squirming if you didn’t still have a needle through your ear. “Doin’ so good f’me...”

“You’re a devil, MacTavish.”

Johnny just chuckles, knowing full well exactly what he’s doing. He steps back to look at the final result after slipping the second stud into your ear. They feel hot - like two small ovens on either side of your head.

“If it weren’t for the piercings I’d think ye were blushing, hen.”

“You’re gonna get yourself slapped one of these days.” You scoff, sliding off the table.

“Wouldnnae be the first time.”

You find yourself rolling your eyes for the millionth time.

You grunt, squatting low in an attempt to pick the last of the parlor trash. It’s not that you mind, trash was part of your duties from the start, but holy shit do these boys put bricks in their bins? You’d think tattoos would make light trash. Especially after the sharps are disposed of separately.

“Solid?” Simon appears in the hall, eyes flicking over you. You still can’t tell how he feels about you. Neutral, you suppose. At least that’s all you can glean from behind his seemingly permanent black surgical mask.

“Ya.” You sigh, letting the bag drop and leaning back to stretch. “Just heavy. Swear y’all aren’t throwing rocks in these just to fuck with me?”

You give him a grin. Simon just cocks an eyebrow - exaggerated by the small piercing lining it. You think, maybe the slight shaking of his shoulder is a laugh. In combination won’t he crinkles in the corners of his eyes. Maybe not.

“‘ere.” Simon grunts, closing the short distance between you quickly before snatching up the bag like it weighs almost nothing.

You stutter, following after him toward the back exit. “You don’t have to-“

“Not a problem.” He grunts, tossing the thing over the side of the bin. He quietly leads you back inside, locking the door behind you “Johnny go’ you already?”

When you frown in confusion he points to his ears.

“Oh! Yeah.” You shrug, leading the way back to front desk to finish up your closing duties. “He’s insistent. I’d wanted them for a while anyway so I figured there’s no harm.”

“Give ‘im an inch...” He sighs, pointing to the black bar bridge piercing at the apex of his nose. “Somehow talked me into this shite.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah? I think it suits you.”

It really does. You can’t see most of his nose form under the mask but the arc of it leading up to bridge is strong, the piercing settling into the space nicely.

Simon breaks the silence. “You about done?”

“Almost. Just gotta check the ATM against the book real quick.” You nod.

He stares down at you for a moment, glancing out the semi-opaque window, now black with the night sky. There aren’t many street lamps on this side of town. You can only see a very faint glow from the one down by the car park.

“I’ll wait.” Simon settles his wide frame into Kyle’s usual chair.

“Oh! No you don’t have to! I’m sure you’re tired-“

“Wouldn’t feel right leavin’ you alone in the dark.” He cuts you off.

“It’s not a far walk-“

He scoffs. “Definitely not leaving you to walk alone.”

You sink your teeth into your lip, debating briefly on arguing. Based on his comfortable lean and crossed arms, it’s probably best to just let him walk you home. He looks so wide like that, veins prominent across his forearms. Fuck, you gotta find a boyfriend or booty call or something in this city. Anything to stop the temptation to stare at your hot coworkers.

It doesn’t take long to finish up your final chores. You turn all but one light off, wiring down from the bright overheads glaring at you all day. You glance over at Simon a few times while locking up the ATM, his covered face lit up by the light of his phone.

He leads you out of the shop once you’re finished, locking the door behind you and trying it a couple times to be sure. “Which way?”

“Uh, down here. It’s only twenty minutes.” You murmur, feeling guilty that you’ve kept him out extra late. You shove your hands in your hoodie pockets as you walk, the only sound on the street made up of your footsteps and some distant cars.

“What falls but never gets hurt?” Simon asks suddenly.

You frown. “Huh?”

“What falls but never gets hurt?”

You squint at him, trying to decipher anything from his face in the low light. You get nothing but a calm, warm gaze resting on you.

His eyes crinkle in the corners again. “Rain.”

“Pffft-“ You choke, caught off guard. “That’s such a lame pun.”

“Oh? I’ve got a better one.” Simon says, a smirk in his tone. “Why’d the mother clam scold her children?”

You chew your lip. God, you’re too literal to be clever enough for stupid puns and riddles. It doesn’t help that your head is spinning from this brick shithouse, incredibly attractive and intimidating man spitting popsicle puns at you.

“They were being shellfish.”

“Oh fuck off!” You shove at his arm playfully without thinking. He gives, let’s you push him slightly before you stiffen. “S-sorry! I don’t-“

“Nothin’ to apologize for.” The corners of his eyes crinkle deeper. Yeah, definitely a smile. You answer it with one of your own.

[littlebit-of-art]

I think this would fix me.

[lxvvie]

Freely using Soap:

Johnny who abhors the thought of wearing a lot, if any, clothes around the house is open and willing for your pleasure. And his.

You make no effort to hide how much you ogle his body, and he fuckin' loves it, Bonnie. All the more reason to show off the numerous hickeys you left on him. His pride and joy are the ones on his inner thighs and chest.

Soap who bites down on his lip to keep from painting your pretty face with his cum. He can't touch you. He can't move. He can't even cum. You won't let him. He just has to sit there as you suck him, as you kiss his leaking head, and as you edge him. Christ, what're you doin' to him, Bonnie?

Soap actually painting the shower wall with cum because you couldn't wait for him to finish showering after working out. You just had to jump his bones and stroke his cock after seeing those sweaty muscles.

Clutching his hair as you grind against his mouth. Fuck, Johnny's such a whore, kissing, sucking, feasting on you like a man starved and parched, wanting you to cum all over his face. Johnny groans when you grip his hair tightly and pull his face away until you calm down. When it's time, you're back to grinding on his face and it's off to the races again. Rinse and repeat.

Flooding Soap's text messages with all the lewd and dirty shit you wanna do to him because holy fuck does he inspire the slut in you to come out, and the response you get from Johnny?

Please

Kissing that one spot on his neck because you know he'll melt if you do. Bonus points if you come up behind Johnny, do it, and he practically falls back against you. Cheers, Bonnie.

Similarly, grabbing Soap by his hair and pulling him into a kiss. A kiss full of tongue and biting his lower lip and leaving a mark, just fucking sloppy and passionate.

Riding Soap's cock because you've had a terrible, no good, shitty day, and he’s right there for the taking. Fucking yourself to orgasm, ruining his, and leaving Soap a frustrated mess who's left wanting more. Fuck. Do it again, Bonnie.

Finally getting around to fucking Johnny like you said you would. Except you don't and make him do the work. Johnny who rides you and can't touch himself but settles for the next best thing. Johnny who intertwines your hands with his and rides that cock home, groaning, whimpering, moaning against your lips as his cum coats your stomach. You thought that was it, Johnny? Who the fuck told you to stop riding?

[egg-but-with-style]

Totally not inspired by an audio I just listened to, but soap finding your porn audio tabs

NSFW under the cut! (Also aftercare?)

His phone died, and he needed to look something up, okay fine. Problem is, Johnny is a nosey fucker, and while, yeah, he did need to look something up, he also wanted to maybe look at your search history

Really it's his fault that he found it, dirty audio porn that has the listener being fucked so hard they see stars. He starts degrading you over it, "Yer really fucking dirty aren't ya? Didn't take you to be such a slag"

You're practically begging him to give him back your phone, even going so far as to try and pry it out of his hands, which, you almost do, you aren't small and you're decently strong, but he's literally a trained agent.

He keeps reading off stuff you listen to. Non con, deepthroating, humiliation, overstimulation. He hit the jackpot. Soon enough he's telling you to pull of your clothes.

"Bet you were fuckin wet the second I started talking to you. Go on, take off your clothes, I know you're wet" you try and tell him off, "Johnny please, I just..it's not-" then he's grabbing you by your throat and you shudder "What did I just fucking say?" And who are you to argue with that?

He takes one good look at the pond you call your pussy and attaches his face to it. Sucking on your clit and making you whine and moan.

"Johnny.. please.. I- Ah Oh my god!!"

Then he has you cumming on his tongue, making you wish he'd found out about your kinky side sooner. But he doesn't stop, he just keeps sucking

"Im- Oh fuck! I'm really sensitive..please."

He comes up to the surface, looking you in the eyes while your juices drip down his chin. There's this wild look about him, like he's planning on marrying you just because of this.

"I know you like it bonnie, I'm giving you want you want. Whether you think you do or nah."

Then he's back to it. Only after making you cum for a third time does he finally unbuckle his belt, slowly sliding his hard, dripping cock into your messy hole.

It's a tight fit, your walls are barely able to accommodate to his girth. You thought you would've been a bit more prepared after making such a mess on his tongue but apparently not. Now you're just whining.

"Too big...I feel- feel full..."

"Yer so fucking tight, greedy cunts pulling me in"

He's thrusting so hard and fast, He's mesmerized by the jiggle of your thighs and your tummy everytime he moves, he's not sure what he did to deserve such a goddess. Only when you're seizing, grabbing onto the sheets and crying from pleasure does he finally cum inside and flop down on top of you. And even then he's flapping his gums "Bloody hell that was good..you did amazing for me.."

You let out a groan in response, and he laughs. You're practically boneless. So he pulls out to go and get the bath running, coming back with a towel to clean you up in the mean time.

"I love you.."

"I love you too you horny bastard.."

He lets out another giggle

"I'm not the one who listens to audio porn"

"Oh shut the fuck up!"