Hi! I'm Ezzy, I'm 22, and am currently working my way through a creative writing masters degree! This is why my uploads are quite slow, but I'm currently working through requests as fast as I can without burning myself out. Also, I prefer writing short stories to headcannons, but both are okay to request <333
This blog is mostly a hobby, but I'm also using as practice for my masters. It is also an 18+ blog, MDNI, people without their age in their bio will be blocked.
𝐑𝐄𝐐 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒:
Most things are on the table in this blog. I'm okay with writing smut, even the kinky stuff, but please don't request anything non consensual (does NOT include cnc).
This is the longest thing I've ever written, it's also my first time writing smut so I have no idea how good it is. There is also a break in the writing that separates the smut from the fluff, that way if anyone wants to stop reading just before the smut they can, or you can skip right to it, if you'd prefer - just look for the divider!
Please let me know if you want more short stories like this, I really enjoy writing them <3
Contains; Fem!Reader, fluff, takes place after Los Vaqueros get their base back, smut, blowjob, deepthorat, soap talks you through it, primal desire, lust, unspoken love, P in V, car sex, drunk sex, unprotected sex, penetration, Soap is primal.
Warnings; MDNI, fluff, smut.
Word Count; 10k
It took Gaz three hours to get the hint. Perhaps it was your fault. After all, you'd been dancing around the point of your words for a while, not really knowing what they meant yourself. You wanted Gaz to leave, sure, but were too afraid of how badly you wanted to be alone with Johnny to say it outright.
You and Gaz were close, had been for years; if you just told him, he’d understand. It wouldn't have even been the first time he’d been a wingman for you, but he was having a good time — too good a time.
You’d never seen him move so much. A drink in his hand, his eyes barely open, his body swaying to the music, a woman pressed snug against his chest. She’d called him ‘pretty boy’ earlier that night (or, at least, the Spanish equivalent, according to Alejandro); after that, you knew you’d lost him. That grin, like a kid on Christmas. It made you giggle.
You’d been on the dancefloor with Gaz for a while, battering off unwanted attention like they were mosquitoes. You meant no offence, you were sure those in Los Vaqueros were nice enough guys, but your eyes had been trained on a fellow sergeant sat by the bar; the alcohol not quite dulling his senses enough to join you. You’d tried to coax him onto the floor, as had Gaz - only he’d done it a lot louder than you, not that he noticed.
There weren't any English speaking clubs in Las Almas, nor were any of them partial to the military. Instead, you had been invited by Alejandro into his makeshift club. He’d had it set up after the raid on the prison and had secured his base. Once his dead had been counted, he wanted to commemorate their sacrifice, and to celebrate a belated Dios de Los Muertos, along with his new found friendships. So, he’d repurposed a bunker, just for one night, to party como hacen los vaqueros.
It was underground, its entrance dug into the side of a hill and far from the main base. Candles and skulls lit the stairs, and the “club's” name, El Coyote, had been painted in bright colours above the door, the glass of which had been broken and patched haphazardly with cardboard and tape, but it would make do for now. Through the gaps of the patchwork, the scent of sweat, syrup, and sex drifted out into the base. That was actually how you found the place to begin with.
A “bouncer” clung to the door (one of Alejandro’s lieutenants who’d volunteered to keep track of people), his attention given to a lady (also a lieutenant), sweet-talking him. He stopped you on the way in. He began in Spanish, but quickly switched to English, telling you to be good and play nice. Johnny had uttered something about him being ‘a shite guard.’ You all laughed it off.
The inside was exactly what you’d expected of a makeshift club in a military base. Stairs led further down into the main part of the bunker, dimly lit by pinks and greens and reds. Graffiti lined the walls, a design choice to showcase the celebrations of Los Muertos, compiled of flowers, skulls, and mantras; there was even the inclusion of an offrenda at the bottom of the stairs.
You’d all stopped to pay your respects, lighting a candle in their honour and leaving some pesos.
Alejandro had explained that the bunker was to be taken down soon anyway, something about making more room for training facilities, so he didn't mind if it got messed up. In fact, he encouraged people to go wild, to just enjoy themselves. He was especially excited to share a part of his culture with 141.
Inside, pool tables were scattered around. How he’d managed to acquire them and get them down the stairs, you weren’t sure. And the bar, (also dubiously erected) was freshly stocked, and busy. That was where you all headed first — an unquenchable thirst gnawing at your throats.
There had been eyes gawking at the three of you all night. It wasn’t anything personal; emotions were heightened after everything Los vaqueros had gone through. Many had lost friends, some had even lost family during Shadow Company’s occupation, it was understandable that they weren’t happy about sharing their time of mourning with gringos - even if Alejandro had vouched for them.
Some had poked the hornets' nest, saying something provocative to Gaz that you couldn't hear over the music. Johnny had moved to interfere, but Gaz simply offered to buy the guys a drink, and the problem seemed to resolve itself. And now, with his nose nuzzled in a woman's neck, it was apparent he relished in his decision.
Then there was the music. Latin, of course. Bad Bunny, Rauw Alejandro, Luis Miguel, and so on. You didn't care that the words held little meaning to you, since you were still new to Spanish; the beat carried your body. You had no reason to sing when your body spoke for you. It was nice to let loose, to just move however you wanted, less worries on your mind.
Still, Soap was sat by the bar, stiff as a board. His grip tightened around his glass, his knuckles turning white. He didn't even tap his foot to the beat; his body stayed taut; his muscles locked, his jaw clenched.
What his issue was, you couldn't tell. He’d been to one suggesting you came here. “Lets go have a dance,” is what he said verbatim, but for some reason he just sat there watching you. You could only assume the events of the past week had dampened his mood. His eyes constantly scanned the room for some form of threat: a gun or a goon. He looked anxious.
You stuck close to Gaz. Johnny wasn't far, though. You watched him over your shoulder most of the night, only losing him when he went to the toilet or to get another drink.
He’d knocked back God knows how many Corona's before he finally mustered up the courage to step on the dancefloor, after Alejandro’s intervention, of course. He waddled over to you, two drinks in hand. Your favourite.
He muttered something over the music that you couldn’t hear. He handed you the drink and leaned in, his lips inches from your ear.
“You enjoying yersen, lass?” His voice was deep, vibrating down your back slightly.
“Yeah, I am,” you nodded your head vigorously, taking a sip of the drink. The liquid was cold and bitter; it burned your throat in a good way.
In truth, you definitely didn't need another drink; you already couldn’t feel your face… or hands or feet… and your mouth had gone kinda numb, but you didn’t care. You thanked Johnny anyway, sure that you would regret drinking it later, but glad to have something to cool you down.
Johnny moved to talk to Gaz, but decided against it when he saw he was locked in a passionate embrace with his new lady friend. He shot you a look, seeing as Gaz had only known her for twenty-something minutes. You laughed at them both, dabbing sweat from your brow.
“You maftin’?” Johnny asked.
“yeah,” you declared.
“You need some air?”
You nodded in response, the humidity of the bunker stealing the air around you. You tapped Gaz on the shoulder and motioned to him that you were going out for some air. He barely nodded before going back to his previous engagement.
On your way out, someone told you to leave your drink behind. ‘No glasses outside’ apparently. You obliged and finished the drink in one big gulp, and with that single, swift motion, the world shifted.
The alcohol hit you almost instantly. Johnny raised his brow; concern laced his expression. You wiped the leftover liquid from the corners of your mouth and flicked it his way with a laugh. He smiled at you and helped you up the stairs, his hand ghosting the small of your back.
“Easy,” he teased.
“I'm not paralytic yet, lad,” you shot back, defensive, despite using both handrails to pull yourself up the stairs.
“Aye, but yer not far off.”
“Best get me another drink later, then.”
“Not a chance,” he laughed.
The air wasn't much cooler out there, but it was still a relief to be away from all those bodies. You giggled a bit, not at anything in particular, just an absent-minded chuckle. It piqued Johnny’s interest, though.
“Somethin’ funny?” He asked endearingly.
“I'm just thinking is all.”
“Don't hurt yourself.” He teased
“Give over. Prick.”
You leaned against the wall just outside the bunker, you could still hear the faint music coming from down below. There wasn't really anywhere for you to sit, so you rested as much weight as you could on the brick.
“I'm just…happy,” you said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Been so long since I've– since we’ve been able to do something like this. It's just… well, you know, it's nice, isn’t it?”
You stumbled on your words, slurring a little, shaking your head as you spoke, embarrassed over how soppy the alcohol was making you. Soap didn't reply; he just smiled up at you. He agreed with your every word, his body inching closer to you along the wall. God, he stunk of beer. Which you told him before you could catch the words from falling out of your mouth.
“Well, you don’t smell o’ roses yerself, lass.” He said, sarcastically. His Scottish accent came through thicker.
Of course, in your inebriation, you’d failed to pick up on this sarcasm.
“No, you’re joking,” you grabbed a fist full of your shirt panicked, lifting it to your nose. All you could smell was your perfume. It was the same for your pits and breath, nothing out of the ordinary. You shot Johnny a look of annoyance, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"You're an arse,” you deadpanned.
Soap only laughed. “You catch on fast.”
Before you could continue the riveting conversation, you heard someone sloppily stomping their way up the stairs. It was a woman, her dress two sizes too small, her heels gripped in her hand, an earring missing, and her bag tucked under her arm. Still, miraculously, her make-up was intact.
She took one look at you and smiled wildly. “Ay, chica…” she scans you up and down, strolling towards the main base. “Mírate.”
You blush at her compliment, whispering back a soft and embarrassed thank you.
"Don't hang your head, chica, you're looking good tonight - don't she look good, Hawk?” The woman looked to Soap, who only stumbled over his words, bubbling out an ‘aye’ and a ‘yeah.’
“Tío…I set you up, and you let it slip. Los hombres no valen madre.” She said the last part under her breath as she waved her arm in the air dismissively, her heels nearly falling out of her hand. “Treat her good, guero!”
Before you could protest to her safety given how she was walking (stumbling), she crawled her way into a car waiting near the bunker. She looked elated to see the man behind the wheel, as did he, so you let your mind ease again.
As long as she’s safe, you thought.
Her scent lingered for a moment, as did her words. A smirk tugged at your lips.
“I look good, Hawk.” You teased.
Johnny didn't meet your gaze; instead, he smiled, hung his head, and let a slight chuckle escape his nose.
He kicked a stone, “well, you do look good tonight.”
“Only tonight?”
“Don't push yer luck, lass.” There was something behind his words, something more. His tone suggested that was exactly what he wanted you to do. To push. To see how far it could go.
You took a moment to look at him under the dim light, and all you found there was your unwavering attraction to him. The way he leaned against the wall, his legs crossed in front of him. The way his shirt was pulled tight around his arms, and, with their position, exposed the muscles of his chest. Had his pectorals always been this defined? And his scent. Though primarily smelling of beer, there was another layer to it. Aftershave, or some form of Eau De Parfum. Or maybe just him - his smell. Either way he had an allure to him that pulled you in despite the dangers it could pose for both of you.
“Have I got something on my face?” Johnny asked. He was watching you stare, his brow cocked, a smug smirk tugging at his lips.
“What? No. Whaddya mean?”
“You’ve been staring.”
“I ‘ave not!” You declared with all the conviction of the guilty.
“Ya ‘ave,” he mocked jokingly.
You struggled to form a retort, the words catching in your throat. The alcohol had already flushed your cheeks red, so you weren't sure if Johnny could see how deep they burned or not, but you felt your face warm under his gaze.
You cursed silently. Part of you wanted to go back inside and dance some more, take your mind off things - off Johnny - but you didn't want to do that alone, you wanted Johnny with you. And, at the same time, you were too afraid to ask. So, as per usual, you asked something else entirely hoping you’d find the courage to say what you actually meant.
"When you thinking of heading back?”
"You want rid of me that badly, eh?” He replied.
“That's not at all what I said.”
“No, but ‘s what you implied,” he slurred his words now, his eyes blinking slowly.
“Oh my god, you're just as drunk as I am!” You crossed your arms.
“Get a grip. I am nowhere near your level of drunk.” He sounded offended, like you'd scorned him with your words.
“Are you gonna answer my question?”
“What question?”
You scoffed, “when are you gonna head back?”
“Not yet, I don't think, unless… you want to?”
Your shoulders visibly eased at his words, missing what he had implied, but before he had the chance to double down, the door to the bunker swung open, and out rolled Gaz, his new lady friend in tow.
“Oh! Thank god, I thought I'd lost ya both.” He had a bottle in his hand, how he had snuck it out you weren't sure.
“I told you we were coming out here,” you pointed out.
“Yeah, but I thought you meant, like, leaving leaving.”
“Why on earth would we leave you here alone?” Soap chimed in.
To which, Gaz did not reply; instead, with his bottled hand, he lifted it to his nose, giving it a knowing tap as he walked by the two of you. You rolled your eyes.
“Where d’ya think you're going, then?” Johnny asked, watching Gaz walk away.
Again, he didn't use his words, he just planted a kiss on the woman's forehead.
You muttered something under your breath, along the lines of my god, but Johnny spoke over you, shouting down to Gaz: ‘Be safe! Ya filthy animal.’
Price had allowed 141 to relax for the night. The base was defended, and they weren't leaving for a day or two, he saw no reason to stop his sergeants from celebrating a well deserved victory. He did advise they take it slow, however. Plans often change quickly in their line of work, he needed you prepared in case you had to deploy should new information arise.
You were grateful to your captain for the opportunity to chill. Seeing Gaz happy made you happy, even if it was only temporary. And maybe, if you were lucky, you’d get some temporary relief as well.
“That boy’s crazy,” Johnny continued.
You laughed a little, “he’s a lucky man, he is.”
“Aye. ah’m jealous.”
“Pull yer sen together, lad.”
You regretted the words the moment they came out. Originally, you’d meant to joke with him, to jest that only the blind or an animal would be his partner, but the words didn't come. Whether it were nerves or inebriation, or both, you couldn't tell. It didn't matter. You watched as his face dropped a little, the hopeful smirk on his face fading, inferring your words as a rejection of sorts - a dismissal.
“C’mon, let’s get you back,” he said, pushing off from the wall.
“I don’t wanna go back yet.”
“No, but I reckon you need to.”
“Who died and made you captain?”
“Don’t be difficult.” He wasn’t annoyed, not really, though he tried to act like he was. It was his way of coercing you back to base, so you wouldn’t cause yourself, or anyone else, trouble.
“I’m not going,” you protested.
Johnny only sighed, debating whether or not to do the ‘I’ll leave without you’ trick people do to their toddlers.
“Well, I'm gonna go,” he mumbled.
“What? Why are you leaving? You said you wouldn't." You moved closer to him, almost blocking his path. He was close enough that his aftershave permeated the evenings lingering scent of hot dust and sun-baked earth.
It was colder at night, especially around the desert terrain next to the base. Even with your beer blanket, you felt the chill, goosebumps pricking at your arms and neck.
Soap took notice, using your chill as a further excuse to go back.
“I don’t want to, Johnny.”
“You said that already, lass.”
“So stop pushing me,” you half-joked.
“Where else would you wanna go? Back inside?” He suggested.
You scoffed, “nah, I’ll pass.”
“I thought you enjoyed it?”
“I did! I just… don’t wanna go in without you.”
As you admitted your feelings, you saw that the penny hadn’t really dropped for him. He didn't get why you would assume he’d leave you alone, and not that you wanted to be with him specifically.
“Obvioiusly,” he scoffed back. “Why would you think that?”
“No, you dont… nevermind.”
“No, gwon.” he encouraged.
The truth dangled at the tip of your tongue. You could come clean, tell him you can’t stop thinking about him and yourself in a tangle of linen and sweat, but it was a risk. High-risk, high-reward. Your mother always told you not to gamble.
You’d never really listened.
“I wanna be with you tonight,” you confessed with blushes.
“You are with me?”
“You’re so fucking dense,” you replied.
“Wait. You mean… like that?” He hadn’t meant for his face to light up the way it did, the same way Gaz’s had in the club - como un niño en navidad.
“Reign it in, Soap,” you laughed. “I haven’t even said owt yet.”
“You don't have to.”
Soap didn’t stop himself as he advanced towards you, his hands coming up to cup your face, enveloping your lips in a kiss. It took you a second to register the contact, on account of not being able to feel your face, but once you had, you kissed him back like you were never going to let him go.
The kiss was shy at first. Soft and sweet noises of desire escaped you as you shifted to deepen the touch; your arms snaked up his chest, one hand grabbed hold of the back of his mohawk and the other clutched his forearm.
The kindling in your cheeks had begun to spread, igniting areas of yourself you had almost forgotten existed. This only worsened when you felt his hand snap to your side, snaking around your waist, pushing you flush against him with the small of your back.
His lips mashed against your own, his hands grabbing at you as if it were the last time he’d be able to hold you. You could physically feel his restraint from letting his hands wander, instead, they gripped your sides as though he’d done this a thousand times already. You kissed him back fiercely, with a violence that translated to: I’m yours.
Your mouth parted to suck in a breath, but Johnny took the opportunity to plead for entry to the space within. This, ironically, in its intoxicating nature, sobered you up.
You pulled away.
“Not here,” you panted.
Looking around, there really wasn’t anybody who could catch you, and, even if they did, report you. Still, it was unwise to make out in the open like this, on a military base no less.
“Where d’ya ‘spose we go?”
In truth, there really wasn’t anywhere the two of you could go. Come to think of it, where had Gaz taken that woman? Then, it clicked. The cars. They were jeeps, big enough to fit 8+ people in, and their weapons. Plus, the woman who had complimented you earlier had gotten into one, so Gaz had probably gotten into one. Why couldn't you?
“We need to find a car.”
“A car? What are you on about?” Johnny had barely pulled away from you, his hand still on the small of your back, but the other now rested on your shoulder instead of your cheek.
“We get a car, we drive said car, then… yeah.”
“Then… yeah?” He repeated.
“Yeah.”
“Okay - and how exactly are we going to commandeer a car?”
“Not ‘commandeer,’ Johnny, borrow.”
“Oooh, I see,” his tone was sarcastic. “What will you have me do? Just rock up to Alejandro and say ‘hermano, do you mind if me and my lady take one of your cars for a spin?’”
You wanted to acknowledge his ‘my lady’ slip up. You wanted to grab him by the collar and face fuck him right there on the tarmac, but you couldn’t because someone had spotted you. It was Alejandro.
“Sure. Just keep the seats dry.”
He stood at the door to the bunker, leaning against the frame, laughing with his signature grin on his face.
You and Soap jumped apart from one another as though you were part of a comedy sketch. You looked to the floor, and Soap looked to the sky.
“Easy, there’s no judgment here.” He stepped closer towards the two of you.
He looked different without all his gear on, just a black t-shirt and some sand coloured cargos.
“I’ll let you in on a secret, hermanos… I’ve never stopped my men from enjoying themselves.”
Soap looked to you, then back to Alejandro. “You don’t?”
“No. I should. But I learnt that they do it anyway. So, I prefer to just keep the peace.”
You really hadn’t expected it from Alejandro of all people. He was a cool dude, but he was the colonel of this base. Rules, especially fraternisation, should not be taken lightly.
“You just let them get on with it?” you asked.
Soap moved closer to you again, no longer afraid of judgment, his hand returning to the small of your back.
“Si,” he continued. “I find when my men have something to fight for, they’re more effective.” He chuckled at this.
You and Soap also smiled.
He threw his keys over to Soap. “Take this one, I parked her out by the main building. I need to take her into the shop anyway.”
“Gracias, Alejandro,” you said.
“You’re welcome, chica.” he laughed, then walked past you.
After a moment, just before the two of you could collide in a fit of passion once again, Alejandro called back: “Soap, take care of her!”
“Ahuevo!” He shouts back.
“Dios sabe que te va a volver loco!”
Soap looks to you, a bit confused. “I only caught half of that.”
“Then, I guess we’ll never know,” you chuckle.
Soap had driven (very carefully) further out into the remote area of Las Almas. And surprisingly the drive had sobered you up a little, or maybe it was the cold, or maybe it was the thought of what you were about to do that sent shivers through you.
“We don’t have to do this,” Johnny said, taking the keys out of the ignition. As he did, the two of you were practically plunged into darkness. He chuckled a bit and flicked on the overhead light.
He looked so good in the driver's seat. His body turned towards you slightly, his elbow propped up on the centre armrest, his watch pulled tight on his arm. You looked to it, and by extension, followed his veins up to his elbow, then to the flex of his bicep.
He wore a smirk on his face, watching your eyes scan his body.
“I take it you want to then?”
You didn't reply - couldn't reply - your mind was already in overdrive as you crawled onto his lap. With ease he pushed the driver's seat back as far as he could, all the while his free hand snaked up the side of your body gripping at whatever he could.
Your lips collided again in a fit of sex and sweat and saliva, pleasure already soaking into the very marrow of your bones, desperate to taste his leather and lace.
You took a sharp breath, taking in as much air as you could while your mouth was free. Soap didn't care. He wanted all of you. Your sex, your sweat, your heart, your soul, your breath. He wanted every part of you to melt into him, as much as he melted into you.
His hands practically pinned you to him, wrapped around your back. His hips moved on their own, the zipper of his jeans digging into your crotch. His teeth clashed with yours, and his tongue forced its way into your mouth, fighting for dominance.
He sat up slightly, his back leaving the chair.
“Not enough room here,” he moaned.
“You’re not creative enough,” you teased.
With each kiss and tug and hump, restraint and discipline left your bodies, seeping out into the aether, seeping into your pants.
“Back seat,” he kissed. “Now.”
You didn't even get to say ‘yes, sir’ as you followed his command. He slapped your ass as you crawled into the back seat.
You laughed and sat back, watching as he followed suit. The fullness of his body blocked the light as he moved to kiss you again, full of ferocity and lust.
He wanted you out your clothes asap, his hands gripping the hem of your shirt, tugging it up and over your head. You let him. You wanted him to see you, all of you, bare and vulnerable and ready.
“Fuck…” he drawled, his eyes soaking in the plumpness of your skin. He glossed over the scars and bruises you’d gained from your past, his eyes landing on the bra that held you down.
It wasn't anything special, a basic, military issued bra to help keep the girls at bay - similar to a sports bra. If anything the bra’s benign nature added to the feeling of anticipation as his fingers hooked into the hem of it, and in doing so, traced the edge of your tits.
You moved your hands to his to stop him. He seemed concerned that maybe he’d moved too fast. God, had he made you uncomfortable?
“Let me,” you whispered.
He leaned back, practically sitting down on the centre armrest, watching as you slowly removed the fabric. Crossing your arms over your body, you grabbed the sides of the bra, deliberately pushing your tits closer together, lingering for just a moment so he could get a good look at the cleavage peeking over the top. Then, achingly slow, you lifted your arms up and let your boobs bounce out of the bra.
Soap bit at his bottom lip, watching your every move. As sexy as your body was, he couldn't take his eyes off your face. He wanted to kiss every inch of it; to pluck it, to tease it, to fuck it. He couldn't help but think how good your lips would look around him.
He needed to make you feel good. It was an urge that had been building inside him since the day he was introduced to you, all those years ago. And now, all those nights, all those dreams, all the times he’d touched himself to the thought of you were finally coming to fruition.
“I need you,” he huffed, connecting your lips again.
“Yeah?” You spoke through the kisses. “Take me then.”
Your wish was his command. With one swoop he switched your positions, your legs framing his, straddling his ever growing crotch.
Immediately, you ground your hips into his, earning a soft praise from him. He moved his hips in tandem with yours, humping you as he bit at your lips.
“Take ‘em off,” he demanded.
You did, faster than you’d ever done before. Honestly, Soap was impressed at how quickly you undressed in such a small space. First your shoes and socks, followed by your trousers and pants. And before he knew it, you were naked.
You tugged at his shirt, pouting a little at the disparity.
“Off.” Was all you could really choke out, arousal hijacking your senses.
“In a minute, let me look at you.” He kissed you one last time before he leaned you back in his arms.
He looked at you with a fever that could only be attributed to pure lust. It was animalistic, the way his eyes glossed over, like he was no longer in control.
Without warning, he swung you down onto the seat; not fast enough to hurt you, but enough to shock you. Before you could process what was going on he had already unbuckled his belt.
“Woah,” you murmured, apprehensive suddenly. Your hands moved to stop him.
“Please.” He sounded so pathetic as he begged to be in you. “I can't wait any longer, please.”
“You are not just gonna spit on it and call it a day.”
“You gonna make me work for it, eh?”
“I always do, Johnny.”
With that, you moved your hands to where his unbuckled belt was, then to his zip, then to the top button. He helped you as you lowered his trousers to reveal his boxers, imprinted with the throbbing outline of his manhood.
Your hands moved slowly, methodically. Slow enough to tease, but also enough for him to say no if he needed to. Instead, pulled by a carnal desire, he took your hand in his and pressed it directly onto his shaft.
“For you, baby. All for you.” He said, looking down at you.
Your cheeks burned fiercely, astonished at the size of him. You chuckled nervously, but covered it with a bite on the lip. You were so drunk in so many ways, you had no idea how you’d ended up in this situation - your hand caressing his cock.
He curled his hips into your hand as you palmed him through his boxers, a small patch of wetness already appearing at his tip.
“I want you to fuck my face.” You spoke without thought. The vulgar words had left your mouth so matter-of-factly that it had taken Soap aback. Still he agreed, nodding his head as a smirk grew across his face, already moving to make room for you.
It was awkward, in the backseat. Even though the vehicle was made to be spacious, when limbs are climbing over one another, no amount of space is ever enough. Then, Soap caught you, his hand gripping your side as you began to slip off the seat and onto the floor.
You questioned him with your face. You needed to be on the floor if you were gonna get a good angle, but then you saw him eyeing the boot of the jeep. It was usually reserved for duffles and guns (big guns), so there was plenty of space for the two of you. And the bonus? The seats you were sitting on now laid down.
You both moved at mock speed, resting the seats down, and you moving your stuff onto the front ones. Now there was enough room for the two of you to lay down comfortably. And for you to get on your knees and do as you please.
Soap had left one of the seats for him to sit on, his trousers around his ankles. His pants were still on. He wanted you to take them off.
So you did. Your fingers slipped into the waistband of his pants, the same way he did with your bra, and you began to drag them off.
As you pulled them down, you watched his member spring forward, and allowed yourself to bask in its size. Soap was girthy, thicker around the middle then the tip or base, and he was the perfect size. He sported a little bush, but he was well groomed; not long enough to be a jungle, not short enough to itch.
“Fuck,” you mumbled.
“You impressed?” He asked.
“Maybe,” you drawled. Keeping your eyes locked into his, you took him into your hands and guided him into your mouth.
His head lulled back into the car's window, as the first increments of pleasure began to wash over him.
Instinctually, his hand came up to your face, taking your cheeks into his palms. He watched as you slid your tongue down the vein of his shaft, lapping up his scent and sweat. Carefully, you took more and more of him into your mouth, as far as your throat would let you.
The more your head bobbed up and down, the louder he became. You were honestly surprised at the noises he was making, he was almost whining. He quickly caught himself bringing his shirt up to bite in his mouth.
The sight was magnificent. His body, clammy with sweat and lit by the dingy little light in the front of the car, cast defining shadows over his muscles. And there, under the shirt, poking out, were his dogtags.
He spoke into his shirt, but it was muffled. You went to ask what he’d said, but he shoved himself further into your mouth. It hurt a bit, but you welcomed the vigor.
Using his left hand, he scrunches up your hair, combing it out of your face. Then he uses the fist full of hair to push you up and down his length. His other hand lay limp at his side, occasionally coming up to wipe sweat off his brow, or to cover his eyes in ecstasy.
You took a mental snapshot of him there on your knees, looking up at the man you were pleasing. It sent a pang of electricity straight through you; you needed to touch yourself.
You left one hand on his manhood, helping you literally twist the pleasure out of him, the other moved to work on yourself.
The sensation immediately sent a shiver up your spine. You’d never felt yourself so swollen before, every inch of you throbbing with satisfaction. A hum bubbled in your throat, vibrating around Johnny. He took notice of your moans and looked at you.
“Are you- fuck… are you touching yourself?” He stuttered, his shirt still clutched between his teeth.
You didn't reply, only nodded as you pushed him deeper into your throat, and your fingers further into yourself.
You closed your eyes as the gratification began to take hold. You rocked your hips into your own hand and bobbed your head onto his cock, saliva pouring out of the corners of your mouth. Still, your throat had its limits, and you could barely make it past the halfway mark of his shaft.
You wanted to please him, to take all of him into you, no matter what. You pushed further down, clutching his thigh as you kept your eyes locked with him. At first you gagged a little, then released the pressure and sucked in a breath.
“What’re you doing, lass?” He released the shirt from between his teeth, his face taken with concern.
“I want you,” you said simply, taking him in again.
“I know…” he moans. “But you’re gonna make yourself choke.”
He sounded worried, as though he were hurting you. Truth be told, the only thing you could feel was the pleasure it caused. Perhaps it was your completionist archetype, or maybe it was the primal urge to please Johnny, but there was no way you were stopping without taking all of him in your mouth. You wanted your lips to kiss his stomach.
Taking another breath, you explained to him: “I wanna deepthroat you.”
Stunned, but completely turned on, he nods. “Alright… can you?”
Insulted by his words, taking them as a challenge, you shoved him in as far as he would go, your throat still tense. Sucking in as much air as you could through your nose, you inched painfully slow down his length. You gagged a few times, but you didn't let that stop you from trying again and again.
Eventually, Soap stopped you.
“Babe,” he called. “Yer gonna hurt yourself.”
“No, Johnny, I want to. I have to.”
Tears pricked at your eyes, a desperation curling itself into the pit of your heart. By wit or by will, you would deepthroat John MacTavish by the end of the night.
“Then let me help you,” he said.
Slowly, he let go of your hair, combing it back again so he could get a better grip on your head.
“Relax for me,” he spoke, his voice soft but rough around the edges. “Use your hands to help.”
Following his instruction, you put both hands around his shaft, and let your mouth reconnect with his tip. You lap up the leftover mix of pre-cum and saliva there, earning a sensitive groan from your man.
“Go slowly,” he commands, and you follow.
It doesn't take long for you to reach where your hands are.
“Good, now take one hand off.”
You do.
Now, with more space, you feel the pressure of his hand pushing your head further down. He can feel the resistance on his tip, he can also feel the way you close around him.
“Now, breathe.”
You take in air through your nose again, watching Johnny as he leans forward a little, making the angle easier for you.
You feel his hips begin to buckle, the sensation of the back of your throat against his sensitive tip threatening to throw him over the edge. He takes a deep breath himself.
“You’re doing so good,” he says, as his hand begins to apply pressure again.
He feels you begin to gag, and releases the force.
“Shhh, you're okay, take a second.”
Tears begin to fall, and he quickly wipes them away.
“Tell me if you want to stop, my love,” he says, his voice now completely smooth, dripping from his mouth like honey.
Vehemently you shake your head, and he reapplies the pressure, his mouth contorted into a permanent smirk.
Slowly, your throat's boundary is crossed. It hurts for a second as you adjust to the size, but your gag reflex no longer responds. Soap nods his head as he feels himself curve into your throat.
Soon your mouth connects with your second hand. Looking into his eyes, he moves his free hand to take yours off him, and holds it, lacing his fingers with yours. You can feel his callouses against your own. His hand in your hair readjusts, gripping your hair tighter.
You nod as much as you could, excited at the new territory you were entering, or at least, he was. Then, miraculously, using his hips to push the last few inches, you feel your top lip push flush against his stomach.
Your eyes widen with achievement. You wiggle your hand in his a little as you move your head to free yourself from his member.
“I did it,” you say, saliva coating your lips.
He wipes the remaining tears away from your eyes, a fascinated smile tugging at his lips.
“You did, baby,” he lets you go and cups your cheeks again, raising you up to plant a sloppy kiss on your lips. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Shut up,” you reply, slightly embarrassed.
“It’s true.”
“Oh yeah? Why don't you show me how proud you are?” You bait him.
Like you’d set a fire beneath him, he shoves you back down with a venom you’d only ever seen with him on the battlefield.
In seconds, his cock was inside your mouth again, his hips ploughing into you without hesitating. His hands were lost in your hair, and yours were pressed onto his thighs.
He could hear the way your throat would open to make room for him, the soft squelch music to his ears, and right alongside the liquids, was his groans and yours melding together.
He chased his release, but let you breathe when you needed it. Sorry strings of sweet nothings poured out of his mouth as the blood rushed from his brain and into his groin. He could barely speak, he could hardly think; his mind, body, and soul sucked out of him by the warmth of your mouth.
His thrusts became sloppy, and his hands were practically seizing against your head as he felt his climax approaching. It had been so long since he’d had sex with anyone, hell, it had been so long since he’d felt this good, and it was all thanks to you.
In a split second he pulled away, the absence of contact leaving you whining and confused.
“If I finish now, I won't be able to please you,” he said.
His hands left your hair and helped to wipe away the leftover mess of fluids splashed across your face. It was there, as he wiped the salt and tears off your cheeks that his hands lingered. He looked down at you on your knees before him, a cocksure grin plastered on his face. He bit his lip slightly, his eyes scanning over the sight of you completely given over to lust.
He leans down to plant a kiss on your forehead, brushing the stray hairs that stuck to your face away. Then, a slight pause. A brief moment of disbelief, still stuck in the heat of the moment, but suddenly struck by the absurdity of your actions.
“I- Where do you want me?” You choke out, your voice hoarse.
Everywhere, he thought, but his mouth betrayed him. His lips curled to make a noise, to instruct you to his desired position (of which he had a thousand in mind) but instead, utterly awestruck by you, he said something else entirely.
“You’re so beautiful.”
The silence that followed was palpable. It became clear in that moment, that neither of you knew exactly what this was.
Just sex was dangerous enough. If there was more, and it was clear there was, then the two of you would have to navigate so much more than the cramped boot of a military jeep.
The darkness of the night seemed to close in around you. The want, the longing, now recontextualised, meaning so much more than ‘I wanna fuck you.’
Friends with benefits weren't gonna cut it anymore. Perhaps your next move could be attributed to the inebriation, whether from the alcohol or Johnny himself, but you slammed your lips into his, a feverish need to crawl into his skin besetting you.
You could have bit into him, taken a chunk of his flesh off the bone, a completely unnatural need to consume him washing over you.
“I need you,” you said, your breath stolen by need.
He grunted in response, the fire in his loins returned.
He’d fantasised about taking you a million times. He knew it was wrong, to dream about his manhood enveloped in your warmth. You were his equal, a comrade, not his partner. Fraternisation was not to be scoffed at, and neither of you knew how Price would take this. God, how would Ghost take it? Soap didn't really care, this - you - were his truth. Plus, he’d always been a rebel.
Still locked into the kiss, he wrapped his arms around your back, pulling you up onto your feet as far as the roof of the car would let you. He followed you to your feet, his left hand sliding down your back, then your ass - that he gave a quick, sharp squeeze - then to your thigh. He cupped it, bringing your leg up to wrap around his hip.
“Jump,” he commanded.
You did, as well as you could in the small space, the lack of clothes around your body helped. He carried your body weight with ease, waddling as best he could over to the folded down back seats, and laid you down there. You could feel him poking at your entrance, still slick with your saliva.
Then, a thought: you didn't have any condoms.
“Johnny,” you kissed. “Do you have…?”
“What love?” His face was buried into your neck, leaving pecks and small bites along your shoulder. He balanced his weight on his elbows beside your face.
“You know… Does Johnny have a Johnny?” You asked, laughing a little.
He stopped kissing your neck, his head stayed there for a second as you heard him curse under his breath.
“Forgot about that,” he admitted.
You should have been disappointed. The sensible thing to do would be to not have sex. After all, celibacy is the most effective contraceptive. But you knew yourself better than that; no way was this gonna stop you when you were so close to unrivaled pleasure at the hands of John MacTavish.
It was silly, the way your head swam with the consequences of your actions, knowing it could spell disaster. Still, in all honesty, it turned you on. The danger of it. It was different from the normal danger you usually faced, new and exciting. You knew it was wrong, but your mind clouded in a fog of lust, you didn't care. Not one bit.
“I don’t mind,” you said, voice barely a whisper.
His head shot up to look you in the eyes, a slight shake in his movements.
“No… we can’t, it’s too-”
“I don’t care,” you interrupted. “I need you, Johnny. Please.”
He thought for a moment, the heat from his body seeping through his shirt as he imagined himself deep inside you, no barriers in the way of his pleasure.
“We shouldn’t,” he said matter-of-factly.
“We already are.”
It was all he needed to hear.
Soap is a part of damage control; he’s a demolition expert. He was good at controlling the damage caused by explosives. Yet, here, as his heart burst into flames, he let it consume him, taking control of the reins; a complete disregard for the outcome.
He bit at your lip, dragging it down as he repositioned between your legs. He’d imagined the first time he’d take you to be different, to be more romantic, in a different position. He’d always liked the idea of you sitting on his lap, pressed flush against his chest as he hammered into you. Missionary seemed so… basic. Boring even.
How wrong he was. With your legs wrapped around his waist, he stared at your tits beneath him, your nipples hard and sensitive. He took a moment to position his tip at your entrance, feeling your wetness meld with his own. His watched hand came up to hold your breast, his fingers pinching your nipple as he began to slide in.
He wasn't slow about it, but he also didn't plough into you. He groaned freely as your canal made room for him, your arousal lubricating the contact.
The sensation was paralysing. The pleasure completely rewired your mind, electricity hurtling through you at a million miles an hour. Your hands practically seized up as your head went blank. You couldn't even moan, the gratification sending you into a catatonic state. He hadn’t even begun to move yet.
“You alright lass?” You didn't register his words, they bounced around the empty crevice of your cranium, all logical thought now absent.
You nodded your head, at least you tried, but you mostly just moved it in a circle. Your eyes glossed over and your back arched. Soap took the opportunity to slip his arm beneath you.
Cautiously, he let his hips begin to move.
He knew moving too fast would have him over the edge before he could even begin to pleasure you, the arousal from his shaft encased in your throat still lingering.
The two of you were quiet at first, allowing the sounds of flesh slapping together, liquids bubbling between your thighs, and the noises of the jeep creaking with the movement to surround you.
Soap’s shirt clung to your chest, you moved your hands to snake under it, your nails clawing at the skin beneath. You hooked your arms around his back, nails digging into his shoulderblades, your cheek pressed into his shoulder.
He quickened his movements as he felt your hands drag down his back. Still, he was unhappy with the angle, so he shifted. He pulled away from you, inviting in the cold air that skilled the space between you.
He repeated his earlier shirt bite, stuffing his mouth full of the fabric. Somehow, this only made him louder. Now, looking down at you, he watched as your tits bounced with the force of his thrusts.
Sweat beaded around his temple and on his chest. You raised your hands up to rest on his stomach, nails digging into his abs. Eventually they came to rest on his waist.
He loved the buzz your hands gave him as they explored his body, and the way your nails delved into his skin, desperate to latch onto him.
Above you, Johnny looked incredible. Now facing the light in the front of the car, you could see him properly. The way he was soaked through with sweat and pleasure, every contortion of his muscles (in his face and in his body), the way his hips bucked into you, his hands gripping desperately at your lovehandles. Best of all, his shirt in his mouth, pulled tight around his biceps, threatening to rip the fabric. The mere sight of him brought forth an impending height of pleasure surging through you.
He drove into you again and again, his muffled grunts vibrating in his chest. He began to get sloppy, his hips descending into a flurry of short bursts. He could feel how tight you closed in around his tip, an otherworldly level of bliss abducting his senses.
You were all he could feel. Your heat, your sweat, your sex, your love, your lust.
Your name slipped from his lips, muffled by the shirt. This pissed you off slightly, you needed to hear him moan it clearly.
“Off,” you groaned. “Take it off.”
He obliged, not stopping the onslaught of thrusts into you. His mohawk grazed the roof of the jeep as he practically ripped the fabric off his body.
He bent down to kiss you as he initiated a position switch. The sudden movement shocked you, but before you could even register what was happening, you were on top of him.
“Ride me,” he said. His voice was a whimper, a plea. You couldn't tell if he was asking or if he was commanding.
Either way you didn't care. At this angle, he was so deep inside you you could feel him inside your stomach. Still, it wasn't deep enough. You pushed your hips into his, feeling the pressure of him press into your cervix, it was incredible. You began to rock instead of bounce, his tip tickling the deepest part of you.
Your whole body heated up, taken over by an ecstasy you hadn’t felt in a long time. You could feel the encroaching peak of your pleasure the more you rubbed yourself into him.
Soap watched as you chased your high. In truth, he couldn't feel a lot when you did this, other than you getting tighter. He didn't care, the sight of you using him to get yours was hot enough.
“You feel good?” he asked.
“Yes… so good,” you slurred out, your hips shaking into his.
Thinking you didn't want to finish too fast, you lifted yourself up slightly, using whatever strength you had in your thighs and core to lower yourself up and down his length as controlled as you could.
Looking at him through hooded eyes, you decided you didn’t want to wait. The impatience caused by the thought of reaching your climax on his cock taking hold.
You wanted it, and you wanted it now.
Slamming yourself down onto him again, you began to rock back and forth with violence. His tip twitching against a part of you that you didn't even know you had. You could feel your heart implode as the pit began to rise in your stomach.
You fucked him like you wanted to cum.
His hands gripped at the flesh around your hips, shocked at the vigor you displayed. He watched you chase your orgasm, your hips trembling against him, your mouth hanging open and your head thrown back.
You slowed your movements as the sensation of your climax washed over you. Your whole body twitching with pleasure. You rode out your high, your hands resting on top of his.
“You cum?” He asked, almost surprised.
You shot him a look, what do you think?
He laughed a little at this, so did you, your hips still oscillating, pangs of pleasure still shooting through you.
Once you’d finished, you lent down to kiss him. Your body pressed flush against him, your hands resting on his chest. Looking into his eyes, you felt something new, something strange. Something a little like love.
Heat rose in your cheeks. Coming down from your high, you sobered up, acutely aware of what just occurred, and how amazing you had felt. A clarity washed over you: you didn't want this to end.
His heat pressed against you, his sweat melting into yours.
In a moment of vulnerability, you started to cry.
“Woah, lass, what’s happening?” He asked, taking your face into his hands.
Never did you think that you’d find love. It wasn’t in the cards for you, for any of you, not in this line of work. Especially not with each other. 141 was a family. Nothing more.
Johnny was more.
Johnny was so much more.
You sat on top of him, letting the love you felt for him flood into you.
“Thank you,” you breathed into his hand, planting a kiss on his palm.
“You’re welcome,” he whispered.
“Please fuck me.”
He shook his head in disbelief, mouthing a ‘what?’ as you let out a little laugh.
“I want you to use me to feel good,” you sniffled.
“Yeah, okay…” he agreed, his hips starting to move again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Better than okay, Johnny.” You plant a kiss on his nose.
He smiles as you connect your foreheads together, soaking up each other's essence.
His thrusts were slow at first, mindful of your recent surge of pleasure, but soon enough they became uncontrolled. His arms pinning you down into him, his legs propped up to get a better angle into you.
He lost himself in the crook of your neck, his moans escaping freely now. He nibbled at your earlobe, his face twisted in ecstasy.
His thrusts were fast and violent, a primal, animalistic urge taking over. He’d never felt so good in his life, didn’t even know such pleasure existed. He wanted to drink you up, to seep inside of you, to live between your bones. His mind was so laser focused on reaching his climax that he’d all but forgotten the world outside.
The fogged up windows, the overhead light, the jeeps seats, his trousers still around his ankles, they’d all slipped his mind. You, your warmth and heat, were the only thing he was capable of acknowledging.
Your name fell from his mouth, clearer this time, repeated like a mantra. He‘d whined it at first, a pathetic, needy sound, as though he were begging, but as his thrusts increased with intent, it started to sound more like a growl.
He wasn't going as fast now, instead he focused on how deep he could hit. There was absolutely nothing stopping him from using your body to reach his goal. He was in heat, he could have ripped you apart in that moment. His hands gripped you so tightly it hurt, but you didn’t mind, if anything you liked it.
Sloppy, uncontrolled thrusts signalled the approach of his high. Growls vibrated out of him as though a beast had taken over his being.
Without warning, he twists, his arms cushioning you as he flips the two of you over, you back pressed into the wall of the jeep. You hiss at the sudden contact, the cold metal of the wall causing you to arch your back.
The complete loss of control was evident, moans and growls dripping from his mouth like treacle as he pounds himself deeper into you again and again. He’s aggressive with his movements, his hands gripping at your thighs as though the flesh were tender enough to fall off the bone.
After a few more deep, hard thrusts his climax begins to wash over him. In a sudden bout of panic, he unsheaths himself from you, spilling all over your stomach. Using his hand to milk the last increments out of himself, he lets out deep and satisfied breaths out of his nose.
For a short time he is stunned, unable to move, his body still shaking. Then, his hand still wrapped around his manhood, his breathing begins to steady.
You look down to the mess on your stomach, gobsmacked at the amount that covered you.
“You been pent up, babe?” you ask.
He laughs, “Yeah, a little.”
He plants a kiss on your mouth, full of gratefulness and joy. The kiss slowly progresses, deepening, yet it's not aggressive, instead it teeters on worship. The two of you stayed there like that, wishing that there was a way the night would never end; wishing there was a way for the two of you to merge together.
You hadn’t really thought about the clean up. Hell, you’d had a complete disregard for the consequences when you started this, so now it's over, the two of you are lost. Lost together.
You giggle into his mouth as you feel the warm liquid begin to pool in your belly button.
“Sorry ‘bout that, lass,” he says, looking down to the pool.
“It’s fine,” you reply. “I just don’t know how to clean it.”
He looks around for a minute, his head lifted for the first time since the two of you began. He remarks on how fogged up the windows are, and how he can't find your clothes.
You point them out to him, strewn haphazardly into the front seat. Pulling up his own pants and buckling his belt (which sends another pang through you at the sight), he reaches over to bring them over to you.
Now he’s partially dressed, he grabs his shirt and hands it to you.
“Use my shirt,” he says.
A strangle string of protests babble out of your mouth, “I can’t use your shirt. Are you joking?”
“Just use it, I’ll be fine.” He explains, swinging into the front seat, getting ready to drive back.
“You’re just gonna leave?” You ask, his shirt scrunched up in your hand.
“Yer coming with me, don’t worry.”
“I know that, I just mean…”
You were hesitant to ask to cuddle. Which was odd, considering all that you’d just done with him, but it seemed so intimate, too intimate, like it would cross a line that the two of you couldn't un-cross.
“You don’t wanna go back yet?” he asked looking back at you, one hand on the wheel.
“No, I don’t want this to end,” you admitted, looking away from him.
He let out a sigh from his nose. Not a dismissing sigh, nor one of shock, but one of content, that said he was relieved you’d admitted your feelings.
+ Captain Price, Gaz, Soap, Ghost
Warnings; none
Contains; gn!reader, fluff, benign intimacy, random hcs, romance, actual romantic romance, its the little things, tired of 'intimacy' only meaning sex.
Captain Price
Eye contact.
When you can’t fully express something, either because it’s too hard for you to articulate or because you're too emotional, he’ll say “I know” to calm you down, because he does know. He knows you so well.
Arguing/disagreeing with each other. He likes you because you have the balls to speak up when you don't agree with something, even him. It's never balls-to-the-wall shouting or screaming at each other, it's sharp and quick and spoken through gritted teeth. It comes from a place of love and patience when you're both able to admit your faults to one another. Still, he has never once insulted you, or told you to fuck off.
Him calling you by your first name instead of your last name or “sergeant.”
Him laying a hand on your shoulder outside of a mission or briefing.
Emotional intimacy. Being able to lay it out on the table and be heard and understood.
Walks faster than you but matches your pace when you walk together.
Helps lead you through crowds, encouraging you to put your hand on his shoulder or to take hold of his hand.
If you do put your hand on his shoulder, he’ll bring his shoulder up and his face down to rest his cheek on your knuckles. If he doesn't do that, he’ll give your hand a quick peck, or rest his own on top.
Adds “okay?” at the end of his sentences to reassure the both of you. “I’ll see you later, okay?” “I’ll be back in a bit, okay?” “Message me when you're back, okay?”
Soap
Making eye contact while laughing.
The subtle change from, “you alright, lass?” to “you alright, love?”
Playing with his hair/scratching his back
Asks you questions because he wants to know you.
Steals glances at you across the room.
If you’re split on a mission, as in placed into separate groups, he’ll turn to look at you one last time before you go out of his line of sight.
Seeing him write in his journal for the first time. To further this, seeing your name written in his handwriting for the first time (he writes in all uppercase), AND seeing the portrait of you he sketched out.
Almost exclusively smiles when he talks to you, even over the radio. You can literally hear it in his voice.
Stands close enough to where your shoulders touch, sits close enough to where your knees touch, and never moves away.
Shares his food with you.
When he passes you something, and your hands touch. You can feel the warmth even through your gloves.
Loves when you hook your arm with his instead of holding hands.
Back and forth banter, on and off the field. Yes, it's flirty, and yes, he loves it.
Gaz
Over the years, you’ve learnt his ‘maybe’ is closer to yes than it is no.
When you both stay up late, probably on an off day, and you get the giggles, laughing at anything.
Helping you gear up.
When he lights your cigarette for you.
When he comes to you to vent. Specifically seeks you out because he knows you care about what he has to say.
Brings you coffee/water and food before you even ask for it. He just knows you need it.
Always asks how you're doing.
Keeps the group photo with him at all times, specifically to have your photo with him.
Wipes debris off your clothes and fixes your hair after a fight.
“I thought you’d like this” as he hands you something you’ve been after for ages.
Gets along with your family.
Thinks about you a lot, and subsequently talks about you a lot. People notice.
When he helps you put on a necklace.
When you hold hands, he’ll rub the back of yours with his thumb. Sometimes he’ll give it a quick peck when he thinks no one's looking.
If he’s explaining something to you, he’ll never make you feel dumb for not knowing.
Ghost
Stands closer than usual.
Always notices your absence because you're the first person he looks for in a room, even if he knows you're not there.
Hearing his heartbeat when (if) you hug.
Sitting in a comfortable silence, no need for small talk. Just happy enough to exist in each other's presence. This also includes his ‘alone time,’ where he needs to decompress after a mission. You don't drain his social battery so he doesn't mind you being there.
Taking care of one another when sick. Including but not limited to: cleaning your face, feeding you, bathing you, making sure you're comfortable, helping you change your clothes, helping you brush your teeth, and sip water. And yeah, he’ll still kiss you if you’re sick, but he’s more likely to go for the forehead than the lips.
Sleeping solo together, as in not in the same bed, but being able to sleep when just it's the two of you. Building up the trust to be so vulnerable, literally unconscious, next to each other. Sometimes, he’ll even stay up a bit to watch over you while you drift off. This also extends to falling asleep on his shoulder, especially on the flight home after an assignment. He really doesn't mind it, BUT he’d have to know you for like 10+ years and like you enough.
Physically relaxes when he's around you. He is always tense, on guard even (can you blame him), but with you he relaxes. It's a subconscious thing. He literally doesn’t like trusting people “people you know can hurt you the most,” you defy that.
Late night talks in the dark. Just sitting with each other and decompressing.
Remembers and reminds you to do the things you’ve been meaning to do.
“I’ve never told anyone this before.”
Knowing looks. Not speaking, just looking to one another for confirmation that you both agree/are thinking the same thing.
and if I said I wanted to write something for Ryland Grace, what then?
Contains; ghost/reader, gn!reader, cooking for Simon, Simon is a simple man, no cringe, process of cooking eggs is debated, fluff, satire, short.
Warnings; none
Word Count; 301
“What the fuck?”
You stop dead. ‘What the fuck?’ indeed.
“What…?”
“What you doin'?”
“Making you scrambled eggs… like you asked…” You say, the confusion knitting your brows, the fork falling limp in the jug you were whisking the eggs in.
“What you putin’ in it?”
“Eggs…”
“No fucking shit. The other stuff. That powder."
How on earth you make eggs for your lieutenant became an interrogation, you don't know. But it was making you begin to question the intelligence of your superior.
“The salt?”
“Are you having a laugh? The red stuff.” He was getting increasingly exasperated; you could tell he was grimacing, even with the mask on.
“Paprika?”
“What you puttin’ paprika in there for?”
You fought to keep back the sarcasm. He was your superior, even on your off days.
“For flavour, sir. If you can believe it.” The last part you said quieter, unsure. You were afraid of his reaction.
Despite offering to cook for him, which was nerve racking enough, he decided he was going to sit and watch you do it. And, apparently, question every tiny thing that you did.
“Careful, sergeant,” he warned as the kitchen stool creaked under his weight.
You sucked in a breath, resting your hands on the counter top. “Look,” you started, “if you don't want me to add any, just say so.”
“You know what you're doing.”
“Yeah, but I don't know your taste buds, do I?”
“I’m a simple man,” he replied.
You sighed, “no paprika then.”
You moved off to the side, placing the paprika into the neatly organised spice rack. From there, it was just a step to the right and you were at the fridge. You opened it and pulled out the milk.
Hello:) can you do a headcanon about the Mk1 boys when they found out that their s/o is hurting like mentally or physically because of someone.what will they do?
𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐜𝐬 - 𝐦𝐤 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬
+ Liu Kang, Kung Lao, Raiden, Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, Tomas Vrbada, Johnny Cage, Kenshi Takahashi
Contains; fluff, angst (if you squint), comfort, care, gn!reader, no use of y/n
Warnings; none
Liu Kang;
Part of the reason he knows you're hurting is because you go uncharacteristically quiet, focusing your time solely on training to the point of isolation.
Along with the seclusion comes unfamiliar outbursts of rage when a punch doesn't land or when you just cannot reach a good headspace for meditation.
This frustration tells Liu Kang all he needs to know. He’ll approach you while you're alone and ask you what's wrong. If you tell him not to worry, as you usually do, he won't really listen but will give you space nonetheless, just until you're ready to talk. Patience is this man's strongest virtue.
When you do finally open up, explaining that another's words have affected you so deeply, he will comfort you first. He will help you to clear your mind, as this is the key to releasing the stress this person has caused you. If they are a member of the monastery, he will pursue disciplinary measures, clarifying that this is not just because he wants to protect you, but because these monks'/nuns' actions reflect poorly on everyone. If they are not of the monastery, he will try his best to help you move past them, and perhaps more importantly, he will help you hone this rage, as it could be important in the future.
Kung Lao;
He carries an immediate resentment for this person; however, he will remain as professional as he can. For example, if the person who hurt you was a monk/nun, he will push for them to be disciplined at the highest level (if he doesn't do it himself.)
If they are from outside the monastery, he will not be so lenient. He’s known to run off at the mouth when provoked; only now provocation is not needed for him to say something. He will say as much as he can before progressing to an actual fight, settling the quarrel mano a mano, despite your protests.
And though your honour is part of the reason he would escalate the ordeal, he also finds pleasure in putting people in their place. For him, this is two birds, one stone.
After all is said and done, and he has won (obviously), he’ll return to your side, and no matter how battered or bruised he is, your comfort is his top priority. Even if his bones are broken or his pride is wounded, he will do all he can to calm your mind.
Raiden;
After his training with Kuai Liang, he’s better at holding in his anger. He doesn't let it fester; instead, it simmers. He extends these teachings to you, as he believes it can help you move through your emotions.
He also believes that this skill can translate to honing sadness into something greater. He tries his best to help you translate these emotions into an outlet for your power, so you might improve your skills, instead of letting it eat away at you.
Still, he can see how hard you've taken this person’s careless words, and despite him trying to help you through it, he can also see that what you truly need is comfort.
This he provides as best he can, seeing that your needs are met with zeal and that you aren’t alone for too long so you don't begin spiralling, but he also gives you space if that is what you desire.
Bi-Han;
Truly, depending on the severity of the effect this person has on you, he might go as far as to execute them or, at the very least, banish them from the Lin Kuei as a show of force.
However, he also worries. Less for you but for how quick you were to show weakness. He cares for you; this is true enough, but if words are all it takes for you to crumble, then the weight of the Lin Kuei’s ambitions might not be best suited for your shoulders.
He sees that you are trained in compartmentalisation and stress resistance. Though he is big on power and domination, he also values the strength of the brain and its resilience to tampering, should the worst ever come.
After he is done with his duties, and his professionalism has been put to bed, he is capable of comfort. This he does in his own way, quietly and more subdued than anything, but still he will help you unwind and calm the voices in your head.
Kuai Liang;
Banishes them. No questions asked. Such behaviours are not befitting of Shirai Ryu initiates.
While a part of him wants to see reason and help them improve as people, what they had done was malicious, calculated even. This is not the way.
Besides that, he is angered that those under his jurisdiction were able to harm you so deeply. He feels guilty in a way. He believes he should have foreseen this outcome and that they should have never been allowed to get so close to you. Even so, despite this anger and guilt, he never pushes it onto you and instead opts to reassure and comfort you in any way he can.
If you need time off or space, then that is what he will give you. If you prefer to stay busy, then he will help you with training, no matter if it's physical or mental.
Smoke;
Above all, he is unbelievably concerned for your well-being. Seeing you like this, unable to focus on anything, withdrawing from social situations, barely eating or sleeping, and being almost dismissive with your own feelings, breaks his heart.
While it's true he wasn't sure exactly what was going on with you, he knew sure enough that you were hurting.
When you reveal the cause of your grief, his disapproval of this person is immediately apparent. If they are a part of the Shirai Ryu, despite his better judgement, he will act impulsively and immediately seek this person out and bring them before Kuai Liang so they may be adequately punished.
Even after the perpetrator is banished, his anger will simmer beneath the surface, but instead of letting it control him, he is able to see that such anger was born out of care for you. This care is what he prioritises. He makes sure you're able to move past this traumatising event, helping you stay busy so you don't fester in your own pity. He will also take it upon himself to go above and beyond for you; mundane things, like dishes and laundry, are seen to before you even know they need doing.
Johnny Cage;
When he finds out, he’s more shocked than anything. How could someone as mediocre as them affect someone as perfect as you so deeply? It perplexes him.
This translates, sadly, to an almost shallow response from him, bordering on dismissive. He means well, but he struggles a bit with empathy and thinks this person shouldn't have been able to affect you in the first place, so why even entertain the thought?
Even so, eventually, probably after being kicked into gear by someone (Kenshi), he notices that you’d actually taken it a lot harder than he initially thought. He’ll backtrack on his original statement, despite still believing in it, and opt for a more sympathetic approach.
This he’ll mainly do with physical touch, since his words often betray what he truly means. He’ll hold you close as he tries to explain, better this time, that you’re too incredible to be letting someone like them get to you, and that you're so perfect to him. His anger will come out as he speaks, calling the other person names as he wipes away your tears and reassures you that there really is no one as amazing as you, not even him.
Kenshi Takahashi
Over the years, he’s got a lot better with his anger. His time with the Yakuza made him more calculated and methodical, and, as you explain to him what this person had done, part of that past life will creep back into his mind.
He’ll think of all the ways the Yakuza would have punished someone like them, and, selfishly, despite actively pioneering the Yakuza’s downfall, he’ll wish he could use such methods on this person.
Instead, knowing that such extremes are not at his disposal, he’ll focus on guiding you through the trauma of the situation. If you require therapy outside of what he can offer, then he will pay for the sessions. And, if the situation is so dire, then he will even take time away from the OIA to support you.
That being said, there really is so much he can do before he’ll start to become frustrated with your stupor. If this happens, instead of causing a scene, he’ll suggest that you retreat to the sanctuary of the Shaolin monks and take a respite there. He knows firsthand just how much peace can come from getting away from it all.
I love your writing, and I love your writing for MK1, so I would like so make a request.
What about lin kuei trio + Earthrealmers with a S/O who loves to be a "Girly", like wearing dresses and make up and stuff, but she gets dress up and do her make up when she is alone and she hides when she does it because reader doesn't want them to judge her because of the way she looks, doesn't want them to think she is plastic or weak.
I know it's pretty specific, but id really want to know how you picture it, thank you so much!
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐜𝐬 - 𝐦𝐤 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬
+ Liu Kang, Kung Lao, Raiden, Johnny Cage, Kenshi Takahashi, Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, Tomas Vrbada,
contains; fem!reader, fluff
warnings; none.
Liu Kang;
Adores you, with or without the make-up and accessories.
He is heartbroken when you hide yourself away because of embarrassment.
He’ll do his best to reassure you that you’re not being judged, and that confidence is the key.
He encourages you the best he can, going so far as to let you practice makeup and hair styling on him; anything to make you feel better and see just how beautiful you really are.
Kung Lao;
He loves himself a fem partner.
Even if he can see that you're visibly flustered, he's still going to flirt with you. I would argue even more so than usual.
When you first revealed your embarrassment, that sometimes you get really self-conscious in certain outfits despite loving the way you dress, he’s unbelievably confused. Literally says, “Have you seen yourself?”
He’ll give you the age-old ‘if anyone's looking at you, it's because they’re jealous of how good you look.’ It helps a little, but I fear he doesn't have the empathetic capacity to really understand just how hard that shame can feel.
Raiden;
He is understanding, but worries a lot about your mental state when you mention that you don’t want to be perceived.
He encourages you to be confident and to continue wearing what you like, because your comfort is always his top priority.
Still, he suggests that you try exposure therapy, or therapy in general. He’ll accompany you to busy areas, like the city, when you're wearing something flashy and glam, to help you get used to people looking at you.
Sometimes, when he's trying to help, he’ll get his words all mixed up. This is entirely because you make him flustered. Seeing you in heels and dresses can short-circuit his head; he thinks you're so beautiful, and he can sometimes come across as dismissive.
Johnny Cage;
He absolutely loves it when you dress up. He encourages it nonstop, even pushing you to go further and be even bolder with your fashion.
He cannot comprehend when you explain that you sometimes get embarrassed by the things you wear.
“Are you kidding? Have you seen yourself? You could make casual clothes look glam.”
He worries about you sometimes. He’ll give you designer things, stuff that's been on your wishlist for so long, and when he sees you umming and ahing in the mirror, his heart breaks a little. He doesn't know how to make you see just how incredible you are.
Kenshi Takahashi;
He’s patient with you, but there are times when he can get frustrated, especially if you’re on your fifth outfit change of the night, your bedroom is a mess, and you're late.
I must stress that his frustration isn't born of dislike for you; in fact, it's the polar opposite. He loves you so so much. Even with Sento’s limited visibility, he still thinks you look incredible.
He wants nothing but the best for you and wants to return the patience you gave him with his disability. He does his best to help you with acceptance, the same way he had to, to work through your anxiety.
He reassures you as best he can, mostly through physical touch, but also by telling you it’s ‘impossible for you to look ridiculous.’
Bi-Han;
Surprisingly, he loves the fact that you put so much effort into the way you look. He believes this determination extends to other aspects of your life.
He finds your ambitious nature admirable and encourages it. If you look good, then the Lin Kuei looks good.
He doesn’t notice that you are working through confidence issues until you tell him outright. He’s shocked to say the least.
He thinks so highly of you, and you carry yourself so well, that the very notion of you being embarrassed seems ridiculous to him, and he tells you to swallow your pride for the greater good.
Kuai Liang;
In truth, there are times when he wishes your anxiety wasn’t as intrusive; when your self-esteem plummets, it gets reflected in your training.
He tries to talk you out of your stupor with reassurance, explaining that no one is judging you but yourself.
He’ll tell you, calmly, that there is a balance that you should be striving for, where your beauty and your skills marry together. When you feel your best, you perform your best; this middle is what you must find.
Still, he adores you. The way you hold dresses up to yourself in the mirror, asking his opinion on shoe choices, seeing how happy you get when you finally get your eyeliner even, but most of all, when you're confident, you glow. This is the part he loves the most.
Smoke;
The most patient man on the planet. He’s also just kinda… oblivious? He loves you no matter how you look; even when you're covered in mud and blood, when you're sweaty and greasy, or if you're glammed up or freshly washed. Your state of being doesn't matter to him. He loves you for you.
It's not until you explicitly explain your apprehension about being perceived that he finally pieces everything together. He truly believed you just preferred your own company.
Finding out that you were literally hiding away from the shame and embarrassment, it genuinely threw him for a loop. You’re so perfect to him, why can’t you see that?
He does his best to reassure you whenever he gets the chance. Taking time out of his day to come and find you just to tell you that you are beautiful.
Contains; fluff, care, tension, proximity, almost kiss, rainy city vibes, cosy, mk1 Johnny, Johnny is thoughtful, gift giving, physical touch, no use of Y/N, gender neutral reader.
Warnings; none!
Word Count; 3k
At night, the New York skyline transformed to reflect the stars. The golden city lights became almost magical, promising wonders far beyond one's wildest imagination. And, while it's true that the city never slept, when it rained, the usual murmur of the city's voice became diluted. There was peace in this quiet, a moment of respite from the chaos.
The windows of the city’s towers wept with raindrops, each pane bearing watery streaks of tears. Yet, even with this depressing sight, the lights from the neighbouring buildings shimmered through the rain, as though a pocket of the universe had fallen down to earth. And, despite so much movement—the constant flow of cars and people below, the restless wind, the sheets of rain, and the clouds drifting above—time appeared to still.
There was peace in melancholy.
A priceless, fleeting moment of pure tranquillity.
You watched the rain fall against the hotel window, the soft drumming providing a backdrop as your thoughts escaped you.
The room you found yourself in was far more lavish than what you had asked for. But when such amenities are paid for in full by a friend, it's best not to complain. Still, even though it was three separate seating areas away from humble, the room was cosy. This you had stressed vehemently when Johnny had suggested the trip; as long as you had somewhere to retreat from the bedlam of the city, you’d be alright. And, of course, he had delivered.
The bed, though large enough to host a family of four with room to spare, seemed to have been moulded from the clouds themselves. You sank into the fresh duvet, which had been fluffed up by the hotel staff earlier that day, your body wrapped around one of the pillows, hugging it tightly.
You had positioned yourself horizontally across the bed to get a better view out the window. Deliberately, you had dimmed the lights, only keeping on the warm rim lighting that wrapped around the edge of the bed, so as not to spoil the view you now had of the cityscape.
However, the rain carried with it a chill, and the nightshirt you wore (a striped, faded blue with your initials embroidered onto the chest pocket in a darker, more slate blue that had been gifted to you by Johnny, whose generosity you had long since stopped questioning) no longer fought the air's cold sting.
You hugged the pillow closer, bringing your leg up to wrap around it. The logical idea of taking refuge beneath the sheets, or even slipping on the matching robe you had also been gifted, swam into your mind and promptly dived back out again. Despite the frigidity of the air, you were content in your disposition and had no intention of moving.
Yet, often, one's wishes are ignored by the ever-changing universe. And on the side table, just out of reach, your phone began to ring. You knew it was Johnny because of the ringtone, but you still made no effort to answer it.
Earlier, you had given him the key to your room because he had left his bags from the day with you. His excuse? He was too tired to carry them up to his room, and yours was closest to the in-house spa he was currently visiting. Why he hadn’t just had someone take them up to his room for him, as he’d done many times before, you couldn’t be sure, but you had your speculations.
Whatever the reason may be, you didn’t mind. After all, you’d get to see him again, and this excited you.
You’d given him permission to enter whenever he was ready to pick them up, as you couldn't guarantee you wouldn't be asleep. However, he had declined, stating that ‘a gentleman’ such as himself would ‘never intrude on a lady's privacy'. You’d merely raised an eyebrow at him before telling him that you’d see him later.
It wasn’t long before your phone rang again, the same ringtone cutting through the calm. Your eye twitched slightly, irked at the grating song playing over and over again.
Soon after, you heard the familiar click of the keycard unlocking your door, and the light from the hallway bled into the room. You could see Johnny’s reflection in the window. He was dressed in his usual attire, but now his shoulders appeared visibly more relaxed.
He sighed softly, taking in your figure on the bed. He quietly closed the door behind him and flicked on a small lamp at the entrance. He was unable to see that you were awake since you had your back turned to him, and you didn’t move to indicate otherwise.
He was quiet, but not entirely. He tread lightly, mindful of your slumber, though it was clear, given his not-so-subtle exhalations, that a part of him hoped you might stir.
He shuffled about, messing with the bags he’d left. He took some things out and laid them on the round table in the middle of the room. You’d craned your neck to watch him through the reflection in the window, but the low light made it hard to make out what they might be.
Once he was happy with the placement, he moved to leave, straightening out and huffing softly one last time. The bags he now carried appeared empty. He quietly approached the side of the bed nearest the door and set your keycard down. Then, he hesitated.
For a moment, his eyes lingered. It was barely a few seconds, just enough time to admire without crossing a line. You felt his gaze settle, then drift, then move away. You could have sworn he’d breathed out a soft 'goddamn', but the rustling of his bags swallowed it.
It was then you realised you were practically exposed, save for the small hem of your shirt covering you up. A part of you believed that you should have felt uncomfortable; you didn’t. If anything, you felt a flutter of warmth.
He’d barely moved a few paces before you called out to him, “Cage?”
He stopped, almost startled by your voice. “You’re awake?”
“Yeah.” Your voice was low, feigning tiredness.
He let out a groan that felt more performed than sincere, "I'm sorry for waking you.” He dropped the bags at the side of the bed as he moved back towards you.
“You didn't wake me," you stated.
“So, you were awake the whole time?”
“Yeah,” you chuckled.
“You didn’t answer my calls,” he said, half-annoyed, half-joking.
“Sorry,” you drawled. Your eyes were trained on his reflection in the window, still streaked with rain.
“You ignoring me?” he asked.
You answered without answering. “Join me?”
And it was the first time in about 30 minutes that you’d moved any part of your body. You let out a strong exhale from your nose, rolling over the pillow you’d been hugging to make some room for him on the bed. Your muscles ached for a moment but quickly settled into the shift. Your shirt had twisted slightly as you moved, but given how oversized it was, it wasn't enough to cause discomfort; however, a sleeve had slipped from your shoulder. You made no effort to fix it.
You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked back at him through the loose strands of your hair, using your head to point to the bed next to you. You had done so teasingly, confident in your boldness; a trait learnt from Johnny himself. What you hadn’t expected was the tightness in your chest that followed at the sight of him, lit so flatteringly by the dim light.
Perhaps it was the lamp he had turned on by the entrance, now catching him from behind, tracing the outline of his form through his shirt; or perhaps it was the bed’s rim lighting that touched his face just enough for you to make out the faint bite of his lip. Either way, you didn’t care; you just wished you could have taken a photo of him.
For a moment, he seemed torn. His usual amorous disposition bubbled to the surface as his mouth tilted, like he was trying to hide his excitement.
He didn’t move immediately. When he did, it felt as though he hadn’t made the conscious decision to but instead had been led by instinct.
The bed sank under his weight as he crawled beside you. A soft groan escaped him as he expressed his pleasure with the bed. “Oh, yeah. Incredible. You know, I haven’t been able to lay down all day?”
At this, you scoffed. "You've just come from the spa.”
“Yeah, but I wasn't lying down.”
“What else could you have possibly been doing?”
“I was in the pool… the guys insisted.” He said, perturbed.
“Oh, swimming around, I see.”
He laughed at that. “Always gotta make it weird, huh?”
You smiled back at him, pleased with the joke you’d made.
Now he was close enough to you, barely a forearm's length away; you could see the dampness of his hair.
He must have showered after the pool. The freshness clung to him, and woven between the hints of shampoo and conditioner, his aftershave settled into the space between you in a way that felt almost deliberate, as though the aroma itself reached out to you. It slipped into your senses and hijacked all logical thought until it was no longer your own.
There was a pull, something magnetic that immediately found its place between the two of you, and you followed without much resistance.
Moving the pillow from beneath your elbows, you placed it upon his chest and promptly lay your head there.
He didn't move you away. Instead, much to your satisfaction, he relaxed further into the bed. Bringing his right arm up, he rested it beneath his head; the other he let drape dangerously close to your hip.
This you noticed with an embarrassing amount of heat kindling in your cheeks. You’d hoped the poor illumination of the room would be enough to hide it; still, you folded your arm atop the pillow and hid your face within it.
"I've always hated New York,” he said abruptly.
Heat still burning through your face, you replied, "Then why suggest coming here?”
There was a moment's pause.
“You said it was on your bucket list.” His voice came out low, almost shy. His eyes averted your gaze, staying glued to the ceiling.
The rain continued to fall against the window as you found yourself at a loss for words.
“I… don’t remember telling you that. I don’t think I've told anyone that.”
“You didn’t,” he sighed. “Can I be truthful for a minute?”
You retracted your neck slightly, sceptical of what he might say, but still you agreed to hear him out.
“When you stayed at mine, back in October, when I had that Halloween party—"
“—Great party, by the way,” you interjected.
He smiled at the compliment. “It was! But while you were there, I… might have—maybe, accidentily—read your diary.”
Your face dropped. He immediately jumped to defend himself, lifting his head up a little to look at you.
“It was just open on your table! Plus, this was when I had to carry you to bed ‘cause you’d had too much.”
“And this gives you permission to read my journal?”
“No! What I'm saying is that it was open on the ‘bucket list’ page, and that was at the top. I promise you I didn't read anything else.”
You wanted, once again, to be embarrassed. To be upset that your privacy had been somewhat invaded, but a much louder voice drowned out all doubt.
He had done all of this for you.
You bit the inside of your lip as the thought settled between you, heavier than anything that had come before.
There was a brief silence. The rain pattered steadily through the quiet; it grounded you now as it had before Johnny joined you.
You shifted your weight to prop your head up with your hand, just enough to look at him properly. He was already looking at you.
His eyes were soft, almost pleading, like he was asking for something without saying it. Yet, there was also something apologetic to him; he knew not to expect forgiveness for invading your privacy, but he wanted it anyway.
He looked at you with a look that said he wanted you to decide what this moment was meant to be. Whether you would forgive him or whether you would turn him away, he wanted the decision to be yours alone.
Before you could stop yourself, your eyes flicked to his lips.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
And he mirrored you. His body shifted slightly, his eyes trained on your lips. His hand, the one that had been resting too close to your hip, began to move, painfully slow, almost hesitantly, then settled lightly against the curve of your body.
The movement wasn’t about invitation or even control; it was a question.
Is this okay?
Your body answered for you, leaning into his touch, leaning closer to him.
You didn't move fast, your mind racing with 'what-ifs'.
What if you’d read the situation wrong? What if this isn't what he wants?
You gave him time to stop if he wanted, and he returned the sentiment as he ached closer, coming up to meet you halfway.
He was close enough that you felt the warmth of his breath, fresh and minty, and the way his expression softened and the way that his restraint hadn’t quite left him despite your closeness.
For a moment, the two of you hovered there, sitting upright on the bed, resting your weight on each other. Even sitting, he was still taller than you, enveloping you in his size.
The hand he had on your side gave you a gentle squeeze as his right hand came up to your face, cupping you to look at him. You mirrored his movements as your hand found its way to the side of his face, slowly slinking into his hair.
And still, there was hesitation. As if what you were doing was wrong, like you were guilty of something more than just love.
Your lips ghosted over his, your breaths folding together.
Just as you moved to make full contact, your lips falling flush against his, a loud, jarring knock came from the door.
You came crashing back down to earth, unfathomably annoyed at the interruption. Yet, neither of you moved away immediately. Instead, your foreheads met in the space that remained. A gentle, acknowledging contact, almost instinctive.
He exhaled, a half-laugh, half-something else.
“Of course,” he murmured, the hands he had on your face and body holding you a little tighter.
You huffed lightly in response, a sharp exhale from the nose, but there was no real amusement in it.
Neither of you wanted to pull away, not quite ready to give up what you’d almost been and not okay with going back to nothing.
“Hey, are you in there? I'm looking for Johnny.” The voice from behind the door was familiar.
They knocked again, more demanding this time, and Johnny, reluctantly, moved to answer it.
He let out a disappointed sigh as he pulled back, his eyes darting from your eyes to your lips as his hands lingered a moment longer.
His absence was immediate.
You stayed where you were, basking in the sillage he left behind. The cool air from before began to nip at your exposed skin, causing you to pull up the sleeve that had fallen from your shoulder.
Johnny opened the door, and the light from the hallway entered the room once more. You couldn't see who stood on the other side; you didn't really care. The voices from the door failed to register in your mind as you played the scene on loop, but the low murmur irked you, indistinct but insistent.
“Alright,” Johnny muttered, troubled.
He closed the door and turned back to you, running a hand through his now dry hair, as though he needed to ground himself before speaking.
“They need me downstairs,” he said, apologetically.
“This late?”
“Apparently.”
You dropped your eyes, scanning around the room for anything else to focus on, when they came to the table—the one he had been fussing with earlier. The items had been laid out with far more care than you’d noticed before.
Johnny followed your gaze and gave you a sheepish smile.
“Those… are for you,” he added. “I saw them while I was shopping earlier. Figured I’d get a head start.”
You raised a brow slightly. “A head start?
“On the list.”
Your stomach fluttered at his words.
“Everything on there seemed important, even the fashion,” he continued.
You didn't know what to say. “Johnny–”
“I didn’t read anything else,” he added quickly, lifting his hands up in defence. “Just that page.”
“I believe you.”
“Great.”
And another pause settled between you. It shifted slightly; however, it wasn't like anything before. It was lighter, yet so full.
“Are you ever gonna tell me why you hate New York?”
He stopped by the door, his hand resting on the handle, his expression softening at your question.
He looked at you for a moment. “I don't know." Then, almost as an afterthought, "I think I'm starting to like it. I mean, just look at the view.”
The corner of his mouth shifted into one of his signature flirty grins, his eyes not leaving you as he pointed out the window.
And then he was gone.
As the door clicked shut, the light patter of rain suddenly became accompanied by another sound, the soft and unmistakable beating of your heart, hammering inside your chest.
You were alone with your own thoughts and the imprint of everything that almost happened.
In which reader has technology much like Sombra's, but can instead cause people to go passive. Similar to cupid.
warnings; none.
contains; gn!reader, fluff
The last shuttle had already cleared the pad when the world finally went quiet.
Gibraltar always felt different after a mission The command chatter faded, and the hangar lights dimmed. The sea below the cliff went from steel-blue to molten gold as the sun sank toward the horizon.
You slipped away before anyone could pull you into debrief.
There was a maintenance nook carved into the outer wall. A half balcony, half forgotten storage recess, just wide enough for two people to sit comfy. You liked it because the wind curled inward there instead of pushing you back, and because of the uninterrupted view of the sunset stretching across the water.
You weren’t alone for long.
“You keep disappearing after missions.”
Mizuki’s voice was calm, but threaded with amusement. You looked up to see him leaning against the doorway, his arms folded and hat missing; the dark roots of his hair gave the illusion that he was taller than he was. He had his jacket unzipped, its sharp edges softened by evening light.
“I prefer ‘strategic emotional extraction,’” you said.
He huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s not a real term.”
“It is if I say it confidently.”
He stepped in and sat beside you, shoulder brushing yours. Not completely accidental.
For a while, you both watched the sun lower itself into the ocean. The was a comfort to your silence, it felt natural.
“No arrows,” he said after a moment.
“Hm?”
“Today, out there, you didn’t use your pacify tech at the end.” He glanced at you. “You could have.”
You shrugged your shoulders. “It didn’t feel right. Not every fight needs to be turned soft.”
“That’s a heavy philosophy for someone who shoots heart-shaped constructs.”
“They’re structurally aerodynamic,” you said defensively. “It’s a very serious science.”
He smiled at that.
The wind lifted a loose strand of your hair. Without thinking, he reached and tucked it back, his fingers barely touching your temple.
You both froze.
He pulled his hand back slowly, but he didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned a fraction closer, like you’d noticed the space he left behind.
The sun touched the horizon line, its golden hue deepened to amber.
“Does it cost you?” He asked quietly, breaking the silence.
“Using it?”
“Yeah. Your tech. Making people stop wanting to hurt each other.”
You considered that. “It doesn’t hurt, per se, but it is tiring. It’s like trying to close a door against a storm. You can do it. it’s just gonna take time.”
He nodded like he understood more than you’d said.
The light dropped fast after that. Shadows pooled in the corners of the nook and began to obscure his face. The first evening chill crept in off the water.
“It’s getting late, you know?” He said. His tone always oscillating between serious and teasing.
“And?”
“We should head back. Debrief with the rest.”
“They can wait.” You said, hopeful that he would catch that you didn’t want to leave yet.
He didn’t reply. And for a moment you thought you’d said too much.
“Hold still,” you murmured.
He glanced over. “Why?”
Instead of answering, you lifted your wrist where your devices sat and tapped a hidden switch.
The air between you sparkled.
Tiny motes appeared. Just one at first, fading in and out of luminosity. Then two, then three, then dozens soft pink lights drifting upward like embers. They moved with gentle intent, bobbing and weaving, swirling lazily through the darkening nook.
They were like fireflies of a blush-colored glow.
Mizuki’s breath caught. “You’re kidding.”
“Low-intensity lumen sprites,” you said.
“They’re beautiful.” He was breathless. A rare soft side to him peeking from below his facade.
“They respond to proximity.” You nudged one with your finger; it brightened and drifted toward him instead, hovering near his cheek like a curious creature.
He watched it, his eyes reflecting rose light. The hard lines he wore in battle - the readiness and edge - melted away in the glow.
“I thought your whole theme was emotional disarmament,” he said softly. “Not mood lighting.”
“They overlap in the Venn diagram,” you joked.
The lights thickened around you both, slow and floating, turning the cramped nook into something hidden and private and surreal. The base behind you might as well have been another planet.
He shifted, turning slightly toward you now, one knee drawn up, arm resting across it. He was close enough that your shoulders touched.
“Does it work passively?” He asked, timidly. “Your… influence.”
“What do you mean?”
“Standing near you.” His gaze lifted from the lights to your eyes. “Does it make people… feel more?”
Your pulse thrummed. “Only if they were already going to.”
“That sounds like denial.”
“That sounds like a trap question.”
He smiled again, only this time it was warmer.
One of the light sprites drifted between you, hovering at the midpoint like a held thought. Neither of you moved to break it.
“Today,” he said, voice quieter, “when that Talon sniper hesitated instead of firing, was that you?”
“Yes.”
“She looked relieved.”
“Most people are,” you said. “Violence isn’t just in your head. It’s loudest inside the chest. When it goes quiet, they notice.”
“And you?” He asked. “Is it loud inside yours?”
You met his gaze. The honest answer rose too fast to filter.
“Not while I’m with you.”
There was a hesitation to his expression, then a smirk and an amused huff. But there was something else, a pain behind his eyes, as though he could quite let himself feel.
The last light of the sun disappeared completely now and the night settled fully. Your pink fireflies became the only light, casting the both of you in a soft glow.
He didn’t look away.
“You know,” he said, “for someone whose whole thing is stopping fights…”
“Mm?”
“You’re dangerous to be alone with.”
Your laugh came out barely above a whisper. “You’re not exactly defenceless, Mizuki.”
“Who said I wanted to be?”
The space between you tightened, not physically but with possibility; with the shared knowledge that one more inch would change the trajectory of your lives.
Neither of you took it.
One of the light sprites settled briefly against your joined shoulders, brightened, then lifted again.
Then, from the hangar far behind, a distant voice called Mizuki’s name over comms. Faint and all too easy to ignore.
He didn’t answer.
“Stay,” you said quietly.
“I will,” he replied just as softly.
And together you watched the pink lights drift and wander in the dark, saying nothing else that might make it too real, letting the almost be enough. For now.
The songs Eddie would put on a mixtape for you, plus some background info and headcanons. Playlist
𓆩𓆪 warnings; none
𓆩𓆪 contains; gn!reader, fluff
You'd been in an on-and-off relationship for a while, not for lack of love, but for its undeniable presence. He cannot give you what he believes you deserve; he can’t spare the money to shower you in gifts, and, as much as he hates to admit it, you being associated with him has forced you into further isolation. He feels that, and he’s sorry for it. Yes, he’s usually unapologetic about who he is and the things he likes, but it still weighs heavy on his heart that you’re now treated differently. Losing friends, being ostracised, even having your parents intervene.
These facts led to him pushing you away many times. He’s not used to that, pushing things away. He’s never one to deny himself, but with you it was different. He’s devoted to you – undeniably so. Yet, because he can’t afford to take you to the gigs you want to go to, or get you flowers, or even show affection to you in public without someone saying something, he didn't find it right. He can’t afford you. And despite you reassuring him a thousand times that money didn’t matter and that you didn’t care what others thought, he pushed you away regardless, genuinely believing you deserve so much more than he can give.
It was a vulnerable moment for him to finally give you the mixtape that said all the words he couldn’t find. He’s not one to be at a loss for words; still, when it came to you, there was something holding his tongue back. Fear, he assumed. He was afraid of saying the wrong thing, of the rejection he thought he’d get if he didn’t deliver it first. He never cared for rejection, but from you? He couldn’t bear the thought.
You’d told him each time he attempted to break up with you that it really wasn’t necessary and that you adored him regardless of his financial situation or the fact he was a super senior.
It ate away at him that you’d always be on his mind. He’d hear you in every song, see you in his campaigns, and even turn to tell you a joke only to find an empty seat. He missed the days the sun would set beside you in the passenger seat. All the times you’d listen to him play guitar, acoustic or electric. When you’d rest your head on his shoulder while he’d sketch or plan out a new campaign.
The mixtape went as follows, each choice deliberate and in a particular order:
Prodigal Son by Iron Maiden.
To him, this is his confession.
“Listen to what I’ve got to say, I’ve got these feelings that won’t go away.”
This is him being as honest as he can.
He thinks he’s bad for you, that he’s going to drag you down with him.
“I’ve got this curse, it’s turning me bad.”
It’s about as earnest as he can get without being corny.
He’s acknowledging his flaws, owning his absence, and saying he wants help.
Catch the Rainbow by Rainbow
This is a song that came on in passing.
A song he’s heard a thousand times while listening to the cassette.
Suddenly, it’s all about you.
The beat, the melody, the lyrics, the imagery – it's your relationship. It’s you.
“We believed we’d catch the rainbow, Ride the wind to the sun.”
“Sail away on ships of wonder, But life’s not a wheel with chains made of steel.”
He’s acknowledging how your relationship made him feel.
Like he could literally catch a rainbow.
But he’s also saying that’s just a dream, and that’s okay, because it’s a dream of you.
Still In Love With You by Thin Lizzy
This song is a way of saying he’s lost without you.
He’s tried pushing you away. He’s tried moving on.
He’s told himself a thousand lies that you’re better off without him.
But now he knows he’s nothing without you.
This song's not his usual style, but he listens to it just because it reminds him of you.
"This sadness never ceases, I'm still in love with you.”
“They say time has a way of healing, Dries all the tears from your eyes, But darling it's this empty feeling, My heart can’t disguise.”
“I try my best, but it’s no use, I guess I’ll keep loving you.”
(Take These) Chains by Judas Priest
The most Eddie of the bunch, also the one he’s the most afraid for you to hear.
This is him wanting to be chosen.
It’s also an apology for being wrong.
His way of saying he’s sorry for pushing you away.
No performance, no dramatics, just genuine feelings.
Saying that, he’s definitely dreamt of singing this to you (dramatically), or at the very least playing you the guitar riff.
“3000 miles don’t help like I thought it would.”
“I tried to run but I’m tied to you like a slave. It’s my fault for loving you so.”
“Take these chains off, Take them off of my heart.”
Sleeping (In The Fire) by W.A.S.P
Huge for him. It’s right up there with the previous song.
It means so much to him; that’s why he ends the mixtape with it.
This is his way of saying, despite it all, all the faults and flaws, all the break-ups and apologies, he’s never truly let you go.
Not once.
He’s spelling out his commitment for you.
“The passion and the pain are one.”
“You’re drunk on love, You’re sleeping in the fire.”
“I gaze into the flames and fire burn, And cry out the name of which I yearn.”
The whole mixtape translates to: If you’re willing to accept me, to take me back again, then this time we’re going all the way. No more denial, no more sob story. Just pure commitment to one another. Letting love and desire take the reins and being completely unapologetic about it all.
You’d asked. It wasn't for lack of affection on their part; they're just more of a homebody than anything—they're completely happy just being near you and not doing much beyond coexisting. Still, it's nice to go out once in a while. You promised it wouldn't be much; neither of you were big on restaurants or amusement parks. Instead, you went on a night walk—just the two of you under the stars, hand in hand. It was sweet and personal, perfect for the both of you.
Midoriya, Kirishima, Kaminari, Iida, Momo, Mina, Mirio, All Might, Compress
You had a date night set up each week—as long as neither of you had other things to attend. Most of the time you’d go to a restaurant or for a drive together, but there were times when you’d both just order food in, cuddling up on the couch, watching something you both enjoyed. All week you’d anticipate date night; it gave you something to look forward to each week—it was especially exciting if either of you had been away on missions.
Bakugou, Sero, Jirou, Ochaco, Hawks, Dabi, Twice
Not one for dates, and both of you like it that way. There are times when you could class the thing that you're doing as a date, but it’s never “official”. You just end up doing stuff together—shopping, eating, cooking, watching movies, even just getting some fresh air—the two of you are attached at the hip. Having said that, neither of you minds time apart. You don’t like it, but it's not something you’ll lose sleep over.
The way they confessed was pretty traditional—some flowers, a nice setting; everything went pretty smoothly for you guys. They stumbled over their words a bit while asking you, restarting a couple of times, unsure of the best way to tell you despite all the planning they’d done in their head. They didn't want it to feel too rehearsed, like they needed it to be perfect, because they didn’t. They embraced the stammering and the trembling hands as they offered you the flowers, their cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Despite their anxiety, they experienced a sense of ease for the first time in a long time.
Midoriya, Kirishima, Jirou, Ochaco, Asui, All Might
You overheard them screaming it at a villain. At first, due to the active combat, you pushed it from your mind. But once the fighting ceased, you couldn't look them in the eyes. Every time they approached you, heat rushed to your face, and you were unable to stay for longer than a minute. You were sure they had just said it to trick the villain, some ruse to get them to stop, but did they have to sound so genuine? The tears and the voice breaks, were they just an act? They must have sensed your uneasiness because they approached you a few days later, flowers and an apology to follow, confirming that they had indeed fallen for you.
Bakugou, Aizawa, Dabi, Twice, Shiguraki
They didn't mean to tell you at all. They had planned to take their feelings to the grave, deeming them a hindrance to themselves, doing their best to swallow them down. Still, they did not seem to budge. Every time their eyes closed, they would see your face. In their mind, they’d think of you always. It drove them insane. So much so that they practically blamed you for it—as though you had bewitched them in some spell. They’d gotten angry one day, so tormented by thoughts of you, that it simply fell from their mouth. More of a demand, really, than a confession, one ordering you out of their mind. You raised an eyebrow in surprise at their outburst but were perceptive enough to grasp the truth. They were attracted to you, and they despised that attraction. Oddly, it felt good to know they couldn't handle their emotions.
Your writing is so good omg 😭🤍🤍 coul I request the mk boys with a sick s/o? I'm curious to see how would them treat their beloved one
𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 - 𝐦𝐤 𝐡𝐜𝐬
+ Liu Kang, Kung Lao, Raiden, Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, Tomas Vrbada, Johnny Cage, Kenshi Takahashi, Syzoth, Shang Tsung, General Shao, Reiko, Havik
warnings; none
contains; gn!reader, fluff
Liu Kang, Tomas Vrbada, Kenshi Takahashi, Syzoth, Shang Tsung, Reiko
They do everything in their power to help, providing you with care and medication; still, they wish they could do even more. They frequently check your temperature and bring you a fresh flannel for your forehead, asking whether you're feeling too hot or too cold. They genuinely hate seeing you unwell. Even though they understand that you will recover and heal in time, it frustrates them that they can't make it better. This sense of helplessness and lack of control is unsettling for them. Their mood also dips while you're ill, as their thoughts are primarily on your well-being, and those around them can sense it.
Kung Lao, Raiden, Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, Johnny Cage, General Shao, Havik
They try their hardest but let the nurses take charge and stay out of the way. You’re in more capable hands with the trained staff than with them. However, they will come by frequently, bringing items like flowers for your room or your favourite food. They’re very sweet about it but maintain their distance; the last thing they want is to contract your illness. On the surface – especially around others – they act like your absence doesn't affect them as much. In reality, it affects them more than anything. Their mind is always wandering to you, worrying about if you're okay and if you’ll recover any time soon.
Not very needy, but vocal about what they want. It's not hard to please them – given they just want you and not much else. You fulfil most of their needs simply by existing. They communicate well, though, making sure you know when they want something. They're not one to push boundaries and often give as much as they take. If you require some time alone, they respect that. If they desire affection, you provide it. It's a very balanced relationship, one many of your peers envy.
Mikasa, Connie, Sasha, Hange, Reiner, Porco
Needier than they’d care to admit. It might not manifest as physical touch at first, mostly just making sure they're always in your proximity—quality time, if you will—but eventually it will progress into something more. Constant handholding, hugging or kissing. Their needs are often quite demanding, and, while they respect you entirely, they hate being away from you with a passion. Still, they will give you space when you want, not without many complaints, however.
Hii, could you write headcanons for the mk boys with a reader who likes to wear lipstick just to leave kiss marks on their face/arms?
𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 - 𝐦𝐤 𝐡𝐜𝐬
+ Liu Kang, Kung Lao, Raiden, Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, Tomas Vrbada, Johnny Cage, Kenshi Takahashi, Syzoth, Shang Tsung, General Shao, Reiko, Havik
warnings; none
contains; gn!reader, fluff
Kung Lao, Tomas Vrbada, Johnny Cage, Syzoth, Shang Tsung, Reiko, Havik
Adores when you leave a little mark on them—whether thats their face, arms, or body, they don't care. They couldnt care less if someone laughs at it or finds it cringe, they absolutely cherish it. Their favourite photo of the two of you, if where you are sat on their lap, their face and neck covered in red lipstick marks—their hair is a mess slightly and their shirt is unbuttoned, but the two of you are just beaming. You both look so happy, so in love, that they cannot take their eyes off that photo. Any time you kiss them and leave a mark, it reminds them of that day and they cant help but blush at the thought.
Liu Kang, Raiden, Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, Kenshi Takahashi, General Shao
It was met with protests at first. They’re held in high regard you know, they have meetings to attend and important people to shake hands with, you cant go leaving your mark wherever you fancy. They felt embarrassed, but never ashamed—your marks were a part of your love expression and they didnt take it for granted. They’d talk to you about it in private, and explain that its not something that looks good for them and ask you to stop—or at least, keep it more professional. And you would, for a time, but you’d slip back into old habits, not out of disregard for their emotions, simply because its your way of showing affection. And, like most things you do, it grew on them. They enjoy your little lipstick marks and wear them with pride.
It's not something that happens often, not because they lack affection but because they're afraid. They're not used to being held, not lovingly anyway; it's almost too much for them. However, in the loneliness of the night, when it's just you and them, they find peace with their past. You help to melt away all that they've been through—not enough to make them forget, but enough for them to push past those boundaries. They’ll hold you close, chests beating as one, whispering to you their love and gratefulness. They prefer positions where you're face-to-face, where they can see you, brushing their fingers through your hair. To them, the private intimacy you share is sacred.
There really isn't a moment where they're not holding you in some capacity. Whether they're resting a head on your shoulder or a hand on your back, linking their arm with yours, their touch is an ever-present feeling. They’re a big fan of chest-to-back positions; whether that be spooning or sitting with you nestled between their legs, it lets them wrap their arms around you in a bear hug. The truth is, they're afraid if they let go of you, you might slip away from them. After suffering so much loss, they cannot bear to lose you. This is why they keep you close whenever possible. Without hesitation, even in front of others, they will draw you in and hold on as long as you promise to stay.
+ Liu Kang, Kung Lao, Raiden, Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, Tomas Vrbada, Johnny Cage, Kenshi Takahashi, Syzoth, Shang Tsung, General Shao, Reiko, Havik
warnings;
contains;
hey so, this was a request, but for some reason it keeps glitching and I can't find it to answer it, but here it is!
Liu Kang, Kung Lao, Raiden, Kuai Liang, Kenshi Takahashi
It took a considerable amount of time for them to become comfortable with you; after all, you are part god and the child of General Shao. Initially, your interactions were marked by suspicion and wary glances, as they were reluctant to let you in fully. Given the betrayals and treachery they had endured, it’s understandable that they would feel this way. Yet, as time passed, you gained their confidence—not only through your kindness and empathy but also through your skills in combat. You consistently demonstrated your worth, and despite your differences, you were able to forge a bond that was unwavering. They hold you in the highest regard, and, against their better judgment, have a fondness for you.
Bi-Han, Tomas Vrbada, Johnny Cage, Syzoth, Shang Tsung, Reiko, Havik
Absolutely adores you and worships the ground you walk on. It took absolutely no time at all for them to accept you at all. They understood you, and your need to break away from your fathers shadow. You are your own person, and want people to see you as such. You worked hard to make people see you for you and not for the person your father wanted you to be. However, there are certainly traces of him within you. In your tenacity and your fierceness, your lineage is evident. You would have thought they’d find it intimidating, but surprisingly, they accepted you wholeheartedly, captivated by your unique qualities and charm.
Armin, Marco Jean, Connie, Sasha, Hange, Erwin, Bertholdt, Pieck
It's so easy with them. You might have disagreements, but never arguments. Rows, but never fights. They get you, and you get them. You couldn't have asked for anyone better, nor did either of you think it would be possible, after all you'd gone through, that peace would be waiting. They tell you they love you and back it up with actions—little and big. Everything matters to them; you're never undermined or judged. They love and care and protect you, never to the point where you feel overwhelmed, but they’ll also never let you forget.
Eren, Mikasa, Levi, Reiner, Annie, Porco, Zeke
You're devoted to one another, and that's all that matters. No grand gestures or huge displays, just the two of you. It's intimate and timeless, quiet and delicate. It took a lot for the two of you to open up to one another, and there is nothing in this world or the next that could ever break the bond you have formed. You have your own way of showing love for each other—like a hand on the shoulder or an act of service—it's never loud, just knowing.
